The orgy I forgot I got mostly naked for

A reporter who was interviewing me for a story wrote and asked if I could comment on this orgy I wrote about for The Village Voice (link NSFW because of boobs)...in 2006. I'm a little embarrassed to admit I would probably have forgotten it even happened if she hadn't asked. Here's a snippet from that very old column:

I reached for Shira while Dan massaged me, and soon the three of us were entangled—I on top of her, he grinding against me—still with our underwear on. I lost track of where everyone else was, intent on rubbing against her soft, wet skin (she'd taken a quick shower earlier). I asked if I could spank her and she graciously accepted, though with various couplings in a small space, it was a challenge to find the proper angle.

This incident taught me two things: 1) I have a horrible memory. 2) My life is so much different these days, in all kinds of ways. My two current sex columns are far more heavily journalism based than me getting naked. I don't go to orgies, unexpected or otherwise. I'm focused on improving my life in gradual increments, rather than just me-me-me now-now-now, as I was until very recently.

I know saying I forgot I attended an orgy may sound like I'm jaded or blasé about sex, but I actually think it's more a function of my writing career. I don't know exactly how many pieces I got published last year, or will this year, but the pace of one weekly column and one column every other week means I'm constantly planning ahead, trying to time them to current events or movie or book releases. I'm bombarded with research for various articles and essays, have stacks of books to read for work or pleasure, spend way too much time reading online rather than digging in to substantive writing. So I consider my forgotten orgy my brain's attempt to stay focused on the here and now, rather than live in the past.

For far too long, I lived in not the past, but the what-if. I was so focused on what I lacked, my every flaw, that those were all I saw. I'm talking years this went on, the depths of which I haven't quite gotten myself to lay bare on the page yet. So having come out the other side of that, I still marvel every day that I fell for someone who loves me for me, gigantic flaws and all. Who puts up with my being disorganized and overprotective and away from home so often. Who has seen me at my absolute worst and never once judged me. Who goes out of his way to build me up, to remind me that I'm on the right path, to work with me rather than against me. I've gotten used to it after over three years, but there are moments when it's still a shock to my system, when how I live now awes me with its adultness.

That's not to say my twenties and early thirties lacked fun; they had plenty of it, along with the dropping out of law school and bankruptcy and volatile relationships and crappy jobs and self-sabotage. It was a mix, but it was mainly focused on the immediacy of daily life. There wasn't a thought to the future. I don't think I ever really considered that my Village Voice column might end as abruptly as it did. Now, I wouldn't say I expect each column to be my last, but I wouldn't at all be surprised if one day I got an email or phone call saying as much. I'm prepared for those eventualities, even though I'd be disappointed.

I'm almost 40 and trying to be a mom and because of that, and because I want some of the safety and protection of not always living in the moment, of robbing tomorrow to do everything-all-at-once today, I am far more careful. I don't focus on the past, save for when I think it can teach me a lesson about the present or future. So I'm all forgetting anything, orgies included, that will help me live my best life now, sans FOMO (I'm in full FOGO mode these days). Part of me actually hopes, much as I adore my town, to move farther from New York so I am less tempted to go into the city, because this is where my work and my home and my love is. I'm actually purging belongings, as much as this hoarder is capable of, in case I do need to relocate. So maybe my brain is doing the equivalent, putting memories somewhere hard to reach, or even impossible to access, to protect me and keep me living for today, not what might have been, or what was.