When It Rains, It Pours….Part 2

Usually when I have left you all hanging in the echo of my long silence it’s simply because all the boring and mundane trappings of life had me in their snare, but this time it’s quite the opposite.  This time life has me in it’s juicy grasp, and is really having it’s way with me.  I am far, far, from complaining.

I’ve left you in the lurch so long that I am unsure how to even begin.  I feel as though I can barely do it justice now.  These sensuous experiences that have been unfolding one after the other are so intricately woven together into one fantastic symphony, that to dissect such delicious harmony would be an impossible task, not to mention a disservice.

So with that being said, I invite you to re-read “Sexual Mirrors, Sensualist Lovers“, and know that I’m still gleefully riding that ecstasy with this new lover, and it keeps surprising me, beguiling me, and at times, has me lost long in thought.

In some ways he is my twin.  We’ve called each other that on occasion. So compatible, yet there is enough difference to keep things interesting.

The one thing I keep telling myself is not to hide.  I can feel myself being protective.

As I was typing this I paused, cupped my chin gently within my hand, fingertips resting lightly just beneath my nose to smell each one where the scent of him still remains from late this afternoon.  Four and a half hours of being skin to skin, and it still was nearly impossible to find the will to disengage bodies.  My mouth always finds itself hungry for his.  One last kiss never seems to satisfy.

Upcoming posts to look forward to on thoughts I’ve been musing over…related and unrelated to Mirror Twin

  • The delicious ebb and flow of power exchange between switches (the D/s kind)
  • My second experience with lactation from intense erotic nipple stimulation
  • Why ass play is so hot for me
  • The ideal poly relationship and just what it is I want
  • Ending relationships that cross ethical boundaries, even if you’ve already crossed them

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sexual Mirrors, Sensualist Lovers

I have been holding out on you.  I know, I know, for shame on me.  I wrote this over a week ago, but somehow couldn’t bring myself to post it.  Something about my level of excitement over the experience seemed too much.  It’s like I didn’t want to jinx it by being immersed in the joy of it as deeply as I was…or am.  I’m still resisting posting this.  There is hesitation, some trepidation…like standing on the edge of a very high cliff and looking over.  Here goes nothing.

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

Where to begin.  I’m so lax in writing this week, and so much has transpired in such a short amount of time, so before this gets any further away from me, I wanted to share.

I’d like to say, and for the most part it would be true, that I usually know right away whether I want to pursue being lovers with someone.  There’s the instantaneous physical reaction that is communicated between bodies.  You see someone, exchange a glance or some casual conversation, and it’s just something innately there.  It doesn’t surprise you, or beguile you, it just simply exists.  Sometimes it’s one sided, but if you’re lucky, it’s deliciously reciprocal.

And then sometimes I meet someone, and there’s not an instant acknowledgment of desire.  It’s like my body isn’t aware of that undercurrent at all.  It doesn’t say “yes”, it doesn’t say “no”, it says “I’m not sure…I want to know more before I am sure”.  You would think in those cases that whatever desire is there would then be naturally less powerful than one that is immediately known.

This is so not the case, and although by now knowing this I shouldn’t be surprised, I am in awe.

I was ready for good lovers, middle of the road, “wow, that was fun, let’s do it again” lovers, but I was not ready for this.  I was not ready for a sexual connection with someone that was so deliriously intense that it borders on intoxicating.  It’s passion with intensity that is, to me, mildly frightening.  It both implores me towards it, and makes me want to dial it back so I can feel more in control.  And the best part, the part that I always find myself musing on when I think about it, is how completely unexpected it was.  Even writing about it I find myself wanting to edit and erase.

I have been blessed during my 30-something years here on earth to have some amazingly skillful lovers.  There is a small handful of men that I can heartily thank for helping me to discover things about my body that perhaps I would have never thought to explore on my own until they came into my life.  Yet, amidst that handful, I have had only one other lover with whom I shared this same intense ungovernable ardor, and perhaps that is why I am also finding this new connection to be unraveling threads of anxiety for me at it’s force.  It’s just so incredibly rare.

Sensualists, true sensualists, are not lovers that are easily found.  You may have never found one yourself, but there will be no denying it when you do.200551307-008

Sex with a sensualist is all about the journey, and less about the destination.  There is no route, no map, no end point in sight.  You’re out exploring a sea of sensation and desire that is endless, and only seems to unfold even more before you the more and more you explore it.  This is the rabbit hole you’ve been waiting for, Alice.

I am a very orally fixated lover.  My mouth needs to be engaged.  Kissing, licking, biting, sucking; all of these things increase my pleasure immensely, and are, the very root of my sexuality.  To find someone for whom this is also true, to be almost mirrors sexually, is just beyond compare.  And not only to mirror each other in that, but also in intensity of passionate expression of that sexuality, that is undeniably raw and unrelenting.  A love of touch, a love of skin, a love of sensation and play, and a lack of inhibitions…such an exponentially delightful gift.

kissingSo, this lover and I, spent over 10 hours fucking each other dizzy.  There were hours that passed like minutes, and minutes that shared like hours.  I have rug burn on my elbows, and I have no idea how they got there.  My living room floor, the sofa, and the massage table became our great playground.  At times this was problematic because, let me tell you, sometimes carpet can be quite slippery in the right position.  It can also be quite unforgiving on delicate skin.

10 hours takes a lot of stamina, but really when you are as orally fixated as we are, you need that long because the first 3 hours is spent just kissing.

His body, it’s this incredible instrument of flesh.  I just can’t get enough of it.  There’s not an inch of it that I can keep my mouth from wanting, or needing to be tasting.  He loves touch, and in his love of touch, is skillfully curled the innate knowledge of not only “how” to accept touch so open and willingly, but to communicate through his own fingers and hands, that same lustful art of sensation.

And he makes the most amazing sounds, or as he called them, “appreciations” of my touch, which I think may have made him feel self-conscious of at first, but I told him I was really paying him the deepest compliment.  How I love vocal lovers!  So many people stifle their exclimations of pleasure.  This has never been something I understood, as vocally expressing passion is so inherent for me.  There’s a spot on his body that I love so much, and I can’t decide what makes me love it more; the way it feels to me when I run my fingertips or tongue over it, or the way he throws his head back and moans when i do.

There is a deep pleasure even in the simplicity of the feel of his skin against mine, his body pressed tightly into me.  When there are layers of clothing between us, I want to lift them up and peel them away just to feel his skin touch mine as we kiss.  So soft and electric.

It’s rare to find someone who’s energy can match my own…who rises to meet me, and pushes back against me, and then climbs higher.  It’s solid and comforting, as much as it is so powerfully intoxicating and raw.

It’s the kind of connection I crave, and yet fear allowing myself to revel in the delight of because it might swallow me whole, but I so, so, very much want to be consumed by this.

 

 

 

 

 

Wolves and Women

Wolves are monogamous creatures. I never knew this. I don’t know about you, but I kind of just expected that a creature that howls at the moon and races through the woods under the cover of a moonlit night to hunt it’s prey, would be anything but.

This news also strikes a cord of irony with me because an ex-long term partner used to identify heavily with wolves, and mostly because he figured they were unbridled creatures who answered to no one, and romped as they saw fit while the female wolves stayed home to watch the kids.  He figured the wolf was the poster animal for polyamory.  Hah, jokes on you, wolfie.

No, the gray wolf is one of only a handful of animals that pair-bond monogamously for life.  You can read all about it right under the heading of Reproduction and Development in this handy dandy wiki.

I was 22 when I first heard the term “polyamory”.  Up until then I figured there were three types of people: monogamous, cheaters, and swingers.  Since then I have had a couple dozen or so (this might even be a slight understatement) of friends who identified as poly.  I, myself, have even identified as poly during different points of my life.  Usually this varied with each relationship I entered into.

Now, a lot of poly people will try to say that it’s completely different than swinging.  Not really having known anyone that identified as a “swinger”, I have to say that from all of the many polyamorous folk I have known over the years, no matter how much they proudly say it’s different than swinging because of the emotional component, it is still looks pretty much like swinging. This is what most people call “sleeping around” in their twenties: you kind of have relationships with varying degrees of commitment, they may or may not last for very long, but then eventually you find “the one”, and settle down and get married.  Some people just keep doing both at the same time.  Trust me, it’s never as much fun as it sounds, or as you think it’s going to be.  Also, a lot of people have a hard time understanding that the freedoms they expect in relationship are a two-way street. In other words, if it’s good for you, it’s good for me.  Everyone plays by the same rules.

I keep thinking to myself that I have learned unequivocably that I am a monogamous creature.  I’m not good at sharing unless I really am not emotionally invested in the person.  I get jealous.  Men want to point fingers at us women and make it like we’re the only ones who act jealous, but let me tell you from firsthand experience: men get VERY jealous.  They are not immune to jealousy like they would like us to think. howlwolf

I cannot tell you how many times I have been in a relationship with someone where we considered ourselves poly, and it was all fun and games if they were pursuing or being pursued by someone else, but the minute I was, suddenly the rules would change.  Usually this meant they would find something wrong with the competing male and would either deal with this by making disparaging comments about them hoping I would lose interest, or flat out beg me not to pursue the person/relationship. It was never a reason with any solid grounds.

It was those times when I would have to remind them what was good for them was good for me.  In fact, my ex-FWB even got jealous when I would go out with other male friends or potential partners, and all the while he would completely deny it!  One time he called me at 11:30 at night to “see how I was doing”, when I had just told him only 4 hours earlier that I was going out with a male friend for drinks.  When I didn’t answer, he called me again promptly at 9am the next morning.  And when I called him on his ruse in the form of a phone call that was really meant to see if I was home (and alone) yet or not, he flat out denied it.

I get jealous. I know this about myself. I’m not going to lie or pretend I don’t.  It doesn’t make me any less evolved as a person.  It’s a human emotion.  Own it, I do.

Still, in monogamous relationships where I have been generally happy, my mind has been known to wander, and I don’t just mean sexual fantasies.  When I was dating Guitar Man for example, I really, really wanted to have sex with this guy who was in the HAI workshop we took part in on our trip to California, but I didn’t because I knew it was a momentary thing with no possibility for more, and the real possibility would be that it might ruin what we were working to build.  Honestly, I still regret that I didn’t.  He painted my nails for me…long story…but it was one of the sexiest experiences of my life. *sigh*  Also, I’m pretty sure I hugged him while naked, but I hugged a lot of naked people that weekend, so it’s hard to be certain.

While in that same relationship with Guitar Man I also used to find all sorts of casual ways to see my ex-FWB Norris.  At the time I was even going to school and had designed a project around him, so I had guaranteed myself time to spend with him.  It was all very innocent because nothing ever happened, and I’m not sure I wanted it to because I have a pretty strong moral constitution, but still I needed to see him.  In my head, the intentions weren’t as innocent as I wanted to pretend they were either.  On the last day of the work we were doing for my project together (and just coming off the heels of Guitar Man treating me like complete shit)  I straddled Norris’s erection that was bulging through his pants and kissed him until my mind told me to stop.  I never told Guitar Man what had happened, let alone that I had been routinely seeing my friend.

And then there was my last relationship that I don’t speak much about.  I have done very well, without much effort, to delete all memories of it from my head.  It was someone I really truly loved, but still, there was FWB all the time in my head.  And then, just a week before a very pivotal moment in that relationship, I ended up having lunch with Norris and then kissing him in his car, parked in a school parking lot in the corner, while it poured rain around us.  It would have gone a lot further if he didn’t have people from his office calling looking for him to come handle things they couldn’t on their own.  I guess I should be thankful because that probably would have been a heavy transgression on my heart.

However, the disclaimer for the above is that Guitar Man had a roving eye as well for an Australian girl at that same workshop, and the man I was last serious with was polyamorous, but only one-sided, meaning anytime I wanted a new lover he always found something wrong with them.

So, I don’t know. Maybe I am not really monogamous at all, and I am just trying to convince myself otherwise.

One of my friends told me he thought I had issues with commitment based on the types of people I chose for relationships, but I don’t think I do.  I really think I have just not met the right person/s. Or, maybe if I met someone who I felt was fully committed to me, then I could be 100% fully committed to them. I’m actually a very loyal person when I feel I’m getting that loyalty in return.  The question remains though, is anyone really 100% commited to one love?  Does that even exist, or are we all just kidding ourselves?

I’m seriously jaded.

And sometimes, I am just a ravenous, desirous wolf who wants to howl.

It Had To Be You. No, Seriously!

No, I was not being held captive for the past 4 months in a cave somewhere, or abducted by aliens to a distant planet where anal probing was actually a BAD thing.  No, I was just silenced by my own self doubt.  Self-doubt that crept in after I was told that I was going about getting my writing out there in all the wrong ways, and in short “all the wrong ways” really translated into, “you’ll never be successful doing things the way you’re doing them” and “you’re going about it all wrong”.

I don’t have a degree in writing,  I have a degree in art.  Yet, during my college art education and even beyond, I have been told by professors, friends, and strangers, “You should be a writer”.  The first time I was told that was by my freshmen writing instructor Loraine O’Grady.  She said, “You know, you should really be a writer”, and I was just so insulted.  I was like, “I’m an artist, not a writer.”  I’m not sure why I was insulted, but I was only 17 and still in that, “You can’t tell me what to do” phase.  Artists, rebels; one in the same.

Right now, I am making a long story, longer, so I am going to dial it back and in the words of Inigo Montoya, “Let me e’splain…no, let me sum up.”

I let my blog slide and essentially stopped blogging regularly altogether back in March when I allowed someone else’s pessimism about my choice of writing venue affect how I felt about my writing, and by hat I mean why I created erogenoUS in the first place, and not the actual quality of the writing.

I created erogenoUS when I decided that I was tired of waiting for someone else to give me an opportunity.  Instead, I decided I was going to make my own!  I wanted to write, but most importantly, I  wanted to be read!  I wanted to get my work out there in the quickest way I knew how: social media.  And, the essential ingredient, the intrinsic drive that birthed this blog was that I wanted to write about what I love: sexuality and my personal experience with it in a way that other people could relate to, and in some way hopefully feel less alone in their own experiences of how they view and experience that sexuality.  This is why the “US” in erogenoUS is capitalized, because while these are my personal, true life, experiences, I feel a lot of these core issues are universally relatable on some level, regardless of all the various categories that the world uses to box us into.

At least that is my hope.  Think of me as the beacon in the interwebs calling out to you, “You are not alone!”  erogenoUS is ALL of “US”

But, I allowed  a voice (that was well-meaning at the time) to shake my tree enough to fill me with uncertainty and fear.  I questioned if what I was doing really had any impact, or if it was just a waste of good data storage.shhhhhh

I went silent.

You didn’t!

You started following me on Twitter, “liked” me on Facebook, you read my posts even when it looked like I had abandoned ship.  You, my readers and fans, kept showing me support!  I was wondering how there was still momentum in silence.

And I know I owe that to the following seriously sexy bloggers:

  • Lady Cheeky, who tweeted me as a fave sex blogger every Friday even when I was total AWOL.  Thank you for all of your support of me and my blog, and for not forgetting me even when I was abandoning myself.
  • The Redhead Bedhead for all the re-tweets and for the amazing writing you are doing, your Super Hero Sex Shop Tour, and your commitment to sex geekery at it’s finest!

I want to send out a big THANK YOU to Venice and Ryan @ Fuckblogging.com for making me #9 on your “Quarter 2 2013 Top Ten Sex Blogs”!  Your  review of erogenoUS made my heart jump with happy, and reminded me of just why I write here!  It was the final nudge from the universe that I needed to know my original direction was where I still needed to be embarking on.  You guys ROCK!

noshhSo, ladies and gents, I’m back and here to stay!!!

However right now, I need to go get some much-needed sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Relationship In Music – Short Stuff

My relationship with Short Stuff set to music

 

In the very beginning…we had sex to this

And we danced in his living room to this song

When we shared a D/s relationship, this song was how I felt about him

And long after that relationship of ours died, and then a new way of relating emerged, he sent me this song telling me it was how he felt for me

But then the darkness of illumination set in…the hidden became revealed, and light became dark.

And this became my reality with him and his addiction

When I left him, he had the audacity to send me this song

And I sent him this as I continued walking away for good.  Divorced January  2012

Seven Frisky Facts: Beauty Is In The Eye of The Beholder

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Wow, it would seem that the WordPress universe has once again bestowed upon me the gift of some of those super nifty blogger awards! Ok, maybe I shouldn’t say “universe”, as universe refers to something unfathomably large, and both of these awards came from the same blogger out in WP land, but then again, maybe he is unfathomably large (down under, that is), that Joe, I haven’t done any in-person investigation of this, so the jury is still out! HA

Anywho, my fabulous blogging friend Joe, duly dubbed my “Northern Twin” after discovering we have far too many nuances in common, nominated me as “Beautiful Blogger”, and to this I say, awwwwwwwww and spanks you, kind sir! He writes the blog, My Jaded Parts. Go read him, and feel good and dirty!

Like all of these awards, this one comes with its own mini acceptance rule book of sorts, so without further or do….

1) Post a photo of the Beautiful Blogger Award in your blog post: VOILA!
2) Thank the person who nominated me for the award and provide a link to their blog: See above blabbering.
3) Share 7 facts about myself: Um, ok. Facts about what aspect of myself though?

7 Frisky and Fun Facts

  1. When I was 18, I masturbated on an Amtrak train in the bathroom while heading north from NYC to upstate, and was neither quiet nor discreet about it.
  2. I LOVE men and am completely and utterly a very cock-loving oriented woman, however I don’t tend to find myself attracted to many men. I am a fickle woman, what can I say? Finicky moi. However, when I do find myself attracted to someone, it is usually intoxicatingly so.
  3. I went to a goth club in NYC (The Bank) when I was 17. I had been living in NYC for just short of 2 months. I was dancing in the middle of the main dance floor when this guy walked straight across the floor towards me like a shark parting the water, and started dancing with me. He took me by the hand, walked me of to the side, and we proceeded to make out with one another for about an hour, no words passed between us. The music engulfed the club, so it’s not like we would have been able to hear one another anyway. When my friends told me we had to go, he took me over to the bar in the back where it was quieter and where his friends were to give me his number. That was when I heard his voice for the first time. He sounded like Apu from The Simpsons. Fantasy wrecked. I never returned his calls. I actually feel some guilt over this to this day still. That was pretty shitty of me.
  4. When I had my first orgasm, I actually ran into the bathroom to look down between my legs to see if I could see what was moving down there. I was just certain I was going to see something moving.
  5. I lost my virginity to a guy the very same day I met him when I was 14. I was far too curious for my own good, too mature in some ways, and definitely not in others.
  6. I have a pet peeve about seeing men naked except for socks. Please, for the love of all that is god and holy, please do not attempt to be naked while wearing socks. I discovered this pet peeve from the above said virginity-taker.
  7. I had sex with my ex-FWB in my downstairs bathroom that was so fevered and animated that we ended up knocking the towel rack off the wall. This was Christmas Eve 2011. Merry Christmas to me!

I guess I need to nominate some blogs for those super-dee-duper beautiful blogger awardiness now. I think I will just pick random blogs that I enjoy reading now and then and a few of my blogging besties too! Plus, they are not all blogs of a sexual nature either. I am a well-rounded individual, dontcha know!

In no particular order, the nominees are…

  • The Redhead Bedhead – I’m pretty sure we were separated at birth! My bloggin’ bestie from Beantown. Read her now!
  • Break Room Stories – makes you laugh so hard you’ll have fountain sodas shooting out your nose, and also never want to eat out ever again!
  • The Phoenix Exultant – it’s about his life, and he’s damn cool. I also know him in real life! Oooooh
  • His Beloved Submissive – fun to read, and kinky too!
  • Creative Noodling – I just love this chick’s noodle!
  • The Fur Files – Fern made me totally forgive Canada for serving milk in bags. I aspire to be this awesome as consistently as she is!
  • Smut For Smarties – Nuff said! Lady Cheeky, the one, the only! Need I say more? Love her!

Wooohoo! One down, one more award to post later this week!

Reminders of An August Afternoon: Love, Marriage, Infidelity and Justification

This amazing blogger friend of mine, Fern, posted this that really touched me, first in a way that hit a tender spot and was uncomfortable to read, and second in a way that I then remembered how closely I could relate to.

This movie, Take This Waltz, well, the clip here sums my, and many others, experiences up in a few short beautifully composed moments of film.  I recently saw this on the instant download list on my cable channel for new movies, and I passed it by when I read the synopsis because it just wasn’t a place I wanted to go emotionally.  I was so done with polyamory, and those men in my life for whom I was not their only lover.  I just was done with this storyline because I had lived it, and more than once.

I was forgetting when I was the person who wanted more, who wanted someone else.  I can justify my own desires and actions away with the various things that were going on in my life at that time, how I’d been and was being treated by the person I was married to at that time, or that somehow “it’s so not the same”, but it would all be a lie.  An excuse.

It was exactly the same.

I was married to a man for just over a year, separated just under the wire short of 12 months.  There’s a lot of back story there, but that doesn’t matter as much as this one story in particular.

In the summer of 2011, one August morning, I was yahoo messaging with my friend Norris (you all might know him from my posts here as ex-FWB).  He told me how his son had said how it would be cool to get to hang with me and my daughter again sometime.  I didn’t take this at face value, as Norris was fond of asking excuses about seeing me.  If he wanted to see me, he would make a reason for it, it was never because he simply wanted to.  I know this because he had confessed it to me before.  So, I read into this, and knowing how the kids hadn’t seen one another since they were like 9 or 10 years old, this just reeked of total fabricated excuse.  Hr just wanted to see me, and I wanted to see him.

I was nervous about this because of the feelings it excited in me.  I wanted to squash down the desire to see him, the happiness that he was reaching out to me, and the eager anticipation with which I looked forward to it as it eventually grew closer once I finally agreed to an afternoon together.  I wanted to make excuses to get out of it at first because of the awkwardness that I knew would be there.  My husband would be there.  They had never met one another.

It was a late August afternoon, and we were going to spend it at the pool that is in my community.  It was not very hot, but we were going to eek out the very last bit of summer that was left, and enjoy that last pool day even if the water was super cold.  This would be fun for the kids, and good for us, with lots of personal space.

They were late and my husband who was very fond of naps (and pretty much a slow-moving, low-energy dude), decided to leave the pool and go back to our house for one.  The Norris and his son arrived after much delay.  It was late afternoon and the pool was mostly in the shade now, and fairly quiet, with only a few scattered people still resting on lawn chairs in what remained of the sun.

My daughter was in the water and beckoned the son in.  This left the two of us, Norris and I, to sit at a poolside table underneath the shade of the umbrella to talk alone.  I had gotten out of the pool only minutes before they walked in, and I was shaking.  I thought this was due to the fact that the water was now fairly frigid, and although the air was warm, there was a breeze that was constant, and the air across my goose-bumpled skin was causing me to shiver.   Then moment came when I realized that this should have passed by now, as although I was bikini clad, I was wrapped up in a large towel and should have been warmed.  I then not only became nervous at being in the same space together again after so long, but anxious at the realization that my trembling was now more nerves than chill.    Norris sat across from me, a safe distance between us.

We talked.  Nothing said was pointed or floated on any sexy innuendo, but there it was; desire.  Not the kind of desire, at least for me, that would have me holding myself back from wanting more right then, in that moment, restrained merely by circumstance, but more so desire that was the kind that is omnipresent between two people who are like souls.

That desire, that uncomfortable remembering of our past, was sitting there like a third wheel between my towel-clad shivering body, and his over-sized polo shirt and wrinkled chinos.  I notice these details because this is unlike him, Norris was always well dressed, and wrinkled clothing that was too big for him was never to be seen on him, ever.  I worry that I look fat in my bikini as I allow myself to unfurl the towel now that my shivering has dissipated.  I relax my body into the back of he chair, cross my legs, and keep worrying he thinks I look fat.

After not too long, my husband walks through the pool gate, and begins his slow walk towards us.  Norris asks if this is him, and I confirm it.  And then the awkward grows.

I introduce them for the first time, hands are shaked, and pleasantries exchanged.  My husband says something like, “So, Portia tells me you’ve known one another for a long time”, and the conversation continues.  I remember not feeling sure how to act. As much as I was angry at my husband for many things then, I was still very much in love with him.  And as much as I was married and in love, I was more deeply in love with Norris.

(I almost erased “more deeply”, but that would have been a big lie, and since I am not one for lying, I left it)

I didn’t want to not be myself with my husband, didn’t want to hold back my usual affections, but I also didn’t want to be overly affectionate in front of Norris towards him either.  It’s a strange feeling when you’re trying to balance the emotions of two people, well ok, three.  One, I didn’t want my husband to think I was acting strange. Two, I didn’t want Norris to feel…I don’t know what…hurt?  Uncomfortable?  I suppose whatever the feelings he had when we had lunch one day, many years before this, when remarked at the pictures of my then ex-boyfriend and I in Hawaii still framed and on the wall in the dining room with us, after I had tried to remind myself to take them down because I knew Norris would notice.

I felt like I was walking on a high wire above the ring, trying desperately to find the balance that would keep this whole event pleasant and sociable.

It was around 5 o’clock by this time and I decided that perhaps we should all go back to he house so I could start on dinner.  I had invited them to stay for burgers and such a last BBQ ha-rah of the fading summer.  The kids climb out of the pool, and we all meander back to the house.

The real mind blower came when I was in the kitchen making the salad, and Norris and Husband and both kids, were both out in the back yard at the picnic table just jabbering away together famously.  My husband was getting more time to talk to the person I wanted to be talking to and spending time with.

The night was fun.  Dinner was great, conversations flowed effortlessly, dessert was had and martial arts movies introduced.  At one point Norris was sitting on the sofa and I sat down next to him, nt close, but close enough, and he shot off that thing like he was shot froma cannon!  He offered my husband the seat.  It was a large sofa, and there was more than enough room for all of us on it comfortably.

Goodbyes were made around 8:30 ish.

But after….

After the door closed, my daughter whisked me upstairs and told me “You made the wrong choice.  That was the guy you should have married!”, and this just messed with me because that was the guy I wanted to marry, but he never asked.

The husband, well, later that night he asked me if Norris and I had ever slept together, and I blushed like a school girl embarrassed by the surprise questioning, and said “Yes, but that was a long time ago”.  He told me he could tell the minute he walked inside the pool gate and saw us.  He said he could tell just from the way we were sitting, how we were with one another.  I was unsure how he could tell that from two people not even sitting beside one another, with a whole table separating them for safety.   I don’t know what he saw.  Maybe he made that up, maybe he really saw something I was unaware of.   He said two people can’t be sitting together like we were when you’ve never been intimate with each other before.  I don’t know.  I didn’t see what he saw.  I only felt what I was feeling.  I’m not sure what the tell-tale sign was.  I wouldn’t have thought, looking at us, that we were anything more than friends.

The next two weeks were pure emotional upheaval.  I was getting my period and blamed my irrational thoughts on that emotional unraveling that sometimes comes with that time of the month.  I told myself to take a deep breath and relax, but all I could think about was Norris.  He was all I thought about, all I wanted to think about.

My husband, who I knew really didn’t love me (and that’s not a made up feeling to help me excuse my own, it just was…he was pining for his ex-wife…for the life he screwed up), was just not paying attention because it was evident that something was stirring madly inside me.  I played the song that Norris had once told me made him think of me, over and over and over again on YouTube.  I sang it in the shower, while cooking dinner.  I was preoccupied.  I was running around the track at he Y fueled by a desperate fire inside me that would not let me go, that incessantly tossed my heart about, a fragile paper heart, floating on the heat of something that was once in a way, could’ve been, but never could be now.

And he had turned me away anyway a year earlier.  Norris told me he loved me, always had loved me but could never bring himself to tell me, and then after he finally told me, told me all the reasons why we could never be.  What was I thinking?

I was going mad.

I needed to be alone to talk myself off this emotional ledge.

I was guilty of the very thing I hated my husband for.  I made every excuse to justify how what I was feeling, thinking, wanting, yearning for was somehow different from what I hated my husband for feeling towards his ex-wife, and although yes, there are circumstances and back story here that you would probably agree that I was MORE than justified too in my thoughts, but even in the light of all that murky dark, we would both be wrong because it was all in secret, all kept neatly hidden.

I was now no different.

When I did have the chance to act though, one year earlier (and only a month before my wedding date), when he called me one night and wanted to whisk me away for a quickie, I said no.  I didn’t want to either, I wanted to say hell yes, yes yes, but I didn’t.  At least I have that integrity of my heart.

We are not as perfect as we would like to imagine.  Our lives are not all cut and dry, clean and neat, like we would like to pretend.  Our real emotions our deepest thoughts and most secret yearnings are no different, or any less unscathed than those of our neighbors.  We can judge.  We can sit back and say what someone has is better, or more perfect, but it never is.

I knew my husband and his previous wife long before he became my one-year husband.  On the outside looking in, I thought what they shared was perfect, and how that was the kind of love I wanted.  I was never more wrong in al my life. 13 years after meeting them I knew it was the FARTHEST thing from what I ever wanted in a relationship.

I’m ready to watch that movie now.   I also don’t want to go there again.

So you know, my divorce had nothing to do with the events of this August afternoon, or any day after involving Norris, or my feelings for him.  That story can come another day.

I don’t miss my ex-husband for a minute, but I miss Norris every day.

No Down Low With The Flow?

When I was 19 and I had just met Norris, we had scheduled our first “date night”.  It was summer and I was home from college.  Read “date night” as us grabbing some dinner, and then watching a movie back at his place aka code words for “fucking”.  From the moment we scheduled it, I was anxiously looking forward to it.  That man made my crazy colored artsy girl heart go BANG, ZOOM well, more like my lady bits, but at 19 sometimes we often get these parts confused.

In any case, I was having my period, but it was waning.  Still, on the eve of date night, I still had it, and knew it would still be there for the “Big Night”.  This distressed me.  I was always under the impression that sex on your period was “dirty”.  No one ever told me this flat out, but I suppose it’s there in the underlying text when you learn about this marvelous womanly wonder. On the one hand here is this awesome thing that allows your body to produce life, and on the other, it’s deemed a nuisance, and sometimes, a painfully uncomfortable one.  One that is to be kept hidden, and spoken about only in hushed tones and whispers with sideways glances.  Congratulations, you’re a woman!  Oh, sorry, and also dirty and you should be ashamed.

So, needless to say, I had taken it to heart that this was something I should never, ever, consider coming anywhere near a man with.

Oddly enough, there was something about who I was at that point in my life, and luckily so for me, that I was brave and brazen enough to approach the subject with him.  On the eve of the date when he called to confirm our plans, I told him that I had something to ask him.  I tentatively explained that I was finishing up my “monthly”, and while it was mostly gone, there still might be traces of it around for our night together, and hesitantly asked if this would be a problem for him.  What happened next basically spells out how most of my 17 plus year friendship with him ended up being like: he said, “I had a feeling you were going to ask me that.  No, it’s not a problem at all for me”.  You know, that seems like such a small deal, but it was actually quite pivotal.  It’s also one of the many reasons it made him so easy to fall for, as a sexy friend, or otherwise.

This was the beginning of the reversal of any negative subliminal programming I had received regarding my period as dirty or disgusting.

After this I was never afraid to go there without hesitation with lovers, and I have to say I have been exceptionally lucky in that I have never had a man say “No” when I was on my flow.  “Red Wings” have been earned by many a lover, and many a cock have been smothered, covered, and love”red” with my crimson flow.  In some ways, it feels very primal.    I love a man who isn’t squicked out by something so natural, and likewise, wouldn’t justify it as a reason to pass up orgasmic bliss.  I find it hard to imagine enjoying a lover who has such a roadblock.  I’m guessing we wouldn’t be very compatible, as I am not waiting 7 days to stop bleeding just so I can jump my partner.  I am not that patient.

Its blood.  That’s all, people.  Just blood.  Hey, if you read Twilight and swoon over vampires,  obviously the thought of blood isn’t all that disgusting to you.  Why should it get in the way of your pleasure?

Sheets can get thrown in the wash, and come out unstained.  Towels can be placed underneath if you don’t want the hassle of changing your bed sheets.  Most of all, bodies wash off!  Continue that sexy time with sensuous clean up in the shower afterwards!

Think of it this way, if he says “no” to having sex with you for fear of period blood, but has no issues with the thought of anal sex (and thus the possibility of getting shit on his dick) then what does this really say?  Things that make me go hmmmmmm.  Might I add, I love anal, and men who love anal, and men who are just not afraid of bodies in general.  I love a man who can go with the flow.  Red Wingers, I salute you!

In the interest of good science, and just plain nosy curiosity for those out there who are so inclined to share, how do you feel about getting down when you, or your lover, is bleeding?

Ladies, do you avoid sex when you have your period?  If so, why?

Men, do you avoid having sex with your lover when she is having her monthly flow?

Or, because I just like a good story, feel free to share a similar story about this sacred taboo.

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.

Me On The Joy of Kissing

I’m in far too good a mood today to leave you all in the weighted woe of my last post.  I really wrote most of those things down last night, after I was walking home in the chill of the dark autumn air.  Now, today, it’s a new feeling, a new turn of the wheel always turning.

I am feeling light, joyous, and content, and I want to share those feelings with all of you too.

Photo courtesy of The Trend Guys

And what better way to do so than to wax poetically on one of my very favorite acts of pleasure: kissing.

Kissing is making love with your mouth.   It’s exchanging secret wishes for something more.  I find it profoundly intimate and deeply sensual when done right.

A mouth that is hungry, but not voracious.  Lips that are soft, but deliberate.  A tongue that is eager to know the slippery contours of my partner’s tongue and lips.  I want a mouth that explores mine filled with desire. I want a man who explores my mouth with his like he’s painting his want across the canvas of my mouth.  Broad languid strokes of the tongue, lips that don’t wrestle, but instead embrace mine.  A tongue that traces the blossoming line of my parted lips, and knows the delicate balance of capture and release between lips, teeth and tongue.

I hate a rigid tongue.  A tongue that is stiff and flicks about like it doesn’t know where it’s going, or like it’s trying to engage in a sword fight with my tongue is a huge turn off.   I will immediately think you will make love to my body like this, and will not let you go any further.  Kissing to me, is the deal breaker. If I do not like the way you kiss me, I will never allow you any more of me.  I don’t believe that you can teach someone how to kiss.  You either know it innately, or not al all.

I want a mouth that seeks to know all of my hidden secrets, and that knows how to pull them out of me, without me ever speaking a word.

And I want a body that presses itself against mine, and becomes one with the shifting contours of my silhouette.  I body whose desire I can feel rampant and pleading.

It’s how I will kiss you, if you are someone I desire to touch this way.

I could spend an entire night just kissing…just knowing someone this way, and feeling the desperate anticipation cresting with each caress, mouths pressed deep.

Sometimes when I am masturbating, I move my mouth in an imagined kiss; trace my lower lip with the brush of my tongue, search with my lips for my invisible lover’s.  I kiss the creation of whomever I am fantasizing about in the moment, as if they were flesh and blood before me.  it instantly heightens my arousal.  I come quicker, and more intensely; the response is the same when I am with a partner, too.

I am an exceptionally orally fixated lover.  I need my mouth romanced.  I need to court the lust from your body with mine.

I want passion spoken to my soul.

Watch this.  Not these two people, but yes this song and this kissing.  Not he first kissing off the escalator (that looks too fake), but the kissing in bed.

“I am folded and unfolded, and unfolding”

“Pull me out from inside…I am ready…I am ready…I am fine”

Yes.  Please.