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7 Lovers Ialways thought I would have four major lovers. Four is my lucky number. And forty-four. And fourteen. Forty-four was the number of my football jersey, if you can imagine me playing football. I often see the building number 44 when I am traveling down a street in a taxi. Just jumps out at me. And although my third major lover and I severed our connection quite a long time ago, and there have been a number of abortive efforts since, I was never concerned. I just always felt number four would show up sooner or later. And he did. My first lover was the blond god. His name was Clyde. We met in the navy. He wasn’t really gay except he fell in love with me. But I haven’t forgotten that he was frequently the one who made the first move to some new sex kink. He eventually married and has children. The second one lasted for thirty years. He wasn’t really a blond god. He was more a Greek god. You have to say this for my lovers: they have all been very handsome. I don’t know if I ever really loved him. I had this big sexual crush on him that lasted for three decades. I never didn’t feel like sleeping with him, even after thirty years. He never really got his life together. And then he died. He had pretty well worn out my emotions for him by that time. The third lover was the great love of my life. He was smaller, darker, Italian. I always said of him, “When you got fucked by him, you stayed fucked for a while.” Strange, isn’t it? The way a person makes love can sort of make up for everything else. I really loved him. I would get very excited in a taxi just because I was on my way to meet him. That’s real love. 8 Lovers And now there has been the fourth one. I used to say to him, “I love you very much.” And he would reply, “That’s what my wife would always say.” So I stopped saying it. So this is being over seventy and being in love with someone far younger. Does this younger lover really want you to be in love with him? ...

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