When It Rains, It Pours

I’m not even sure where to begin, but suffice it to say things have gotten way interesting as of late.  So much so, that I hadn’t even realized it has been nearly three weeks since I posted.

First, where last we left off I was being heavily tempted into Scarlet Letterdom by my sexy running friend.  In addition, and of less interest, but much less inner cricket complication, I was being pursued fairly persistently by two other men: one who is significantly older than me, and the other who is now several states away. I really didn’t feel so inclined to even write about them, but I suppose it’s worth mentioning because, honestly, I am convinced that the Universe is having a good laugh at my expense.

pouringrainIn all initial retrospection, I find that I really have zero desire or interest in the first man, also a runner.  While in my 20’s and even into my early 30’s I always dated men who were 5 years plus my senior, I found that as I moved into my mid (and now late) 30’s that this proclivity changed.  I’m not sure if men my age finally caught up to me, or I finally became less dismissive of them, but in any case, I really don’t want to date someone who is significantly older than me anymore.  And by “significantly older” I mean he has almost 20 years on me!  All of that aside, I have absolutely no sexual attraction to him.  Our kids used to go to school together, so what I initially thought was just pleasant conversation between friends, inadvertently turned into flirtatious maneuverings on his part.  He’s asked me out several times now, and I have found polite ways to turn him down.  However, he keeps pursuing, and I’m just always so bad at the “Sorry, but I’m not interested” rebuff.  I figure I’ll just keep saying  no until he gets the drift.  I hope this eventually clicks for him.

And then there is the second guy who I have actually been friends with for awhile, albeit casually.  He lived here when I first met him, but recently moved several states away for a new job.  I’ve always been on the fence about him.  I’m not sure what it is really that keeps me indecisive.  I usually am pretty all or nothing in this respect.

He’s super intelligent, witty, not to hard on the eyes at all, but…he’s much shorter than me.  I like my men tall.  I admit it, I do.  They have to be at least my height (5’8″ barefoot), otherwise it just feels awkward to me.  I suppose that is the real clincher for me.  Of course, one of my very hottest romances was with a man who was 3 inches shorter than me, so how can I really rule it out?

He was mildly dropping occasional hints of interest when he was living here, but never made a move, and since I was always unsure about my own interest in him, I didn’t either.  Now that he’s moved away though, he’s become far more direct with his flirtations.  I’m still iffy on him, and it would be worth checking out if he lived here still.  Sorry dude, you’re 3 states away now, so an instant checkmark off on my list.

So, although there have been others players in the game, isn’t it always the way that the one I have the most interest in is the one I should steer clear away from.  What is it I said about not wanting those kind of complications?  Well, I’ve decided to listen to the head on my shoulders, instead of my cute pink little one, and avoid the drama and story juggling that comes with attached men in very closed relationships.  Oh, I’ll continue to flirt with him for sure, and I definitely plan to keep up the sexting, that’s far too delicious to stop doing.  I just can’t take it any further.  Sometimes you have to “check yourself before you wreck yourself”, am I right?

Now that I have you all up to date on the “behind the scenes” from the past several weeks, we can get down to the real juicy stuff.

You know that old adage “Ask and ye shall receive”?  Well, let’s just say I am getting what I asked for, and then some!

 

 

 

 

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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.

Orgasms: Batteries Not Included

Still coming down from one of the most intense orgasmic highs I have had in long, long, time.  As I sit here legs crossed and type this, I can still feel the aching sensitivity in my clit as it presses up against my panties, and it makes me want more.  It also makes me think I am far too lazy when it comes to self loving’, and that has to change.

True confession time…I am a lazy masturbator.  I touched on this (pun intended) awhile back when I wrote Flying Solo: Myths About Masturbation and Women.  Technology has made me, like most of us, yearn for instant gratification, and I have let that seep into my solo flying time.  For this reason, I envy you men out there because, although there are toys made for you too, I don’t think you rely on them nearly as much as we women do.

When I was 19 and living in NYC, I confessed to my roommate that although I had had sex before, I had never had an orgasm with a partner, nor when masturbating.  She exclaimed, “You need toys”, and quickly planned a field trip for us up to Eve’s Garden on W. 57th St, and there I discovered the world of sex toys for the first time.  I bought my very first vibrator who I later named Pink Pearl.  It was your basic hand-held “back massager” (winky winky, nudgy nudgy), which was really a super compact hand held vibrating clit lover.  The minute I got home I threw some Mazzy Star on my CD player, closed my bedroom curtain (no door to our bedroom, poor college dorm life), and had my first orgasm within 10 seconds!  Bang Zoom!

Pretty soon after that I began having orgasms with partners with ease, the talented ones at least.  In fact, I think my ex-husband was the first man I had an orgasm with, so I should give him credit where credit is due! <insert a round of applause for him here>  But I digress, this is about my solo loving adventures…

Not the same one, but similar to Pink Pearl

Not the same one, but similar to Pink PearBut I digress, this is really about my adventures in self loving…the five to ten fingered kind.

Still, even after enjoying many nights with my Pink Pearl wonder into my mid 20’s, I had never been able to, despite many attempts, been able to make myself com using only my hand.  I found it a little distressing.  I kind of wondered why I wasn’t able to, and truthfully, felt a little ashamed that i couldn’t…like I was broken compared to other women that seemed to be able to finger themselves into orgasm with ease.

One day I was talking with a female friend while we were on a camping trip, and somehow the topic of masturbation came up.  What can I say?  I have some pretty cool friends and some wild campfire stories because of it.  Anyway, I confessed that I had been unsuccessful at making myself cum by hand, and that I had to rely on toys. Lo and behold, I felt the greatest relief when a huge smile beamed from her face and she cried, “Me too!”  Suddenly, we were no longer solo in our touchy situations!  You could just see the weight of judgements we had made about ourselves silently lifted from our shoulders in this moment of female campfire bonding.

In the summer of 2006 I had taken a job that was out of town, and I ended up staying at my mother’s house during the week in order to make the commute shorter.  I was 30.  The nights were warm and humid, and because I love warm weather, I delighted in sleeping with the window next to my bed open so I could listen to the alluring sounds of night.  Now, that year was a lot like this past one for me.  That July it had been a long stretch of months that I hadn’t had sex, and much like now, that meant my libido was on overdrive.  I had forgotten to bring my vibrator with me, and even if I hadn’t, I would’ve been afraid I would have been overheard even in the middle of the night.

That day at work I had a client who was a doctor on vacation from Canada.  He was very tall (just how I like men to be), with short dark hair and hazel-ocean eyes.  I’m not sure what it was about him that made him stand out to me, maybe it was how he smiled at me that seemed to convey a more desirous subtext then what was actually spoken, but that night he became that focus of my fantasies.

By this point I had just succumbed to the idea that I couldn’t bring myself to orgasm with my fingers, but without my vibrator, I was going to have to make due.  I stroked my pussy while I thought of him…his eyes, his lips…and what I imagined the rest of his body looked like.  I slid my fingers inside myself and stroked my g-spot, making sure to brush the length of each finger against my clit each time I would pull them out.  I was lost in this fantasy fueled by fervid lust of a total stranger.

And then I came, so hard, that I was flying high on both orgasmic bliss and total disbelief!  It was well after midnight, but I couldn’t help it.  I was so excited to have brought myself to orgasm without anything else but my touch, that I immediately (once I could pull myself together enough to speak coherently), called the one person I knew who might be up, my long-time friend (and occasional lover) Emrys, and gleefully shared my glorious accomplishment.  You would have thought I had just won an Oscar for it with the excitement that poured out of me.

That was 8 years ago, and guess what?  Despite the fact that I now knew it was possible for me to make myself cum by only my touch, I fell back into my lazy mastrabatory love of technology, and have used a vibrator ever since.  Admittedly, a lot of the time it just comes down to that: sheer laziness on my part.  I know I can make myself cum this way with very little effort, and sometimes, a quickie is all I really want or have time for.  Sleep is precious man!

If there is one thing I know about the world we live in, it’s that everyone seems to want to find a faster, more efficient way to do things.  Sadly, my solo sexcapades have taken this same trend to heart…or part, should I say.  This afternoon was a lesson in why this is robbing me of some deliriously mind-blowing orgasmic fun time.

Flirty Running Friend to the rescue!  Yes, as always with our sexy little texts he made me instantly juicy.  There was that wanton desire again that was unrelenting, and most definitely required an afternoon tryst with myself.  This time I didn’t reach for the vibrator though.  I wanted to fantasize about what his lips and tongue would feel like on me, and there was no way I could do that any justice with some battery-operated toy.

I am get very wet, but I wanted my pussy even slicker.  Lucky Bloke sent me a wonderful gift package of lubes (so much lube, so little time), and it’s high time I make an effort to play around with them.  I used just a little, but oh, it made my pussy deliciously silky to touch.  I stroked the shaft of my clit from the top of the hood to the tip, and lost myself in pretending it was his tongue.  I  took my time.  I reveled in every blissful sensation of my touch.  It was like drawing with electricity on my skin.  I sent him little texts about what I was doing until I could no longer focus on anything else, but my touch and my fantasy of him.

I reached inside with one…two…three fingers, teased myself, pulled out, and went back to stroking my clit.  I slipped my clit between two fingers and lightly squeezed them together around it as I rubbed up and down.  I was trembling with such fierce electric pleasure from each stroke.  This was something new I discovered I liked.  I always like learning new things about my body, even now after I have been long acquainted with what brings it satisfaction.

When I came, it was more intense than I ever do with toys.  And I do love toys, I do (Lelo, you’re the one for me, baby), but this was in another whole realm completely.  It was so much closer to the intensity of orgasms that I have with partners. This totally blew solo sex with vibrators right out of the water!  As I lay there, still shuddering with tremors of pleasure even several minutes after the crescendo of my orgasmic peak had subsided, I couldn’t help but wonder why I don’t forgo toys more often.  I am more than convinced that I need to wean my solo flights off batteries and spend more time learning how to more artfully play the “sin”strument that is my body.  I want to break free from my 90’s “instant gratification” Generation X’er haze and take my time.  After all, why rush pleasure?  Save that shit for the DMV and the dentist office…aka “things we hate that never seem to go fast enough”, My Precious.

And now I leave you with this 90’s flashback, and a little tribute to Flirty Running friend.

Don’t let this go too much to your head, FRF…you’re not the only one I want. =)

Musings Of A Gun Shy Heart

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

Do I choose people who I know will leave me?

Do I choose people I know I will eventually leave?

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

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

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

What does lasting love look like?

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

Things I know about what I want for myself

I really don’t want to share or be shared

I don’t want to be with someone controlling

I don’t want a relationship without passion

I need intimacy and emotional connection

I enjoy sex often

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

Physical affection is important to me

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does any of this even exist?

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.

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.

 

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.

You’re Gonna Have to Face It…You’re Addicted to My Blog?

It appears that, somewhere back in the middle of October and unbeknownst to me until recently, that flirty, dirty, blogger friend of mine, Joe, gifted me with the infamous Addictive Blog Award!

In case you missed it last week when I dedicated this post on striptease to him, Joe writes the sinfully delicious blog, My Jaded Parts.  Journeying through Joe’s mind is an interesting ride involving his sexual forays, too many glasses of wine, knee-high sock fetishes, fantasies involving ex-girlfriends, and lots of other sexy hubbub, so be prepared for a great read!  You should go check him out!  But not right now…keep reading this post first!  (I’m so bossy, aren’t I?)

Now, there are a few rules to this award, so here goes:

Award Rules: Thank the person awarding you. Share a little about why you blog and how the journey started. Paste the blog award on your page. Nominate 10 other bloggers you feel deserve the award.

First, thanks Joe!  You are one rock solid piece of sexy, cerebral, lovin’.  You’re a juicy read always!

Second…Why do I blog?

I had a roommate in college who told me that I “should be famous, so that everyone can know you”, and since I’m still not famous yet, I figured I would go with the latter part.

I want people to know me, but not necessarily me “specifically”, but more so the facets of me that some part of them can relate to.  Kind of like finding a proverbial life raft afloat on the vast expanse of the ocean we call humanity.  The reason the “US” in “erogenoUS” is capitalized is because, while these are true stories of my erotic life, they are really stories of sex and sexuality that all of us, female or male, can relate to on some level, personally.  I want people to read me, and while learning about me, learn something about themselves too.  That’s the simplest version, at least. 🙂  All of that, plus, I love to write!  Always have, always will.  I started this blog back in June of this year, and I see it as a spring-board for me to bring sex-positive awareness to the world around me, one inner musing at a time.

Now on to my Top 10 Nominations for Addictive Blogs  (da dada dah!)  These are not all sex-related, just so ya know.  They are in NO particular order:

1) The Fur Files – Fern is bushels full of absolute awesome, and I love reading her!  Humor-infused love of home-life, sex-life, and cat-lady life: what’s not to love?  Plus, she’s also a super saucy erotica writer, too!

2) The Redhead Bedhead – We share a passion for all things sex-positive.  Her vulnerability and openness is addictively brilliant! She is helping save the world from mediocre sex. I read her and feel like we would be best friends if we met outside of blogging land. 🙂 Her blog is all kinds of awesome.

3) Why Am I Here in a Handbasket? – She says far more with fewer words than anyone on WordPress!  Addictively funny!

4) Go Deeper Press – Erotica and sexuality with honesty, humor, and wit! Love these ladies!!

5) Smut for Smarties – Lady Cheeky’s insatiably addicting sex-positive packed erotica blog for people who know smart is sexy!

6) My Jaded Parts – Duh!

7) Not So Sex In The City – Saucy reading!  She makes me feel like I’m not as “out there” as I thought I was!

8) Many Shades of Sexy – 3 sexy ladies, 3 sexy different perspectives!  One amazing blog!  They have been quiet lately, but I hold out hope they’ll be back.

9) The Bloggess – Unless you have been sleeping under a VERY big rock, you already know how motherbleeping fall-off-my-chair laughing-all-the-time STELLAR  she is! If not, GO READ HER NOW!

10)  Kink in Motion – She wrote one of the best articles on kink and fear play that I have ever read.  She also has a wickedly fun sense of humor!

So there you have it, now go explore!!!