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?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Matter What, The Woman Is The Slut

I admit it.  My virtue is running thin…transparent even.  I want to do things that I know are wrong, but at this point, I’m one thigh caress shy of earning my own scarlet letter.

Can one earn a scarlet letter even if they’re not the one who’s doing the cheating?  Is it kind of like guilt by association?

Are you all sitting there reading this wondering just what I’m getting at?  Ok, let me explain.

You might remember my racy sexting adventures with my running friend that I wrote about several months ago in a post aptly titled “Adventures in Sexting and Why I Love The Art of the Flirt“, and if not, you should go read it now.  you will love it, this I can assure you.  Now, my flirty friend has a girlfriend.  I know she exists, and while we’re only acquaintances, I can assess that she seems like a good human.  I would never want to cause her any undue hurt.  Despite this, I want to straddle her man and ride him dizzy, and this want is real and growing.

However, I also have a conscience that tells me acting on this thought is wrong.  My inner cricket has spent a lot of time shaking his finger at me lately when these thoughts cross my mind.  I think he’s due for a raise or something because he sure seems to be taking his job as guardian of my morality pretty damn seriously.  Trust me, I’m not attempting to justify what I may or may not do in the future.  I will do as I do, and the only one that has control of my choices is me.  Here I am venting my inner “angel” and  “devil” debate to you all.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who wrestles with this inner dichotomy.  Right?  Anyone?  Hello?

In this situation (and many like it) if something were to happen and down the line, our transgressions outted, I lose.  I’ll be the slut, the bad guy, the one responsible for it all, no matter whether or not his part was equal to mine.  That’s how it is, it’s the way it always has been.  I’d be the Eve that made him take a bite of my apple, single-handedly destroying his virtue with single bound.  The woman has always been the one to blame for it all since the beginning of time, and the man gets forgiven because “that’s just what men do”.  Never mind that he would be equally responsible, or the master of his own choices.  It’s this double-standard that I dislike the most.  Once again, no matter what, the woman is the slut.

I risk losing more, even though I’m not the one who has monogamous commitments to another person.  In that area I am scott free.  I’m just not sure I’m willing to risk the possibility of being alienated by mutual friends, and being shamed with an invisible, though ever-present red letter “A” on my chest.  Is the possibility of a seriously good romp worth it?eveapple

It would probably be most truthful to say that if it wasn’t for this risk, I’d have fucked him already.  I still say it’s a wonder I have held out this long.  My resistance is becoming less and less persistent.  My excuses to avoid it are progressively becoming weaker and more lame.  I want his mouth on mine and his cock buried deep inside me (I’m not picky on the orrifice, why choose just one?).  The desire to have that is beginning to rise higher than my moral ceiling reaches.

I skirted last night with a near miss.  I blame drinking without eating for the slight slip in my judgement, and now today I’m doing that think where I keep saying “I can’t believe you did that” under my breath to myself over and over again, and clutching my head in my hands in embarrassment.  Suddenly I feel like I’m back in college.  Still, my virtue remains intact, but the question is, for how much longer?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Good Night’s Tweet: A Bedtime Story (Repost)

I originally posted this here on September 1st 2012, and it was later published by GetLusty on their site about a week later.
Tonight is a good night for a little time traveling back by reposting this.  May you enjoy the ride as much as I have.

*************

I didn’t even attempt trying to go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.  I’ve done that for the past two nights, but without fail, that big ripening moon in the sky did her best to keep me awake.  Blue Moon, I had my friend in Italy ask you to be quieter for me tonight so I would sleep, but you are a harsh mistress, and not a cell in my body asks for sleep as you peak at me through the curtains in my bedroom.

The moon outside my house

My friends over at GetLusty tweeted last night (yep, it’s a verb now, get used to it) asking what our favorite sexual positions were, and you know, other than names for the standard fare like Missionary and 69, I was really at a loss.  I mean, I’m not sure some of my favorite positions even have names.   I guess you could say I’m “creatively gymnastic”.  When I’m having really mind-blowing, heart-pumping, sweat-drenched, sheets are coming off the bed, “the house could fall down around me and I’d never even know” sex, I never really paused long enough to give much thought to what the things we were doing together were called.

All of our kinetic movements and gestures for positions are just that; gestures fed on the electric inertia of lustful bodies.  There is no thinking at this point, if you’re lucky.  There is no pause, no awareness of cognitive process.  I’m plugged in.  I’m an intrinsic charge in a circuit that hums and pulses with every leg thrown up and over your shoulder, every hand tightly clasped around your back dimpling into your flesh, or every hip driven back against you as you thrust into me from behind, using the length of my hair in your hands like reins.

What do I call that?  How do I name that?  How do I even do that justice with a few simple words?

Have you ever tried to describe a sexual position in one tweet?  Let me just say, it’s not easy.  It’s really challenging to be descriptive of such things with only 140 characters as your limit.  Here is what it looked like when I sent it.

“@getlusty Modified Coital alignment is right up there w/ Man seated, W straddles cock, knees bent, feet flat on bed, leans back on her hands”

It just is totally devoid of intensity and passion, which is so unlike what it actually feels like to experience.  And then I’m supposed to find an even more abbreviated way to say that?

However, if I were to tell you that one of my favorite positions is found in a moment, in an impulse…I roll you over onto your back to straddle you, your cock throbs eagerly to be back inside me again as I hover above you holding you in anticipation.   You can feel the heat of my pussy radiating down against your flesh, and your hands feverishly grab at my hips to pull me down onto you.  I love the low growl that escapes your lips as you fill me, and the quake that follows through my body like the tremors in the strings of a well strum harp.  My gaze has never left the snare of yours.  We are often like this, which is why I hunger to be in the wake of its hazel grasp.  Slowly you raise yourself up, your weight now balanced on your hands pressed firmly into the sheets beneath us.  I am like a fawn in the headlights of your desire.  Encircling the amber skin of your back, hands sliding up along the curve of your spine, I draw your broad chest to meet the rise of my porcelain flesh.  I love the feeling of your chest hair grazing my pert rose nipples, and the heat that pours out of your skin as I press myself against you, and you fold your arms around my waist.  Your voracious mouth finds mine with greedy impatience, and I can taste our sweat on your lips as I draw my tongue to yours. I long to know its intimate terrain, and each slow caress of my tongue paints my desire inside you, where only you can speak it.  I know because I sing the trail of yours left with tongue, teeth, and nail across my sinuous landscape.   My right hand’s fingers have found their way up to be nested in the grasp of your short brown hair, and I brace myself against you, holding tightly to the swell of your shoulders with my left.   On days when you would be in your head, you would interject that it has touches of gray, but that is of no concern to me.  I’ll know you when only gray remains, even if we are no longer lovers such as this by then.

Our bodies ride together; a slow steady ebb and flow like a tide to shore, but we both feel the pull of our rampant need growing.  I loosen myself from our embrace to lean back on the weight of my arms now, my hands planted firmly against the mattress cushioning us, and stretch my legs out, knee bent, behind you.  Your tumescent cock drives itself deeper inside me, as I shift the weight of my hips forward against you.  You recline back onto your hands now, the cool sheet slipping against your fingertips as you find your steady against them.  I watch your arms tremble as you climb higher to your edge with each fevered thrust of my pussy upon you.  Our breaths come in quick gasps now, and with each grind of my hips against you I can feel the feverish spill of my juices devouring your manhood.  I know how much it drives you wild with abandon to watch your cock glisten and drip with me, as you watch it part my lips, to slide, push, and plunge inside me, even when I am the one controlling our pace.

You…always know…just…how…to…push me…to the…edge where…I…am……bursting!  I arch my back and throw my head back in shame at how you bring me there with such ease, as I come quaking upon you while watching the same insatiable peak crest and course through your taught frame.  As our breaths slowly find themselves again, our sweat-covered bodies collapse into the bed underneath.  I still have you inside me, and savor the feel of you until you begin to soften. Eventually I roll off of you, and turning myself, entangle my body in your awaiting arms to drift together into slumber.

Yeah, I guess we could call that position “The X Marks the Spot” to fit it into a tweet, but still, for me, it will always be so much more.  After all, what’s in a name?

It’s almost 6am here.  The moon is making her descent back into the trees.  Maybe she’ll let me sleep now.

A Year Without Sex In My City

It’s been a long and quiet year for me as far as writing here goes, which has probably lead you all to believe that I was just another “pop and fizzle” blogger who was once passionate about writing, and writing about passion, only to have my effervescence go flat with either waning disinterest, or the laziness of allowing life to swallow my passion up and take my attentions elsewhere.

Well, neither of those could be further for the truth for me, and since the entire premise behind my blog here is unbridled truth, I’m breaking my silence.

One of the reasons I started this blog was help others feel less alone in their desires, to be a voice of sexual positivity, and a to be a champion of owning one’s sexuality and being proud of it.  And while there are many stigmas associated with being a woman who unapologetically and enthusiastically celebrates her love of sex, there are just as many stigmas around not having sex.

Ironically, in the first year of my decision to blog about my erotic life which has always been so vibrant, my recent erotic life has been anything but.

Ladies and gentlemen, it has been one year and  3 1/2 months since I have had sex, and to me, that’s embarrassing to admit.  This is the longest amount of time in all of my sexually-active life that I have gone without having sex with a partner, and let me tell you, I am like a powder keg of sexual tension ready to ignite.  The next man I fuck had better have a mighty healthy heart because I’m going to hit his shores like Hurricane Katrina, and there will be no Red Cross in sight.  Explosions

Now it started out as an intentional thing.  I needed to avoid intimate relationships of any level just so I could focus on me because unfortunately, I have a past of losing myself in people, and putting myself last.  That was also not an intentional modus operandi, but it was something I eventually became aware of about myself through much introspection.  Well, introspection, and pattern recognition.  I kind of touched on my inner questioning about that in a post from earlier this year aptly called Musings of a Gun Shy Heart.  I needed time alone to work on me, which sounds so much like canned psycho-babble, but is really the most honest way to say it.  I needed to put me first without distractions that might throw me back into a way of being that was not working for me.

Well, that was all well and good.  Expectedly, and in some ways unexpectedly, my libido went from high, to low, and then completely did a disappearing act on me to the point where I was really getting concerned about myself.  I have a very strong libido, and although it ebbs and flows like everyone else’s, it’s never been nonexistent.   Honestly, that was pretty scary.  I should be in my sexual prime!  I started to begin to have more questions than I originally started with.  I thought maybe that my self-imposed drought had brought on a biological one.

There were a couple of times that I thought to write about that, but how can I be a sex blogger who isn’t having sex, let alone one who has the libido of a blueberry muffin?  As much as there is a judgement around being a whore by society if you’re a woman having lots of sex, there is as heavy a judgement about you if you aren’t having any; you must be unattractive, unwanted, discarded, or frigid.  I am by far none of those things, and even if the choice to not be intimate sexually (or otherwise) was my own, it didn’t make me unafraid of those judgements being cast upon me from people who don’t know my inner story.  It’s funny, in some ways I feared those judgements more than being thought of as a slut for having my sexuality being such a large part of my identity.

NOSEXAfter about a full year without having sex I told myself it was now ok to be open to meeting someone.  That was the end of July.  Now that I’m totally open to meeting someone though, I still have these anxieties plaguing my psyche around my “picker” being broken.  One, I need to make sure to put me first (my schooling, my goals, my homelike, my running, i.e. things that are good for me), and 2) I need to be real about what I am looking for.  By “be real” I mean really know and be honest with myself about what it is I am looking for in the short term and long term, be clear about what I expect from both of those types of choices, and not compromise on things I know I shouldn’t compromise on.

Luckily for me, that hide and seek libido was only temporary.  And not only did my sexual appetite reappear with a vengence, but I’ve also discovered, through some frank discussions and fun flirtations, that my more kinky desires were not totally extinguished either as I had once thought they had been!  Who doesn’t like surprises like that?  (Read Coffee, Sleeping Beauty, and BD/SM to get the backstory)  

That all being said, as much as I am just dying for some really great sex with intimacy (real connection is an essential component of great sex) you who have been reading this blog know, it takes more than someone who just looks hot to get my panties wet.  Case in point, Towel Boy.  (Hmm, did I blog about him?  If not, you can look forward to that story coming…ahem…soon.)  I love men with strong sexual prowess that matches my own, but I also need something to intellectually spark my desire, otherwise everything else is lost on me.  On occasion this can get me into trouble, trouble which I will lovingly nickname the “Don Draper” effect; an intelligent, sexually confident man, who is really completely emotionally unavailable.  That being said, I’m cautious.  I’m doing my best to not allow my hormones to get me into trouble. 

So there you have it, my blogging hiatus fully explained.  If you too are out there not having sex as much as you would like, either by choice or by happenstance, you’re not alone, and it doesn’t make you anything less than who you are: human.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Ruth Lied To You: Size Does Matter

drruthWhen I was younger, say around 12 or 13, I loved watching talk shows. Remember Sally Jesse Raphael? Aw, yeah, one of my favorites to watch on those not so exciting after school afternoons. This one particular show Sally had on Dr. Ruth, and I have always remembered her cute, mischievous, wrinkle-adorned face, teaching me and the rest of the audience in t.v. land, in her adorable German accent, while referring to penises, “It’s not the length or the size of the penis that matters, but it’s how you use it!”

I’m sorry, Dr. Ruth, but here I stand (ok, I’m really sitting) at 37 years old to tell you that is utter and complete bullshit. Penis size MATTERS.

Allow me, blogging world, to share with you why size does matter, at least to me. Honestly, any woman who tells you it doesn’t matter is lying to one degree or another. Cock size matters, it’s just not always a negative slant on how or why it does.

Exhibit A: Chia Pet

When I was around the age of 26 I had a male friend that I was really attracted to. He was HUGE; all of 6′ 5″ tall, blonde, and in great shape. Tres Nordic. There’s a fun story here, but I’m going to get to the real meat of the subject for now: his meat. *smiles* Yes, his cock was by far the largest and most impressive in length and girth that I have yet to come across, no pun intended.

Now, I am a huge fan of fellatio as some of you may have read here on my blog. I absolutely love giving head, and I know I am damn good at it, as confirmed by many a lover. (thank you alt.sex pages, for all those tips back in 1999) However, my favorite pastime was seriously thwarted when I chiapetwas in bed with him. This was the first and only time this has a) happened to me and b) that I slept with this guy. I’m no porn star deep throat, but I can relax my mouth enough to take the fullness of a man’s cock in, with this exception. I was licking and sucking away, my mouth increasingly filling with the swell of him, until finally I sat up on my knees, looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this, it’s not humanly possible”.

Hence, this man has forever been named “Chia Pet” in my lexicon of lovers because he just kept growing, and growing, and growing! Cha-cha-cha-CHIA!

The unfortunate side effect of men with huge penises is that I think they tend to rely on their cock size alone to get them by as far as bedroom skills are concerned, and while I do like a longer and thicker penis on my lovers, if you don’t know how to use it, you might as well just stop before you get started with me.

Relying on your size alone is not going to help you pass the test. That’s like thinking that reading Cliff’s Notes will provide you the wealth of actually reading the book itself! Make sure you know how to fence if your going to bring that sword to my bed! Touche!

There is a lot a skilled tongue can make up for, but you just can’t replace a man who has rhythm and finesse when it comes to pleasuring you with his man meat. Yep, I said “man meat” LOL

 

Exhibit B: The Tall and The Short Of It

I had been dating this rather tall, large-framed, man from Canada. We’ll call him “Big C” for this example. He was kind of bordering on fat, save for his stature.

We had been sexual partners for several months, and I almost married him due to an early midlife crisis. Thank God for the sudden awakening of common sense! (It was like thun-dah, light-ning…) Anyhoo, when I say tall think 6’4″! That is a LOT of man, but although one would imagine his body parts would be similarly proportioned, alas, they were not.

Now, he wasn’t what I would consider small by any means, just on the lower end of the median of cock sizes, and his girth was less thick. He wasn’t a pencil dick, but his cock wasn’t burly like the rest of him. He fit in my mouth well, he felt good to ride, everything seemed ok. That was until the shortest of all my lovers came back into the picture.

I was really just waiting for the right time to disengage from “Big C”. I was coming out of my pre-mid-life crisis, waking up to my inner “Danger Will Robinson, Danger!” alarm, and needed to get that guy out of my life, STAT. He was a serious train wreck, and I did not want to be riding that train when it collided with life head on! I would love to pretend this relationship never happened, but alas, it did. Of course, I’d love to pretend the relationship with “Short Stuff” didn’t happen either, but lets just say I have learned a lot in recent years, School of Hard Knocks style.

What was the point again? Oh, yes, cock size….

So, previously to this relationship with Big C, I had been lovers with Short Stuff, and the stars and moons aligned such that we were all at this same camp out one summer. Short Stuff is the shortest man I have ever been lovers with. Shorter than all 5’8″ of me, SS was only 5’6″ tall. He once told me that “tall women were worth the climb”, and he was so right.

I ended up sneaking off with Short Stuff for a morning tenting rendezvous (read as sexy time in a tent), unbeknownst to Big C. The moment I climbed on top of him and slid my pussy down over his awaiting cock, I knew. I knew exactly what I had been missing! He was long, but not overly so, and thick. I reveled in the feel of his cock filling me so fully, it was like a hand in a fine silk glove. The way his rock-hard shaft pressed out against my juicy walls, and how if I slid all the way down him his tip nestled snug against my cervix was nothing short of pure unadulterated HEAVEN! I couldn’t get enough of how he felt inside me. I was ravenous for the feeling I had been unaware I had been missing for all these months! And although one might imagine he would have been more average in size, his cock was the beast of inches that his stature lacked.

cucumbersI learned two things from this tawdry sexcapade: A) Size DOES matter, at least to me. It just feels so much better to be so utterly and completely filled, and B) We are all the same height while lying down *smiles*

So, know this my male counterparts in readership land, size does indeed matter to us women, no matter how much we either are programmed to not believe so, or lead you to believe through our own omission. Your cock size matters to us whether it’s too big for us to swallow, too small for us to really get off on, or whatever it may be for us each individually. Just like you have your preferences for our breast size, or for the tightness, or lack thereof, of our vaginas, your cock size matters to us too. This is my own personal experience. As always, your mileage may vary.

 

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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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.