Money Can’t Buy Me Sex Part 1
Right now, in New York City, every day, millions of people are having sex. And it makes me feel good to know that I’m personally bucking the odds. You see, sex has always been a difficult issue with me. It was at its worst right after my divorce. I ran an ad in a local paper, that read, “Single White Male seeks attractive female with low self-esteem, poor eye- sight, and enjoys hearing the words, ‘I’m sorry this has never happened to me before.’”
It was a scary time. In fact, I had briefly thought about having a homosexual experience. I figured this way at least one of us would have an erection. But I was always very attracted to women and more than anything it was my shyness that got in my way. If I was a necrophilliac I’d probably wait for the corpse to make the first move.
So I was now single again in a city with the most beautiful women in the world and I couldn’t even get to first base or out of the batter’s box when Larry David, co-creator of “Seinfeld” and star of HBO’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” took me out for lunch because my birthday was coming up. I met Larry some twenty years earlier when we were both starving stand-up comedian’s, and we remained close friends despite my continuous pursuit of favors.
“So John, are you seeing anyone?” Larry asked.
“Are you kidding? The last time I had sex Michael Jackson was still sleeping with kids his own age.”
“I should buy you a hooker for your birthday,” he snickered.
But I couldn’t do that, the reasons filling my mind’s eye with nude pictures of myself. My skin never quite fit me properly. I looked as if my birthday suit was bought off the rack. When I’m naked, it’s the one time I’m sure God is not watching. We ended lunch and each went our separate ways. Him in his finely tuned driving machine and me in a machine that, when tuned, I can barely drive without getting a fine.
A little later in the day, I found myself at a fellow comic’s apartment surrounded by a few of my unsuccessful peers. I told them about Larry’s offer and that I had turned it down. What I said must have had an impact, because they barely had enough time to stop talking about themselves before they responded angrily.
“You got to do it.”
“Come on, do this for us, for all the starving comics.”
“We’re never going to get this opportunity again.”
“It won’t be just you in there with that girl, it’ll be every comic in America.” Not exactly what I considered an enticement, but if I didn’t agree I’d never shut them up, which is near impossible anyway. Do you know how to keep a dying comic alive? When he’s on his deathbed hand him a microphone.