I want a clever title for a chapter about my sexy self. Eve Ensler's "Vagina Monlogues" makes for a tempting yet unoriginal title. This blog is me thinking out loud - witness the chaos - as I figure out how to describe what I find arousing to titillate and inform a potential partner.
I like to speak in metaphor so I could break down my sexual appetite by presenting the ideal sexual experience for me in menu format. Hrm. List appetizers (favourite foreplay), main course (preferred positions), and dessert (fantasy, sweet nothings). It's got possibilities.
Ok, let's see...what rhymes with vagina? China. Time-ah. Pizza. I already referenced the article 'Sex is like pizza' in another post so that's out of the running. I could commit a cardinal sin and combine both unoriginal ideas in an orginal way..."Want a slice of pizza then let's talk about my vagina."Oh God, save me from myself. How lame! Fuuuuck.
Alright, that's it. I'm moving onto the content of the piece. No more rhyming games. First, I'd have a spiel about the qualities that turn me on like intelligence, humour, and compassion. Then I'd point readers to an earlier post about the look that makes me go ga-ga. The nitty gritty of it, though, would go beyond mental orgasms and animal attraction to get into more personal details.
What do I like in bed? "I'm looking for an adventurous guy to explore my sexual geography. My erogenous zones include my ears, neck, shoulder, sides, and the usual suspects." Well, it's not a bad start, but it's not great. The theme of mapping out touchable topography to discover sensitive zones is a workable metaphor.
"Cuchi is my word for my vagina. I figure I should introduce you two since you might be getting to know one another." Wow, that makes me sound like a wacko. Memo to Me: do not infantilize genitals.It's worse than being clinical. Ugh. I'm not a fan of the word 'pussy'. There's got to be a word for crotch that feels hot.
I like the word cock. I like pump, too, if used in in a sentence like, "I'm gonna pump you hard" Ewww. That's so cheesy in black and white. In bed, I want a man to use wordplay to turn me on. It's the best of both worlds. No silent sex for me. Oh hell no. I crave the noises of pleasure. Caveat: 'Oh baby' is a worn out broken record, so if that's your idea of sweet nothings, grunts are better. Either make it funny, personalize it, or keep it to moans and heavy breathing. And saying it while breathing hot and heavy into my ear is...gooood.
It ratchets up my horniness to know my partner's having a good time. A man's facial expression, body language, and comments are my undoing. The more his desire shines in his eyes, slickens his skin, and alternately softens or sharpens his moans or cries, the more it revs me up. Hell, I'm getting interested just typing this.
One particular set of words I like to hear is how wet or hot or tight I feel. It doesn't matter who says it. I pimp out adjectives to get my juices flowing as much as I enjoy hearing a man tell me all about it. I'm such a word whore. It's important to remember that the biggest sex organ is the one between my ears so verbal appreciation for how I look and what I'm doing has major dividends.
I spontaneously tell my partner what a great lover he is in a continuous feedback loop. I'm a passionate lover and I want to make my partner feel like he's all that matters. I've found that the surest way to enjoy myself is to put my partner's needs before my own. The desperate tug inside me that burns through my senses is fuelled by knowing I'm doing what my partner likes and driving him over the edge. His thirst for my touch spurs my lust. It's a neverending cycle of mutual pleasure from savouring each other in the moment, insulated from the world and devoted to one another's bliss.
Speaking of mutual satisfaction and the them of giving and receiving, oral sex is a must on the 'to do' list. I'm not saying it has to happen every single time, in fact, I like to get finger fucking almost as much as someone going down on me. The key is that a person is comfortable with both performing and accepting oral pleasure.
One guy I've been talking to recently admitted he's got next to zero experience in oral sex. After I recovered from the shock of it, I was inwardly groaning about training someone in the how-to's. Then I got excited. I like being in charge. It'd be great to have a tabula rasa. I could teach someone exactly what works for me. I'm hellbound; not evil, but definitely naughty. I was hoping to find a guide to hasten my downward spiral, but corrupting the heavenbound would have its perks.
As with any man I invite to my bed, my goal would be to discover what rocks his world. I look forward to trying my bag of tricks to see what technique is the best form of sweet torture in bringing him to climax. It ain't over 'til the hot guy cums. Oh how I delight in taking someone close to the point of no return and bringing them down again so they want it all the more. Booyah. Eventually, I put someone out of their misery (begging not required, but awesome all the same).
Speaking of screaming, I could go into the language of my sexual escalation. I'm expressive. For my part, the more excited I get, the more my mind goes blank. A good fuck renders me inarticulate. Imagine that.
The coital continuum:
Stage 1 - Guidance: "Oh that feels good. Do that again. Right there. Mmm, just like that."
Stage 2 - Placation: "I want you inside me."
Stage 3 - Losing Coherence: "Oh fuuuuck."
Stage 4 - Monosyllabic or action words: "Yea!" "Ohhhh." "Harder!" "Faster!"
Stage 5 - Obscenity and divinity: "Oh fuck, oh God, oh my fucking God. Holy fuck."
Stage 6 - Incapable of speech: ohhhhhhhmmmnnnuhhh...
More to come... :P
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Friday, February 4, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Sexual Stats: Who Wins the MVP Award?
Status: Actively Dating
Sanity: Waxing and Waning
Would dating be easier if there were sexual stats trading cards? Is there a way to objectively evaluate someone's sexual experience? Let's say for the sake of silliness that sexual know-how could be quantified. Each player's achievements would be summarized in a handy wallet-size format along with a Pythagorean expectation or estimate of expected winning percentage.This is written tongue-in-cheek so try to enjoy it in that spirit, sports fans!
The first design problem is establishing general categories of what's valued in sexual interaction. As a straight single woman on a dating site, I've been approached by guys who want to send me pics of their dicks. If these men had their way, one side of the sex stats trading card would be devoted to their penis, including a glossy photo, dimensions, how many wet towels it holds and other trivia which might fascinate those blokes who check out each other's genitals while standing side-by-side at urinals, but bat size isn't everything!
Unless you've been living under a rock, you know the baseball metaphor for physical intimacy which is fundamentally flawed in that it dictates a universal progression of activity.
So, what information would be featured in forecasting a player's ability to hit one out of the park? If we take this absurd metaphor to its ungainly conclusion, the 'numbers' equate to a sexual yardstick for measuring a person's carnal talents. This kind of sexual calculus is totally bogus. The characteristics that make a sexual experience pleasurable aren't the kind that can be described in a competitive format. The MVP goes to someone who is self-aware, communicative, and able to enjoy sensuality in all its forms.
Sanity: Waxing and Waning
Would dating be easier if there were sexual stats trading cards? Is there a way to objectively evaluate someone's sexual experience? Let's say for the sake of silliness that sexual know-how could be quantified. Each player's achievements would be summarized in a handy wallet-size format along with a Pythagorean expectation or estimate of expected winning percentage.This is written tongue-in-cheek so try to enjoy it in that spirit, sports fans!
The first design problem is establishing general categories of what's valued in sexual interaction. As a straight single woman on a dating site, I've been approached by guys who want to send me pics of their dicks. If these men had their way, one side of the sex stats trading card would be devoted to their penis, including a glossy photo, dimensions, how many wet towels it holds and other trivia which might fascinate those blokes who check out each other's genitals while standing side-by-side at urinals, but bat size isn't everything!
Unless you've been living under a rock, you know the baseball metaphor for physical intimacy which is fundamentally flawed in that it dictates a universal progression of activity.
- First base is commonly understood to be any form of mouth to mouth kissing, especially open lip (“French”) kissing.
- Second base refers to tactile stimulation of the genitals over clothes, or of the female breasts.
- Third base refers to groping naked genitals (handjob or fingering), or oral sex.
- Home run (or rounding the bases, scoring a run, hitting a home run, scoring, going all the way, coming home, etc.) is the act of penetrative intercourse.
So, what information would be featured in forecasting a player's ability to hit one out of the park? If we take this absurd metaphor to its ungainly conclusion, the 'numbers' equate to a sexual yardstick for measuring a person's carnal talents. This kind of sexual calculus is totally bogus. The characteristics that make a sexual experience pleasurable aren't the kind that can be described in a competitive format. The MVP goes to someone who is self-aware, communicative, and able to enjoy sensuality in all its forms.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
STD Run Rampant: Short Term Dating is Viral Delusion
I wrote an insanely sane post about this topic but didn't save it when I signed out last time. This hybrid post is the short-short version of the glorious and forever lost original.It's fitting since short-term dating is also my attempt to merge an abbreviated version of the emotional intimacy of a relationship and the physical aspect of casual sex. Don't bother me with moral relativism, I'm retyping.
The site offers several choices in how you advertise your interest. Most of the past year I've been window shopping so I put out (or rather, didn't...) 'friends' and 'long-distance' penpals. I didn't even bother with 'activity partners' since I figured friends would fall under that category if platonic relations was their true interest. Okay, enough background info. I didn't bother with it in the lovely lost post so why I felt compelled to include it now is beyond me. I'm too lazy to backspace, fuck it, it stays.
I duly considered casual sex, short-term dating, and long-term dating. Who's the lucky winner? Well, although I'd like to get lucky, I didn't indicate I was looking for casual sex. Inviting casual sex into my life would be like sending out an anonymous Dear John letter. Getting back into the dating world is like trying to find my way around without a map. I've never visited the particular territory of sex with no strings attached cos my moral compass was habitually set in the direction of 'forever after'. Stumbling into the undiscovered realm of strictly sex would mean I'd get lost for sure. A series of casualties would be the result and I'll be damned if I'll apologize for incidental damages like accidental neediness.
I'm not ready for an LTR (Long Term Relationship) and I'm not willing to lead somone on to believe otherwise. I've got the right qualities for it but my inner landscape is inhospitable to the idea of 'giving myself away' to someone again. I'm almost concerned I'm turning into one of those cynical bastards I love to hate, but any of the guys I get to know invariably describe me as sweet, caring, and other effusive nonsense so although I thought my heart might finally have shrunk from 3 sizes too big to a black, withered thing like some stone cold asshole might have in his chest, apparently my ticker is still working overtime.
I need to avoid the pitfall of sticking around because the other person likes me a lot. I've pulled that dumbass maneouvre more than I care to admit. If you don't know what I'm talking about, congratulations you're a mature human being who can clearly communicate uncomfortable feelings. I default to an LTR when my feelings are lukewarm at best and my compassion is at its worst. It's not fair to anyone because that guy becomes the second chance dance partner which is a horrific discovery for someone to make. Hence the need for an expiration date.
To me, short term dating is smack dab in the middle of the spectrum of physical and emotional interest. It's a way of saying 'I might fuck you if I like you'. This way, if someone is more interested in sex, they can be let go in the same way they were let in. Easy comes, easy goes, as it were. There's nothing wrong with someone being mostly interested in sex for sex's sake, but I'd get bored if it was primarily a poke-a-hole thing. Alternatively, if someone wants more commitment, I could politely excuse myself from further entanglement. Again, I've got no problem if someone is looking for a life partner, but I'm not in a good place for it right now. The trick is to be able to stick to this blueprint IRL. I had a clever reflection about the futility of having a plan when the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry which seems timely enough considering the fate of the former post.
How can you predict the unpredictable? Whenever two human beings interact there are bound to be unexpected discoveries. Check in again to see how this strategy translates IRL as I get to know the three bachelors mentioned in another post. The road to hell is paved with good intentions so I wonder how far I'll get down purgatory lane... .
The site offers several choices in how you advertise your interest. Most of the past year I've been window shopping so I put out (or rather, didn't...) 'friends' and 'long-distance' penpals. I didn't even bother with 'activity partners' since I figured friends would fall under that category if platonic relations was their true interest. Okay, enough background info. I didn't bother with it in the lovely lost post so why I felt compelled to include it now is beyond me. I'm too lazy to backspace, fuck it, it stays.
I duly considered casual sex, short-term dating, and long-term dating. Who's the lucky winner? Well, although I'd like to get lucky, I didn't indicate I was looking for casual sex. Inviting casual sex into my life would be like sending out an anonymous Dear John letter. Getting back into the dating world is like trying to find my way around without a map. I've never visited the particular territory of sex with no strings attached cos my moral compass was habitually set in the direction of 'forever after'. Stumbling into the undiscovered realm of strictly sex would mean I'd get lost for sure. A series of casualties would be the result and I'll be damned if I'll apologize for incidental damages like accidental neediness.
I'm not ready for an LTR (Long Term Relationship) and I'm not willing to lead somone on to believe otherwise. I've got the right qualities for it but my inner landscape is inhospitable to the idea of 'giving myself away' to someone again. I'm almost concerned I'm turning into one of those cynical bastards I love to hate, but any of the guys I get to know invariably describe me as sweet, caring, and other effusive nonsense so although I thought my heart might finally have shrunk from 3 sizes too big to a black, withered thing like some stone cold asshole might have in his chest, apparently my ticker is still working overtime.
I need to avoid the pitfall of sticking around because the other person likes me a lot. I've pulled that dumbass maneouvre more than I care to admit. If you don't know what I'm talking about, congratulations you're a mature human being who can clearly communicate uncomfortable feelings. I default to an LTR when my feelings are lukewarm at best and my compassion is at its worst. It's not fair to anyone because that guy becomes the second chance dance partner which is a horrific discovery for someone to make. Hence the need for an expiration date.
To me, short term dating is smack dab in the middle of the spectrum of physical and emotional interest. It's a way of saying 'I might fuck you if I like you'. This way, if someone is more interested in sex, they can be let go in the same way they were let in. Easy comes, easy goes, as it were. There's nothing wrong with someone being mostly interested in sex for sex's sake, but I'd get bored if it was primarily a poke-a-hole thing. Alternatively, if someone wants more commitment, I could politely excuse myself from further entanglement. Again, I've got no problem if someone is looking for a life partner, but I'm not in a good place for it right now. The trick is to be able to stick to this blueprint IRL. I had a clever reflection about the futility of having a plan when the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry which seems timely enough considering the fate of the former post.
How can you predict the unpredictable? Whenever two human beings interact there are bound to be unexpected discoveries. Check in again to see how this strategy translates IRL as I get to know the three bachelors mentioned in another post. The road to hell is paved with good intentions so I wonder how far I'll get down purgatory lane... .
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Goldicocks and The Three Boys
Originally, I was going to call this post "Ignorant Immigrant" in reference to the first candidate for my casual sex interest, but he's not a jerk; he just doesn't know how to use his words to turn me on. In a way though, his wrong words and cumbersome phrases are weaving a spell on me because for all his broken English, the man has a hot body and a good heart. The Endearing Immigrant, as he shall henceforth be described, deserves honorary mention as a current man project.
At this point, I'm not strictly window shopping on the dating site. I'm actively looking at men on a case-by-case basis and trying to find the best fit. It might be worthwhile to mention that EI says a woman he fucked (or made sex to LOL) in the past claimed he was 'too big'. So, it's quite possible this boy is 'too big' for me. I say that tongue-in-cheek - he's using terms of endearment like they're going out of style (which is somewhat European) but has recently stumbled upon recurrent themes like he thinks I'm 'sweet', and he wants 'a girl like me' to take care of him, blah blah blah. I'm trying to filter this out as typical white noise a man might make in his romancing the pants off a woman stage. If he keeps it up though, his words will trip him up. I don't want him to start making any plans around me.
I'm talking to another muscle-bound man who's a bit more fluent in Smurfspeak. This pilgrim seems honest and straightforward and makes no bones about his interest in my ass. Apparently, I have a nice ass although you can't see it in any of my pictures. The man's either delusional or has a vivid imagination. I agree with his assessment that my boobs are big, though, cos it's obvious in any picture. At any rate, for what it's worth, he's positive and amenable. He can reflect back to me he understands what I'm saying. Unfortunately, he might be 'too small' since he's 5'10. He's got 4 inches on me but it's not an instant attraction. We'll see if that spark is there if and when I meet him IRL.
The guy who might be 'just right' is, of course, a much more talkative chap and makes me laugh a lot. He's attractive to me in that he's more articulate in addition to being a good-looking guy. Naturally, he's got a virtual harem. He wanted me to text him and I declined so who knows if that's a deal-breaker for him. Apparently, texting is his means of communication with his pussy posse. My words, not his. So, given the fact that there are plenty of chicks interested in this dick (and his ability to 'understand' women), I'm not sure if I want him, anymore. On the one hand, he's unlikely to ask for any emotional investment so I'd have plenty of space. It would be a user-friendly interaction. On the other hand, I wouldn't be treated like a priority and that aggravates the shit out of me.
Looking at my current choices, which may be summarily rejected in the nicest way possible, it occurs to me I need to achieve a balance where I like someone enough to want to have sex with them, but not too much to avoid emotional entrapment. It may seem like I'm going through a selfish phase, but I'm also looking out for the guy's interest. If it feels like he's going to fall overboard, while I'm tempted to shove him off and throw him a lifesaver, I'm more likely to talk him off the ledge and sit with him to comfort or explain things as best I can. The more I honestly express my interest in short-term connections, the less daunting it seems. I'll revist my definition of short-term dating in the next blog.
At this point, I'm not strictly window shopping on the dating site. I'm actively looking at men on a case-by-case basis and trying to find the best fit. It might be worthwhile to mention that EI says a woman he fucked (or made sex to LOL) in the past claimed he was 'too big'. So, it's quite possible this boy is 'too big' for me. I say that tongue-in-cheek - he's using terms of endearment like they're going out of style (which is somewhat European) but has recently stumbled upon recurrent themes like he thinks I'm 'sweet', and he wants 'a girl like me' to take care of him, blah blah blah. I'm trying to filter this out as typical white noise a man might make in his romancing the pants off a woman stage. If he keeps it up though, his words will trip him up. I don't want him to start making any plans around me.
I'm talking to another muscle-bound man who's a bit more fluent in Smurfspeak. This pilgrim seems honest and straightforward and makes no bones about his interest in my ass. Apparently, I have a nice ass although you can't see it in any of my pictures. The man's either delusional or has a vivid imagination. I agree with his assessment that my boobs are big, though, cos it's obvious in any picture. At any rate, for what it's worth, he's positive and amenable. He can reflect back to me he understands what I'm saying. Unfortunately, he might be 'too small' since he's 5'10. He's got 4 inches on me but it's not an instant attraction. We'll see if that spark is there if and when I meet him IRL.
The guy who might be 'just right' is, of course, a much more talkative chap and makes me laugh a lot. He's attractive to me in that he's more articulate in addition to being a good-looking guy. Naturally, he's got a virtual harem. He wanted me to text him and I declined so who knows if that's a deal-breaker for him. Apparently, texting is his means of communication with his pussy posse. My words, not his. So, given the fact that there are plenty of chicks interested in this dick (and his ability to 'understand' women), I'm not sure if I want him, anymore. On the one hand, he's unlikely to ask for any emotional investment so I'd have plenty of space. It would be a user-friendly interaction. On the other hand, I wouldn't be treated like a priority and that aggravates the shit out of me.
Looking at my current choices, which may be summarily rejected in the nicest way possible, it occurs to me I need to achieve a balance where I like someone enough to want to have sex with them, but not too much to avoid emotional entrapment. It may seem like I'm going through a selfish phase, but I'm also looking out for the guy's interest. If it feels like he's going to fall overboard, while I'm tempted to shove him off and throw him a lifesaver, I'm more likely to talk him off the ledge and sit with him to comfort or explain things as best I can. The more I honestly express my interest in short-term connections, the less daunting it seems. I'll revist my definition of short-term dating in the next blog.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Manwhore vs Slutty Wannabe
I was going to move on to another topic cos I was already bored talking about the Manwhore - he's old news even though you haven't heard much about him. Serendipitously, a random hot guy on the dating site was chatting me up something fierce tonight. He was clearly working his way towards initiating cybersex so I asked him if he was a manwhore. He clarified that a manwhore is a guy who gets a lot of sex, not a guy who wants a lot of sex. I thought since he was hot he got lucky a lot but apparently not. Hey, that's almost a limerick!
The distinction between getting and wanting sex is not lost on me. I'd like to enjoy a lot of sex and God knows I get enough offers, but some insidious Victorian Era morality has dug its way into the fabric of my being. It gets in the way of me getting between the sheets. The expression I'm looking for here is: Pain In The Ass. Heh heh. This expression tickles my funny bone cos that's what the random hot guy wanted - anal sex. Seriously, what's the big fucking deal, guys? I think all those porno chicks got you thinking we're crazy about it when really...it's not all that. *AHEM* ~Back to original topic~
I'm sorely tempted to get out there and get some hot sex but I'm worried I'll turn into The Cling Thing in the aftermath. Goddamn default programming. It's no longer kosher to blame my parents for raising me with so-called good values. At this stage of my life, it's up to me to separate the romantic narrative I attach to sex in order to enjoy a bit of meaningful distraction, but how?!? I want to convince myself that sex for the sake of physical pleasure is good enough. As I type this, I automatically edit my thoughts. I'm suddenly yearning for some kind of emotional connection as part and parcel of sex. Bah! My overactive conscience strikes again.
If guilt is the ego's way of tricking you into thinking you've made moral progress, then why can't I shed my illusions about the meaning sex has for me? I'm going to try another tack. The whole human being is involved in sex. The brain is in the head when the dick is in the vagina.The heart pumps the blood to the dick so at least figuratively a man's heart is working, too. Oh, this is such a weak anatomical premise for a convergence of physical and emotional spheres during sex. And why is it I assume that a man turns off his emotions during sex, anyway? Yet another illogical, not to mention blatantly sexist, assumption.
What I'm getting at beating around the bush this way (pun intended) is that my interest in The Manwhore was at least in part to find someone to help me con myself into going for sex. It's such a bullshit way to go about it. I need to own that I want sex and be like Nike, "Just do it!" Unfortunately, I harbour this irrational fear of turning into emotional jell-o, "Oh no, my needs are showing!" and the concomitant feeling of being dependent on someone else to reassure me of my choice. Talk about dumb and dumberer. First, I'd default to someone else's desires and then blame them for my insecurity. Smacks of cowardice.
There's no wiggle room here. I need to feel the fear and do it anyway. Isn't that what all the 'feel good' literature tells us? Ready...Set...No! Oh, for crying out loud what's the hold up? Where's the trust in myself, eh? Worse case scenario, the guy is a jerk. I can take care of my feelings, right? Right? This question is the one that bothers me most because I can't answer with certainty that I would still value myself.
It seems like I just got out of that spot not so long ago. I'm barely done picking up the pieces of my shattered self and putting them back together. A year seems like a long time but my emotional life operates in a different dimension - progress is not measured in hours or days but in revelations and themes. Complex issues require more effort and patience. My wounded spirit wants some goddamn peace and quiet to gel back together. I've recovered most of the shards of my identity and reassembled my self-image but it still feels fragile.
Nevertheless, my restless soul yearns for something physical. The lizard part of my brain agitates for getting under someone as a means of getting over the problem. This emotional turbulence seeks release to vent accumulated angst. Enter The Manwhore. Just what I needed...a fall guy for some no strings attached user-friendly sex. The fact that I consciously cast him in that role surely indicates premeditation to commit some crime against myself. Not to mention the not-so-innocent bystander. As The Manwhore got to know me, however, apparently he started to care about me and decided against casual sex. Fuck me. Or not.
So this is a lopsided lament about an unhappy coincidence where a sex object changed the game. But wait! You haven't heard the rest of the story! It was a perpetual tug-of-war. First, he wanted sex and I didn't. This was during the requisite 'courtship' period where I sought to ease my way through my guilt. I wasn't feeling completely restored to myself and was vacillating. I finally articulated that I wanted to have sex, but by then he'd changed his mind because he 'couldn't do that to me.' Ah Christ. The one-dimensional figure in my immorality play grew a conscience.
Coming soon to a blog near you...oh if only!
The distinction between getting and wanting sex is not lost on me. I'd like to enjoy a lot of sex and God knows I get enough offers, but some insidious Victorian Era morality has dug its way into the fabric of my being. It gets in the way of me getting between the sheets. The expression I'm looking for here is: Pain In The Ass. Heh heh. This expression tickles my funny bone cos that's what the random hot guy wanted - anal sex. Seriously, what's the big fucking deal, guys? I think all those porno chicks got you thinking we're crazy about it when really...it's not all that. *AHEM* ~Back to original topic~
I'm sorely tempted to get out there and get some hot sex but I'm worried I'll turn into The Cling Thing in the aftermath. Goddamn default programming. It's no longer kosher to blame my parents for raising me with so-called good values. At this stage of my life, it's up to me to separate the romantic narrative I attach to sex in order to enjoy a bit of meaningful distraction, but how?!? I want to convince myself that sex for the sake of physical pleasure is good enough. As I type this, I automatically edit my thoughts. I'm suddenly yearning for some kind of emotional connection as part and parcel of sex. Bah! My overactive conscience strikes again.
If guilt is the ego's way of tricking you into thinking you've made moral progress, then why can't I shed my illusions about the meaning sex has for me? I'm going to try another tack. The whole human being is involved in sex. The brain is in the head when the dick is in the vagina.The heart pumps the blood to the dick so at least figuratively a man's heart is working, too. Oh, this is such a weak anatomical premise for a convergence of physical and emotional spheres during sex. And why is it I assume that a man turns off his emotions during sex, anyway? Yet another illogical, not to mention blatantly sexist, assumption.
What I'm getting at beating around the bush this way (pun intended) is that my interest in The Manwhore was at least in part to find someone to help me con myself into going for sex. It's such a bullshit way to go about it. I need to own that I want sex and be like Nike, "Just do it!" Unfortunately, I harbour this irrational fear of turning into emotional jell-o, "Oh no, my needs are showing!" and the concomitant feeling of being dependent on someone else to reassure me of my choice. Talk about dumb and dumberer. First, I'd default to someone else's desires and then blame them for my insecurity. Smacks of cowardice.
There's no wiggle room here. I need to feel the fear and do it anyway. Isn't that what all the 'feel good' literature tells us? Ready...Set...No! Oh, for crying out loud what's the hold up? Where's the trust in myself, eh? Worse case scenario, the guy is a jerk. I can take care of my feelings, right? Right? This question is the one that bothers me most because I can't answer with certainty that I would still value myself.
It seems like I just got out of that spot not so long ago. I'm barely done picking up the pieces of my shattered self and putting them back together. A year seems like a long time but my emotional life operates in a different dimension - progress is not measured in hours or days but in revelations and themes. Complex issues require more effort and patience. My wounded spirit wants some goddamn peace and quiet to gel back together. I've recovered most of the shards of my identity and reassembled my self-image but it still feels fragile.
Nevertheless, my restless soul yearns for something physical. The lizard part of my brain agitates for getting under someone as a means of getting over the problem. This emotional turbulence seeks release to vent accumulated angst. Enter The Manwhore. Just what I needed...a fall guy for some no strings attached user-friendly sex. The fact that I consciously cast him in that role surely indicates premeditation to commit some crime against myself. Not to mention the not-so-innocent bystander. As The Manwhore got to know me, however, apparently he started to care about me and decided against casual sex. Fuck me. Or not.
So this is a lopsided lament about an unhappy coincidence where a sex object changed the game. But wait! You haven't heard the rest of the story! It was a perpetual tug-of-war. First, he wanted sex and I didn't. This was during the requisite 'courtship' period where I sought to ease my way through my guilt. I wasn't feeling completely restored to myself and was vacillating. I finally articulated that I wanted to have sex, but by then he'd changed his mind because he 'couldn't do that to me.' Ah Christ. The one-dimensional figure in my immorality play grew a conscience.
Coming soon to a blog near you...oh if only!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Manwhore
A few months after grieving the failure of my first virtual man project, I schlepped my way through yet another get-to-know-you process in making the acquaintance of The Manwhore. Now, although nobody felt the need to point out my reductionist male-bashing categories in previous posts, I think you should know that these terms were how the guys referred to themselves. It's not that unusual for someone to define themselves as as virgin if they haven't had sex but it was unexpected for someone who had a lot of past sexual experience to proclaim himself a manwhore. Truth is stranger than fiction.
You'd think I'd learn my lesson and recommit to non-dating, but the universe had plans for me. I'm disciplined meaning that I can endure what I don't like but I'm also impatient in the sense that if I see something I want that isn't necessarily in my best interest, I have a hard time resisting it. The Pilot who charts my destiny must have picked up on this theme of moral decay and wanted to smack me awake. It was time for me to experience the consequence of such a shameless trajectory.
The pendulum swung the other direction. The Virgin was very structured, traditional, and relationship-oriented. The Manwhore, by contrast, wasn't any of those things. First off, as you'll recall, with the previous boy toy, I was the aggressor. The Manwhore, however, pursued me relentlessly. Secondly, while The Virgin provided a gentle, accepting atmosphere, The Manwhore pushed me beyond my comfort zone. Voila la difference between THAT guy who is relegated to friend territory and the OTHER guy who becomes a dark addiction.
There was nothing wrong with The Virgin. As a real person in the real world, he had lots of great qualities. In my post-mortem analysis of the relationship, I recognized that while he stated he didn't want to have sex before he got married because he didn't think there was much point to it, his limits were not rigid. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I pushed to see what I could get. No, it wasn't very nice but consistency is not a human trait. It wasn't long before he revealed he'd have sex if he was engaged. Then it morphed into if he was in a serious relationship. I felt I could probably work things so that sex was a real possibility in the not-too-distant future. I wasn't very impressed with myself for setting this agenda. But what I really didn't like was being the partner who brings up topics for discussion. I was given the burden of control. No thanks.
One of my friends asked me what the difference was between my feelings for the two guys. Every time I become interested in somebody new I describe my experience of falling in like or lust as if it were unique to that person. It can't be a singularity if it happens ad nauseum, now can it? I can't even remember what I said to her. In the final analysis, there was a sense of possible connection that seemed like I had at last stumbled upon The One because not only did he understand me inside out and upside down but I really, really liked him liked him. It was so very highschool. That lack of balance at the beginning of a relationship is 'the high' for love addicts. Brittney said it best, "Hit me baby, one more time!"
This budding romance had a similar onset of 'instant intimacy'. We chatted for hours at a time on a nearly daily basis. I'm not sure what the hell we talked about other than ourselves. It's that kind of coupledom that smacks of 'too intense to last'. It was a recipe for disaster. He was high octane just like me. He was funny just like me. And let's not forget, horny just like me.
Of course, I pulled out the usual torture methods of bright lights, prodding questions, and watertable. These are standard-issue interrogation techniques I deploy in some half-assed strategem to suss out a person's character. What I really need is truth serum, but failing that, hypervigilance is the next best thing. Right? Wrong. But that's another story for another time.
He liked my questions. He encouraged dialogue. The Manwhore shocked the shit out of me. He wasn't just some asshat, but knew a thing or two about a thing or two. Let me rephrase that, he knew his way around women. He knew that 'emotional safety' was of primary concern. So he set about inviting my questions and narrating his life experience. It was fascinating to me: a moth to the flame.
Stay tuned for the next instalment of the codependent conundrum.
You'd think I'd learn my lesson and recommit to non-dating, but the universe had plans for me. I'm disciplined meaning that I can endure what I don't like but I'm also impatient in the sense that if I see something I want that isn't necessarily in my best interest, I have a hard time resisting it. The Pilot who charts my destiny must have picked up on this theme of moral decay and wanted to smack me awake. It was time for me to experience the consequence of such a shameless trajectory.
The pendulum swung the other direction. The Virgin was very structured, traditional, and relationship-oriented. The Manwhore, by contrast, wasn't any of those things. First off, as you'll recall, with the previous boy toy, I was the aggressor. The Manwhore, however, pursued me relentlessly. Secondly, while The Virgin provided a gentle, accepting atmosphere, The Manwhore pushed me beyond my comfort zone. Voila la difference between THAT guy who is relegated to friend territory and the OTHER guy who becomes a dark addiction.
There was nothing wrong with The Virgin. As a real person in the real world, he had lots of great qualities. In my post-mortem analysis of the relationship, I recognized that while he stated he didn't want to have sex before he got married because he didn't think there was much point to it, his limits were not rigid. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I pushed to see what I could get. No, it wasn't very nice but consistency is not a human trait. It wasn't long before he revealed he'd have sex if he was engaged. Then it morphed into if he was in a serious relationship. I felt I could probably work things so that sex was a real possibility in the not-too-distant future. I wasn't very impressed with myself for setting this agenda. But what I really didn't like was being the partner who brings up topics for discussion. I was given the burden of control. No thanks.
One of my friends asked me what the difference was between my feelings for the two guys. Every time I become interested in somebody new I describe my experience of falling in like or lust as if it were unique to that person. It can't be a singularity if it happens ad nauseum, now can it? I can't even remember what I said to her. In the final analysis, there was a sense of possible connection that seemed like I had at last stumbled upon The One because not only did he understand me inside out and upside down but I really, really liked him liked him. It was so very highschool. That lack of balance at the beginning of a relationship is 'the high' for love addicts. Brittney said it best, "Hit me baby, one more time!"
This budding romance had a similar onset of 'instant intimacy'. We chatted for hours at a time on a nearly daily basis. I'm not sure what the hell we talked about other than ourselves. It's that kind of coupledom that smacks of 'too intense to last'. It was a recipe for disaster. He was high octane just like me. He was funny just like me. And let's not forget, horny just like me.
Of course, I pulled out the usual torture methods of bright lights, prodding questions, and watertable. These are standard-issue interrogation techniques I deploy in some half-assed strategem to suss out a person's character. What I really need is truth serum, but failing that, hypervigilance is the next best thing. Right? Wrong. But that's another story for another time.
He liked my questions. He encouraged dialogue. The Manwhore shocked the shit out of me. He wasn't just some asshat, but knew a thing or two about a thing or two. Let me rephrase that, he knew his way around women. He knew that 'emotional safety' was of primary concern. So he set about inviting my questions and narrating his life experience. It was fascinating to me: a moth to the flame.
Stay tuned for the next instalment of the codependent conundrum.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Blah blah blah sex
In my first post I said I'd transfer journal entries from the dating site (oh no wait a sec...the social network...there, it makes me sound less dysfunctional if I cast myself as a neutral version of an attention whore, no?) I'm currently using to provide fodder for your perusal. Then I realized I don't need to regurgitate the same old stuff, I can share other reflections about the experience as a whole.
There is ample unresolved angst around the concept of intimacy in the labyrinthine maze of my mind and heart to provide plenty of reading material for some time to come. You see, I'd rather have a sexorcism where I get rid of *other* crap currently taking up space in my grey matter and pumping through my black veins than revisit the stuff I already know. Yes, I'm selfish. I'm a writer. Go figure.
You didn't think this literary relationship was all about you, did you? Oh come on now, get real. Seriously people, it takes me plus my imaginary audience to make this happen. I write to placate my inner demons and you read for whatever reasons you read. Why question it so long as it works? You like me. If you don't, go malign someone else for their moral depravity. Go on now, find yourself a better blog. Okay then, if you're still reading, buckle up baby cos it goes downhill from here.
Alrighty then, my point, and I do have one, is that I'm not dating yet using a dating site and I have very, very good reasons for this. No, I'm not going to tell you what they are right now. We have to build a little trust, honeychile. I'm deep and complicated and have no idea what I'm talking about. It takes me a while to properly wrap myself up in just the right excuses for inaction. At least I'm self-aware. That's GOT to count for something, right? I know that I'm confused. Yay for me!
Confused about what exactly? Now we're inching closer to the topic. The reason I'm not throwing myself at anyone in cyberspace is that I'm trying to figure out in my hamster ball head conditions for intimacy that work for me. Does that sound like bullshit? At this point, it's rather convoluted, so I know it comes off a bit...er, okay maybe a lot...like a bunch of horseshit. Pick any kind of shit, and that's it. What can I say? It's not done percolating in my brain.
So my half-baked theory of what I want is 'The Triumverate.' There are three conditions I think should be in place before I get to know someone IN THAT WAY. Did I mention I was immature? Perhaps it goes without saying vis a vis my highschoolish awkwardness towards the act of sex. Anyway, at this point in time, and subject to change without notice and to be further ensconced in legalese should the need arise, what I want in place before I get romantically involved with anyone is emotional safety, intellectual versatility, and physical attraction. It's my holy trinity. As in, holy shit, wouldn't it be great if we could get all three things happening at once?
These three intangible forms of connection do require another person, a man, in order to happen. Oh, and for me to get my shit together. But that's besides the point at this juncture. Instead, let's look at why those particular things are important to me. Remember, it's mostly about me. Just reminding you in case you forgot and accidentally started liking me too much. I'm glad we cleared that up. Still there? Anyone?
Emotional Safety. It means...uh...not exactly that I require constant reassurance as a function of my own neurosis...but something like that. No, no, no. That simply won't do. Let me try again. Emotional safety would be present as a quality of someone who could balance honesty with caring. So, let's say this guy comes along (this reminds me of that annoying math question about trains moving in different directions at the same time and their likely point of intersection based on present location, speed, and intended trajectory) and I desperately want to have sex with him, the first consideration would be, does he have the right stuff? [EDIT: My second question would be why do I revert to 80s song lyrics to express myself?] Basically, is he the kind of person who is capable of providing some form of aftercare in the event I experience a complete meltdown just because I can?
Why would I freak out? Oh jayzus, there's a can of worms we really don't need to explore right now, suffice to say, it could happen. Some kind of break with reality would be the untimely byproduct of not being ready for what I want. I like sex. I want sex. It doesn't mean I'm in a good headspace for it. Sure, sure, I assume custodial responsibility for my feelings, but y'know, since there would be another person in a sexual interaction, gee whiz wouldn't it be nice if they were emotionally available to the extent that they could be a good listener or a half-decent fake listener? In case of emergency or in the event that real feelings develop, it'd be most helpful if a guy could gently scrape off the barnacle which had unwittingly attached itself to him in a nondickish way.
Intellectual versatility is another biggie for me. I am [insert any and all applicable euphemisms along the lines of multifaceted]. I'm like a zombie lover. All I want is braaiiiiiins. I need someone who is smart. I want someone who has a sense of humour and isn't afraid to use it. I'm fairly comfortable with feelings of boredom but why the hell would I do that to myself? I'm choosy about with whom I want to spend my time, energy, and body and definitely enjoy a guy who can match wits with me. Not to be confused with blokes who describe themselves as 'sarcastic'. So many men on the site claim this adjective for themselves like it was a good thing. If I get the slightest whiff of veiled embitterment, oh hell no...that's going nowhere fast.
To me, someone who can flex the muscle between his ears is by definition smart and playful. This would be a guy who'd generally have an optimistic perspective and ...oh hold on...is this stretching the concept of intellectual versatility into a laundry list of desired qualities? Nah. I think all of the above characteristics would be present in a person who has a plastic cerebrum: smart and responsive. A good mind is hard to find but I must have it!
Finally, physical attraction has got to be there. It comes in last place because without the other two features, the elusive 'spark' just wouldn't exist for me. Someone can be hot, hot, hot and I would be sooo not, not, not interested if they were simply a retarded horny monkey. I have nothing against retarded horny monkeys. I grew up watching Animal Planet, afterall. It's just not the right fit for me.
The inevitable question is, what's my physical type? Well, somewhere in the bowels of my journal on my non-dating profile I provide an outline. Hey, I know I said I wasn't dating so there's no reason for me to put my list out there but consistency is not a human trait. Ideally, this fantasy lover would be someone who is taller than I am (starting at about 5'10 is nice), bigger than I am (average to muscular build so that I feel relatively small and dainty LMAO), and has shorter hair than I do (a typical short haircut to crewcut). As you may appreciate, as a fellow human being familiar with the vagaries of lust, this is by no means an exclusive list of must-haves and it's almost redundant to articulate them, but there you go.
Maybe this tirade about the triad is simply pointing out the obvious, which I'm really good at, but all of those items are absolutely required to get the juices flowing, so-to-speak. In review, I want a guy who is not an emotional dullard and could experience the full range of human emotions as well as handle my particular brand of amenable neuroticism, a guy who is so bright it hurts my eyes and makes me laugh in sheer joy of having found an intellectual playmate, and a guy who looks good to me, homina homina. No, this is not a threesome: it's one man with all that going on for him. You heard me right. I hereby petition the universe to send me this awesome representative of the male species.
In closing, I shall borrow from the wicked wit of Sir William Churchill, "I am ready to meet my Maker, but whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." Boy, it sure would give me mental orgasms to encounter such a creature as I have described but whether he'd come out of the experience relatively unscathed is another matter altogether. It's a good thing I'm a benevolent egotist.
That's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for the next chapter from your favourite female chauvinist [given the liberal sprinkling of sexist generalizations in describing this ideal it's only right to give some appearance of attempting to exonerate myself as a preemptive reaction to possible stoning].
There is ample unresolved angst around the concept of intimacy in the labyrinthine maze of my mind and heart to provide plenty of reading material for some time to come. You see, I'd rather have a sexorcism where I get rid of *other* crap currently taking up space in my grey matter and pumping through my black veins than revisit the stuff I already know. Yes, I'm selfish. I'm a writer. Go figure.
You didn't think this literary relationship was all about you, did you? Oh come on now, get real. Seriously people, it takes me plus my imaginary audience to make this happen. I write to placate my inner demons and you read for whatever reasons you read. Why question it so long as it works? You like me. If you don't, go malign someone else for their moral depravity. Go on now, find yourself a better blog. Okay then, if you're still reading, buckle up baby cos it goes downhill from here.
Alrighty then, my point, and I do have one, is that I'm not dating yet using a dating site and I have very, very good reasons for this. No, I'm not going to tell you what they are right now. We have to build a little trust, honeychile. I'm deep and complicated and have no idea what I'm talking about. It takes me a while to properly wrap myself up in just the right excuses for inaction. At least I'm self-aware. That's GOT to count for something, right? I know that I'm confused. Yay for me!
Confused about what exactly? Now we're inching closer to the topic. The reason I'm not throwing myself at anyone in cyberspace is that I'm trying to figure out in my hamster ball head conditions for intimacy that work for me. Does that sound like bullshit? At this point, it's rather convoluted, so I know it comes off a bit...er, okay maybe a lot...like a bunch of horseshit. Pick any kind of shit, and that's it. What can I say? It's not done percolating in my brain.
So my half-baked theory of what I want is 'The Triumverate.' There are three conditions I think should be in place before I get to know someone IN THAT WAY. Did I mention I was immature? Perhaps it goes without saying vis a vis my highschoolish awkwardness towards the act of sex. Anyway, at this point in time, and subject to change without notice and to be further ensconced in legalese should the need arise, what I want in place before I get romantically involved with anyone is emotional safety, intellectual versatility, and physical attraction. It's my holy trinity. As in, holy shit, wouldn't it be great if we could get all three things happening at once?
These three intangible forms of connection do require another person, a man, in order to happen. Oh, and for me to get my shit together. But that's besides the point at this juncture. Instead, let's look at why those particular things are important to me. Remember, it's mostly about me. Just reminding you in case you forgot and accidentally started liking me too much. I'm glad we cleared that up. Still there? Anyone?
Emotional Safety. It means...uh...not exactly that I require constant reassurance as a function of my own neurosis...but something like that. No, no, no. That simply won't do. Let me try again. Emotional safety would be present as a quality of someone who could balance honesty with caring. So, let's say this guy comes along (this reminds me of that annoying math question about trains moving in different directions at the same time and their likely point of intersection based on present location, speed, and intended trajectory) and I desperately want to have sex with him, the first consideration would be, does he have the right stuff? [EDIT: My second question would be why do I revert to 80s song lyrics to express myself?] Basically, is he the kind of person who is capable of providing some form of aftercare in the event I experience a complete meltdown just because I can?
Why would I freak out? Oh jayzus, there's a can of worms we really don't need to explore right now, suffice to say, it could happen. Some kind of break with reality would be the untimely byproduct of not being ready for what I want. I like sex. I want sex. It doesn't mean I'm in a good headspace for it. Sure, sure, I assume custodial responsibility for my feelings, but y'know, since there would be another person in a sexual interaction, gee whiz wouldn't it be nice if they were emotionally available to the extent that they could be a good listener or a half-decent fake listener? In case of emergency or in the event that real feelings develop, it'd be most helpful if a guy could gently scrape off the barnacle which had unwittingly attached itself to him in a nondickish way.
Intellectual versatility is another biggie for me. I am [insert any and all applicable euphemisms along the lines of multifaceted]. I'm like a zombie lover. All I want is braaiiiiiins. I need someone who is smart. I want someone who has a sense of humour and isn't afraid to use it. I'm fairly comfortable with feelings of boredom but why the hell would I do that to myself? I'm choosy about with whom I want to spend my time, energy, and body and definitely enjoy a guy who can match wits with me. Not to be confused with blokes who describe themselves as 'sarcastic'. So many men on the site claim this adjective for themselves like it was a good thing. If I get the slightest whiff of veiled embitterment, oh hell no...that's going nowhere fast.
To me, someone who can flex the muscle between his ears is by definition smart and playful. This would be a guy who'd generally have an optimistic perspective and ...oh hold on...is this stretching the concept of intellectual versatility into a laundry list of desired qualities? Nah. I think all of the above characteristics would be present in a person who has a plastic cerebrum: smart and responsive. A good mind is hard to find but I must have it!
Finally, physical attraction has got to be there. It comes in last place because without the other two features, the elusive 'spark' just wouldn't exist for me. Someone can be hot, hot, hot and I would be sooo not, not, not interested if they were simply a retarded horny monkey. I have nothing against retarded horny monkeys. I grew up watching Animal Planet, afterall. It's just not the right fit for me.
The inevitable question is, what's my physical type? Well, somewhere in the bowels of my journal on my non-dating profile I provide an outline. Hey, I know I said I wasn't dating so there's no reason for me to put my list out there but consistency is not a human trait. Ideally, this fantasy lover would be someone who is taller than I am (starting at about 5'10 is nice), bigger than I am (average to muscular build so that I feel relatively small and dainty LMAO), and has shorter hair than I do (a typical short haircut to crewcut). As you may appreciate, as a fellow human being familiar with the vagaries of lust, this is by no means an exclusive list of must-haves and it's almost redundant to articulate them, but there you go.
Maybe this tirade about the triad is simply pointing out the obvious, which I'm really good at, but all of those items are absolutely required to get the juices flowing, so-to-speak. In review, I want a guy who is not an emotional dullard and could experience the full range of human emotions as well as handle my particular brand of amenable neuroticism, a guy who is so bright it hurts my eyes and makes me laugh in sheer joy of having found an intellectual playmate, and a guy who looks good to me, homina homina. No, this is not a threesome: it's one man with all that going on for him. You heard me right. I hereby petition the universe to send me this awesome representative of the male species.
In closing, I shall borrow from the wicked wit of Sir William Churchill, "I am ready to meet my Maker, but whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." Boy, it sure would give me mental orgasms to encounter such a creature as I have described but whether he'd come out of the experience relatively unscathed is another matter altogether. It's a good thing I'm a benevolent egotist.
That's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for the next chapter from your favourite female chauvinist [given the liberal sprinkling of sexist generalizations in describing this ideal it's only right to give some appearance of attempting to exonerate myself as a preemptive reaction to possible stoning].
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)