Boom-boom’s Dilemma, or Sex and the Pity

My friend Natasha has a friend, Boom-boom, who I’ve only met once or twice. By Natasha’s accounts, and by my own brief observations, I have concluded that Boom-boom is an extraordinarily sexually-obsessed, exhibitionistic, 60 year old woman. I have no problem with that. Whatever floats your boat. The problem is that Boom-boom could not attract a fly, if she were flypaper. William Shatner in drag could get more man-action than Boom-boom, and that’s where the tragedy lies.

Like Boom-boom, Natasha is an older, sexually-driven, single woman, but unlike Boom-boom, she is a total fox and has no problem quenching her manthirst. Natasha constantly tries to mentor Boom-boom in the ways of foxiness, but Boom-boom just ain’t havin’ it. Consequently, Boom-boom just ain’t gettin’ any. All Boom-boom gets is angrier and angrier.

You know, Dear Reader, I firmly believe there is hope for everyone in the nookie department. For one thing, if you haven’t got great looks, personality really is the final frontier. I would go so far as to say that personality is 9/10ths of attractiveness. For example, a woman who looks like Truman Capote can go from a “-6” to a “10,” if she has a knock-out personality (and probably some money).

Anyway, Natasha had lunch with Boom-boom today, and no sooner had they sat down, than Boom-boom announced loudly, “I REALLY NEED SOME D--- (slang for male sexual part)!” That was even before the waiter arrived. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had some D___!” She went on. Apparently, her two prospects for “D____” hadn’t touched her in months. So on top of her repellant appearance, she has a negative, pissed off, personality--a killer combo that I call the, “nympho nightmare.”

I agree with Natasha that Boom-boom could be attractive and far healthier if she would merely take care of herself—you know, bathe, exercise, eat right, get enough sleep, drink alcohol in moderation… But no, she loves the night life. She likes to boogie (in place). “Men should want me for who I am!” insists Boom-boom. OK. Whatever. We tried.

Natasha is always taking Boom-boom out in an attempt to get her some AK-SHON (she’s got so much to geeuv!), as if Natasha’s foxiness will somehow rub off on her. Once, they went to “Ladies Night” at a local bar, and when Boom-boom was asked for ID at the door, she lifted up her shirt and flashed the guy her enormous, bra-less, tiddies.

Now, the average straight guy normally likes giant tiddies, but not when they’re attached to a flabby, warty, 60 year old, built like a brick sh*thouse, with Earnest Borgnine’s head. The man recoiled. “Uh, ma’am,” he stammered, “you are not permitted to do that here.” Obviously, that wasn’t the desired response.

Natasha never actually witnesses Boom-boom’s “success stories,” but she sure hears enough of them. Like the one where Boom-boom goes to Applebee’s by herself, strikes up a conversation with some dude at the bar, and 15 minutes later, they’re in the back of his van in the parking lot. Or the one where she meets a guy online, arranges to meet him in person, and they wind up in bed, pouring chocolate syrup all over each other.

Once I joined Natasha and Boom-boom for lunch. I was silent for the most part, eating, listening to their guy stories. Boom-boom was delivering a high-pitched, nasal, monologue to the effect of, “...and then he did this, and then he said that, and...bla bla bla...something something...bla bla...my dentures...”

Wait a minute. *Gulp*

“Did you say you wear dentures?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. It caught me off-guard.

“Yes!” snapped Boom-boom, almost sending them flying into her sushi.

I guess there are two things one should never ask a lady: 1) whether or not she is pregnant, and 2) whether or not she wears dentures—even if you think she just said, “...my dentures.”

Well, if she didn’t want me to know, then why did she mention them?

In conclusion, I think the main emotion that binds Natasha to Boom-boom is pity. Both share an enormous enthusiasm for sex, but Natasha gets lots of it, and Boom-boom doesn’t. Boom-boom’s dilemma is similar to that of the aspiring opera singer with a laryngectomy. However, unlike the ill-fated opera singer, Boom-boom’s lot is reversible. She could be fit and healthy, if only she would try. That’s what’s frustrating to me. At the end of a recent lunch date, Natasha reported that when she hugged Boom-boom, she smelled like “Funky P____ (slang for female reproductive part).” Come on, girl! Every journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Yours should be into the shower.