Schwartz - Prime

Dear Dr. Pepper:

I am a single woman, divorced after 23 years of marriage, with my kids off to college. Ideally, I would like to have a serious relationship, but if that isnt around the corner, I still want sex and companionship. I find myself in a world of chat-room hookups, cybermatch-making, and coconut-flavored glow-in-the-dark condoms. I feel as sexually alive as I did when I was 25, but the number and availability of men for me has changed. How do I look for a life partner and enjoy sexual adventures along the way? Oh, yes, and did I mention that I really enjoy sex?

Advice, please.

Sincerely,
A Single Sexologist in Seattle

A fter three decades of answering peoples questions about their emotional, sexual, and romantic lives, after writing numerous books on sex and relationships, after thirty-five years as a professor of sociology at the University of Washington, you would think I could come up with an easy answer to my own question. The situation was at least humorous and in no small part ironic.

I had plenty of good advice for women in my situation based on solid scientific research. But I had not always followed what I knew to be the best course since my own divorce. Still, I am five years older than when I left my husband, and I think a wiser person than the woman who reentered the singles scene after almost a quarter of a century as a married woman.

A Special Time, Place, and Situation

Here I am on a teak lounge chair, west of Kuta Beach on Bali, which is one of the most romantic islands on earth. I am thinking about what I want out of my life and from men. Bali is my muse for this reverie and she never ceases to inspire me. This is an island that celebrates the senses. Hospitality and massage are honed to fine arts. Perhaps most important, the island is enduringly attractive and easy to live on, at least in part because its a place where a single woman can feel safe strolling the beaches and villages. I can even banter and flirt with local men of all ages and not worry that anything unwanted is going to happen.

On this island, if my last two trips here were any indication, I will soon find myself in a place I rarely get to spend much my timethe reflective, contemplative present. Im usually speeding through life, juggling appointments, putting out fires, and scheduling for the near and far future. The prospect of trimming away all of that for a while is exciting.

My friend interrupts my soul-searching.

Enjoying the guide book? asks the tall, trim man with salt-and-pepper hair.

Dom has returned from his postlunch stroll down the beach. He is a welcome break from my what am I doing with my life? train of thought. Dominic is in the top tier of my favorite traveling companions. When I told him I needed support for the book I was writing, he suggested that he was the man for the job. I agreed and he signed up to accompany me to Bali for two weeks while I finished it. My first thought as I look at him striding toward me is that he has come to get me to take a walk with him. Thats usually fun since we are quite the sight together: He is about six-foot-four and I dont quite reach five feet. But Dom is worried that I have been rushing around too much and he is on a program to slow me down.

Its so good to finally be here at the same time, Dom says. He looks rested and tan, and I can see that his week on Bali prior to my arrival has been calming and rejuvenating.

Im going to get us some cold water. Ill be right back, Dom says. I want you to enjoy this peaceful afternoon and just unwind after your long flight. By tomorrow youll feel fantastic.

My friend the Zen Buddhist was always trying to get me to be more peacefulwhich was usually a very hard thing for me to do. This time, however, I had signed up for the program. Bali was going to be different.

Relaxing is going to be easy, I say. I think counting waves would be a fine activity for today. Ive had my head down, eyes on the finish line for this book for a little too long. Its got to be done by September, but I can see the end and Im less nervous now.

Well, it looks like you have the perfect afternoon. Just remember you have your appointment for the four-hand massage at Antique Spa at four thirty. And I want a full report on what those two men actually do.

I laugh at Doms alternate mothering and voyeurism. Hey, Dom, if I ever forget I have an appointment for two guys to work on my body, just shoot me right then! Anyhow, I promise to reveal all over our sunset drink.

Dom turns to me, sporting a mischievous grin. And Pepper, please promise me you will tuck away your laptop, cell phone, and Blackberry and just unwind for a few hours, okay?

I smile. Dom knows me well.

A Warning

My tall friend heads up to the vendor stands. The sun is high in the sky and I return to my Bali guidebook, shifting my chair a bit so I catch some shade. I turn to a page Dom has bookmarked for me about typical travelers dos and donts. A special warning for women catches my eye. The guidebook cautions female tourists in the beach town of Kuta ( Koo-tah ) need to be on the alert for a special breed of gigolo called a Kuta cowboy. I laugh. I find it humorous that the author is worried about female tourist morality. Most women, I think, will get the picture: There are a number of sleekly built, dark-haired, sweet-talking young men on the island whose job it is to seduce female travelers. Its a barter system: The women find a guide, a restaurant companion, or vacation lover, while the men enjoy being treated to meals, elegant hotels, and/or gifts in the form of clothes or cash. The women can decide if they are interested or not. Im interested, but primarily as part of my professional work. As a sex researcher, I was aware of the gigolos on Bali, and on a previous trip to Bali had met a woman who actually ended up marrying one. Since then Ive learned about several other women who made the same choice. So while it wasnt true that having a Balinese lover was a national fad, it was true that more than a few Western women had discovered that Bali offered something besides batik. As a champion of adventurous women, I was intrigued. As a single woman of a certain age I am thinking about it.

My eyes wander. To my left, the vast beach curves gently to the right. I can see a long line of beach chairs full of tourists, with local vendors strolling among their potential clients. A forty-minute walk west would bring me to the heart of Kuta. About six lounge chairs over, I spy a young Asian man with a smooth, well-defined chest flirting with two somewhat amused young blonde women. The women sound like they are from Australia and seem to know their sexy friend. The man speaks and I hear his Australian accent.

Oops. Not a real Kuta cowboy sighting.

To my right the beach heads to Seminyak and becomes less populated by tourists. I catch sight of another attractive twenty-something Asian man in orange shorts and a white tank top strolling near the water. He has long dark hair and a huge tattoo covering his left bicep. Mr. Bali is in an animated conversation with a woman who is forty-ish or possibly a well-kept fifty-ish. She is wearing a loose white blouse and bluish sarong that flows languidly in the breeze. I study them both carefully as they near me. I hear the smiling, relaxed blonde woman speak English with an accent and I peg her as either German or Dutch. The young man is listening attentively with his eyes fixed on her. I believe I am experiencing my first glimpse of a Kuta cowboy in his natural habitat. I try to imagine myself as this woman, a tourist in the company of a seductive, attentive, and charming local, but for some reason I cant quite see myself in her place. At least not yet.