Polyamorous Conversations With Monogamous People

My relationship styles have changed consistently over the years, always ebbing and flowing with what I needed, or thought I needed, at the time.  I’ve been monogamous, poly, and even a somewhat interesting combination of the two which I think Facebook has termed something like “It’s complicated”, and right they were.

There are very unique qualities to these types of relationships, where if you haven’t lived as each at some point or another, you really can’t take a step back far enough to be able to say just what those are.  A recent conversation with my sexy running friend really brought this into focus for me last week. We were texting one night, and as most of our conversations go, who knows what it even was really about.  Texts are like highlights of mental processes kept brief for efficiency.  It’s like reading the Cliff’s Notes of a real conversation.  Somehow in the midst of this texting, the subject of this girl who had been none to shy with her advances towards him came up.  Seeing as he didn’t seem to be rebuffing, I asked him if he had designs on fucking her. If I’m going to be fucking someone, I like to know who else will be playing in the pool, and I made that known.

The conversation that followed my query was a very clear example of the uniquenesses between monogamous and polyamorous people.

polyI admit that I can be a judgmental person.  Fuck, we all are.  I think it’s dishonest to not admit that on some level, everyone is, no matter how much they plead otherwise.  This girl is a stripper.  Having known an acquaintance friend who was a stripper, and hearing stories from her and her friends first hand, I know strippers sling ass like diners sling pancakes on a Sunday morning.  That’s cause enough to make me reconsider even jumping in the pool if I know she’ll possibly be sharing too.  For that reason, I asked him to let me know if he did, and I added, that I would offer the same courtesy as well if I have sex with someone else in addition to him.

His response? “lol I don’t mind.  I have no claim on you, and we haven’t done anything yet really”

My response? “It’s not about claim, it’s about health.  Hello? STDs?  You’re already claimed lol”,  to which he replied, “I assume you will be as smart and as safe as possible.  But yeah, if you get an STD, tell me”

Say what? “If” I?  I don’t want to be in that position.

I was really bothered by that, and the more I thought it over, I realized why.  I was trying to have a very normal, run of the mill, polyamorous conversation with a monogamous person, and there in lay my problem. In a polyamorous relationship, when adding lovers to the mix, it’s done with full disclosure to pre-existing partners.  Since I am inches away from dropping my panties, I figured I would ask beforehand.  Polyamory, when done well and right, is about honesty and choice, and how those two meet.  communicate

Now, I am all for multiple partners, but I like to know who the players are.  Too may people in the pool make me uncomfortable, and yes, that is where my choice comes in.  I have ceased being lovers with people in the past when I felt they were sleeping with too many people at the same time, or felt the partners they chose were out of my comfort zone for the same reason. I like being healthy, and would like to stay that way, thank you.  This was, to me, a very basic conversation to have when multiple partners are involved. 

I realize now that this is incredibly hypocritical of me considering I am ready to take a man to bed who is doing so behind the back of the current lover he has.  It’s more than kind of foolish of me to expect honesty from someone who is being dishonest to his own girlfriend.  She isn’t getting the same curtsey, so why should I dare to expect the same?  Perhaps these are questions and quandaries that are unique to a polyamorous mindset.

What I found very interesting too was this idea of “claim”, and how in my wanting to know, or my desire to inform, about additional sexual partners, must be about some sense of ownership.  How does open disclosure equal claim?  It’s not necessarily a uniquely monogamous thought I suppose, seeing as in some poly situations there is the potential for veto power from existing partners, so what then? Why claim? And then it dawned on me, that sometimes monogamy can be confused with control, and in that control, ownership of the individual you share the relationship with.  They are yours and no one elses sexually.  It’s not meant to be, because it’s based on a mutual choice to be  exclusive, but humans by nature are territorial creatures, and sometimes that animal comes out even in the best relationships.

When I was married back when I was 22, my husband insisted that no one else could see me naked.  He went with me to a clothing optional campground, and although everyone else was going in the hot tub and pool naked, he told me I had to wear my bathing suit.  Why? Because I was his.  He didn’t want anyone else but himself to see his wife naked. I’m not sure why this seemed so dangerous to him.  I believe he felt that it was an invitation for others to want me, and the clothing was akin to a lock and a key on something he had captured.  To me nudity is very comfortable, very freeing, and I just don’t see what there was about it that was so disturbing to him for me to be naked in the company of others who were too.  I honestly at the time had no designs on straying, but I can tell you without a doubt that this was the first nail in the coffin of our relationship. I am not a thing to be owned.

I am not something to be controlled or tamed.  I certainly would not wish to inflict this sort of ownership on anyone else either.  This is where all relationships find doom, no matter how many partners are involved.

So monogamous people, please don’t feel I am saying you’re all a bunch of control freaks.  I know this is not the case.  You can have freedom even with commitments.  I know this and have lived this.  And polyamorous people, don’t think I’m saying that somehow you are loftier than monogs because of your honesty and candid disclosure, because I have firsthand experience that is not the case as well.

Thank you every day conversations for brining to light the differences between how people from different relationship styles communicate.

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Decisions, Decisions, Or Otherwise Known As Adventures In Relationships

Back in the summer of 2004 I went out to California for a workshop on love, sexuality, and intimacy.  There were multiple levels of this workshop series, and the 3rd level just happened to be out on the west coast that July.  Now, this post is going to be tricky because when you take these workshops you promise not to divulge what happens during them or who was in attendance, so as not to color a possible participant’s experience, but there is just no way to write this without breaking that promise, so here goes nothing.  I will try my best to be vague where I can be.

At the time when I made the decision to travel to California to do level 3, I had just started dating someone casually about a month prior.  We met while I was re-taking level 1 earlier that April.  Re-taking levels is not as powerful an experience as it is the first time you take a workshop, mostly because you know what’s coming and can plan your choices around that knowledge.  In short, you can manipulate your experience to suit your desires or needs.  Meeting Peter in that workshop influenced a lot of my choices.

When I met BackPeter I was in an open relationship with someone else.  I wasn’t in love with that person, and truth be told, he was a real dick.  He was, however, convenient, and was my rebound relationship.  These two things I know in hindsight, but was not fully aware of at the time.

Peter was in an open-marriage, and oddly enough, his wife was dating one of my FWB’s.  This was how I came to be introduced to him.

Confused yet?  Welcome to the wide world of sports…open relationship style.

On the evening of my first date with Peter, he confided to me how much he hated being in an open marriage, and that as much as he loved his wife, he really didn’t want to be sharing her with other people.  It was because of this that he had decided to divorce her.  He felt he was only being poly as a drastic measure to keep his marriage, but that it was very much not what he wanted.  He wanted monogamy.  Whoa.

It’s important to know this backstory just so that what I am about to share resonates on the level of WTF? that it should.

So fast forward to July.  By this time I had stopped dating jerk boyfriend and was only seeing Peter.  We were still not what I considered to be monogamous, or at least we had put no such declarations on our dating one another.  Especially seeing as he was still married, and even if he was no longer having sex with his wife,  I wasn’t putting all my eggs in his basket.  However, things between us were in that wonderfully sweet NRE stage (new relationship energy).  You know, the stage where you’re totally enamored with each other, love even the annoying things one another does, and are shagging like rabbits every chance you get?  Yep, that was us.

I had planned to go to California on my own.  Those plans were made long before this thing with Peter became a “thing”.   My flights were booked, and I was set for adventure.  Peter had been trying to convince me to do some other workshop he had done, and off the cuff I had said “Why don’t you come to California and do level 3 with me?”, never expecting that he actually would.  And then he called me at work a few days later to say he was going.  My response was “Going where?” Ha!  That was how much I didn’t expect it, and yet, now I was excited that he would be joining me.  Even more so because I had planned it so that I was playing tourist in northern California for a few days once the workshop was over, so now I had a travel companion.  After all, in the very short time we had been seeing one another we had managed to do the first 2 levels of this workshop series together.  I guess it seemed to just click into place.

polyNow, in keeping with the title of “love, intimacy, and sexuality”, the workshops can get rather intense as they progress through the levels.  The evening before we were to head up to the workshop, we had been forewarned by someone we had met that had done it previously that when they say “If you came with a partner, you might want to check in with them and see if you want to do this next exercise together”, that it was in our best interest to ALWAYS do those exercises together.  It was because of this advice that we started having a discussion about our relationship boundaries, and from this talk, we decided two things:  1) we would always do those exercises together as suggested, and 2) we would be monogamous  with one another while there.

For me, I remember thinking that it made no sense to possibly ruin a potentially wonderful relationship by having a fling with someone who lived 3,000+ miles away from me.  For Peter, I am guessing he based his decision on his feelings over non-monogamy with his wife.

I almost immediately regretted this decision.

The workshop began on a Friday night, and would conclude on Sunday morning.  Here we were, nestled in this beautiful northern Californian mountain range just north of the Napa Valley, surrounded by lush forrest, in a tiny town that most people have never heard of, secluded far from our daily lives.  The workshop was held at a clothing optional retreat center.  It was very easy to feel almost removed from what you knew your life to be while there.

We weren’t too far into the beginning of the workshop when it became obvious that a short, Australian, blonde girl similar in age to me (29) had taken a real interest in Peter (42).  It went above interest to almost a level of competitiveness, as if she felt she was looking to “steal my man”, which I found a tad odd for the kind of workshop we were in, but she exuded that energy nonetheless.  Peter, well, he was totally loving the attention, and wasn’t at all shy in returning flirtations with her of his own.  Dare I say, he was very encouraging.

As for me, I saw what I wanted the moment we arrived and were in line to check in.  He was everything that catches my eye: tall, confident, broad shouldered, with dark wavy hair and almost icy hazel eyes, and I immediately needed to know him.  This is where I regretted my previous decision of monogamy because, oh my god, I wanted to climb that man like a tree.  Of course, I am also practical, so I reminded myself that a fling with someone who lived on the other side of the country from me wasn’t as important to me as the possibility of what I had going with Peter, and also, I had no idea if this bronze statuesque man was even available for that sort of thing.

As it got later into the first evening of the workshop, Peter and I did our own thing, sitting together when we were all in a large group, but off on our own for various exercises.  We had yet to encounter those “check in with your partner” ones yet.  Nothing was uncomfortable.  Nothing except this girl’s relentless pursuit of Peter while she eyed me.  Who knows, maybe she was looking for a foursome?  She did come paired with some skinny, somewhat effeminate gay boyfriend, who I just assumed with my “Gaydar” was more “friend” than lover.   Perhaps he was bi, but he sure seemed to love her competitiveness with me.  Peter seemed to be soaking it up.  It was this kind of energy that just made things feel weird.

I kept a safe, across the room, distance from the man I had eyes for.  If he came towards me, I went the other way.  At some point, somehow, it was revealed that he was indeed, poly.  Obstacle one, removed, only made me want him more.  To this day I still cannot remember his name, and I wish i did.

The workshop concluded for the night at around 11pm, and Pete and I decided to go up the hill to the more private pools for a swim.  I remember walking about the hill, along the paved road, under this blanket of navy blue velvet sky, gazing up at the hundreds of silver stars that decorated it, and having this deep discussion about what was going on with this girl and him.  All the while I never said anything about my desire for Mr. Tall Dark and Delicious.

Peter talked his way through all the thoughts that he was having about this Aussie lass, and her obvious pursuit of him, and how he wouldn’t mind returning those advances more fully and having a dalliance with her, but how he felt it would mean pulling away from me, and he didn’t want that.  He was there with me, and this all was momentary anyway.  I breached a sigh of relief in some ways to hear we were on the same page as far as that went.

I remember mentioning my same thoughts over  the guy I’d been eyeing.  He seemed quite opposed to that.

What I found most interesting, somewhat hurtful, and in some ways, most hypocritical, was that for someone that seemed to be so staunchly non-monogamous, he seemed to be very easily swayed.  I mean, honestly, don’t chastise your wife for wanting to be poly and insist that you don’t, when you’re really way keener on the idea than you let on.  And I guess you could say I was hypocritical for having the same feelings and desires, but the difference for me is that I was not the one who proposed the rules for our workshop participation, but I did agree to them.  I was also, how shall I say, much more subtle with my admiring of others.

So, now we have really come to the question I have been pondering lately, why do we choose the things we choose?

Fast forward to Saturday morning’s workshop exercise…still not one of “those” exercises, but still to this day ranks as one of the sensuous experiences I have ever had.

The men were lead out into another room, and all of us women stayed in the main room.  We had no idea what is being said to the men while they were away, we were just laying there on the floor waiting for them to return.  There was some soft, New Agey type music playing and I’m sure the workshop facilitator is saying something of importance, but I don’t remember it.  When the men were let back into the room, they were told to pick a female partner and kneel down beside her.  I am having some mild ambivalence about who will pick me, only because you never knew with the nature of these things just what would be happening, but then he knelt down beside me.

I’d done my best to avoid him when I could, but there was nothing I could do now.  He had chosen me.  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious was kneeling next to me looking into my eyes, and I could not escape, and I didm’t want to either.  Oh, it should also be noted that we were both naked.  (Almost everyone was naked, or in some half-dressed sort of state.  At the beginning of each day they offer you the choice to be naked, and every day I chose this option, as did most people)  I was so thrilled he had chosen me, and never once did I wonder who Peter chose.  I was fairly certain I knew anyway.  In this moment I was completely captivated by this man.

The instructions came that the men were to take the small bottle of nail polish they held, and to begin painting our nails.  He had chosen this pearlescent pink-white color, which I thought oddly matched me perfectly.  No words ever passed between us.  The whole room was instructed to remain silent.

He held each of my long, slender, fingers tenderly in his hand, and one by one, painted each nail slowly.  Each long, languid, stroke became like a well-placed caress painted across my skin, and he held my gaze to make certain I knew that was his intention.  His eyes would travel the length of my body, and then return with hunger.  A hunger he found reflected back from mine.  It wasn’t a ravenous hunger, no restrained beast was  being reined in.  His eyes, his touch, his hands, all said he would take his time with me.  His ravaging of my body would be a slow, sensual feasting.

He repeated the same gestures with my left hand.  The entire experience then, and when I recall it now, all seemed to be almost dreamlike.  It seemed to both go on forever, and yet, pass by far too quickly.  It was like being lost in another world, and not necessarily wanting to return.

And just like that, the exercise was over.  Voices returned to break the silence, and the dreamlike bubble I was existing in with this man, dissolved.  Shortly after this, we broke for lunch.  We all made plates indoors from a buffet at the back of the room, and then took them to sit outside on the deck where sunlight filtered through the trees and blue skies hung above.  Peter and I ended up sharing a round patio table with several other people, one of whom was my sensual nail painter.  It was a quiet lunch, even though I remember we all enjoyed talking together.  I remember admiring my nails and thanking him for doing such an impressive job, and I remember wanting to say more, but instead being lost in that quiet, wordless gaze that happens between two people when they’re not sure just what or how to say it.

Even to this day, I’m not sure I ever really shared with Peter just how deep and sensuous that experience with that man had been for me, or how I had really wished it had been more.  We both kept our agreements to one another during the rest of the workshop,, with some minor bending which we both agreed to.  He told Aussie girl to cool her jets, and she did.  I kept myself in check with my own interest.

As for the “check in with your partner” exercises, there were two, and I was exceptionally thankful that we heeded the advice of that previous attendee.  One of them, and by far the most intense, involved stimulating your partner to orgasm via her g-spot.  That could have gone SO badly had I been paired with someone else.  In fact, unless it had been my nail painting friend, I know I would’ve opted out, because I don’t like being touched by people I am unattracted to, let alone let their fingers have a play date in my vagina. Whoever that guy was that gave us that advice, I am eternally thankful to you, my friend!  I was also thankful that fate had it so Peter ended up in California with me for that workshop.  That was not something, nor was the 2nd exercise of similar risk that followed, I had been been prepared to be open to experiencing with a roomful of strangers present.

All of that aside, it doesn’t even really begin to speak to how either of us would have felt emotionally had we not listened to that advice, and instead chose different partners.  What if I ended up with a partner that I didn’t want to do the exercise with, and what if he ended up strumming Aussie girl to her edge while I sat on the sideline?  What if he chose not to do the exercise for some reason, and I ended up with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious making me thrust and squirt all over his fingers?  I’m fairly certain when I say this that neither of us would’ve been the least bit okay with experiencing that emotional torpedo.

So, obviously, some boundaries are in place for good reason.  We choose some agreements in relationships that make sense, and others that leave us questioning.  Years later I find myself wondering why we even bothered choosing to be monogamous at that point in the first place.  It was obvious that each of us had desires that lead elsewhere, but that we quelled.  And while I suppose at any time we could have decided otherwise, we still chose to not follow them.

In weighing out all the possibilities and the consequences, real or perceived, I think we all make the best choices we can in the moment we have to make them.  The question remains, why do we?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peek-A-Boo, I See You

The internet is a bizarre place. You think it’s totally anonymous if you want it to be but it never really is.  Do you know there are sites that can tell you who is searching for you by name in Google and such?

I just found out that my ex-FWB Norris is apparently is doing just that.

It’s not like he doesn’t know where I am.  I live in the same place, as does he, and we know where each other works.  Finding each other isn’t something that would be difficult in any sense of the word.  Although, when I told him I was disconnecting from him for my own mental and emotional well-being, I deleted and blocked him from everything: email, messenger, Facebook, anything I had as a means of easy contact.

This was less about him, and more about me.  Neither one of us is the crazy stalker type.  I knew when I said that was it that he wasn’t going to follow me.  It was like I was quitting him like a drug, and I needed to go “cold turkey”.  I needed no way I could backslide into that “relationship” again. That “relationship” being the 17 year long game of emotional roller coastering with him. It can be summed up very easily by Katy Perry’s song “Hot and Cold”  It has been since September of 2012 that we’ve spoken.

Still, there Norris is, looking for me.  I think it’s more “checking up on” me, really.

I admit to being guilty of the same thing with him.  I want to know he’s ok, that he’s happy, that his kids are doing well, and that maybe he finally found someone that he didn’t have to run away from.  Apparently I am not the only one who’s wondering from a distance.  I suppose that’s what loving someone will do to you.

I know that he sent me clients at work, and I know one of them was there purposefully to find out whether I was single or not.  Let’s just say, if you are going to send someone to “spy” for you, make sure they are a little more subtle.    I can piece together P90X, Jeet Kun Do, and “your boyfriend must love you for this” pretty easily thanks.  Also, it’s not so much what spy client asked me, but more what he didn’t ask me that was the deal clincher.

Admittedly again, I’ve wanted to write Norris lately.  It’s not the first time I had the urge, but I’m rallying against it, and reminding myself that my choice to disengage was best no matter how much I may miss him.

In honor of that feeling, here is the song that Norris said always made him think of me.

Just What Are You Referring To?

This was just too funny not to share.  Below you have the most popular things searched for that referred them to my super saucy little black dress of a blog. That means that someone Googled, Yahoo’d, or Binged these interesting words or phrases and it led them right here.

These are the results for the last 30 days.

Search Views
saposexual 42
erogenous 3
what is saposexual 2
meaning of saposexual 2
customizable erogenous stories 1
femaleanalsex 1
tips for beginning dominant 1
enormous stories cock female doctor 1
define: saposexual 1
saposexual definition 1
bd for beginners sex 1
wjat is saposexual 1
spanking with a silicone spatula for fun 1
lady cheeky sex positions pics 1
dr ruth sucks cock

 

I particularly love the very last one “Dr Ruth sucks cock”.  Now THAT my friends is kinky!

I’m Still Here Or Otherwise Known As My Excuses For Not Blogging Recently

It’s been almost a month and a half since I have written anything of substance here.

There have been two or three well-meaning writing attempts, but then my undiagnosed ADD combined with my writers block takes over, and all I end up with is a lot of Facebook surfing and hair twirling, as I stare idly into the white glow of my monitor.

This lull in winter is not the best for me.  My body yearns for spring and summer, and my mind, in protest, engages in a sort of mental hibernation to compliment my physical one.  I am not an outdoor winter person, I am a “I have a serious Netflix addiction” and hot tea person.  I’m not anti-social, I just hate the cold, and I’m not really into the traditional Northeasterner Saturday night bar hopping scene.  Drunk people annoy me.

I’m not a total recluse though, don’t get me wrong.  I like to have fun and I like people, so I force myself to brave the cold long enough to punch my dance card every now and then.  I’m not ready for the flannel nighty yet though I have been known to sport some super sexy flannel pajama bottoms adorned with multi-color snowflakes.  Hey, I have to keep the goods warm somehow, right?  And flannel is cozy, but I digress.

My friend Casandra and I went out for some Saturday night schmoozing.  I suggested this one bar that I knew had karaoke.  You know, look, if I am going to have to suffer drunk stupid people, they might as well be entertaining drunk stupid people who make my cover charge worthwhile with bad renditions of Carly Rae Jepson songs, ok?

You haven’t lived until you have seen a fat, balding, middle-aged man sing his own version of it, TRUST ME on this one!  It might have been the pitcher of Sam Adams we shared that helped me to believe this was the highlight of my evening!

I don’t have a video of that, but I managed to find that EXACT guy doing a Kelly Clarkson song on YouTube, so enjoy.  Don’t say I never gave you anything either!


Now to really understand the sheer head-shaking shamefulness of such an evening, you have to know that during each break when someone wasn’t brave or drunk enough to be singing their hearts out, the DJ would play some run of the mill, “par for the course” club music (read Top 40 hip hop) to which all the bedraggled 40 something women dressed like 80’s hookers, and “this is my good tie” insurance salesmenesque bar patrons would run up to the non-existant dance floor corner and proceed to hump and grind like caged zoo animals during mating season, only with less coordination and sense of purpose.

Did I mention this bar can be found at the end of a busy road that is peppered with a minimum of 5 hotels?  So the air of desperation permeates the room like a thick, choking,  smoke.

I know, it sounds dreadfully dire, but Cass and I were laughing pretty much the whole time.  Except the time when we were singing, no wait, we were still laughing through that too!

We sang a duet to Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” because she said it was the one thing she knew all the words to, and although they have a monitor scrolling all the lyrics as you croon away, it doesn’t help much when I : A) leave my glasses at home, and B) am tipsy enough that I really don’t care how accurate I am.  I had to redeem myself though because I do love to sing, so I picked a song I love, and prefaced it with this,

“I’m going to sing a sing that most likely none of you know…but I don’t give a fuck”  That got an “Ooooh” from the table of 20-something, football fans in the back.

I was not too shabby if I do say so myself, and I got applause, but drunk people are easy like that. I could have sung my receipt from my Starbucks run earlier that afternoon and they still would have loved it.  After all, they clapped for Carly Rae “My belly is hanging over my pants” guy too, so I’m not gearing up to try out for The Voice anytime soon. LOL  Plus, as well as I know this song like he back of my well-manicured hand, I totally know I made up words and shit that night.  Sam Adams Boston Lager, you are such a font of improv creativity!

The table of football-loving wish they were frat boys attempted to call me over to their table after I came down from the mic, but I just kept walking.  If I ignited some fire, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go bring my match to the flame!  And like I said, drunk people annoy me, and I wasn’t up for faking polite and smiley interest.

Oh yes, and there was the 3.5 minutes of Macarena line dancing that Cass left me on my own for, to be self-appointed ring leader to my own troop of drunken hip-shaking dancers, but hey when I’m called to lead, I have to answer!  It’s in my blood, yo.  That’s just how I roll.

This is so unlike my 20’s where such escapades would have led to this very same scene just described with me topless except for my lace demi bra, so at least I can marvel how my 30’s have matured me!

Did I mention this was all on the eve of the Daylight Savings Time switch?  Thank god I had the day free to sleep in without guilt, or I would have been like Linda Blair for sure!

The moral of this story?  I need to get out more, and definitely NOT to this bar!

Coming soon to a blog post near you….

1) My 24 hour experience with online dating sites

2) The continuing “hide and seek” of my libido

3) Just how many partners is “too many”

and the biggie

4) My decision to go back to school to pursue a degree in Sexology!

Musings Of A Gun Shy Heart

In follow-up to my latest post “Reminders of An August Afternoon“, I sat down tonight to watch Take This Waltz, and was left with the following questions chasing each other around in my mind:  In no particular order…

Do I choose people who I know will leave me?

Do I choose people I know I will eventually leave?

Is every relationship, no matter how filled with fireworks and rainbows in the beginning, doomed to fall into the familiar slumber of boredom, leaving us/me/them to feel like something is missing?brokenheart

Is having multiple lovers really the answer to this, or the cause of more of these feelings of something missing?

What kind of relationships will my daughter have as she begins to grow up and out into the world?

What does lasting love look like?

Have I set a bad example for my daughter in that I have yet to find someone with whom I can find and sustain a loving partnership with?

Things I know about what I want for myself

I really don’t want to share or be shared

I don’t want to be with someone controlling

I don’t want a relationship without passion

I need intimacy and emotional connection

I enjoy sex often

The more I love someone, the more sexual I want to be with them

Physical affection is important to me

Intelligence turns me on and its important to me  (it’s always the first or second thing I say when I am asked to tell someone why/how I find someone attractive)

I like someone who can walk in both worlds; someone who likes the finer things in life, but also is down to earth

I want a man who is a man, and not a boy living in the body of a 40-year-old.  I do not want to be a grown man’s mother.

Honesty and integrity are valued highly by me, and I need them from anyone who would be a potential long-term partner.  I give it and expect to receive it.

My health is very important to me.  I want someone who values their physical health and their emotional one

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.  If you think it’s good for you, and only you, and expect something different for me, you are sadly mistaken.

Does any of this even exist?

It’s All Or Nothing

Lately my libido has been confusing me. I normally think I have a fairly high libido, as far as female libidos go comparison-wise, but it seems to be playing hide n’ seek with me recently. I spend much more time seeking it than I would care too. It used to be reliably omnipresent. I know these things ebb and flow, but my libido’s recent “no-show” is messing with my head (the little tiny pink one, that is).

See, the confusing thing is that I’m actually quite horny, but when I go to release those wonderful pent-up emotions via a little night time diddle before sleep, I can’t seem to find a fantasy that I can stick with, let alone one that really sets me aflame. This leads to me sort of diddling aimlessly, like paddling downstream with only one oar, and not really knowing where you’re going, i.e. extremely frustrating and not very much fun.

This leads me to missing my ex-FWB, but the sex with him really wasn’t all that great (despite the fact that my desire for him is insatiable, so I end up having to make stuff up. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t awful by any means, it just wasn’t good. It seems like a painful dichotomy to have so much sexual desire for someone you know isn’t the greatest in bed, but I guess that’s love for you. You know, I never once had an orgasm with him, faked more than my fair share, but I still loved being with him. This confuses me to this day, but I digress.

You see, I have a penchant to only really enjoy fantasizing about men that I have been with before, or may be with some day. I was never down for imagining myself with celebrities, or strangers. It isn’t what gets me off. Reality is far more exciting, or at least embellishing the reality at hand, more so than something that has no possibility of happening. To this extent, I have had extensive sexual imaginings about a gentleman in my running group, and I really have no clue if it ever would get anywhere near to happening in reality, but it sure is fun to create the vision of in my head! I guess I get off on the possibility of it. I like to imagine what his cock looks like, what it tastes like, what it would be like to ride him, what his lips would feel like, and generally what he’d be like in bed. Sometimes I feel mildly guilty or dare I say shameful for fantasizing such lucid sexual escapades with someone I literally brush shoulders with on such rare occasion, never speak to, and have weekly Words With Friends games with. LOL

You know, I am kind of picky, and it isn’t every day (or even every month) that I look at a man and feel real sexual chemistry, but this guy kissed me on the cheek at our holiday party, and I knew right then what I’d prefer to be doing with him…on top of a nearby table. Points south said “Oh, yesssssssss” This does not happen very often.

What on earth was I talking about? Wow, talk about major sexual ADD, Bat Man….panties

Fantasizing and reality….yeah, that’s it.

So, of the “usual suspects” in my sexual fantasy play book, I just can’t seem to pick one I’m happy with lately. In addition to being heavily turned on by the possibilities that reality in fantasy holds, I also like emotional connection.

Since I am not feeling the desire to connect with any of these men in reality, this is having an adverse affect on my fantasy life. I just don’t feel emotionally comfortable screwing even my own “Holodeck” images of them.

Lately, the ex-boyfriend from 7 years ago seems to be making an appearance in my fantasies. He’s the “Go To” fantasy guy lately because we had such fantastic real-life sexual chemistry, and I guess he’s far enough back in my past that I can only remember what he did to hurt me/piss me off, and I am not actively feeling it. I like to imagine us fucking in the shower because he looked so fucking amazing naked and wet, and we did spend quite a lot of naughty time in bathrooms together, be it our own, or friends’ bathrooms. *smiles* Plus, and I suppose this is such a girl thing to say, I absolutely cum over how the slope of his back looked; the delicious and sinuous curve of his spine from the rise of his shoulders to the dip right above the curve of his ass makes me wet just remembering how it looked glistening underneath the cascade of water from the shower head above. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm. Yes, have some.

Still, in our final days he took the word “asshole” to a whole new level, so this eventually works it’s way into my head and kills my clit buzz.

So, no ex-FWB, no runing guy, and no ex from 7 years ago working out in my fantasies.

I just need to meet someone new. I need a little romance, and the invigorating “tet te tet” of flirting that ensues in the beginning chase. Of course, for me to really want this that has to be a brain flexing its muscles behind the brawn, otherwise it’s a no go.

To quote Huey Lewis, “I want a new drug. One that won’t make me sick”

In other news….these are my latest “me” splurge.  New panties make everything better.

 

The Uh-Oh: Orgasm During Sleep and Dreams That Disturb

I’m not sure what’s going on with me lately.  This is the second weekend in a row in which I had an orgasm, or an almost-gasm, during sleep.  I’ve had this happen before, but it’s fairly uncommon for me.  It maybe happens once or twice a year, if that, not once or twice a week.

This year has been about focussing on me.  Define “focussing on me” as not allowing myself to get distracted with men, and to spend that time and energy doing things/achieving goals for myself.  This blog and the freelance writing gigs that have come from it are part of that.  My new career another, and my distance running, another.  I needed to date “me” for a change.  For awhile I told people I was dating running when they asked if I was seeing anyone.

After my FWB Norris and I stopped being intimate in April, I’ve been limiting myself on lovers.  I have one other FWBs who is long distance.  We see each other, at best, once a year, and we are not always physical lovers when we do see one another.  It usually depended on if I was seeing someone or not.  This year we got to see one another twice (one weekend in May, and a week in late July), and were intimate sexually on both occasions.  Other than that, though I have had offers, I have not taken any other lovers.  I’m at the point now where I feel I am at a place where I can possibly start dating.

Clearly this lack of feeding my sexual appetite has its side effects.

What follows is the dream I was having…

This morning I was dreaming about a man who came to pick something up from me, a sofa or something. In my dream world he was supposedly the brother of my ex-boyfriend “P’s”  current girlfriend/life partner.  The guy was being an ass to me, and so I refused to give him what he came for. He back pedaled and started to make nice.  To punish him I lashed out by telling him that I have been having sex with “P” all the while he has been dating his (the mean guy’s) sister.  He gets pissed off.  He insists I’m lying, and I staunchly state that this has been going on for years between us, and how “P” just can’t give up having sex with me.

(Reality: While it is not true that I have been having sex with my ex, we did have a sexually explicit conversation on several occasions, always with him initiating, where he told me how much he missed our sex life together.  He also suggested we have webcam sex sometime.  I was surprised because this guy has always proclaimed himself a very monogamous creature.  We still have not gone forward with the webcam sex, and all sexual exchanges in words have ceased.)

Continuing in the dream…

We are now traveling in this guy’s truck together to bring whatever it is that he has picked up from me to someplace unknown.  He has morphed into someone else now, though I still believe him to be the same person as before.  Neither version of this dream person I know in real life. I tell him that “P” will never marry his sister.  That he will always just be her “boyfriend”, but will never commit to her.  He agrees that he knows/feels this as well.  Time passes and somehow I am talking about fellatio with this guy, and describing in glorious Technicolor detail how much I enjoy giving head, and how I feel it should be done. This guy is on the hook now, he’s hanging on every word I say.  I can feel the energy of his want filling the air between us.  I tell him I will show him.

We wind up in a house I do not know, and I suspect it is this man’s house.  I don’t know him at all.  I never have.  He is just the supposed brother of  “P’s” girlfriend.

I am so turned on.  I can feel every inch of my skin buzzing with the pulsating electricity of arousal.  It’s very real.  I become aware that it is real outside of dreamland too.  It’s unmistakable.  I’m not attracted to this dream man, not in the least, and still I pull his awaiting erection from his pants, and lower my head between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed before me.  The room is half in shadows born of closed curtains on a cloudy afternoon turning to dusk.

His cock is perfect, and I lower my mouth to take him inside.  I admire the curve of his sleek erection, the veins taut and pulsing beneath his latte colored skin, and how perfect he fits inside my mouth.  I make a circle with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, and clasp them around the base of his shaft.  He’s just the right size; long enough that the slow way I suck him is a journey that I can savor as I admire the look and feel of him between the moist grasp of my lips, but not so much that I cannot take all of him in, if I desire.  If I had to measure, maybe he’s 7 inches, maybe 8.  I’ve never measured such things, so who is really to say.  And he’s thick, the way I like cock to be, so that if I were to ease my pussy down onto him, I would revel in the feeling of being completely filled.  I love the feeling of being filled.  They say size doesn’t matter, but it does.  I never thought it did until I had an experience that taught me otherwise.  Anyway, back to the dream at hand…or should I say, mouth.

The waves of orgasm are building.  I know I am going to come any moment just from sucking this most perfect dream cock.  I know this orgasm will happen in my real body too, I know for SURE.  The intensity is overwhelming.  My clit is on sweet fire, teetering on the perilous edge of full “shark eyes” (That one’s for you, Fern), orgasm.

But then my “waking reality self” taps my “dream self”, and does a “What the fuck?”

You are not even attracted to this guy!  You don’t know this person!  You don’t like this person, because again, you don’t know who they are!  You are sucking the cock of a dream stranger whom you don’t even find sexually appealing. Not in the least!  You would never like this person in real life.

So, I pull my mouth off of perfect dream cock.  I pull myself down off the shuddering pleasure of my edge.

I don’t want to be with someone I do not like.

Standing up, I pull his head to rest against my stomach.  This dream man doesn’t seem confused, but he seems sullen.  His head is tilted so his eyes look downward.  The way I hold it against me is if I am comforting him.  No words between us are spoken.

I think for fear of, not sure of what, I take his cock in my hand and stroke him to orgasm.  I guess I feel like I owe him this much.  It’s a strange feeling to feel like I “owe” another person sexual pleasure.  I’d like to say I have never felt that way, but on occasion, I have.  It is uncomfortable to say the least.  When he comes, his cock doesn’t feel like it does when I do this with a real cock.  I can still feel the tension in his erection, like an orgasm that never happened, but did.

This is the end of the dream.

I woke up feeling confused, feeling uncertain, feeling disturbed.

I think my body is telling me that it needs to have its desires met, but to be cautious about who I choose.

It’s easy to look back and chose to flirt with lovers from our past.  They are “safe”, but like my college literature professor told our class, “You should never go back and have a relationship with someone from your past.  They suited you for who you were at that time, but you’ll have grown past who you were then, and they will not meet the present you’s needs”.  Smart words.  I laughed at the time because I was married to the guy who was my high school romance.  I wish he had said that about a year earlier than he did, but I digress.

Don’t look back to be “safe”, and don’t choose idly with those I meet now.

Smart dream world.

**Footnote: It is true that “P” will never marry his current girlfriend, although they have been together now since 2006/7.  I have asked him why not, but he never has an answer.  I guess it’s commitment issues.  Who is to say for sure.  He declines to answer, though once he said she asked the same thing.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Otherwise Known As The Stranger Places I have Had Sex

I was reading some new blogs today, happened upon a post of this very nature, and was inspired to write my own to share.  You know, I really like reading other people’s posts for that very reason.  I love reading something that ignites that spark of inner time traveling, where I go back and revisit and relive the people and places I have known, and the various facets of who I  have been at those various times in my life.  It’s also an exercise of the mind to stretch myself to remember some of the things I have, or might have wished, I’d forgotten.

This list only includes partner sex, and does not include masturbation.  Some of these were only oral exchanges, and some were the full “home run” sexual experience.  I’ve masturbated in some pretty interesting places too, but not in enough that it warrants inclusion, or even its own separate list.  So, without further or due…my list thus far.

The infamous lifeguard tower

  • my mother’s bed
  • a hot tub
  • several swimming pools…one in which we were not the only people in!  (California, and St. John in the Virgin Islands)
  • the lifeguard shack on Trunk Bay in St. John
  • the front porch of my house
  • a NYC taxi
  • a movie theater bathroom…I think it was the women’s room
  • the video editing suite in college
  • in the shower…many of them, actually
  • in the bathroom…with my ass in the sink
  • in the hallway of an apartment building in NYC
  • on a pool deck chair
  • in a friend’s bed, and said friend was not the person I was having sex with.  They walked in on us, and his girlfriend was pretty mad…”The sheets are halfway off the bed!”
  • in a tent (several)
  • in the dirt next to a roaring campfire
  • in a van (several)
  • in a car
  • on top of a rock formation next to the side of a lake
  • tried to in a plane, but then we decided it was too cramped in that tiny bathroom to really enjoy ourselves
  • on the couch in my FWB’s boss’s office
  • on an office desk

The infamous campfire spot

You know, in making this list I have realized that I really haven’t been all that adventurous in terms of where I have had sex.  I had better get to work on changing that!   After all, there is still my deeply coveted glass elevator fantasy to fulfill someday.  I will make that happen.  I’d also like to have sex on a rooftop in NYC.  I’ve made out on one, but it’s not the same.  I love being surrounded by the nighttime lights and city sounds, yet being somewhat secluded in a shadowed world of our own.

Also, I have this feeling that I am forgetting places too, so I will update if I remember times which I have forgotten.

Where are some of the more adventurous places that you have had sex?

One of the pools…those pool stairs came in handy!

This One Goes Out To The Not-So-Average Joe

Remember when you could call up the DJ at your favorite radio station and request a song, or make a dedication? Oh, wait, you say you can still do this?  Well, that shows you about how much I’ve been listening to the radio lately!  Honestly, if I was listening to the radio it’s the indie music station, and most likely, unless it’s EMO night and they’re playing Deathcab for Cutie, they’re probably not spinning dedications.

This post goes out to one of my favorite fellow erotic bloggers, Joe, who writes the juicy, yet tender, blog of literary “mandom”,  My Jaded Parts.  Somehow through our mutual quippy comment teasing, he put this song in my head.

And now, I put this scene in his.

This is from one of my all-time favorite sexy films, 9 1/2 Weeks.  Let me just say, Mickey Rourke in this film, makes me insatiably hot.  “Climb the walls” kind of hot!   I watch this, and I just want to lick that man from head to toe, with a whole lot of time spent somewhere in the middle of those two destinations.  Wrap my legs around him and ride into the sunset kind of hot.  My body has already seconded this notion; pert nipples pressing taut against my the thin fabric of my shirt, and my lady bits are juicy with anticipation.  Seeing pictures of him now, um, not so much.  So, I shall endeavor to remember this less life-ravaged version of him.

And, needless to say based on my latest blog post earlier today, I am a huge fan of the art of the striptease.  This scene right here is my absolute favorite striptease in film.  Kim Basinger does an amazing job.  So much so that even the 1% of my 99% straightness is beginning to waiver. Yeah, Demi Moore, uh huh.  Whatever.   I’m with Kim all the way.

From one tease to another.