We’re still not connecting. A few sleepy sheep claim to be having infrequent perfunctory sex, and,the women are softening, softening, softening, learning to become women, holding space for the men to be the bold, brilliant, empowered kings we know them to be, and working hard to mend this rift, to wring in this paradigm shift. But this will all be in the book — the true follow-up to the story “Hot, Sticky and Bothered: Wondering why guys don’t make the first move anymore and notes on the pains and pleasures of threesomes” in L.A. Weekly’s Lust in L.A. issue. All you really want to know now is what happened to the couple, right? Since I spent the summer processing the experience by way of my (best) band (ever), the Simones, here’s a handful of lyrics to catch you up:

I held on to the idea a while

One last kiss, one last smile

Just one more two-minute snooze

For me, your midnight muse

My true blue cosmic soul mate

A lifetime shy, seventeen years late

Handcuffed to his high school favorite

His threadbare security blanket

He brings in other girls

For his (allegedly) bi-curious wife

Seducing swine with pearls

Clinging to his co-dependent life

Talks weren’t talked

And talks weren’t walked

They shut me out

I suppose there was fallout

I never heard from her again

My mischievous meditating friend

He’s not allowed to talk to me

He’s back in his cage, he gave away the key

I’m angry with her

For throwing me away

For shutting me out

Because I’m not gay

I prayed and I prayed

For their marriage to heal

Sometimes it was bullshit

Sometimes it was real

Some days I hate them

Especially her

She of the Ph.D, the three-way rap

And the missing down-there fur

Sometimes I miss them

His poet’s soul, his witty banter

She, my artsy, literary friend

Him, my Mr. Happily Never After

These days, they’re off my radar

Faded memory stuff

He wrote that he was sorry

Not sorry enough

I’ve let it all go

Far, far away

The pain’s subsided

The lessons have stayed

My weekly three to four

Are all up to me

Besides the occasional shaman

And the imaginary rock star I see

I’m doing my work

And standing my ground

’Til my magnificent mirror

Is ready to come ’round

A big, bright, massive soul

Who’ll meet me where I am

My brave, beautiful, wise

Real-deal magic man.

From “Hot, Sticky and Bothered: Wondering Why Guys Don’t Make the First Move Anymore and Notes on the Pains and Pleasures of Threesomes” by Dani Katz

“I’d like to have one more night of you before you leave town,” Sasha e-mailed me as I was scrambling to get ready for a trip that I never ended up taking.

I groomed and moisturized before they came to fetch me (“Kidnapping you is half the fun,” texted Sasha). I was nervous.

“It’s weird enough getting naked in front of one person,” I vented to my best girlfriend. “But two? Just think of the ensuing dialogues comparing notes about my flaws and my scars and my bungling technique.”

She laughed away my doubts as textbook threshold anxiety, while I lamented my regrettably hetero track record. “I’ve never licked pussy before, and he went to a weeklong intensive to perfect his skills! How can I possibly measure up?”

At Nicki and Sasha’s, the three of us chopped vegetables together, and ate outside under the stars. Sasha admitted he had a crush on me, and I fessed up to the one I’d been harboring for him.

“Oooh … ,” gushed Nicki, smiling at this latest development. Our first awkward silence ensued. I wondered if they’d discussed this but I was suddenly too shy to ask.

“C’mon,” Sasha said, leading us both inside.

LA Weekly