Womanizer: “Knowing” Wonderful Women

By Marv Rubinstein

Randy Rosen is a confirmed womanizer and proud of it. In his mind, females are more fun, subtle, imaginative, and braver than men. Truth be known, he would rather explore womens liminal and subliminal messages than sit in a smoky bar with a bunch of guys.

Randy has not always been this way. He was once a shy honor student whose torrid teenage affair ended in catastrophic betrayal. Changed forever by his experience, Randy moves from college to build a successful, international business that allows him to travel worldwide and enjoy the biggest perk of all: meeting women as diverse as their countries. For many years, Randy pursues love and lust in some of the globes most exciting cities: London, Tokyo, Manila, Bangkok, and even Tel Aviv. But as his body begins to age, Randy is left to wonder whether he can keep up the chase.

From sexual antics in exotic bedrooms and boudoirs to the intimacy and trust of deep relationships, Womanizer is a rollicking tale of one mans adventures as he pursuesand is pursued bywomen throughout the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 8, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595883400

Marv Rubinstein

Marv Rubinstein is an engineer, professor, attorney, entrepreneur, and previously published author. He taught at the Monterey Institute and founded an engineering firm. Marv has lived in Bangkok, Carmel, Israel, London, and New York City.

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Copyright © 2007 Marvin Rubinstein.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-0-5954-4019-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-0-5956-8477-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-0-5958-8340-0 (ebook)

iUniverse rev. date: 10/15/2015

Contents

WOMANIZING

BEGINNINGS

INITIATION

MADE, NOT BORN

THE FALL

HIATUS I

CATHY

COLLEGE

HOME IS NOT WHERE THE HEART IS

TIME TO GO

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

POLITICS

CATHY REVISITED

FOUR VIGNETTES

AMUSING MINI-VIGNETTES

ISRAEL

HIATUS II

A NEW WORLD

JOEL

Yvette

STRIKING OUT

LONDON

THREE BLACK BEAUTIES

BRIGHT AND BATTERED WOMEN

LOVE

PLAYMATES

INTERNATIONAL WOMANIZING

Kai

SMITTEN

CORRESPONDENCE CLUBS

EAST MEETS WEST

SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY

MALAYSIA

MAI LIEN

TOKYO

BANGKOK—THE MASSAGE PARLOR CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

BANGKOK LADIES

MANILA AND JAKARTA

OTHER PLACES, OTHER WOMBS

ON OCCASIONAL IMPOTENCE

MADE, NOT BORN—REVISITED

HIATUS III

THE FINAL CURTAIN

A SECOND SCENARIO

THE ZIPPED-UP FLY IN THE OINTMENT

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to Annie, Bess, Cathy, Dory, Erin, Fanny, Golda, Harriet, Iris, Jean, Kate, Lisa, Monica, Nurit, Orit, Pearl, Queeny, Regina, Sandy, Terry, Ursula, Vicky, Winnie, Yvette, Zelda I, Zelda II, Alma, Brigitte, Cat, Danchan, Evy, Kai, Laura, Mai Lien, Nora, Oren, Pamico, Reico, Satomi, Tupin, Vaitawan, Wendy, Yvonne and Zinny, among others.

And finally: Many thanks to my wife Chie Hamaguchi Rubinstein for her time spent in painfully (literally and figuratively) copyreading, proofreading and editing this book.

No one has ever seen me like this! Not even my father!

My first love died last week. Her death hit me much harder than I could have imagined. The news of her death was like positioning the mate to a bookend so all volumes are now encompassed. Though I remember so many little things, one gasping outburst keeps haunting me.

During an embrace, I had unbuttoned her halter straps. There was no resistance but, when she sat there with her breasts exposed, in all of her adolescent vulnerability, the enormity of the situation hit her, and she almost panicked. I hear her cry out, No one has ever seen me like this! Not even my father! Today’s young ladies, even at twelve or thirteen, would probably be amused at such a verbal ejaculation. Things were different then. Still, there was no attempt to cover up. I was mesmerized by the youthful beauty of it all. Though I have seen hundreds of tits since then, I am still hypnotized by this vivid memory of Annie with her halter straps and her defenses down. Memories, memories. Or, shifting from nostalgia to adolescent humor, should I say mammaries, mamma-ries?

She was fifteen and I was sixteen. That was over sixty-five years ago, but certain scenes seem to have occurred only yesterday. We were in love with a fervor that only a first love can have. I have been in love several times since then, deeply in love on four occasions, but never with the intensity of my teenage affair with Annie. It was her first sexual experience and my second. We were children playing dangerous games, and new sensations, mixed with a sense of the forbidden, added to the intensity. My first sexual experience was with a prostitute, hardly worth a passing mention. Several of my friends and I had just been to a burlesque show whose headliner was an ecdysiast named Hinda Wassau. We sat in the front row through two performances, and I remember Hinda calling down to us at her second appearance. Hey, boys, did you bring your lunch? After the show, some of the more adventuresome decided it was time to lose our virginities. They knew of a whorehouse located upstairs of a bar called the Blue Bottle Inn, and persuaded me to join them, lending me money to be repaid from my weekly allowance. I hardly remember the event, except that I was nervous as Hell. We were all nervous as Hell. The lady was pleasant enough, but on the blowzy side. She examined my penis carefully, as if she were peeling a banana. When I later grabbed her breasts, I was admonished, Hey, careful of those tits, kid. They bruise easily. Hardly a romantic interlude.

That certainly was not the case with Annie. While there were many moments of love and affection and tenderness during our courting, the photographic vignettes still with me are sexual. Never underestimate the sheer power of raging hormones during puberty. Popular lyrics at that time were precisely on point. A fire burns with "a flame, a burning desire" unlikely to be matched in later years. Only a kiss can put out the fire. Or, more likely, intensify the conflagration. So, it’s no wonder that I still visualize the physical highlights of our intense passion. If my memoirs read like a cheap porno novel—and, if this book had been published in the era of my youth, they would have been considered just that—I apologize. Hopefully, with today’s more mature attitude about sex, these visual memories will not be considered the musings of a dirty old man. They should be thought of as bittersweet recollections along the road to maturity.

A few weeks later, we went all the way. As with the breast-baring episode, she was not an unwilling participant. In those days, however, (even possibly today), a girl’s virginity was highly prized; its loss, even to a loved one, was traumatic. Annie brooded about it for several days. Some days, she didn’t even want to see me. I did what I could to comfort her, showing my love in every way. I hugged and kissed her as if there were no tomorrow. I also sent her a verse from Omar Khayyam’s Rubayat, expressing a truth as valid today as it was 2,000 years end.

"And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

Ends in what All begins and ends in—Yes;

Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY

You were—TO-MORROW you shall not be less."

Going all the way, incidentally, was at that time a common euphemism for fucking. The number of English synonyms for any activity depends upon the popularity of the act. Getting drunk, for example, has more synonyms than any other word or phrase. Copulation is next in line, with over one hundred highly descriptive terms: ball, bang, get laid, go to bed with, have sex with, hump, make love, make out, score, screw, shtup, sleep with, swive, tear off a piece, zig-zig. Hip-hoppers use: getting nasty or doing the wild thing. A couple of more pungent ones: having your ashes hauled; having your pipes cleaned.

Neither of us realized it, of course, but that experience was her first step to becoming a woman and my first step on the long road towards becoming a womanizer, entering that thicket of no boundaries and few guidelines. Though womanizing ultimately became an all consuming pastime, I quickly realized that it was a human activity that, though widely practiced, was considered socially suspect. Prior to my thirtieth birthday, I was ambivalent, but I eventually had to take a stand, and I, Randy Rosen, did. I aver that womanizing is vastly entertaining and mutually satisfying. It is fun for the womanizer, and, whether you like the idea or not, fun for the immediate object of his affection. I approve.

WOMANIZING

What exactly is a womanizer. Well, it’s not just a guy who has had a half-dozen affairs. It certainly is not a one-woman or two-women man. Franklyn Delano Roosevelt was not a womanizer, though he had a mistress during an extensive period of his adult life. She was possibly his only extra-marital affair. Presidents Kennedy and Clinton were notorious womanizers. Among literary lights., Casanova was a well known practitioner, though a lesser known Viennese author, Dr. Arthur Schnitzler, probably racked up a larger number of sexual liaisons. One dictionary defines a womanizer as one who pursues women illicitly or excessively. Try defining excessively. Having problems? One can never be too thin or too rich. What about too curious sexually? The dictionary definition falls short. A womanizer is a man who successfully makes a career of bedding down as many women as he can. It may not be his primary career; after all, one must make a living, and pursuing women can be an expensive sport. Still, it is a pursuit which requires dedication. Sort of like a gunslinger with many notches on the barrel of his gun.

Should you choose to keep an open mind, I offer an alternative definition. A womanizer is a man who takes care of the needs and desires of many women. It is a two way street. Both the physical and psychological relationship between a womanizer and his amours is extremely complex. Probably a little of each definition should apply.

Ruyard Kipling had it right. Though he was speaking of addiction to travel, his words could equally apply to addiction to womanizing. As I discovered later, both addictions are tantalizing.

"Speakin’ in general, I ‘ave tried ‘em all—

The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world.

Speakin’ in general, I ‘ave found them good

For such as cannot use one bed too long,

But must get ‘ence, the same as I ‘ave done,

An’ go observin’ matters till they die."

Let’s face it. There’s tremendous B.S. on the subject of womanizing. Morality police loudly and repeatedly claim that there are unappetizing inequities between most womanizers and the objects of their attraction. The men are powerful, and the women usually young, romantic and foolish. That is the conventional wisdom, but it’s bullshit, and doesn’t hold up under strict analysis.

Power can be measured in various ways—physical strength, beauty, charisma, star quality, political status and money. The first term is usually used with reference to animals. The strongest bull gathers the most cows. The remaining terms apply to men. Money is often the key word, since most people visualize womanizing as rich old men seducing beautiful young women. The old Bird in A Gilded Cage refrain.

Money, however, is not a sine qua non for womanizing. On any high school or college campus, there are lotharios who, while not wealthy, garner the lion’s share of young women. Jocks do particularly well. Even with mature men, while the power of money may be the fulcrum on which many relationships rest, it is not always the deciding factor. Robert, an English friend of mine, another womanizer, was always surrounded by adoring young women. This seemed odd, since he was short, stocky, bald and wore glasses. At first, I wondered what the magnetic attraction was. It eventually dawned on me. Robert loved women. He truly loved them.

Always polite, he opened doors and pulled out chairs. He expressed admiration for their clothes, their coiffures, their jewelry. He kissed hands, flattered and paid attention to their every word. And it was all genuine. He really loved women. You know what? Women instinctively recognize this quality in a man, and they return the attention and affection—in spades.

So much for the popular conception of the powerful male. As for the women being young, foolish and vulnerable, ‘tain’t necessarily so. Many of today’s young women are a sophisticated bunch—tough minded indeed. There are enough of them these days to deserve a proper category—Alpha Women. The Anna Nicole Smiths of the world are aware that you can marry more money in five minutes than you can earn in a lifetime. So, whoever hits on whom, the responsibility goes both ways. Older men can be just as gullible as sweet young things, particularly if the young woman in question is sending out charmingly cute signals.. At certain ages, men too are subject to ego trips, particularly those which offer hope of recapturing one’s youth. This is not a new reality. Call it manopause. Some mature readers may remember Marlene Dietrich in a 1930 movie called The Blue Angel. For more recent examples, one has only to read the tabloids. There are plenty of young women aware of the needs of mature men. The day of the vamp is not over, though approaches are more subtle.

I had my own ego trip forty years ago. I was about to marry an attractive young lady twenty-five years my junior. I was reasonably prosperous though, in her eyes, I was considered super rich. When we approached her parents, her mother, a pragmatic lady, was enthusiastic. [Most women are much more practical than men.] Her father seemed uncertain. When pressed for his objections, he asked, Do you think my daughter would still be interested in you if you did not have so much wherewithal? I laughed and answered, Would you ask me a similar question if I were very handsome, and she wanted to marry me for my looks? It is perfectly acceptable for a man to choose a partner because she is beautiful. Why should a woman be considered a gold digger if she seeks a partner who is rich? Is the man called a beauty digger? If we condemn such relationships, shouldn’t the blame be placed equally?

A good friend of mine, a very successful international businessman and a notorious womanizer, tells me that he hates the term. In the public eye, womanizer has a negative connotation, a faint whiff of fire and brimstone, an implication that one is doing something immoral, if not illegal. Note that there is no parallel term manizer. [Slut has an entirely different connotation.] Still, the practice is certainly an equal opportunity occupation. This opprobrium probably originated either with women fearful of straying husbands or, more likely, from the macho concept that a woman is property and must be protected from lechery, i.e. other men’s lechery. Whatever the source, in the opinion of this writer, the whole concept stinks. It is part of the recent subjugation of men to the growing power of women in our society, a subjugation which has slowly but surely been accelerating.

My friend claims, and I agree, that the subject of womanizing is rife with hypocrisy. Most men, regardless of their protestations, would become womanizers if they had the time, opportunity, exposure and wherewithal. Unfortunately, most of us work nine to five jobs in small offices or factories where opportunities for meeting available women are limited. In spite of this, enough men take advantage of this limited supply to insure that office romances are ubiquitous, as frequently illustrated in novels and movies. Men who move around and have wider exposure usually take advantage of their contact opportunities. Almost all pilots, traveling salesmen, railroad personnel, overseas workers and sailors (a girl in every port) womanize. Sports heroes and rock idols make sexual news every day. Incidentally, the same rule applies to mobile women, e.g. flight attendants, who rack up affairs as well as miles, and school teachers, who regularly travel on long summer vacations.

Probably the most extreme hypocrisy on the subject of womanizing was the ordeal that President Bill Clinton had to go through because of his foolish little parties with Monica Lewinsky. Was he a good President? Did he bring peace and prosperity to the Country? Was he intelligent, well organized, capable? All irrelevant. Horrors! The S.O.B., a married man, let a young girl go down on him. Let him burn in Hell—or at least be impeached. All this invective from politicians, most of whom, given the chance, would undoubtedly have succumbed. Most of them already have. Womanizing, even in high places, should be a personal affair. If the man is married and his tryst is discovered, his wife obviously has a say in the matter. It is no one else’s fuckin’ business. Hypocrites, of course, disagree.

How many women does a man need to seduce (or be seduced by) to be termed a womanizer? Good question. Believe it or not, there are a few heroes who have had more than 1,000 conquests. People like Frank Sinatra, Mick Jagger or Portfirio Rubirosa are probable examples. I have heard claims of up to 5,000 women, but remain skeptical. Assuming an active sex life of sixty years (starting at the age of fifteen and terminating or dwindling at seventy-five), reaching such a figure would require nearly two conquests a week. Since some preliminary wooing is almost always required, and not all are one-night-stands, it boggles the mind to think that anyone could reach that horrendous number. After all, the legendary Don Juan claimed only about 2,500 mistresses and, while Casanova’s memoirs boast that he made love to thousands, the written records of the time list only 116. Even I have done better than that. Among the younger set, this may not seem like a terribly high number of amours but, for my generation, it is way above average.

I have no figures, real or imagined, as to the number of conquests made on the distaff side of the womanizing equation, but the number is rapidly increasing, particularly between younger women and mature men. The naive may ask what possible reason a sensible girl could have for pursuing or accepting a relationship with a much older man, particularly if the man is married? Putting aside infatuation and hero worship, since older men are more likely to be well-fixed, there are often attractive material opportunities which beckon. Gifts of designer clothing or expensive jewelry. Even small but elegant gifts such as upscale sexy silk undergarments, e. g. what we used to call a dance set. [Boy, am I showing my age.] All-expense-paid assignations in far-away places. Gourmet meals in four-star restaurants. In short, quid pro quo or perhaps quiff pro quo. And maybe even love, which is itselfquid pro quo. We all tend to fall in love with those who dote on us and take good care of us. When consenting adults over twenty-one go into such situations with eyes wide open, it is their business, not ours.

Even if marriage is unlikely, the affair can be exciting while it lasts. Why not just enjoy the ego trip of being pursued by powerful men, be they politicians, successful actors, TV personalities, rock stars, sports icons or just plain old Daddy Warbucks? Women’s liberationists find these scenarios disturbing, but it is exactly the liberation of women which has made such affairs more commonplace. There are many young women these days who, aware of the perils, still say, Why the Hell not?

From my own womanizing experience, once I could afford to treat the ladies well, I found and still find it almost impossible to describe the heartwarming glow on the face of a woman who has just received an expensive gift, one which she never in a million years thought possible to own. Or the excitement of a young lady, previously bound by economics to her native town or country, when you introduce her to Paris or New York or Honolulu. A television ad shows a young lady being told by her parents that they are giving her a new CD player for her 18th birthday. They then pull back window curtains and show her a new automobile (obviously with a CD player inside) with a large gift bow on top. A look of astonishment spreads over her face, which then turns into a look of sheer joy as she dashes outside to look at her gift. I can’t believe it, she screams. On a smaller scale, the reactions were similar with my ladyloves. One woman I travelled extensively with was angry and depressed when we broke up, but today is a friend who admits that our times together constituted the best years of her life. Womanizers give as well as receive. Bluenoses will claim that these young women are selling themselves. No, they are trading human experiences, something we all do every day. Are there broken hearts and sometimes extended periods of sorrow after many of these liaisons end? Of course. But the sad fact of life is, no pain—no gain. A person who never makes a mistake never achieves anything. Is there occasionally a suicide or a real tragedy as a result of a breakup? Sure, just as there are suicides and major tragedies