One of the many things I get to do in my open relationship is have sex with other people. It is indeed a wonder, and I embrace it as often as I possibly can, but it is no easier in this situation to find a good, steady lover than in any other, contrary to popular belief. Many planets must align and several angels must sing for everything to fall properly into place.
That was why I was actually stoked for the second time with Schneider, who, for the purposes of this post, has earned the name of the maintenance guy on the epic 70's TV show, One Day at a Time, which featured, not coincidentally, a middle aged woman trying to get through life...slowly. Schneider was into light S & M, he was funny and reasonably handsome. We had connected sexually once before and it was pretty great. But about halfway through this second event, something very sad happened.
There I am, enjoying his body, biting him as he likes, eventually doing my best to warm him up to a blow job that will knock him for a loop, doing everything I can to make sure that he knows that I am in it to win it, and what does he do? He gives me the Lazy Hand. At first, I am wondering to myself, "what is this? That strange sensation between my legs that tells me that someone is doing something down there who knows not. It can't be Schneider, because just last week...." Then it comes to me. He is incorporating, so early in our sexual relationship, Lazy Hand.
I am a bit thrown off because he didn't seem like this type of guy last week, the kind of guy who is perfectly happy to let you do the heavy lifting while he lies back and absent-mindedly tweaks/rubs/fingers your ass/nipple/clit...much to your disappointment and great lack of satisfaction. But there he was, employing Lazy Hand, and the more he did it, the less I felt interested in putting my back into it, much less anything else. For several moments, as I sucked and licked, I wordlessly lamented, "no...dude! NO! Not Lazy Hand! OH lord save me from Lazy Hand..." but these words did not pass my lips. They could not. It was, in my case and his, much too late to teach him about the rudeness of Lazy Hand.
So I decided, on behalf of all people who love sex everywhere, to write about it. Because, well, that is what I do. So here it is, my next list, telling you why Lazy Hand is an inevitable ticket to the wrong side of my bedroom door:
To some, this might sound harsh, to some, this might sound like the person they have sex with on the daily. To those people, I implore you; do not allow this to continue. We all deserve better than Lazy Hand. The person employing Lazy Hand deserves better! It is the difference between passive participation and engagement. It is the difference between enjoyment and tolerance. It is the difference between pretty good sex and mind blowing sex. It is the difference, my friend, between life and death, for if you are not truly living, you are just waiting around to die, and no one has time for that.
Inevitably we all must die, but why must I do it in my bedroom with my clothes off as I am cradling your cock in my mouth? This is the time, this naked, playful moment, to live. To swing for the fences. To do everything you can to blow the roof off.
We are all in this together. Let us all be more vigilant in what we will accept and provide to the people who are lucky enough to be there with us, who we are lucky enough to be there with. Let us all do our best, because within our best we find new levels of pleasure, new levels of freedom. We find new levels of ourselves.
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The Sexual Diet
Over the last five years, I have come to see my body as a vehicle. In order to get the type of activity and mileage that I want out of it, I have to eat a certain way and engage in certain activities which will allow me to run my body at an optimal level for as long as I possibly can. I do yoga, I exercise, and I try to get upside down at least once a day. The other thing I do, which has helped tremendously, is I have determined the perfect diet for the highly sexual person.
Before I go into this, I will say, I am not a doctor, I do not play one on TV, and I have never believed that any one diet is a good way for all people to eat. Our bodies are different and we all want different things from them. I happen to want sexual activity. In order to be up and available for any sexual opportunity that might present itself to me, I eat certain things, at certain times of the day and night in order to be ready for anything that comes my way. You might be different. You might go all night long on a large pepperoni pizza and a six pack. The point of this post is that in both the short and long term, if you want to keep having good sex, there are things you can do to help. A Sexual Diet is one of those things.
A Sexual Diet
It really is very easy, isn't it? Keep your body clean and energized, and top-notch sex is well within your reach. As I said, everybody's sexual appetite and schedule is different, so do what is best for your particular situation and your particular body. The great thing about a diet like this is that it also keeps you able to do other things as well. They are less important things, but still, it is nice to know these other things will be within your reach:
As I said, these are not as important, but still, worthy pastimes and part of a well-rounded active and sexual life. The sooner you start to see your body as a vehicle, and not an object, you will find it easier to fuel for whatever endeavor you choose. The world will be your oyster, and sex will just keep getting better and better.
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I sometimes feel like I am sinking. Like everything I have worked on and built around myself is crumbling down around my elbows. I sometimes feel like I don't have the energy to care. That I just want to watch it crumble from a safe and comfortable distance, then maybe take a nap.
These desperate moments feel beautiful. They are a part of my physical experience, viscerally helpless and hopeless and utterly without direction, every cell of my body is in this. Like shivering against the cold; I hate it but I am perfectly aware of every inch of my skin. It is simultaneously horrible and lovely.
It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. It is an important part of my life. Why write about it? The most I can do is write about the human experience. This is my human experience. It is not thrilling, it is not an epic achievement in story tellling. But it is human.
So, when I write about other aspects of my human experience, about loving, fucking, eating, being small, being insecure, or being confident, I know that these are all part of me, but still are not the sum of me. The sum will only be glimpsed when I am dead. I will keep moving and growing and fucking up and feeling everything that I can feel until my body dies.
I am still discovering myself. I am still finding me, and the sadness, the hopelessness, the despair is where I search. I wish this were not the way of it, but it is. I truly wish I could find my essence in joy, in bliss, in ass-kicking confidence, but those seem to be just a side effect of my ability to embrace the pain. Maybe not a side effect. Maybe a benefit, maybe a reward? I am not sure. The two are linked, I know. In accepting my desperation and sadness I very often find peace. Strange, but true.
My point, and why this all ties to Mad Max, and, oh, yes, it does, is that people only see what I am strong enough to show them. I allow a certain amount of disclosure of my inner workings, but really, I show what I do in order to obtain specific results. I just read that there were 350 hours of filming in the making of the new Mad Max movie. I saw just two hours of it, every moment beautiful. There are 348 hours of that process that I will most likely never see, but they were all necessary in order to get to the end result.
Just like life. There is so much pain, sadness, mundane hours of nothing, shit, arduous undertakings and huge victories that inform the final picture. There is so much below the surface that we think we should be ashamed of. So much below the surface of our skin that scares us, but it is all important. So much goes into the work that I produce, and I have never found a more profound or important topic than the experience of being human. I share it so that other humans might know that they are not alone. That this experience, while always unique, belongs to everyone.
When someone shares something with me, a secret about themselves, or something they are unsure of, I support them. It is unimportant to me whether I agree with it or not. The bravest thing you can do in the world is be yourself, so whenever a person shares a bit of who they are with me, I thank them. I thank them to encourage them, to support them, and to let them know that it is okay to be who they are, and it frees them.
We all live epic adventures in one way or another. Choose wisely your edits. Support others of theirs. Frame your perspective with your experiences, both good and bad. The world expands or shrinks depending upon your participation in it. There really are no limits, except the ones you place upon your own head.
I have had some zany dating foibles. One in particular has motivated me to create a new business model that I think could be of service to women all over the globe. First, the story.
Several years ago, when I lived in Portland, I attended a weekly poetry slam with a friend of mine. It was our thing. We would go to the slam then go get yogurt and talk about the slam. It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday. One time, a well-known slam poet got up and started speaking and I felt this crazy need to talk to him. So I did. I also bought one of his books. His poetry was smart, funny and dare I say, insightful. I started following him on facebook. Yes. It was that serious.
A few years later, I was living in Bellingham, and I commented on one of his fb posts. He noticed and messaged me, and he told me that he thought I was very cute. I seriously could not believe that this dude that I had crush on was messaging me! This famous slam poet! How could this be!?!?! I was overwhelmed, my heart was beating a million miles a minute, but I held it together enough to reply in a semi-intelligent manner. Then we started messaging back and forth, then texting, then talking on the phone, sometimes for hours. We had this great connection. Every day, I looked forward to his texts and his phone call. Then, he suggested he visit to see what was what. He was thinking about moving to the PNW anyway, so he figured he could stay with me in my spacious studio apartment and we could give it a go.
I happily agreed. I also agreed, upon his request, to get a cat so that he would have company while I was at work. Though I didn't see it at the time, this was a red flag. As his arrival drew near, I became excited and even a bit distracted by the story I had created in my head about the two of us. We had found each other across time and space! It was an epic love story, worthy of song and celebration. I don't know, I might have gotten a little carried away, but this was true love. The plan was that he would take a bus from his parents house in Kansas or Arkansas or Missouri or some such place and I would pick him up in the dark of night at the bus station. It was so romantic.
When he arrived, we decided to take it slow. We would spend our evenings talking about a wide variety of interesting things; writing, food, cats, The Hunger Games books, nothing was off limits. It was pretty sweet. After about a week or so, we decided to have sex. It was an exciting night. We had a tasty but modest dinner, I cleaned up, then we went to bed. Everything was going pretty well; he was a great kisser, he smelled good, he had a good touch. But one thing was a bit strange. He would only fuck me from his back. I am a fan of the cowgirl and the reverse cowgirl, so I didn't mind being on top. At first. By the third time we had sex, I realized this was not merely a preference, this, for him was a rule. I had brought a man across the country to lay on his back and let me do all the work. He didn't even have the decency to go down on me.
After this, other strange things started surfacing. I found myself coming home from work to find a hairy, shirtless man sitting on my couch in his underwear amongst empty dishes and papers in front of my TV. He revealed his desire to sleep in my closet. He made no effort whatsoever to get a job. It became less and less appealing to be around him. Finally, I told him to leave. One week later, he did. That was the end. Except for the cat. The cat who stayed and mocked me for months after about the stupid thing I had just done. The good news was that I had the foresight to name her Chewbacca, so whenever she chose to mock me, I would simply reply, "laugh it up, fuzzball."
Since then, I have dated a lot, and every once in a while I get a guy who, like the poet, does not want to do the work, sexually, to make me feel like he is in it to win it. These are hard moments, frustrating, disappointing, sometimes, even embarrassing. It is in these moments that I think of Angie's List. The service that women use to find a good contractor. People all over the country use it to assess the quality of their contractors and other people use it to pick contractors.
I feel like it is time for another service for women. I would call it Spike's List. "Tired of lousy sexual service? Spike's list makes it easy to find top quality service providers!" This way, before you decide to sleep with a man, you can go to Spike's list and see how others have rated him.
It would be a very low annual membership fee, and always free to review men, even without a membership, and each review would be verified by Spike's highly qualified staff...to the best of their abilities. Men would have to pay a fee to be reviewed and listed by Spike's staff in cases where no reviews were available.
An erect nipple rating system would be the assessment method, based on things like stamina, size, smell, and level of engagement. One nipple would mean don't bother, ten erect nipples would mean he is a top performer. There would also be plenty of room for written reviews. It would revolutionize dating and sex as we know it.
I am aware that this is a crazy and far-fetched reaction to sexual disappointment and frustration. But just in case, I think I might try and post a crowd-source funding video on Indie gogo. You know, just to see if anyone else is interested in this type of service......
Didja like this? Think it was funny? Well share it if you know someone who needs a laugh! This is the kind of shit that makes people's day! Twitter, FB, email are all good ways to share the love! And watch for my post on Indie Gogo!!!
I had a great date the other night with a man who made me think. We were talking about our sexual lives, and came to a realization that I had to that moment not put together.
I was telling him that from a very young age, I knew I was sexually driven, and also very aware that I had to conceal this. I knew that having sex was one thing, but to be known as a woman who liked to have sex? Well, that was the fastest way to elevate a young woman to "whore" status faster than you can say "do you have a condom?" My date told me that he had seen evidence of such biases in his own life from an early age.
He threw this information into sharp contrast by commenting that it is equally as disgraceful for a man to admit that he is not interested in having sex. I have written previously about the strange contradictory belief system and gender politics that exist between men and women and society at large, but this last epiphany evoked in me a bewilderment and frustration that exhausted me.
It is difficult to know, to have the implicit understanding, that we do this to ourselves. Our fears about what the behaviors of other people say about us drives us to do hateful and hurtful things. It exhausts me. The best I can do is keep trying to be me, and at the very best, ignore it when the people around me do not accept my behavior because it does not endorse their own.
I have been called whore, slut, etc. even by my own boyfriend. I really don't care. Sexual behavior, when it is not violent or coerced, is not deviant behavior. It is natural. It is lovely. It can be, depending on your proclivities, a large part of who you are. As it is with me.
I know I will not change this paradigm. This is world-wide, and I know that it is by far worse in other parts of the world than it is in the US. I know that sex has more to do with power relationships than I am accounting for in this short blog post.
But I am tired. I am tired of being tolerant of people who are too insecure to be okay with my activities. I am tired of the hateful behavior I must witness on a daily basis against people who are simply misunderstood and feared for their differences. I am tired of being the tolerant one. I have said it before; the high road's air is thin. I must constantly stop to breathe when I am on it, looking down at the tops of the heads of the people who seem to have all the air their big fat mouths can use.
I understand that it is a waste of energy trying to teach ignorant people tolerance, trying to teach them about celebrating diversity. I have been in diversity training with those people. It is embarrassingly useless. If I may, I would like to have some training. Please train me how to tolerate ignorant people. I have not seen that training yet. I desperately need it.
I am sure I will see tomorrow that I have spoken in anger; that I have said too many hateful, angry things in this post for it to have value. I guess that's okay. I will come back. I will be happy tomorrow. Today, I am kinda pissed.
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