A Musical Memory of a Distant Time

This is a piece in response to the Wicked Wednesday blog prompt.  Click on the link at the bottom of the page to read posts from other bloggers.

Is there a tune or style of music that gets your juices flowing? Is there an artist who gets your heart pumping, toe tapping, and heat rising?

Time to share a story or comment of the sensuality caused by those opening notes as they slide up and penetrate your ears.


I was twenty-eight and he was nineteen, the ideal combination probably. A male’s libido is supposed to peak at nineteen, and a woman’s much later.

“Is there something wrong with me?” he would say, “I can’t stop thinking about sex every minute of the day.”

“No, you are a normal nineteen year old,” I would reassure him, as I reaped the benefit of his excess sexual energy.  But the truth was that he was the first nineteen year old lover that I had ever had.  Previous ones were older than me, so I had no idea whether his constant urge to get my clothes off at every available opportunity was normal or not.  But I certainly wasn’t complaining.

We met at agricultural college, and had sex in just about every place we could imagine – the hay barn, an empty pigsty, my car. He even had me from behind when I bent over a railing to stroke a calf. Nice surprise!  I expect the calf was startled too.  Music was important to us both, and was the backdrop to most of our sexual exploits.  I liked soul and R n’ B, and he preferred Deep Purple and David Bowie – especially in his Ziggy Stardust days.

The best times we had involved both sex and music, on a single-sized mattress in my very basic flat (I couldn’t afford a bed at the time) while listening to Pink Floyd, which he was crazy about. Thinking about it now still brings shivers to my body, even after all these years. What he lacked in experience and finesse, he more than made up for in energy and recovery time. We found ourselves synchronising our movements to the rise and fall of the music; the sounds surging through our bodies and racing around our blood streams in hot pulsating rhythm, as though we were possessed by it.  That is the best way to appreciate music, in my opinion, in the arms of a sexy young man I was crazy about, whose body was honed to perfection from several years of farm work.  During our time together we listened to many bands, and he even came to like much of my soul music, but it was the sound of Pink Floyd that nearly always ended in hot, sweaty sex.  We did get a bed after a while, but it never felt quite the same as on the mattress.

Music has the power to transport you to another place, and overwhelm the mind and body so that you imagine that the rhythm, the melody, the guitar riffs and the vocals were written solely for the two of you and intended for that exact moment.  Music makes good sex into great sex, and made me feel, regardless of what the mirror told me, that I was the coolest, sexiest woman who ever walked the earth.

We were together for eight years, but remained good friends until the very sad and premature end of his life from cancer. One day, some years after we had ceased to be lovers, as we walked across the land he then farmed, he said just two words to me, “Pink Floyd”, and I knew exactly what he meant. There was no need of explanation.  I don’t want to listen to Pink Floyd now.  I can’t listen to Pink Floyd now.  That was then and this is now, and I have made other musical memories since then.  But I will always remember how he and Pink Floyd’s music made me feel in those heady days of early love.






12 thoughts on “A Musical Memory of a Distant Time

  1. First of all a warm welcome to Wicked Wednesday.

    As I read through your story I loved the memory you shared, but by the end of it I had a lump in my throat. It’s beautiful yet sad. Thank you for sharing.

    Rebel xox


    1. Thanks, Rebel. I hesitated quite a while before I wrote it, because I haven’t written a personal story before. It sort of leaves you a little vulnerable than when you write about fictional characters. Glad you liked it.


  2. I LOVE this . . . the single-sized mattress on the floor! LOL!!! Exactly my own memories of my first passionate evenings at my (then) boyfriend’s (now Hubby) bedsit. And you are so right, the musical soundtrack to those first lustful discoveries still brings back such strong memories of those moments in time.
    Wonderful story . . . thank you so much for re-stirring my own recollections . . . perhaps as more time passes you will be able to listen again to that music and enjoy the memory of the love and passion that accompanied it.
    Xxx – K


    1. Thanks for commenting. It was almost a right of passage, wasn’t it? A crummy bedsit, no furniture, and music that stirred the emotions. I still have a link to my past through his son, who is my godson. Life goes on.


  3. I keep trying to write something . . . helpful? kind?

    This was lovely and I’m glad you shared it.


    1. Thanks for your comments. Yes it is a little sad, but as I commented to someone else, life goes on. He lived long enough to see his only son, my godson, marry and see his first grandchild, for which I am thankful. So part of him will live on.


  4. I’m so glad I didn’t use Pink Floyd for mine, now…hehe. Their tunes, however, do have that beautiful/sad memory string pull to them.



    1. I can’t remember the names of the songs now, but I do remember that the LPs (yes, pre cassettes and CDs!) were The Dark Side of the Moon, and The Wall. Sorry, I moved my Eighties photo from the page before you read it. Terrified that one of my young relatives or friends might see it, although I have changed a bit since then. I like to go incognito (and that’s not the name of a new sexual technique!)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s