My new sexual orientation...

It's common knowledge that every cyclist is a sexual tyrannosaurus. Or at least in my house that's true. It's also true that the tyrannosaurus hasn't been out and about for quite some time, so maybe it's not a good idea to link one's sex life with an extinct reptile. While I don't get out much, either, I'm still alive and kicking.

Here's a near universal secret about men – we lie about sex. It's true! This probably comes as a great shock to some of you, so go get a drink while you get over that case of the vapors. I myself have been know to lie about various and sundry things including sex, except for that bit about being stalked by super models. Fortunately, they have difficulty running fast in heels and a slinky dress, so I've been able to evade them so far. Mary doesn't believe any of this and just rolls her eyes when I talk about it. I've warned her that they could kidnap me, fly me off to Rio de Janiero, and force-feed me Italian food and glass after glass of good red wine on a beach somewhere. They'd take their time, but eventually they'd have their way with me. Mary just looks over the top of her glasses when I say this and mumbles something about marriage.

At the dinner table one night, a place where family conversation roars off on wild tangents all too often, we were talking about celebrity sex tapes. Lyndsay asked, “Why do they do that? What is it that compels them to make a tape and put it on the Internet?”

“Some do it for the money”, Mary said. “And others do it for notoriety.”

A little light went on in my head, and my mouth started speaking before the brain had fully engaged – another common occurrence. “Hey! I could make a sex tape and sell it on line!”

Lyndsay lurched forward with Pepsi coming out of her nose. That's gotta hurt.

The mouth went on while the brain frantically tried to catch up. “Cyclists have granite thighs and bulging calf muscles. And I have this one big ab rather than a bunch of little ones. One of my female co-workers says that a man of a certain age really should have some meat on his bones, and in my case it's meat with a fine marbling of fat. I hope I never end up in some cannibal's cook pot! Maybe this should be one of those negative response deals. I could send out mailers telling people that unless they send me money, I'll send them my sex tape!”

By this time Lyndsay had recovered. “Dad, no one would be bothered by your sex tape. From what Mom says, it would consist of shots of you sleeping on your left side, sleeping on your right side, or snoring on both.”

Those mother-daughter chats have gone too far. I resolved to speak with She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed about it....later. Meanwhile, the best defense was a good offense, so I said, “What! Who do you believe, your mother or me? I'll have you know that women throw themselves at me! I can't walk out that front door without....”

Mary interrupted. “Oh, what do you know about women!” she said in that exasperated tone women develop when confronted with a particularly obtuse spouse. “In all the years I've known you, some have trolled by trying to get your interest, and you never even noticed!” She named a few while the kids listened intently, storing up ammunition for future family 'discussions'. “You're just plain dumb when it comes to women.”

The hell of it is – she's right. I am dumb about women. I simply do not understand why they act as they do. Maybe it's some new psychological malady, a behavior disorder we can call dumbo-sexuality. And if it's a disease, there must be a cure. If, like me, you're a victim of the heart-rending scourge of dumbo-sexuality, please send $19.95 for my new DVD, “Dumbo-Sexuals: Overcoming Cluelessness”. Please include $4.95 for shipping and handling.

I'm not that dumbo.