pole dancing

Clearly, I am little more than a forty-something cliché. My hormones have me thinking of nothing but sex at the oddest times…no, all the time. And, now, in addition to all those stereotypical, 40-year-old divorcee, cougar-ish things one might say about me, I’ve finally sealed the deal: I signed up for pole dancing classes.

Don’t blame me; it was a Groupon! And my girlfriend wanted to go, too! This is for fitness, people!

Here are some observations:

No, this is not — as one of my male friends suggested — hot. There is nothing about this forty-something woman with an average, curvaceous figure and absolutely no skills awkwardly flailing around a pole that could be even remotely appealing to anyone. Unfortunately, I do not ever envision getting good enough at this for it to be described as “hot!” Still, I did ask, in jest, whether placement services were offered.
My body is killing me after class; it must be doing some good. I have an entirely newfound respect for this profession…who knew how hard these women work to do what they do?! My body aches for days after each lesson!
Weekday classes are definitely more “core” (read trashy). I learned a few cool moves, but the girls in the mid-week classes were definitely working to earn their keep. These were not the urban girls with professional day jobs in my weekend classes.

I’ve since shared these new endeavors with a few close friends (i.e. everyone within talking range) and I’ve learned a few things: Apparently this is even more mainstream than I thought. One woman I met mentioned it had been featured on 60 Minutes. While I don’t have that link for you, I did find this clip from CBS News.

No, I don’t look like that. Not yet, anyway.

mind. blown.

I’ve been deflowered. Again. I had chat sex for the first time.

Sure, I’ve fooled around before…I’ve exchanged sexy texts, enjoyed some heavy verbal petting over the phone, but I’d never gone all the way, in real-time, via electronic media. It was, while not as spectacular as I suspect the real thing will be, very sensual and thrilling. Let’s discuss further…

This sort of interaction requires a leap of faith that someone across some wires and / or space is going to dive in and get just as intimate, graphic, tender (or rough) and, yes, dirty. It was so easy in some ways — trust me, I’ve done all that and more in my mind already — yet challenging in that it demanded a certain amount of trust, openness, creativity and imagination. Ultimately, I found it strangely satisfying without… well, satisfying.

I was so close to actually seeing him, hearing his voice say my name, feeling his touch! Perhaps one could describe it as analogous to tasting wine, then spitting it out: some of your senses are engaged — you see, smell and taste, but you don’t actually get to feel the warmth as it goes down your throat. Instead, your mind fills in the blanks.

Our minds certainly filled in many of the gaps that night, and we agreed afterward (as part of our post-coital pillow talk equivalent) that this gray matter between our ears is so very powerful; in fact, the most powerful organ engaged in the presence and attention that make sex so incredibly wonderful!

And the excitement, anticipation and desire continues to build…

tying up loose ends

Ever since the talk (but before any action), I’ve carried with me a feeling of excitement and anticipation. I had some time to contemplate the side of the conversation I thought I’d heard, and began to have some questions:

When he said he’d only had relationships with two women in the past year, did that mean he’d only slept with two? (Because for a while, I’d had the impression he was a player, a total man slut…and I was, gulp, wrong.)
When we talked about safety and intimacy, did that mean my fantasy of revolving lovers was off the table?

Whatever it meant, I was suddenly moved to action, tying up loose ends where needed. Whatever was to come of it all, it felt right to release any other entanglements.

I’d still been limping along with the funny guy — who happened to have invited me to his home (in a far-off exurb) that very weekend. (He’s the one, not sure whether I’ve mentioned, who was an excellent kisser but aroused no below-the-waist passions in me.) I called him to let him know that I wasn’t comfortable coming to his house yet and, then, over an early dinner, told him that I wasn’t interested in or seeking a romantic relationship right now.

I texted my ex boyfriend (who wants you all to know that he broke up with me, by the way), to see if he wanted to have coffee. He declined, saying that he’s in a relationship (apparently with the woman with whom he’d planned to break up only days earlier). We had only recently re-opened the door to friendship, simultaneously considering the possibility of a friendship with benefits. I thought it was only fair to let him know that wouldn’t be happening, and his new endeavors saved me from having to do so. But I was surprised at how much I still felt as I once again let him go.

Even if I know in my heart I’m not looking for a relationship, even if my motivation is pleasure, I get the sense that I might be embarking on something truly interesting — something that feeds me in ways that are more than just physical, something that opens doors to new discoveries about myself.

So I’ve made space in my life for possibility. I’ve let go of expectations and attachment to any particular outcome. And I’m enjoying the flirting, teasing and anticipation…

different worlds

As a 40-something divorcee, conversations about sex / libido / hormones are pretty much a daily occurrence. I’ve had girlfriends tell me of times when their need / drive / desire was so powerful and urgent that they’ve pulled over to the side of the road while driving to manually relieve themselves. One girlfriend reports that her friends sometime act as scouts, even once sending a 21-year old man to her home, sight unseen, for a house call. (I wonder how that conversation goes?)

While I can’t claim to have pulled off to the side of the road for a quick masturbatory session or that any friends have delivered fresh meat to my front door, I can relate to the feelings of frequent powerful and urgent lust (even if they somehow seemed to disappear during most of the dates I went on over the summer). In fact, the ultimate fantasy du jour is to be passionately making out in the elevator with my prospective lover and, upon reaching the destination floor — whether a hotel room or flat — barely make it into the room before he slams me against the wall, tears off my panties (if I’m wearing any) and impales me.

In other words, “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” sounds not just okay, but ideal to me right now. After that, I’m open to whatever gentle touch or tenderness that might happen. Getting it done is the primary objective.

Some of my friends, many of them married, like to live vicariously through my dating stores. But recently I reconnected with a friend who made me realize that the raging 40-something libido is not an universal experience, even among singles. At only a few years younger than me, this girlfriend has gone through some lady hormonal stuff that’s essentially made her body chemistry the equivalent of a post-menopausal woman. She does not experience or share this raging, animalistic desire I have to rip off a man’s clothes and climb his tree.

In fact, her reality is quite different from that vision: She’s never been what I would consider particularly conventional, but now she realizes the fall-in-love-get-married-make-babies path will never unfold for her. Looking for love has been an exercise in ambivalence these past few years. She thought she’d moved back to the midwest to realize all those things — settle down, make a home and a life, have children. Meanwhile, her heart wasn’t fully in it because of feelings for a man already in her life, albeit across the globe.

So this recent diagnosis (learning that she won’t be able to get pregnant without medical intervention) has changed her entire outlook. She hasn’t experienced the sort of hormonal demands or libidinous passions that I attempt to moderate (modulate? manage?) on a daily basis, but enjoys a healthy physical dimension to her relationship. Knowing that the traditional fairytale narrative of a relationship / marriage / family is not part of her reality has freed her to more fully embrace her relationship with a man who has not only celebrated his 70th birthday, but also lives on another continent. A few weeks ago, they celebrated their five-year anniversary.

My girlfriend acknowledges how unconventional all this is and, in fact, she’s not even “out” in her workplace about this relationship for fear of how differently she might be perceived. Yet their families have fully embraced them, and I support her happiness in whatever form it comes.

But where we are biologically or along our life paths? It’s as if we occupy entirely different worlds!

missionary

Fantasies, imagination and experimentation come in all forms, shapes and sizes. We’re all so brilliantly, terrifically, exquisitely different in the myriad things that excite us!

In more than forty years on this planet, I sometimes think I’ve heard it all. Yet, I’m beginning to see a theme: some folks just stick with the usual, with what works, missionary. With so many options available to us, why do we so often end up in exactly the same position? And why are we so reluctant to confess that our sex lives have little variety…or do they.

I’ve written about a friend I know who has ventured outside her marriage. She described the sex with her lover as intense and hot…and only months later, confessed that it was always exactly the same: missionary. Where’s the excitement in that? Was it just because it was illicit? Or was it because it produced consistent results?

I was terrifically close for years with a college professor who shared many intimate details from her life and loves with me. She famously had an affair while living in France for a year on a fellowship. When the truth of this love affair was finally disclosed, we giggled over the fact that the two had had sex in precisely one position: missionary. The variable / fantasy factor? While ramming her, her lover would call out, “we are on a beach” or “now we’re lying in a field of flowers.”

I confess: I love missionary; it’s consistently effective. I have a few other favorites, too. And I’m thinking of grabbing a book — the Kama Sutra to be specific — and proposing to my prospective lover that we work our way through every last one of them!

the talk

Last week I speculated a bit about a conversation I was about to have with a friend about whether or not we might mutually desire to engage in the earthly pleasures afforded us by our unattached status. We met last week at a hip lounge, ordered drinks and caught up on the children, work stuff, and much, much more. And I can’t wipe the shit-eating grin off my face; it was more spectacular than I could have imagined!

I’m not certain this is a conversation that would have been possible for me had it not been for my most recent boyfriend experience, which was only beginning to develop this time a year ago. After six months of fun, love and discovery, we found we wanted different things from the relationship. And then we broke up again a few times, without ever having gotten back together. Through that relationship, I experienced that I could care for, deeply love, share intimacy with and enjoy another human without wanting to be “in a relationship” with him.

So, on to my prospective lover:

Conversation with this man is typically so good that I forget to eat. Not just because the time seems to pass so quickly, but because his presence and the depth and breadth of our discussion is so hearty and fulfilling by itself. This robust deliciousness is not something I’ve ever before experienced with anyone else — at least not someone to whom I’m also physically attracted.

As we began to delve deeper into our discussion, we learned more about each other’s relationship histories and experiences. When it came to the juicy stuff, we quickly established what disinterests us, that neither of us claims expertise in any particular kink, that role play might be fun, who has the larger toy collection, and more. There were some pretty big revelations for me. For awhile I think I’d suspected that he might be a bit of a player, but that’s not at all what I learned from our conversation.

After that, it got even more interesting. We discussed all the other delicious stuff that goes along with physical intimacy: the emotional connection that accompanies it, sleeping together, reading in bed, cooking and eating, watching television while rubbing each other’s feet… All in all, I think we spent more time talking about all the wonderful, fun discovery that goes along with sex than we did about sex.

Four hours later, we walked to my car, enjoyed some sweet lip-smacking kisses and a world-class hug, and I went home to sleep with a smile on my face and an immense sense of anticipation and possibility.

It will be interesting to learn, experience, communicate and feel my way — our way — through whatever is to come…

you’d think we’d learn…

I’m not sure why this popped into my head today, but it kind of gave me a chuckle.

A guy friend of mine was telling me a story about how, when a client of his needed a very specialized sort of service, he referred her to another buddy. Just days later, he learned the two of them were dating. The tale was only slightly more elaborate than that and, meanwhile, my friend was shaking his head in disbelief, like this whole dating-a-client thing was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard!

Which is when I asked, “Um, yeah, and right about a year ago, weren’t you doing that very same thing?”

He sheepishly admitted that he was guilty, and his facial expression was acknowledgement enough of its disastrous ending. I never did get the full story, but I thought, wow, by this time in our lives, shouldn’t we all know better?!

(This, by the way, from a man who wouldn’t ask me out…even knowing I liked him. Okay, some of you may think I’m a little whack, but I’m not the sort who causes damage. Breaking up with a client could have serious side effects!)

“You don’t get your honey where you make your money,” the old saying goes.

Actually, if we’re honest, many of us have met a romantic interest through some sort of work relationship. In fact, my wasband was someone I met while at work…and just look at how that ended!

I’d like to think you could all learn from my mistakes, just as my friend clearly wished his buddy had picked up a lesson or two from him. But, truth be told, most of us insist on learning those lessons for ourselves, making all the mistakes we need to, some of them repeatedly. Something about the prospect of finding love drives us to take such crazy risks…I mean, the upside could be incredible!

So we all act the fool at times…and I guess that’s just another of the cosmic jokes that makes this life interesting.

a little danger

The most memorable part of high school graduation was the bonfire and party late that night at one of those middle-of-nowhere deserted rural properties located just off a series of gravel roads and known as simply “the poor farm.” Seems every small midwestern town has one, which may or may not even have outbuildings or the protection of tree cover. I’ve no idea how any of us knew how to get there, but get there we did, as though led by some internal homing device to the desired destination, trouble. We were not “bad” by any standards: we experimented a little with alcohol and cigarettes, as so many young people who’d gone before us. Nothing more exotic.

But, in this particular instance, I was uncoupled, having recently broken up with my prom date and longtime boyfriend. And the deliciously bad boy on whom I’d had a crush (off and on since third grade, mind you) was there sans girlfriend. I followed him back to his car to get more beer and somehow found myself making out with him, leaning against a car. It was a gloriously satisfying make-out session — he was a great kisser! — which was only enhanced by the disgust it was clearly causing my ex boyfriend as he stood by the fire and looked on.

I’ve matured in many ways in the past two-plus decades, outgrown my sadistic streak for the most part — and, yet, all along the way, I’ve found myself drawn to bad boys. In college, these might have been the older students, the dope smokers, motorcycle riders, guys with piercings and/or tattoos. After college, there were a broader variety of substances involved. My wasband was a classic bad boy, who smoked whatever came his way, rode a motorcycle without a helmet and was, ultimately, disinclined to follow a few too many laws for comfort.

In other words, by now you’d think I’d know better. I’ve been meeting and dating some very nice, mature men…who mostly bore the living hell out of me. You see, I still need a little danger. And that need is a part of me that I’m going to have to embrace, because it’s not going away, as much as I’d like it to. Okay, really? No, I don’t want it to go away.

Because the kind of danger I yearn for can come in many ways: it could be he has an edgy sense of humor that keeps me on my toes or is “scary smart” or drives fast cars or bikes or is an artist or plays in a band or owns or runs a business. It could even be someone who pushes the limits sexually (i.e. moves really fast or is more experienced in ways) or is into role-playing.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t want to put myself at physical, health or emotional risk by entering a relationship with someone who’s unstable or genuinely dangerous in any way. There are ways to mitigate risk with safety equipment such as helmets; a man can be a combination of warmth, kindness and irreverent bullshitter; he can take smart, calculated risks. But I do need a little bit of that thrill, a little bit of swagger, a little bit of danger — combined with genuine, loving decency — to get excited.

And I’m going to embrace that as part of my own unique beauty.

…and then date night got weird

I’m keen on perceiving trends lately…I mean, I’ve always been keen on perceiving trends; it’s just that now I’m much more aware and able to spot them in my own life. So what the heck is up with all the dry guys? I seem to end up going on more second, third and fourth dates with guys who do not drink at all. My last boy friend was sober, and so was my Chicago crush.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying this is a bad thing, and I certainly don’t want to date some guy for whom alcohol is the center of his fun and entertainment. Sure, I talk of w(h)ine and cheese with the girls, but neither wine nor beer nor cocktails are the focal point of my social interactions (though I certainly do appreciate how they lube things up…).

All of these dry guys have a story, which they typically volunteer pretty early on in conversations — they seem to want to get it out of the way so that it’s not one of those big, lurking mysteries, the proverbial elephant in the room. So when I’d been on date four or five (not really counting anymore) with a cute, funny, sweet guy, and we’d talked about wine, etc., but he no longer drinks, I finally said:

“So you used to drink; you don’t anymore. Everyone’s got a story. What’s yours?”

And then date night got weird. We were in his car at the time. He took a breath and said, “The last time I drank, I was with my wife. I must have had a lot, because I blacked out. I don’t think I’ve ever, at any other time, blacked out. And when I woke up, I was in jail.” He did not elaborate further, aside from to say that he has no idea what really happened. It was implied that his ex accused him of something…

“Yikes,” I said, not entirely sure how to respond. I felt uncomfortable and awkward… But I didn’t feel afraid or concerned for my safety. Should I have? In fact, we went out for dessert after that.

I guess for one thing, I feel pretty confident that I can hold my own — that I am capable of maintaining my own boundaries — and that I project a certain amount of confidence. Part of projecting confidence is that “walk with purpose” business that self defense folks will tell you about — it simply makes people a little less inclined to think they can mess with you…posture, attitude. I hope I’m expressing this adequately without sounding completely full of myself. Said another way, there was nothing about being in this fellow’s presence that made me feel physically intimidated.

Second, I’ve lived enough to feel as though I’ve got a pretty good bullshit detector / am an okay judge of character. The men I meet these days are honest and decent human beings. I don’t think I’d even be attracting them if they weren’t. And I’m pretty good at calling a bluff. I’m not sensing a well of anger percolating under the surface with this dude — or any other explosive emotions waiting to come out. He seems pretty well adjusted…of course that could just be the months of therapy that followed whatever happened that night…

But perhaps the real reason all this weirdness didn’t send up any big, red flags was because I didn’t see things going anywhere anyway. I mean, so far, we’d seen each other enough times for him to be pulling out some much bigger moves than he had been. He was a good kisser, to be sure, but I wasn’t dying to rip his clothes off or anything (which good kissing is wont to inspire me to do). He’s rebuilding his life somewhere in some far corner of suburbia, and I’m living my mostly already rebuilt life in urbania. In other words, he’s too far behind my curve. I just don’t have the energy to be there for him as he goes through all the rest of his stuff.

And so it’s not going any further because I didn’t see it going any further anyway, not because of some messed up situation…and certainly not because he doesn’t drink. Still, I gotta say, that made for a pretty strange date…and I’m not sure I want to go through with too many more of those!

working deep

There’s a recurring theme I’m discovering in my life as of late: I’m working deep.

Every issue I uncover through applied kinesiology, massage and other body work is an old or deep wound to be healed. This is good. It means there’s nothing recent left in my body, no residue of the more recent pain of marriage gone awry.

Sure, I’m still working on myself. Every so often I uncover an ache or pain that needs to be dealt with…but it’s either current or something from way back. As I peel back the layers of my own personal onion, I feel I’m getting closer to the center, closer to wholeness, closer to peace. And as I resolve old traumas, I know I’m releasing the likelihood that I’ll continue to draw that pattern back into my life. Or, another way of saying it: I’m healing my karma.

My dating life has waned as I realize that I’m still not ready for a relationship. I want to have my best to give and, even if I’m not 100% there, I want to be closer than I am just now.

Having said that, the universe works in mysterious ways. If I were to meet someone, if something developed naturally…well, I’m open to the possibility.