wherever I am

After I’d first had that famous conversation with my (at the time) prospective lover, I had two interesting follow-up conversations:

One was with my therapist, with whom I thought I should probably check in. After all, it’s been many moons. Her observation: “If this is really all about sex for you, why does it already sound so much like a relationship?” Her advice: “Get clear about what you want and then be clear about what you want. If you want to get the next ’50 Shades of Gray’ out of this, tell him that.”

The second was with my ex-boyfriend who, apparently having read my blog and feeling protective, called to say: “I know you pretty well. And if you think you can do this without getting emotionally involved, you’re fooling yourself and you’re likely to get your heart hurt. I know it’s none of my business, but take care. You will get what you want; you just need to figure out what it is first.”

Now, having read these two snippets, imagine there’s a continuum between just sex and a relationship. I understand both of these; I’m not sure I understand what’s in between. In other words, I don’t know where on this continuum I am, or even if I’m on it. Or whether he is.

At one end is sex. You’ll recall this has been a bit of a driving motivation for the past few ~~months~~ years. Why? Because my forty-something body is at its prime, roughly the hormonal equivalent of a 19-year-old male, always eager. Yet, had I found just a sport f**k, I would have quickly become unsatisfied with the just of it.

At the other end of the continuum is a relationship. And, as much as I’d like a life-affirming one of these sometime down the road, I don’t feel at all ready for one at present.

Thus my conundrum: Find a guy who’s a mere stud and bore of the lack of mental stimulation. Or find someone interesting and deal with the inevitable likelihood of developing feelings. I chose interesting. In other words, what I want is something in between sex and relationship…and, though I would tell you that dealing with ambiguity is a strength, it’s been more challenging for me to negotiate than I imagined it might be.

Labeling things, making judgements and categorizing are natural tricks our brains like to perform in order to move us through life efficiently. When we don’t have that sort of clarity, our brains like to fill in the gaps and will go through any amount of mental gymnastics to do so. It’s been fascinating and enlightening to observe my inner dialogue these days, the thoughts that drive my feelings. It would even be fair to say there have been some roller-coaster like emotions — enough to show me that I still have some healing to do. (That’s my stuff; I own it, and I’ve got to deal with it. That’s why I’m not ready or willing to inflict myself of another person in a relationship yet.)

And I’ve also witnessed enough of my own steadiness and resilience to see that many of my lessons — both personal and universal — have sunk in. I’m feeling pretty strong and solid (and also vulnerable) right where I’m at… Wherever that is.

to toy or not to toy?

Eighteen months ago, if a man had told me (and one did) that he was a big fan of toys, I would have found it (and did) a bit too forward for my taste. And I might have questioned his masculinity: I mean, as a heterosexual woman, I think men already have the ultimate toy (toys, if you include hands and tongue along with the obvious). With my limited imagination and lack of experience in this regard, I wondered if a man saying he liked toys meant that he needed a little help to finish the job. At any rate, the suggestion planted just a hint of suspicion in my mind (i.e. I can safely say I was a bit of a prude).

Now? Well…

Naturally, most single women I know have a toy or two (or more) for pleasure or to satisfy certain needs. I might even have a friend named Bob (my Battery Operated Boyfriend) safely concealed in the back of a drawer. Along with a growing collection of other goodies…grin.

Most women I know have also been to one or more of those house parties with the overwhelmingly-scented lotions and lubes, canned jokes and bawdiness. In fact, I attended one several months ago at which the women knew each other well enough to tolerate an uncomfortable and forced camaraderie. Awkward.

Over the weekend, I was at another of these parties: This one, however, was filled with like-minded women of a certain age / experience that created an atmosphere charged with open energy and wit. Oh, and plenty of alcohol. Further, our demonstrator was a bona fide sex educator, whose delivery combined facts and straight-shooting advice with her opinions and experience, as well as a healthy interjection of foul language. She came to us from a shop that is open and welcoming to all, where the products are made from the best manufacturers worldwide and adhere to high standards of safety, such as medical-grade silicone. (In the U.S., sex toys are considered novelties and are, therefore, not subject to protective regulations…who knew?! And which may explain why so many novelty shops feel so skeevy).

The party was an enormous success, at least by my standards — I got to take home some new toys. It was fun to contemplate which of so many interesting items to choose, particularly as I thought of complements to the collection of my lover (who, by the way, is the same fellow that told me all those months ago that he was a big fan of toys!).

As my openness to enhancements or accoutrements in the bedroom has grown in recent months, so has the size of my collection. Why not explore, come into my own, see what I like? Ultimately, I say, definitely toy.

And if you want to toy safely, shopping here would be an excellent place to start.

close to the vest

Apparently I’m a difficult read. This according to a woman who knows me well; perhaps wishes to know me better, if you catch my meaning.

I think what she actually said was that I hold my cards close to my vest. And, therefore, she thinks the man I’m digging probably doesn’t really know I feel.

Which maybe is fair. But, again, this was meant to be a hook-up thing…you know, friends with benefits. So…it’s not really about that, right?

Still, shouldn’t it be obvious?

Exhibit A: The last time we were together, I was so nervous that I told a bunch of dumb, pointless stories — that usually featured mention of other men — all in the way of letting him know how attractive I found him, or that I’d had a crush on him for a while. Nothing says “I like you” like making a complete ass of one’s self. Right? (At least if you’re in high school.)
Exhibit B: I couldn’t stop touching him…lingering near him in the kitchen, touching his back; sitting across the table from him, touching his feet with mine; kissing and caressing his lips, jaw, chest with pure, raw desire.
Exhibit C: It was I who asked him to get naked and rub up against each other.

So clearly, if nothing else, I’ve demonstrated that I’m all too willing to make an ass of myself when I’m excited about the prospect of getting to know someone I like a bit better.

My girlfriend also said I’m intimidating. So what do I do about that?

sapiosexual: it’s a thing

Apparently there is a name for people like me — people who are turned on more by intelligence than anything else, folks for whom intellectual discourse is a form of foreplay, folks who find intelligent discussion arousing: sapiosexual.

At this point, the term is found in blog mentions and websites such as undictionary.com or urbandictionary.com, and is said to come from roots sapien, Latin for wise or intelligent and sexualis, which should require no further definition.

I’ve seen the term described as a both a behavior (of being attracted to intelligence) and an orientation.

But isn’t this complicating things just a bit? I mean, my girlfriends and I have been discussing for years what was once a nameless, yet obvious, phenomenon of being attracted to brainy dudes. We’ve long talked about plain ole good conversation as foreplay. In fact, just talking with my current interest has the effect of driving me wild with desire. Isn’t this just a natural, instinctual, evolutionary imperative to be drawn to those most likely to be able to provide? (Let’s table the discussion about whether a woman actually needs a provider or merely an equal for another time.)

Or is it something much greater? Perhaps my above argument captures the essence of a historical, evolutionary paradigm shift. What if the evolved woman is attracted to intelligent geeks for the same subconscious reasons that our ancestors were attracted to those strongest, most physically able to put food on the table?

Or, maybe we’re attracted to pale, skinny, bespectacled nerds for the same reason our more recent ancestors were attracted to dudes with overgrown facial hair, polyester shirts and tight corduroy bell bottoms in the 70s: because it’s fashionable.

Trend, evolution or neither? What do you think?

sheer yumminess!

Finally, the eagle has landed. The fox is in the henhouse.

Or whatever silly code might clue in those friends who are so eager for me to share when I was finally able to enjoy some quality time in the company of a certain very attractive fellow. Frankly, I don’t think any of them are readers here, but this is the best I plan to do.

I’m rarely inclined to spill many details of my involvements or alliances. After all, I have to respect a gentleman’s privacy.

But, in this case, I feel I must gush at least a little: OMG he has soft, sweet lips! I could have stroked the whiskers on his face and hair on his chest indefinitely. We talked for hours. It felt wonderful to laugh, share and enjoy the company of a sweet, intelligent, creative, attractive man…

And I am still smiling.

anticipation is like a balloon

If horniness were terminal, I’d be dead already. And I’m too young and have way too much fun left in me to die! Aaargh!

Ever since our discussion a few weeks ago, a certain someone and I have been trying to find some time to get together and explore and pleasurize. Yes, I’m sure that’s a word — I’ve just invented it.

Actually doing it, though? Epic fail. We have not managed to find a time when neither of us has a conflict. And I’m not sure what to do about it.

I mean, I’ve tried to convey a sense of urgency…yet I don’t want to get too dramatic for fear of sounding desperate. Okay, I am desperate. Sexually, that is. Not emotionally. I’m drive-across-town-for-five-minutes-in-a-utility-closet kind of desperate. Egad, that sounds fantastic!

I suspect he is not feeling any such urgency; that he’s happy to take time and savor those glorious feelings of anticipation and the creative fantasies they engender; that he is clearly far more patient than I am; that he’d prefer to find a time when we can both take time, relax and really get to know one other.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m enjoying the build up, as well. But my anticipation is like a balloon: it can only take so much more before it explodes!

And now there has been plenty of time for insecurities to creep in and try to sabotage my revelry. I wonder if he’s not as interested as I am. I start to think someone else may have caught his eye. And, gosh, that would suck! Especially since I’ve just seen some new pictures of him online with a bit of a beard and I am so turned on!

So I go on with my life, my work, my parenting, while ever dirtier images and fantasies creep into my nocturnal and day dreams.

If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be. Or I’m to cultivate patience. Or there will be other men. Que sera, right? I generally trust in this benevolent universe to have my back and, if not him now, then a better situation for me later.

But dammit, I’d sure enjoy him now. Pretty please! With whipped cream and cherries on top!

morning after bully

I’m going to write about something that I’ve heard from multiple women. And it’s somewhat disturbing.

The scenario: A pair, a twosome, who are not really a couple, gets hot and heavy, no immediate protection is immediately available, they take some calculated risks and enjoy themselves…aaand, the next day, the guy freaks out.

Him: “I’d like to talk about something.”

Her: “Okay.”

Him: “We’re not in a relationship.”

Her: “Right. I’m aware.”

Him: “We had unprotected sex last night.”

Her: “Yes, we did.”

Him: “I’m concerned about the risk of pregnancy.”

Her: “I’m not.”

Him: “You’re not?”

Her: “No. You didn’t ejaculate inside me, and I’m not in a particularly fertile part of my cycle. It’s not like this is the first time…”

Him: “I know, but we’re not in a relationship now, and that would make it worse if you got pregnant.”

Her: “Yes, and we’re not going to be.”

Him: “But you don’t know that… So maybe it would be better if you took a Plan B. You know, the morning after pill.”

Her: “Yes, I know about the morning after pill. I know my body. I’m not concerned about pregnancy. And I’m not willing to make myself sick and give myself horrific cramps for a day or two or three because you’re freaking out about a choice we made last night.”

Him: “I’m trying to share my feelings. Does that matter?”

Her: “I am taking your feelings into consideration, and it’s ultimately my decision.”

Him: “What if I went to the pharmacy and picked it up and brought it to you?”

Her: “No, thank you.”

Him: “You know, the other options are much worse than a day of not feeling well. Think of how that might affect yourself or me emotionally… It would be worth it to be 100 percent sure…”

Her: “I’ve known precisely one person who’s taken the morning after pill, and it didn’t work; 40 weeks later, she gave birth to her daughter. So it’s not 100 percent certain.”

This might go on — via text, phone or both — for hours. It might go so far that she feels bullied. And, from what I’ve heard from girlfriends, it’s entirely too common.

Think about that: Even now, some guys think they have a voice in telling a woman what to do with her body. Even if they try to be reasonable, try to be persuasive, try to lovingly suggest, there’s no getting around what it is: bullying a woman to take the responsibility for something both would have, ideally, been responsible enough to talk about before things go out of hand. Often, these guys aren’t normally such douchebags; they simply don’t get what they’re asking / demanding. It’s a big deal!

No woman should feel pressured to do something with her body that she doesn’t want to do.

This scenario is a great reminder that women still face the consequences of unprotected sex: our anatomy makes us more susceptible to contracting certain types of STDs than men and we risk pregnancy and the choices associated with it (abortion, single parenting, etc.). As long as men have penises and women have vaginas, this is the way it’s going to be; it’s simply biology.

But there are things we can do to take care of ourselves, and I ask all of my sisterhood to join in and engage in emotional, as well as physical, protection: Keep condoms on hand and require their use. Or find lovers (if you’re of that age) who have had a vasectomy. Make sure they are compassionate, loving souls, who trust you to know your body. And know your biology with confidence.

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…