The Bad In Each Other

I was just writing a fun blog post on penis size, when I started listening to this Feist song, and it was instantly derailed.  My heart can be so fickle.

Thoughts of my ex-FWB have been on my mind a lot lately, so much so that I have been dreaming as of late dreams that star him in various roles.  That all started when I had recently been thinking of him more due to things going on in my personal life that I had been wishing I could have gone to him for advice or feedback on.  I have to then remind myself why I needed to walk away from that friendship altogether, why it is healthier for me, even if at times a piece of me pangs for that friendship.  Sometimes I can still feel the ghosts of us then walking around where I stand now.  I remember my therapist telling me “I think it’s so unfair how he is with you, how he yo-yos”.  The one simple sentence was the catalyst for me really acknowledging in my own heart how right she was, how unfairly he built my heart up, and tore me down.

If you love someone, confess you are and have always been in love with them, but have no intention of ever allowing that to happen, why bother telling the person in the first place?  Why tell me?  I didn’t need to know.  I had acquiesced to my wondering.  I had accepted not knowing.  You were so cruel to confess your feelings to me.  So selfish and self-serving.  Why didn’t you just leave me alone?  I hate you for doing that to me when you had no intention of loving me.

Oddly enough, I found this song earlier this week, and it stuck with me.  These words, this stanza here, perfectly speaks to the heart of what it felt like in my heart

“Fill me up then pour me out
Therein lies the doubt.
We had the same feelings
At opposite times.”


 

“When a good man and a good woman
Can’t find the good in each other
Then a good man and a good woman
Will bring out the worst in the other
The bad in each other”

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That Awkward Moment When…

…You wake up holding your mini vibe in your writing hand, fresh from a dream where you were using it as if were a pen or a marker, because you fell asleep with it in your hand, instead of using it like you had intended the night before right before falling sleep.

Obviously I have not been getting enough sleep, or anything else, that is.

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Dreams, Tragedy, and The Holiday Hiatus

Poof!  I’m back!  I bet you thought I disappeared for good from blogging land, didn’t you!  Perhaps abducted by aliens never to be seen again, or traveling cross-country with the band of circus misfits that might have convinced me to be their new acrobatic horseriding lady, but alas, I was just lost and awash in the world of work and the normal holiday chaos that ensues sometime after Thanksgiving Day, and doesn’t stop until after New Years Day. Both of those other options might sound more interesting to me too, depending on which day you ask me.

The honest answer, in addition to the much-loved holiday chaos (and no that was not tongue in cheek, I really do love the craziness that comes with holiday preparation), was that the terrible tragedy of the Sandy Hook massacre, where some suburban nutcase annihilated innocence from an entire community, truly shook me to the core, and left me feeling inside like a house of cards in the wind.  I couldn’t write.  How could I write about sex and joy in the wake of that?  I felt inadequately trivial for even considering it.

I’m still not quite right.  I worry a lot more…about everything.  But, as all good healing processes progress, so do we find ourselves more willing to be comfortable once again with the world we were once accustomed to before everything came crashing down, and I am in that place where I feel ok to be back and living without feeling like a cloud of doom is hovering over me.

I was not immediately effected by the loss at Sandy Hook, but something I experienced made it touch me more intimately.  Up until this point, I had only shared it with those closet to me.

On the Wednesday night into Thursday morning, one day before Sandy Hook, I had a dream.  It was a dream that wasn’t even really a dream, as it came without any images at all.  I was finishing up a dream.  You know that point in the dream when you realize that it’s coming to an end, and a new dream is now waiting to begin trickling in?  I was in that space.  The first dream fading out had me in a warehouse assembling mannequins with other people.  There was nothing scary about this dream.  No mood of ill-affect, or any hint of foreboding.  It simply was a normal, weird,  everyday dream.

And then there were no images.

Blackness.

There was nothing but a simple and solemn male voice that spoke in my ear.

It was all on the right side, as if someone had leaned down and whispered in my ear.

He said, “I”m sorry I have to tell you, Fran was murdered today.”

What happened in the next few seconds after hearing this was pure horror and panic that raced through me as I tried to make sense of what I had just heard, and I flung myself straight up in bed, heart pounding in my chest, mind reeling, grasping for some bit of the waking world to hold onto.

She could not be dead.  This was not true.  Did my Dad just tell me this?  I think it was his voice.  It sounded like him.  Was I on the phone?

These were the thoughts flashing through me.

(Two pieces of background, so you can understand this situation better.  One, Fran is one of my closest and dearest friends.  We ere roommates in college beginning sophomore year, and we have been tight ever since.  We have goofy pet names for each other, have held conversations with each other about the day while one of us was in the bathroom with the door open and peeing, have been to each others major life events like marriages and births of our children, and know each others inner most joys and sorrows.  Friends for life.  Two, my father calls me every workday morning at 6:15 to help me get my lazy ass out of bed, because sometimes I like to sleep through my alarm. )

I checked my cell phone which sits on my bedside table on my right side, and it read 4:14am.  It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it has to be a dream.  It was not my Dad.  It’s not even close to wake-up call time.  Everyone’s asleep.  This is not really happening.

I started to cry.

I was completely and utterly sure it was a dream, then real, and now knew it was indeed a dream.

I laid back down, my heart still leaping out of my chest with panic, and I spent the next five minutes consoling myself that it was not real.  I wanted to call Fran, but she lives in Houston, so it was only 3am there.

When I finally got back to sleep, my alarm, and then my father rang at 6:15am, normal time.  I told him about my dream, and he asked me if I called Fran to check on her, but I reminded him about he time difference.  My Dad is in her same time zone, and said “Well she’s probably up with the baby, so call her.”, but I couldn’t risk waking her.

Finally after I got to work I sent her both text messages and a Facebook message urging her to let me know she was ok.  At around 9:30am (HOLY SHIT – JUST MAKING THIS CONNECTION NOW!!! – 9:30am the next day would be Sandy Hook), she let me know she was ok.  I never did tell Fran what the voice said.  I just told her that it told me something very scary had happened.  I did’t want to scare her, and still don’t, so no worries because she doesn’t read my blog on a regular basis.

The next night I stayed up as long as I could.  I was afraid to go to sleep.  I don’t have nightmares very often, hardly at all, and when I do they are about things less emotionally devitstaing like being swallowed by a tidal wave, or losing my teeth.  Both of which are indeed very scary to me, but those kind of dreams are easier to spot as being only dreams.  I was able o chat with Fran via Facebook before I finally gave in and let myself go to sleep. Just getting that time chatting with her made me feel comforted.

Sandy Hook occurred he next morning.  I didn’t hear about what had happened, except mild inklings, until around 9pm that night.  I was working overtime, and was in the office late.  I sat at my desk reading the reports, but it wouldn’t be until the next day when I would be sitting here where I sit now, at my desk in my bedroom, when I would read all the articles and be rendered paralyzed with sadness.

I cannot imagine a world in which that could happen.  I cannot fathom the kind of heartless and desolate soul that it would call for to be able to harm anyone, let alone tiny innocent children, in the way that man tore those lives from this earth.  I cannot, without rendering myself into tears and a throat that suffocates itself closed with tension, imagine what it is like to be the parent of one of those children, left behind on earth to live a life without the sound of their voice filling their home, or the look of their smile that following Christmas morning.  I wanted to take down my own Christmas tree because it didn’t feel right to celebrate joy when others so close were in such despair.  And I wanted to knock the heads together of those who took it upon themselves to use the threshold of the aftermath of Sandy Hook as a political pulpit for either more gun control, or less gun control.  I just wanted those fragile people to have their time to breathe, to feel, to be comforted, and not to be used as a soapbox issues.  I wanted people to respect that space, and imagine for a moment, just what it would be like to be one of those parents or surviving children.

I was a teetering house of cards.  I felt like if someone pushed me even the slightest, I would topple over, fluttering in all directions.

Slowly I am coming back, but I am still worry more than before, about everything: my daughter’s safety, my parents safety, car accidents, shootings, anything and everything.  It just feels like any illusion of safety in the world has been ripped from the very lining of my soul.

I’m crying even writing this down.  I have to realize that nothing has changed, and yet, everything has changed, and the two concepts are one in the same.

My cousin Mike posted this single comment on one of my Facebook statuses regarding my fear surrounding the days after the shooting:

“Fear is the mind killer”

So true.  If I allow terrorists of any kind, brutal soulless monsters, to steal away my joy and life by freezing me with fear, than they have won.  And that was how Dune became one of the book gifts I gave my daughter this Christmas, and ended up being the first one of the 4 books given her, that she chose to read.

I will not allow fear to wither my spirit.

Welcome 2013!

And now onto cultivating life with caution, but without fear, and unrestrained joy…one baby step at a time.

 

 

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.