*** Pagan/spiritual content ahead. If this offends you, or induces eye-rolling, please refrain from reading***
So, I've been thinking about gender, more. Sinclair says that I am not, as I put it here, "gender lazy" just because I don't put Work into my performance of gender. I'm thankful for that validation - there are lots of areas of my life in which I feel like I'm not "hardcore" enough or "taking it seriously enough" because I don't work at it.
But still. It's niggling me, poking me in the back of my brain, now that I'm aware of it. I want words for my gender. I want to name it, dammit. And I am not "femme." I am not "butch". I know that this is a spectrum, and a complex one...but I don't like those names as applied to me. Applied to other people, damn, they're sexy. But not on me, not for me. I'm not genderfuck or genderqueer because those imply, to me, a conscious playing with the spectrum. And I don't do that either. I mean, I do...it's costuming and ritual, but it's not what describes my everyday presence and performance.
My sex is female.
My sexual orientation is bisexual (probably closer to pansexual, but I haven't looked that up yet, so I won't officially use it).
My power preference is submissive/bottom.
My gender is _______
I don't know. I was talking to my Priestess from College Town, hereafter known as Magdalene, tonight about my gender issues and thoughts, and she asked "Why do you need to put your gender in a box?"
"So I can take it out again! Boxes are fun to play with."
And they are. Yes, names and categories can be reductive and restrictive and limiting. But Naming, oh, the act of Naming and claiming something for yourself...it's beautiful. And boxes were meant to be opened, to be broken down, to be played with. But they are still useful for communication, for organization, for figuring things out and sharing said things with others.
Magdalene agreed with me, and told me this story about the year she spend with Coyote:
"The year before I took my First Degree, I hung out with Coyote. I was with my first priest at the time, who described himself as "a male lesbian," and not just in the "haha, that's funny" way. This was also the year that I did my first Fools' Day Ritual, because the tricksters in my life insisted. I'm a Virgo, so I don't like to give them much attention. So, my priest and I planned and did the ritual - using all the wonderful and horribly wrong jokes we could think of - we cast Circle with mistletoe in honor of Loki and had pecan spinwheels for Delerium and Marlboros for Coyote. Now, our clothes did not come off during this ritual. But somewhere in the middle of it, my priest got thrown on the bed. And I was on top of him. Coyote and Mrs. Coyote decided to have fun with us. It was the first time a god had manifested through me. He was Mrs. Coyote, and very pleased to have breasts. He had never come that way before.
And my first degree name? Anansi. So, you see, gender issues are pretty usual around the time for your first degree."
I suppose so. But I really want a name for it.
Anansi, by the by, is an African spider god. When he came over to the Americas, he became, frequently, Aunt Nancy. Quite the genderfucking god.
Conversations like this, though, are why I adore my College Town folk. Less than a week. I see Shakti and DragonCat on Sunday. Mmmm.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A look back...
Because all is pretty quiet on the poly front right now (and because I have a paper glaring at me that I Do Not Want To Work On), I've decided to take a look back to my college days and share one or two of my more memorable Growing and Learning episodes with the Blogosphere. Don't worry, I'm going back to College Town in a couple of weeks for Spring Break...and hopefully I'll return with more current stories of friendly love and water-sharing. But, for now, a bit of a retrospective.
To start...my One Big Mistake.
Second semester, freshman year of college. I was taking my first upper division class (well...I came in with 30 hours of credit...I was a little ahead. All that meant was that I took my sweet time and finished in four years.). The class happened to be an interdisciplinary course called "The Grail in Film and Literature" - as a budding Arthurian nerd, I was stoked. I was the youngest person in the class. The oldest (other than the 60-year-old professor) was a grad student who shall be known as Ares (yes, I know I already have a Mars. Deal with it.). We got to chatting one night after class - he liked mythology, I liked mythology; he was a grad student, I was an impressionable freshman; I was worried about the first paper, he offered to help. No, really. He did help me. And on the way back from the library, he asked what I was doing for Valentine's Day. I told him that all my single friends were going to have a Lonely Hearts Club night (read: copious booze and illicit making out. Mm.), and I'd already promised to be there. "The day after, then?" he inquired.
"Uhh...nothing."
"Could I take you out, then?"
*grinning stupidly* "Sure!"
He wasn't even that cute. Let's get that straight. He was older and he was a Grad Student. In English. Who was down with Odin and Beowulf. And he was interested in me. Hot damn.
So, Valentine's came and went, with the aforementioned booze and making out. The next night, I dressed myself up prettily, but not scandalously - didn't want him getting the wrong impressions! I was still a Good Girl. He picked me up, presenting me with a white rose and a box of four Godiva (!!) chocolates. Damn. I was sufficiently wooed. He was not, however, quite as smooth with regard to dinner plans. We tried for a Japanese steakhouse (who doesn't make reservations on the day after Valentines? Really?), and ended up at a mid-range chain. I had a tasty steak, which he paid for, and was happy. On our way back to the car, I saw a flier for Rocky Horror Picture Show! Tonight! Midnight! I immediately squee'd. One of our local theaters had done the stage production during my high school years, and I was already something of a devotee (though only bold enough to dress as Janet). So I squee'd, and he asked if I wanted to go. Uh...yeah! And this was Cool Points for him, wanting to go to RHPS.
Being that we still had several hours until midnight, he suggested browsing in The Coolest Indie Bookstore until they closed. More points. Then we got coffee and chatted. Then we kissed in the car. Ooh. I was nervous, but it had all the excitement of doing something Not Quite Proper.
On the way to the theater, we had the Conversation. I had found out by this point in my college career that I needed to be very upfront about my inexperience and boundaries with the boys I fooled around with...otherwise things got awkward and uncomfortable. So I brought it up, saying something along the lines of how I didn't want to disappoint, but I really hadn't done very much and wasn't comfortable doing very much and...
"So...how innocent are you anyway?"
"Well...I've fooled around...never...er...given oral sex, but I've been...umm...manually stimulated..."
"So....you've never had Sex."
"No...and I'm not planning to. I'm just not ready."
"Uh-huh," said in a we'll-see-about-that tone, "Well, when you get to be my age, you'll find that the physical stuff doesn't matter so much."
Cue the uneasy feelings in the tummy.
"So, I guess that brings up the question...How old are you?"
"19. You?"
*uneasy laugh* "28"
Wow. Nine years. I'm a mature girl, I think. Age is just a number, I think. He's a Grad Student, I think. We're at the theater. Thank God.
Once inside, we're waiting. The cast is drifting around the theater, calling out dirty banter. One says something about whips and chains. I respond with "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me."
"Do they?" he asks. I blush a deep red.
"Oh...uh...I don't know anything about that. It's just something we say around the dorm."
"Oh...well...I do."
"....oh...." And the show begins, and I lose myself to transvestites and good, strange sex, and dancing Transylvanians. Afterwards, he drives me home, and we kiss more. I thank him for the night, and he leaves.
A week later, he calls me, asking if I want to come over and watch a movie. He'll pick me up since I don't know where his place is. We visit the Local Indie Video Store, and he vetoes my interest in Fellini's Satyricon (which I still haven't seen) for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (which I had already seen). We go back to his place, and watch about fifteen minutes of the movie before we abandon the pretense. I'm uneasy, but we've had the Conversation, so I'm sure he'll respect my boundaries. I should have stopped him there, but I had not found my No in such situations. We moved to his bed, and he removed my shirt. He told me what amazing "little titties" I had (I hadn't yet progressed to my current full-C-cup), and proceeded to lick, suck and maul them. I enjoyed it. I was uneasy, but I was enjoying it, so it was ok, right? After awhile, he turned me over, stroking my back. I heard him pause, fumbling. Then I felt a gentle strike of his doubled leather belt on my shoulder blade. I had only barely heard of safewords, and though I knew I liked to be bitten, I didn't know what to make of most kink, except that I didn't think it made people perverted or evil. I wasn't sure that I liked him hitting me. After a couple of gentle strokes, I turned over, implying discomfort. He took the hint, and resumed kissing and fondling me, moving to biting my neck and shoulders - this was much better. I began to relax.
Until he went for my pants. I really wasn't sure that I wanted him to do that. Sure, I'd had fingers down there before, even a brief tongue (one of my then-sporadic forays with Apollo)...but I didn't know about him. But my No was elusive, so I let him. He turned on the light as he explored me, admiring my "little pink pussy". I did not know half so much about my vagina as I do now, but even then, she didn't like being called a pussy. But I was enjoying his fingers, enjoying the sensation...so it was ok, right? I came. I always came, in those days. It was even easier than it is now (and it's still pretty damn easy). But when he bent his head, when he leaned in to taste, I shook my head.
"Don't you want me to eat you? Don't you want me to make you feel good?"
"No, not now, no." Finally, that No that had been hiding all night. Finally he pushed me enough to tell him he didn't have that right.
"I have to go home," I said. It was true...I had class in the morning.
"Aww, you can stay here." Uhh...No. No. No. I am NOT staying the night with you. Presumptuous bastard. My No was stronger, more confident now that arousal was fading.
"Um, you don't want to get up to take me to my 9am class."
"You're right, I don't. Ok. I'll take you home in a few minutes."
"Ok." Silence.
"I want to ask you something first."
"Ok...sure." He leaned back, and pulled at the waistband of his pants.
"What do you think of this?" I found myself staring at the first cock I had seen in full light, peeking out over his pants. And it had a ring in the tip. Hell, I thought, I don't care what you have done to your cock...but...this wasn't how I imagined getting my first good look at one....
"Uh...I don't care," I fumbled.
"Ok. Just thought you should know about it before you were expected to do anything with it." Expected?!?! Oh, buddy. You've got another think coming. Fuck expectations. Any attention I give to your cock is a Gift, of trust and respect. It's a damn sight easier to give my body to your hands and tongue than it is for me to play with yours. (I know it's a double standard, but it was where I was sexually. I was annoyed with myself for it too.) But all I said was:
"Ok...I really need to go home."
"Ok." So he took me back to the dorm. I thought it through...I felt exposed, vulnerable, and not in a good way. I realized that I didn't trust him enough to have given him as much as I did, and I certainly didn't trust him enough to give him what he wanted of me. I was not angry. After all, I had consented, right? And when I didn't, he didn't force me. He didn't rape me. He just pulled out his dick. So I was embarrassed, sad, and vulnerable...but resigned.
Until I told my guy friends. See, I had this amazing coterie of guys who were my friends/brothers/fucking-around-buddies: Dionysus, Anansi, Lugh, and Eros. You'll hear more about them later, I'm sure. But I told them the story, in the dining hall, and they all asked, "Did you slap him? Did you break it off?"
"C'mon guys, he didn't force me to do anything...it's not a slap-worthy offense."
"Oh yes it damn well is! The guy's an asshole. Do you want us to beat him up for you? We will."
Now, apart from Lugh of the Long [Fiddle] Bow, none of these guys could've stood up to Ares in a fight. But their anger, their righteous outrage that anyone would have presumed to ask more of me than I offered (they, too, picked up on that "expected") - that gave me the strength to be angry about it. The strength to expect my boundaries to be respected, to know that though I failed myself in not speaking up sooner, that he knew my stated boundaries, and I should be able to expect those to be kept.
Ares confronted me a few days later, asking if we could get together again. I said no, that I thought we were rather putting the cart before the horse, that I wasn't comfortable with how things were progressing. He protested that I was being silly, that that's the way relationships worked. That sex wasn't a big deal. I told him pointedly that it was a big deal to me, and walked off.
We pointedly ignored each other for the rest of the semester. I felt smugly pleased when he screwed up his final presentation. I also found out that he was rather in the habit of randomly showing off his genital jewelery at random moments, usually in semi-public environments. I found that very funny, and wondered how many other girls in town knew just how his junk was adorned.
Obviously, I've changed a lot since this happened. Sex isn't as big a deal...but it is a big deal. It's not something that I, personally, can do happily and joyfully without a certain Connection. I'm exploring kink...but consciously, with people I trust and in small, talked-about, negotiated steps, not out of the blue on a second date. I am not clinging to someone's dominance and confidence to give me courage to be in a situation...I will enjoy someone's dominance and confidence because I have the courage to be in that situation on my own terms.
This was my one big screw-up in college. It could've been a lot worse. Fortunately, this can turn into a much shorter, funnier story for those gossipy, worst-dating-story-ever nights. I mainly laugh about it now...but I am still angry sometimes. And glad that I can let myself be so.
To start...my One Big Mistake.
Second semester, freshman year of college. I was taking my first upper division class (well...I came in with 30 hours of credit...I was a little ahead. All that meant was that I took my sweet time and finished in four years.). The class happened to be an interdisciplinary course called "The Grail in Film and Literature" - as a budding Arthurian nerd, I was stoked. I was the youngest person in the class. The oldest (other than the 60-year-old professor) was a grad student who shall be known as Ares (yes, I know I already have a Mars. Deal with it.). We got to chatting one night after class - he liked mythology, I liked mythology; he was a grad student, I was an impressionable freshman; I was worried about the first paper, he offered to help. No, really. He did help me. And on the way back from the library, he asked what I was doing for Valentine's Day. I told him that all my single friends were going to have a Lonely Hearts Club night (read: copious booze and illicit making out. Mm.), and I'd already promised to be there. "The day after, then?" he inquired.
"Uhh...nothing."
"Could I take you out, then?"
*grinning stupidly* "Sure!"
He wasn't even that cute. Let's get that straight. He was older and he was a Grad Student. In English. Who was down with Odin and Beowulf. And he was interested in me. Hot damn.
So, Valentine's came and went, with the aforementioned booze and making out. The next night, I dressed myself up prettily, but not scandalously - didn't want him getting the wrong impressions! I was still a Good Girl. He picked me up, presenting me with a white rose and a box of four Godiva (!!) chocolates. Damn. I was sufficiently wooed. He was not, however, quite as smooth with regard to dinner plans. We tried for a Japanese steakhouse (who doesn't make reservations on the day after Valentines? Really?), and ended up at a mid-range chain. I had a tasty steak, which he paid for, and was happy. On our way back to the car, I saw a flier for Rocky Horror Picture Show! Tonight! Midnight! I immediately squee'd. One of our local theaters had done the stage production during my high school years, and I was already something of a devotee (though only bold enough to dress as Janet). So I squee'd, and he asked if I wanted to go. Uh...yeah! And this was Cool Points for him, wanting to go to RHPS.
Being that we still had several hours until midnight, he suggested browsing in The Coolest Indie Bookstore until they closed. More points. Then we got coffee and chatted. Then we kissed in the car. Ooh. I was nervous, but it had all the excitement of doing something Not Quite Proper.
On the way to the theater, we had the Conversation. I had found out by this point in my college career that I needed to be very upfront about my inexperience and boundaries with the boys I fooled around with...otherwise things got awkward and uncomfortable. So I brought it up, saying something along the lines of how I didn't want to disappoint, but I really hadn't done very much and wasn't comfortable doing very much and...
"So...how innocent are you anyway?"
"Well...I've fooled around...never...er...given oral sex, but I've been...umm...manually stimulated..."
"So....you've never had Sex."
"No...and I'm not planning to. I'm just not ready."
"Uh-huh," said in a we'll-see-about-that tone, "Well, when you get to be my age, you'll find that the physical stuff doesn't matter so much."
Cue the uneasy feelings in the tummy.
"So, I guess that brings up the question...How old are you?"
"19. You?"
*uneasy laugh* "28"
Wow. Nine years. I'm a mature girl, I think. Age is just a number, I think. He's a Grad Student, I think. We're at the theater. Thank God.
Once inside, we're waiting. The cast is drifting around the theater, calling out dirty banter. One says something about whips and chains. I respond with "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me."
"Do they?" he asks. I blush a deep red.
"Oh...uh...I don't know anything about that. It's just something we say around the dorm."
"Oh...well...I do."
"....oh...." And the show begins, and I lose myself to transvestites and good, strange sex, and dancing Transylvanians. Afterwards, he drives me home, and we kiss more. I thank him for the night, and he leaves.
A week later, he calls me, asking if I want to come over and watch a movie. He'll pick me up since I don't know where his place is. We visit the Local Indie Video Store, and he vetoes my interest in Fellini's Satyricon (which I still haven't seen) for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (which I had already seen). We go back to his place, and watch about fifteen minutes of the movie before we abandon the pretense. I'm uneasy, but we've had the Conversation, so I'm sure he'll respect my boundaries. I should have stopped him there, but I had not found my No in such situations. We moved to his bed, and he removed my shirt. He told me what amazing "little titties" I had (I hadn't yet progressed to my current full-C-cup), and proceeded to lick, suck and maul them. I enjoyed it. I was uneasy, but I was enjoying it, so it was ok, right? After awhile, he turned me over, stroking my back. I heard him pause, fumbling. Then I felt a gentle strike of his doubled leather belt on my shoulder blade. I had only barely heard of safewords, and though I knew I liked to be bitten, I didn't know what to make of most kink, except that I didn't think it made people perverted or evil. I wasn't sure that I liked him hitting me. After a couple of gentle strokes, I turned over, implying discomfort. He took the hint, and resumed kissing and fondling me, moving to biting my neck and shoulders - this was much better. I began to relax.
Until he went for my pants. I really wasn't sure that I wanted him to do that. Sure, I'd had fingers down there before, even a brief tongue (one of my then-sporadic forays with Apollo)...but I didn't know about him. But my No was elusive, so I let him. He turned on the light as he explored me, admiring my "little pink pussy". I did not know half so much about my vagina as I do now, but even then, she didn't like being called a pussy. But I was enjoying his fingers, enjoying the sensation...so it was ok, right? I came. I always came, in those days. It was even easier than it is now (and it's still pretty damn easy). But when he bent his head, when he leaned in to taste, I shook my head.
"Don't you want me to eat you? Don't you want me to make you feel good?"
"No, not now, no." Finally, that No that had been hiding all night. Finally he pushed me enough to tell him he didn't have that right.
"I have to go home," I said. It was true...I had class in the morning.
"Aww, you can stay here." Uhh...No. No. No. I am NOT staying the night with you. Presumptuous bastard. My No was stronger, more confident now that arousal was fading.
"Um, you don't want to get up to take me to my 9am class."
"You're right, I don't. Ok. I'll take you home in a few minutes."
"Ok." Silence.
"I want to ask you something first."
"Ok...sure." He leaned back, and pulled at the waistband of his pants.
"What do you think of this?" I found myself staring at the first cock I had seen in full light, peeking out over his pants. And it had a ring in the tip. Hell, I thought, I don't care what you have done to your cock...but...this wasn't how I imagined getting my first good look at one....
"Uh...I don't care," I fumbled.
"Ok. Just thought you should know about it before you were expected to do anything with it." Expected?!?! Oh, buddy. You've got another think coming. Fuck expectations. Any attention I give to your cock is a Gift, of trust and respect. It's a damn sight easier to give my body to your hands and tongue than it is for me to play with yours. (I know it's a double standard, but it was where I was sexually. I was annoyed with myself for it too.) But all I said was:
"Ok...I really need to go home."
"Ok." So he took me back to the dorm. I thought it through...I felt exposed, vulnerable, and not in a good way. I realized that I didn't trust him enough to have given him as much as I did, and I certainly didn't trust him enough to give him what he wanted of me. I was not angry. After all, I had consented, right? And when I didn't, he didn't force me. He didn't rape me. He just pulled out his dick. So I was embarrassed, sad, and vulnerable...but resigned.
Until I told my guy friends. See, I had this amazing coterie of guys who were my friends/brothers/fucking-around-buddies: Dionysus, Anansi, Lugh, and Eros. You'll hear more about them later, I'm sure. But I told them the story, in the dining hall, and they all asked, "Did you slap him? Did you break it off?"
"C'mon guys, he didn't force me to do anything...it's not a slap-worthy offense."
"Oh yes it damn well is! The guy's an asshole. Do you want us to beat him up for you? We will."
Now, apart from Lugh of the Long [Fiddle] Bow, none of these guys could've stood up to Ares in a fight. But their anger, their righteous outrage that anyone would have presumed to ask more of me than I offered (they, too, picked up on that "expected") - that gave me the strength to be angry about it. The strength to expect my boundaries to be respected, to know that though I failed myself in not speaking up sooner, that he knew my stated boundaries, and I should be able to expect those to be kept.
Ares confronted me a few days later, asking if we could get together again. I said no, that I thought we were rather putting the cart before the horse, that I wasn't comfortable with how things were progressing. He protested that I was being silly, that that's the way relationships worked. That sex wasn't a big deal. I told him pointedly that it was a big deal to me, and walked off.
We pointedly ignored each other for the rest of the semester. I felt smugly pleased when he screwed up his final presentation. I also found out that he was rather in the habit of randomly showing off his genital jewelery at random moments, usually in semi-public environments. I found that very funny, and wondered how many other girls in town knew just how his junk was adorned.
Obviously, I've changed a lot since this happened. Sex isn't as big a deal...but it is a big deal. It's not something that I, personally, can do happily and joyfully without a certain Connection. I'm exploring kink...but consciously, with people I trust and in small, talked-about, negotiated steps, not out of the blue on a second date. I am not clinging to someone's dominance and confidence to give me courage to be in a situation...I will enjoy someone's dominance and confidence because I have the courage to be in that situation on my own terms.
This was my one big screw-up in college. It could've been a lot worse. Fortunately, this can turn into a much shorter, funnier story for those gossipy, worst-dating-story-ever nights. I mainly laugh about it now...but I am still angry sometimes. And glad that I can let myself be so.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
In Which Things Get Literotic
Ladies and Gentlemen (and everyone in between), my paen to my literary loves.
To My First Roommate:
You told me
in high school,
“You’re such a book slut,
giving your mental
passions to every suave
motif, every deft
allusion – and
the more multilayered,
the better.
Length is of some
consequence – but
girth of meaning
really gets you off –
admit it.”
“With pleasure,”
I replied.
And I continued my epic tryst
into the narrow top bunk
of the dorm room we shared.
You took to your bed
every paperback pagan priest
with a pretty cover and a big
dragon, and devoured him
in one night – you were
a plot-only kind of gal,
no frills, no eloquence,
just the beginning,
middle and
end.
Dry, and without
organic structure –
like a ninth grader’s
5-paragraph essay –
your one-night novels.
Each predictable, disposable,
each a temporary
bedtime companion
to drown the day’s bitterness
with adventure like
a dinner-and-movie date
and love like
a half-hearted kiss.
You observed the etiquette of
library-rented lovers:
no rough handling, no doggy-
eared pages or pen-stain
hickeys to commemorate
your brief affair.
Even those bought and kept
retained their virginal shine,
never showing evidence
of fervent handling.
But 3 feet above you
I took works of character –
though not always noble or pure.
In these knightly poems
and libertine fictions,
I found literotic loves,
compelling me to return even
after the last page was spent.
I was not gentle, nor polite,
ravishing regularly those whose
words tangled in my hair
and left their letters in my clothes
until their spines broke
and their pages grew worn,
bruised by my pen’s exclamations.
They wore their duct-tape braces
with pride, and compared marks
to see who was loved more.
They remain my harem –
my fine bookshelf of
roguish novels, tender
gothic tales, voracious verses,
and the occasional,
thrilling philosopher –
but chief above them all
are the well-worn works
whose inky whispers leave my
pages ruffled, my binding weak,
and my bookmark right
at the best part.
You see, this is really how it goes. I had serious literary crushes before I had a crush on an actual boy. The short list goes something like this:
Peter Pevensie and Prince Caspian (Chronicles of Narnia) - Childhood. These boys were probably my first literary loves. Boys in shining armor, in a land of magic and chivalry and Greek gods and creatures? Oh yeah. I still think Prince Caspian is truly sexy, and am really looking forward to lusting after him on the big screen this May.
Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) - 6th grade. Ok. This was my first sexual crush. I wanted...oooh, I wanted Mr. Rochester to do terrible things to me. And the things just kept getting more terrible the older I got. Some would say that this should've been my first clue that I'm submissiveish.
Petruchio (Taming of the Shrew) - 10th grade. I know, it's reeeely dorky to have a crush on a Shakespearean character. But the guy who played Petruchio in the school production was so compellingly hot...I fell in love with the character. Another dominant man. Hm.
Micheal Valentine Smith (Stranger In A Strange Land) - Sophomore year of college. Mm. A man who knows *exactly* what I want. Mmm. I hadn't had sex yet, but I knew that was a good good thing. And, he's just darling.
Wizard Howl (Howl's Moving Castle) - Jr. year of college. It's probably kinda wrong to find a literary crush in a children's lit class...but Howl is most certainly of age. And he's got the Rochesterian infuriating/dominant attitude. *melts*
The Vampire Lestat (Vampire Chronicles) - Jr. year. *bites lip* I feel a little guilty about this one. I mean...it's pop lit. But he's so damn sexy and compelling. He can bite me any day of the week.
Those are the major ones, the ones I like to spend a long afternoon with. There are other books that are on this level, but these are my literary men.
To My First Roommate:
You told me
in high school,
“You’re such a book slut,
giving your mental
passions to every suave
motif, every deft
allusion – and
the more multilayered,
the better.
Length is of some
consequence – but
girth of meaning
really gets you off –
admit it.”
“With pleasure,”
I replied.
And I continued my epic tryst
into the narrow top bunk
of the dorm room we shared.
You took to your bed
every paperback pagan priest
with a pretty cover and a big
dragon, and devoured him
in one night – you were
a plot-only kind of gal,
no frills, no eloquence,
just the beginning,
middle and
end.
Dry, and without
organic structure –
like a ninth grader’s
5-paragraph essay –
your one-night novels.
Each predictable, disposable,
each a temporary
bedtime companion
to drown the day’s bitterness
with adventure like
a dinner-and-movie date
and love like
a half-hearted kiss.
You observed the etiquette of
library-rented lovers:
no rough handling, no doggy-
eared pages or pen-stain
hickeys to commemorate
your brief affair.
Even those bought and kept
retained their virginal shine,
never showing evidence
of fervent handling.
But 3 feet above you
I took works of character –
though not always noble or pure.
In these knightly poems
and libertine fictions,
I found literotic loves,
compelling me to return even
after the last page was spent.
I was not gentle, nor polite,
ravishing regularly those whose
words tangled in my hair
and left their letters in my clothes
until their spines broke
and their pages grew worn,
bruised by my pen’s exclamations.
They wore their duct-tape braces
with pride, and compared marks
to see who was loved more.
They remain my harem –
my fine bookshelf of
roguish novels, tender
gothic tales, voracious verses,
and the occasional,
thrilling philosopher –
but chief above them all
are the well-worn works
whose inky whispers leave my
pages ruffled, my binding weak,
and my bookmark right
at the best part.
You see, this is really how it goes. I had serious literary crushes before I had a crush on an actual boy. The short list goes something like this:
Peter Pevensie and Prince Caspian (Chronicles of Narnia) - Childhood. These boys were probably my first literary loves. Boys in shining armor, in a land of magic and chivalry and Greek gods and creatures? Oh yeah. I still think Prince Caspian is truly sexy, and am really looking forward to lusting after him on the big screen this May.
Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) - 6th grade. Ok. This was my first sexual crush. I wanted...oooh, I wanted Mr. Rochester to do terrible things to me. And the things just kept getting more terrible the older I got. Some would say that this should've been my first clue that I'm submissiveish.
Petruchio (Taming of the Shrew) - 10th grade. I know, it's reeeely dorky to have a crush on a Shakespearean character. But the guy who played Petruchio in the school production was so compellingly hot...I fell in love with the character. Another dominant man. Hm.
Micheal Valentine Smith (Stranger In A Strange Land) - Sophomore year of college. Mm. A man who knows *exactly* what I want. Mmm. I hadn't had sex yet, but I knew that was a good good thing. And, he's just darling.
Wizard Howl (Howl's Moving Castle) - Jr. year of college. It's probably kinda wrong to find a literary crush in a children's lit class...but Howl is most certainly of age. And he's got the Rochesterian infuriating/dominant attitude. *melts*
The Vampire Lestat (Vampire Chronicles) - Jr. year. *bites lip* I feel a little guilty about this one. I mean...it's pop lit. But he's so damn sexy and compelling. He can bite me any day of the week.
Those are the major ones, the ones I like to spend a long afternoon with. There are other books that are on this level, but these are my literary men.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
My gender...
Ariel has recently been posting about gender, and what hers looks like. I got fascinated, and started thinking about how gender applies to me. Ariel mentions that "I have a lot of gender but very little direction," meaning that she likes to present a wide variety of gender-y appearances.
I think, perhaps, that I have a lot of sex (as in, identification with my biological sex, being female), and just enough gender to come down on the side of "feminine". I read about Sinclair finding her butch identity, and performing gender - and I wonder at the amount of work it seems like, to have to be so deliberately oneself. But, on the other hand, the intentionality appeals to me - gender must matter if folks are willing to take such pains with it.
But I'm gender-lazy. As I said in my comment on Ariel's blog, I am high nothing. Not high femme, not high butch, not high tomboy, not even high-scholarly, for crying out loud. I am female, and generally somewhat feminine, but that's about it.
I love my RHPS corset, fishnets, and heels, with heavy makeup and space-age hair.
I love dressing hippie-boho-girly and sharply elegant with makeup to suit.
That's about 5% of the time, though. The rest of the time, I wear sweaters and t-shirts and comfy pants and Birkenstocks and the occasional skirt. I just got a pair of nice brown flats and a pair of tall black boots (with no heels) for Christmas, and that was a huge step for me. I don't want to put so much effort into how people see me, how I appear, most of the time.
I was a dancer for many years. From sixth grade until my senior year in high school, I was in at least one full-length ballet per year. I learned, through those experiences, to love the high-maintenance required by performing - but it was a special thing. Only a few nights out of the year does one put on the makeup, slick the hair, and wear the costume - take on the part. It's ritual, this dressing-up, which requires adequate scenery and lights and music to go with it. I couldn't do it every day. Dressing up, performing, is for me a way to explore and relish the sides of me that are not the everyday me.
For instance, I absolutely LOVE going to Rocky Horror, once in awhile. I love yelling the callbacks, love putting on my eyeliner and darker eyeshadow to go with my crimson corset, black panties, and fishnets. I love putting my hair up in those two, Leia-esque buns. This is my Shadow, my overtly sexual and crude self, my self who seduces. My self who revels in the sounds of the woman being flogged in the back of the theater, and the looks the ticket-taker gives me as I walk past.
But this is not someone I want to be any more frequently than once or twice a month (in public, at least). I need and crave that outlet, that stage...but only on occasion.
I understand that, to one degree or another, I am performing my gender everyday whether I think I am or not. But it does not feel like it...I'm really not even sure what my gender is. Comfortably feminine? Low-maintenance? I associate gender so much with appearance and fashion that I can't separate the two. I know gender is more than appearance....but I think it's reflected in appearance, at least when in "high" forms. I don't know, though. Hm.
This is what I know: I am feminine. I am female. I am submissiveish. I like boys and girls and girls who used to be boys (and probably the other way round, if I ever meet one). I am attracted to androgyny, femininity (not girly-ness), and masculinity. I am attracted to dominance and confidence, in men and women. I love being bitten and having my hair pulled. I'm fascinated by kink and power exchange. I'm deeply spiritual, and conceive of God'dess as Lover. I wear my hair down as much as possible. I am poly.
Some of this is biological sex, some is sexual orientation, some is preference...does all this together make gender? Maybe?
I think, perhaps, that I have a lot of sex (as in, identification with my biological sex, being female), and just enough gender to come down on the side of "feminine". I read about Sinclair finding her butch identity, and performing gender - and I wonder at the amount of work it seems like, to have to be so deliberately oneself. But, on the other hand, the intentionality appeals to me - gender must matter if folks are willing to take such pains with it.
But I'm gender-lazy. As I said in my comment on Ariel's blog, I am high nothing. Not high femme, not high butch, not high tomboy, not even high-scholarly, for crying out loud. I am female, and generally somewhat feminine, but that's about it.
I love my RHPS corset, fishnets, and heels, with heavy makeup and space-age hair.
I love dressing hippie-boho-girly and sharply elegant with makeup to suit.
That's about 5% of the time, though. The rest of the time, I wear sweaters and t-shirts and comfy pants and Birkenstocks and the occasional skirt. I just got a pair of nice brown flats and a pair of tall black boots (with no heels) for Christmas, and that was a huge step for me. I don't want to put so much effort into how people see me, how I appear, most of the time.
I was a dancer for many years. From sixth grade until my senior year in high school, I was in at least one full-length ballet per year. I learned, through those experiences, to love the high-maintenance required by performing - but it was a special thing. Only a few nights out of the year does one put on the makeup, slick the hair, and wear the costume - take on the part. It's ritual, this dressing-up, which requires adequate scenery and lights and music to go with it. I couldn't do it every day. Dressing up, performing, is for me a way to explore and relish the sides of me that are not the everyday me.
For instance, I absolutely LOVE going to Rocky Horror, once in awhile. I love yelling the callbacks, love putting on my eyeliner and darker eyeshadow to go with my crimson corset, black panties, and fishnets. I love putting my hair up in those two, Leia-esque buns. This is my Shadow, my overtly sexual and crude self, my self who seduces. My self who revels in the sounds of the woman being flogged in the back of the theater, and the looks the ticket-taker gives me as I walk past.
But this is not someone I want to be any more frequently than once or twice a month (in public, at least). I need and crave that outlet, that stage...but only on occasion.
I understand that, to one degree or another, I am performing my gender everyday whether I think I am or not. But it does not feel like it...I'm really not even sure what my gender is. Comfortably feminine? Low-maintenance? I associate gender so much with appearance and fashion that I can't separate the two. I know gender is more than appearance....but I think it's reflected in appearance, at least when in "high" forms. I don't know, though. Hm.
This is what I know: I am feminine. I am female. I am submissiveish. I like boys and girls and girls who used to be boys (and probably the other way round, if I ever meet one). I am attracted to androgyny, femininity (not girly-ness), and masculinity. I am attracted to dominance and confidence, in men and women. I love being bitten and having my hair pulled. I'm fascinated by kink and power exchange. I'm deeply spiritual, and conceive of God'dess as Lover. I wear my hair down as much as possible. I am poly.
Some of this is biological sex, some is sexual orientation, some is preference...does all this together make gender? Maybe?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
So, a few weeks ago, I informed Apollo that this year, for my birthday, I want him to round up all the highly unattainable men with whom I'm in lust and schedule a week of debauchery for me. He said that he'd get right on that, as long as he could have his way with Kaylee.
I think that's perfectly reasonable, as Kaylee is Really Hot.
Anyway, we began discussing the lineup for my Week Of Sex With Highly Unattainable Men, and this is what we came up with, in no particular order:
I think that's perfectly reasonable, as Kaylee is Really Hot.
Anyway, we began discussing the lineup for my Week Of Sex With Highly Unattainable Men, and this is what we came up with, in no particular order:
Nathan Fillian. Mal is Sex Incarnate. I realize that this makes me a Firefly Fangirl, but I don't quite care.
Damien Rice. Melancholy Irish singer-songwriter with a penchant for allusions to the darker sides of sex and relationships: "Amie, come sit on my wall and read me the Story of O", "Don't hold yourself like that, you'll hurt your knees." And, well, he just gets downright sexy at times. Mmmm.
Ryan Adams. Not Bryan Adams...Ryan Adams. Exceptionally eclectic singer-songwriter with an attitude and a feeling for good rock-n-roll (except when it's not. Namely, Rock and Roll and Easy Tiger). He has a little bit of the junkie look about him...but on him, it's hot.
Colin Firth. Sexy accent, good actor, and damn, not many folks are as good at the on-screen kisses as he is.
Neil Gaiman. Ok. Yes. I'm a Gaiman Girl too. Not so much because he's hot....though his is...but because his books move me. You know - laughing aloud one minute, throwing the book across the room the next, weeping the next moment...then laughing again....books like that make me want to have the author's babies. And I don't want children.
Johnny Depp. Yes, yes. I know. How typical. But, well...I can't say no to this. Or this.
So that's only six. I imagine I'd need a day of rest after that week. This list was my Still-Alive-and-Good-Looking list, as it's the most realistic (as these fantasies go). My Would've Fucked 30 Years Ago, Hot Dead Guys, and Fictional Fantasies lists are all much less...shall we say, tangible? Though someday, I may share them for the helluvit.
So, folks. 7 days, your choice of any 7 living people - who'd be on your list?
Damien Rice. Melancholy Irish singer-songwriter with a penchant for allusions to the darker sides of sex and relationships: "Amie, come sit on my wall and read me the Story of O", "Don't hold yourself like that, you'll hurt your knees." And, well, he just gets downright sexy at times. Mmmm.
Ryan Adams. Not Bryan Adams...Ryan Adams. Exceptionally eclectic singer-songwriter with an attitude and a feeling for good rock-n-roll (except when it's not. Namely, Rock and Roll and Easy Tiger). He has a little bit of the junkie look about him...but on him, it's hot.
Colin Firth. Sexy accent, good actor, and damn, not many folks are as good at the on-screen kisses as he is.
Neil Gaiman. Ok. Yes. I'm a Gaiman Girl too. Not so much because he's hot....though his is...but because his books move me. You know - laughing aloud one minute, throwing the book across the room the next, weeping the next moment...then laughing again....books like that make me want to have the author's babies. And I don't want children.
Johnny Depp. Yes, yes. I know. How typical. But, well...I can't say no to this. Or this.
So that's only six. I imagine I'd need a day of rest after that week. This list was my Still-Alive-and-Good-Looking list, as it's the most realistic (as these fantasies go). My Would've Fucked 30 Years Ago, Hot Dead Guys, and Fictional Fantasies lists are all much less...shall we say, tangible? Though someday, I may share them for the helluvit.
So, folks. 7 days, your choice of any 7 living people - who'd be on your list?
Friday, January 18, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
When the Moon is in the seventh house...
...and Jupiter aligns with Mars...
Ok, no "Age of Aquarius" here. No more, in all probability, of Jupiter aligning with Mars (Jupiter is my ruling planet, btw). In the wake of my amazing week in College Town, I think I'm getting closer to defining What Is Enough For Sex. It has to do with the DragonCat/Mars difference. That feeling of comfort, of safety. As much as I may like Mars, and objectively trust him, and even want him (though, I'm a little ashamed to say, now that the novelty's gone, I don't even want him so much), I don't get that easy feeling of comfort and safety. Of being absolutely OK as I am, cherished for who I am. I get that from all my Murfreesboro/Nashville lovers. I get that from Apollo. The thing that makes it significant that I feel that from/for DragonCat is that I don't know him that well. I can't tell you his favorite movies or what music he likes (ok, he does like Ween. I know that much), or if he has any food allergies. So, I'm wondering if what makes it "enough" is that feeling of ease and comfort and safety, rather than any specifics of number of dates or time knowing the person or deep, dark secrets shared. I mean, I don't think I'd fuck a stranger simply because he exuded this feeling...but I think this may need to become a primary criterion. Which may well mean ending things (sexual things, at least) with Mars soon. Hmm.
And now I'm thinking about that 17th century poem (by Donne?) that talks about "sublunary love" and all the perils thereof. For, "everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the Moon" to quote a twentieth-century poet.
And love is difficult to navigate. And sex is a thorny issue (screw them roses, though!). But I think that there is too much good, comfortable (within myself - not painless, not without the broadening of conceived limits and horizons, but comfortable in myself), thoroughly pleasing sex in my life to deal with or have sex that makes me unsure of myself or feel in the least unsatisfied or uncertain. This doesn't (necessarily) contradict the Ecclesiastical Theory of Sex:
(A time for spiritual sex
and a time for carnal sex.
A time for girl sex,
and a time for boy sex.
A time for fun and pleasure,
and a time for connection.
A time for power exchange,
and a time for equality.
A time for bondage
and a time for embracing.
A time for masturbation,
and a time for threesomes.
...etc.)
This just means that I should be thoroughly comfortable with my partner and with being wholly myself around my partner for all these types of sex. Even if it's just (just! Ha!) fun and pleasure, there's no reason I should be less than fully confident in who I am or that I should feel uncertain about being accepted for me, limits, requests, kinks, neuroses and all.
So. I still need to write my story about Mars, but it will probably be post-relationship. That's ok, though. There are beautiful boys (and girls!) with whom I connect and am safe. And that's more than good enough for me.
Ok, no "Age of Aquarius" here. No more, in all probability, of Jupiter aligning with Mars (Jupiter is my ruling planet, btw). In the wake of my amazing week in College Town, I think I'm getting closer to defining What Is Enough For Sex. It has to do with the DragonCat/Mars difference. That feeling of comfort, of safety. As much as I may like Mars, and objectively trust him, and even want him (though, I'm a little ashamed to say, now that the novelty's gone, I don't even want him so much), I don't get that easy feeling of comfort and safety. Of being absolutely OK as I am, cherished for who I am. I get that from all my Murfreesboro/Nashville lovers. I get that from Apollo. The thing that makes it significant that I feel that from/for DragonCat is that I don't know him that well. I can't tell you his favorite movies or what music he likes (ok, he does like Ween. I know that much), or if he has any food allergies. So, I'm wondering if what makes it "enough" is that feeling of ease and comfort and safety, rather than any specifics of number of dates or time knowing the person or deep, dark secrets shared. I mean, I don't think I'd fuck a stranger simply because he exuded this feeling...but I think this may need to become a primary criterion. Which may well mean ending things (sexual things, at least) with Mars soon. Hmm.
And now I'm thinking about that 17th century poem (by Donne?) that talks about "sublunary love" and all the perils thereof. For, "everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the Moon" to quote a twentieth-century poet.
And love is difficult to navigate. And sex is a thorny issue (screw them roses, though!). But I think that there is too much good, comfortable (within myself - not painless, not without the broadening of conceived limits and horizons, but comfortable in myself), thoroughly pleasing sex in my life to deal with or have sex that makes me unsure of myself or feel in the least unsatisfied or uncertain. This doesn't (necessarily) contradict the Ecclesiastical Theory of Sex:
(A time for spiritual sex
and a time for carnal sex.
A time for girl sex,
and a time for boy sex.
A time for fun and pleasure,
and a time for connection.
A time for power exchange,
and a time for equality.
A time for bondage
and a time for embracing.
A time for masturbation,
and a time for threesomes.
...etc.)
This just means that I should be thoroughly comfortable with my partner and with being wholly myself around my partner for all these types of sex. Even if it's just (just! Ha!) fun and pleasure, there's no reason I should be less than fully confident in who I am or that I should feel uncertain about being accepted for me, limits, requests, kinks, neuroses and all.
So. I still need to write my story about Mars, but it will probably be post-relationship. That's ok, though. There are beautiful boys (and girls!) with whom I connect and am safe. And that's more than good enough for me.
Friday, January 4, 2008
In Which Joy Muses on Bisexuality
I've mentioned previously that I think I have a harder time thinking of myself as "bisexual" than it is for Apollo to think of me as such. Granted, the events of this week have made a lot of what I was going to say in this post much less relevant and made me feel much more "qualified" to use that label, but still. It's been an interesting adjustment.
When I came to the conclusion that I wanted physical relationships with women, it was something of a cool realization, rather than a burning epiphany. I was thinking over my longings for a poly-relationship, on the intimacy-with-friends line, and suddenly it just didn't seem right that I couldn't share that level of physical intimacy with my women friends. I mean, I experience love and affection most profoundly through touch - that's the root of my desire to broaden my sexual partners to include those I treasure, not just the one I live with. It seemed, to me, to devalue my relationships with women if I said, "I am willing to be loved and love in this way, to this depth, with my men friends, but not with my women friends." Likewise, I had been struggling with my conception of the Sacred Feminine, of God'dess, God as Woman. She didn't seem as tangible, as real and accessible as my God. I addressed her as Mother, as Friend, as Sister...but none of these were as visceral an image as my favorite image of my God - my Holy Lover. Suddenly, bisexuality became a bit of a spiritual necessity. When She became my Lover as well - well, damn. It just made sense. So there was no secretly harbored crush, no deep-seated attractions to women - just a realization that it makes sense for me. Granted, I have always liked androgyny, in men and women, but I was attracted to the androgynous women because they looked like pretty boys (of course, I realize this could be self-delusion here...that may have been the only psychologically safe way for me to rationalize my attraction at all). Even now, I don't experience the same random lust for a lovely, attractive woman that I can experience for an equally attractive man. The women I want, really Want are those with whom I already have a touch-relationship - we already are comfortable and loving enough to hug, to rub backs, to play with hair. But, oh, I do want them pretty badly. And my God'dess? Well, I've known for awhile that I'm the sub in a holy D/s relationship (forthcoming post on my crackpot ideas about D/s and spirituality/courtly love)...but now I have Two Owners (though, of course, really I only have One, but still). And she's gorgeous.
When I came to the conclusion that I wanted physical relationships with women, it was something of a cool realization, rather than a burning epiphany. I was thinking over my longings for a poly-relationship, on the intimacy-with-friends line, and suddenly it just didn't seem right that I couldn't share that level of physical intimacy with my women friends. I mean, I experience love and affection most profoundly through touch - that's the root of my desire to broaden my sexual partners to include those I treasure, not just the one I live with. It seemed, to me, to devalue my relationships with women if I said, "I am willing to be loved and love in this way, to this depth, with my men friends, but not with my women friends." Likewise, I had been struggling with my conception of the Sacred Feminine, of God'dess, God as Woman. She didn't seem as tangible, as real and accessible as my God. I addressed her as Mother, as Friend, as Sister...but none of these were as visceral an image as my favorite image of my God - my Holy Lover. Suddenly, bisexuality became a bit of a spiritual necessity. When She became my Lover as well - well, damn. It just made sense. So there was no secretly harbored crush, no deep-seated attractions to women - just a realization that it makes sense for me. Granted, I have always liked androgyny, in men and women, but I was attracted to the androgynous women because they looked like pretty boys (of course, I realize this could be self-delusion here...that may have been the only psychologically safe way for me to rationalize my attraction at all). Even now, I don't experience the same random lust for a lovely, attractive woman that I can experience for an equally attractive man. The women I want, really Want are those with whom I already have a touch-relationship - we already are comfortable and loving enough to hug, to rub backs, to play with hair. But, oh, I do want them pretty badly. And my God'dess? Well, I've known for awhile that I'm the sub in a holy D/s relationship (forthcoming post on my crackpot ideas about D/s and spirituality/courtly love)...but now I have Two Owners (though, of course, really I only have One, but still). And she's gorgeous.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Happy New Year!
...The Sexy, College-Town Remix.
So, my holiday plans involved taking one week of my Winter Break (I love being a grad student!) and going home, seeing family and friends there, and then departing to spend New Years Week in my Undergraduate Town, and the metropolitan area 30 miles to the north of it. That first week, of necessity, has no truly sexy stories associated with it. This week, however, has been full of Exploratory Sexual Goodness.
**I realize that there are lots of names with no descriptions or context in this post. I will make a Lovers of Joy page detailing my Usual Suspects very soon. Promise.
Sunday, December 30th:
Arrived in College Town and went to Imladris, home of the Hobbit Ladies (who do not have hairy feet - but they resemble hobbits in their love for good food, good alcohol, and questionable smokeables). There has been a long-standing attraction tween me and them, so when I found myself naked between them, slightly fuzzy-headed from the pipeweed, it wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how...clumsy and inept I feel when dealing with women's bodies. In the moment, I could not for the life of me think of any particular techniques used on me in the past. Fortunately, their lovely breasts seemed to respond nicely to my amateur efforts. I was also reminded of the fact that women are (in my experience to this point) infinitely better than men when it comes to fingering (though, from all accounts, Jefferson has a special way with that Special Spot.).
Quick sidenote: I get off on penetration. Like, a lot. Oh, I love my clitoris, don't get me wrong...but the orgasms are so different, acute and defined and short. I love the long rolling, peaking and plateauing of G-spot orgasms. I love my incoherence afterwards.
Anyway. Lovely, long night with the HLs. Still did not get my fingers or tongue into their nethers - I'm painfully shy and nervous about giving pleasure to women - but they helped each other, and much fun was had by all.
Monday, December 31st:
Went to the House of the Spider Woman for a La Vie Boheme NYE party. No particularly explicit stories this night, but I met a girl who had had surface piercings in her back, had done suspensions, was into shibari, and had an amazing set of nails. I also cuddled with the Cuddle Owl, who was newly single and thus much more willing to share his amazing hugs and backrubs. My Qabbalist Water Brother (QWB) cried over my present to her - a collage Tree of Life - and nuzzled and nibbled and generally made me a happy Joy. The Spider Woman was resplendent in her Mimi-inspired outfit, and in high teasing form. Shakti informed me that her partner, DragonCat, was "curious" and wanted to join us for my planned sleepover at Shakti's place the following night. As DragonCat is one of the most adorable men on the planet (and Apollo and I had already discussed this possibility a few nights ago when we found ourselves in a "Who do you want to fuck from College Town?" discussion) I assured her that I would be more than happy to have him there.
Tuesday, January 1st:
Awoke at the House of the Spider Woman. Headed to the QWB's place for afternoon hanging out. I had mentioned my unexplored submissive tendencies to her, as well as my fascination with kink, knowing her to identify as a Domme. She, beautiful creature that she is, was very willing to help me explore, in a non-sexual context, as she is deliberately celibate. Sadly, though, she lost a childhood friend at the beginning of the month, and thus felt mentally and emotionally unable to offer me a formal "session". However, (and this was probably even better) she generously showed me her tools and demonstrated their uses on me in an informal context. This means that I experienced: a whip, used several different ways, through my clothes; hot wax on my stomach; different sorts of non-cutting knife strokes on my belly and forearm; and perhaps most profoundly, the weight of a collar and cuffs. These were decorated with large and numerous spikes - which would not be my choice - but the feeling of that weight on me was something I knew I wanted to experience again. After they were removed, and the demonstration was over, I stood up from her couch and thought "I feel a little drunk. But I have not had a drink. Hee!" We also talked, seriously and happily, about my sexual journey, our lives, and things spiritual and intellectual. But this is the sexblog *grins*.
From there, I headed to Shakti's place. When I got there, she and DragonCat were eating homemade pizza. We sat, catching up on the events of each other's lives, while they finished dinner. My stomach was home to a whole nest of butterflies - I really didn't *know* DragonCat all that well, but he's one of those people who simply radiate comfort and trust and safety. There was not a question in my mind that I would be safe, treasured, and respected by these two people. But...still. I was minutes away from kissing a HOT man and from (I had decided) finally getting acquainted with another woman's cunt. I was nervous. Fortunately, Shakti is incredibly good at easing into these situations without pretense or awkwardness. We migrated to the bedroom, where tickle wars ensued and DragonCat giggled and wriggled when he realized that I slip into CatTalk (TM) when I'm feeling playful (he and Shakti have whole conversations in mrows and mews). Soon after this, Shakti decides that she needs to go take a shower, and orders us to "cuddle amongst yourselves" in her absence. Now, DragonCat is a 5-star Cuddleslut. At any party, he will be draped over/have draped over him at least two women, if not more. This is never sexual - he's just got an infinite capacity for cuddles. Knowing this, I curl right up to him, and we sink into a comfortable, silent touching.
His hands. Oh my. His hands. We were not overtly sexual yet, but every touch of his was pure affection, pure joy in the skin of my belly, the curve of my hip. I felt holy. I felt that he was both worshiper and god to my goddess and devotee. I eventually found my voice to remark about how much I'd wanted to cuddle with him at the NYE party, but that I couldn't bear to interrupt his cuddling with the blissed-out girl who stayed attached to him the whole night - she looked as though she needed it. This launched some small talk, which concluded with him remarking that as much as he loves cuddling, it's "always hard for me to not play with the boobies. They...they're just there and so appealing." "Well, you don't have to worry about that with me," I said. Gentle, so gentle and so hot. And his kisses were meltingly sweet, soft, and intense. Shakti returned from her shower to see us making out, bare to the waist. Since she was already naked, DragonCat and I followed suit. What followed was a delicious exercise in Taking Turns. They began, like the generous souls and good hosts they are, by thoroughly exploring my body and Shakti fingering me into my first set of orgasms for the evening. Soon after, I found myself rolling through my second set as Shakti and I clung to each other in shared bliss while DragonCat fingered both of us and broke my Girls Finger Better Than Boys rule. After recovering from that for a few moments, Shakti diplomatically asked DragonCat what he'd like to do. He wiggled with excitement (like a cat about to spring, thus earning him the second part of his name), and flicked his tongue suggestively. "Would you like to do that to Joy?" Shakti asked. More wiggling accompanied by nodding. "Well, pull up a chair, then!" I took this as a figurative invitation to lay back and settle in for some prolonged, amazing cunnilingus. DragonCat took this more literally, and actually pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.
Now, I've heard of men who Genuinely Love going down on girls. I've always been fortunate to find men who at least like it, like making women squirm and moan, and are pretty damn good at it. But, at our last encounter, Shakti definitely instituted a Girls Give Oral Better Than Boys standard. DragonCat breaks this, too. It sounds cliche, but he treated my cunt like an oasis in a desert. I felt like I was the "flower in the desert, water in the dry lands" for him, a source of endless wonder of which he could never be bored. It wasn't a preface to anything "more important", not an appetizer or a bit of foreplay - this was Sex. After he finally came up for air, and allowed me to do the same, Shakti asked me, "Have you had the chance to play with a woman yet?" "No..." "Do you want to?" "Yes..." After playing with her breasts, trying to pay attention to her reactions, to figure out what worked best (no, I don't over-intellectualize things!), and admiring the beauty of her more prominent nipples, one hand drifted towards her mons. But I hesitated. I didn't want to go in blindly, so to speak. I was so scared of doing something wrong - I needed to see what I was doing. "Do you want to look at me?"she asked (she says I think loudly. I can't refute this.).
I moved myself to kneeling between her legs, and looked at her. Browner than me, she was, though still pinkish. I then noticed DragonCat at my side, with his beautiful, open grin. "He wants to watch," Shakti said. I almost had an attack of "Sex is not a performance! I refuse to put on a show!" (which...I realize that for some people that's part of it, and that's wonderful and cool...but I get anxious when I feel like I'm performing. See my upcoming post on oral sex.) but DragonCat was so nonjudgmental and supportive that I didn't feel like he was watching porn, but rather lending moral support. Truth to tell, I was eventually pretty glad of his presence beside me. I parted her lips and gazed, probing experimentally until I found everything I was looking for - surveying the terrain, so to speak. Her vagina looked so dark, so deep. It looked like it did have the potential for holding worlds, for being the primal place of Beginnings and Birth. I decided to start with her clit - it seemed at little less...intimidating. I learned that direct stimulation is too much, but that above, below and beside are effective and wonderful. I learned that I, too, can give women orgasms, and that holding down a woman's thigh and belly while you stroke her to ecstasy is a profound and beautiful pleasure. After a time, I moved down, and cautiously inserted a fingertip. She was So. Wet. So warm. So soft. I inserted my index finger, and beckoned. Ahh..response...and a little to the right evoked an even stronger response. This was *much* easier than figuring out the breasts, or even the clit. I pressed up in fast, small pulses - and Shakti screamed. Wow. I added another finger, noting the snugness of her, and tried for a second scream. Instead I got a "Honey, be careful of your nails." Ooops...lesson learned. So I backed off for a moment, contemplating, screwing my courage to the sticking point, before leaning in and touching my tongue to her clit. Shakti is a natural goddess, so I soon found that it is difficult to breathe when one's nose is pressed into luscious pubic hair. Even more difficult when said goddess starts writhing (not that I minded this, you understand). DragonCat helped steady both the Shakti and me, holding us both in place. I got that second scream.
The rest of the night was spent playing with DragonCat's cock, and playing out one of Shakti's fantasies - DragonCat fucked her doggy-style while she buried her face in me. After, she announced that "Shakti is broken! and needs to sleep!", so we all piled onto the queen-sized bed, with DragonCat in the middle. Shakti dropped right off, which led DragonCat to cuddle up to me and (we were all sleeping naked), begin to make it very difficult for me not to disturb Shakti with either sounds or fierce movements. I was tired. Fuck, was I tired. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, and had just been thoroughly worn out. But I cannot resist that man's hands and mouth: "I can't believe your hands and mouth did all of that to me. And they are so daily naked for all the world to see." ("Rexroth's Daughter"). Eventually, however, he let up and we did go to sleep. When Shakti left early in the morning for work, though, it all began again. Now that we didn't have to keep quiet or still, he looked at me and said, "You want to 69?" "Err...I tend not to do it because it requires multitasking...and I never have the presence of mind. But...I'm willing to try it! Or we could just take turns..." He decided that we'd try it...and it seemed to work out fairly well. At least, well, he didn't complain. And I can't either. I still don't know how people give an effective blowjob with someone's mouth on their cunt, but I did my best. When my jaw was to tired to continue (my stamina is pitiful. Sad.), he brought me to another series of orgasms with his incredible fingers. After which we promptly fell back asleep. When we awoke, we made out slowly, sweetly until he said, sadly, "You know, I kind of wish we could do everything." I nodded, "It's alright. Wait..you do mean that Shakti isn't ok with us having intercourse, right?" Because if you think I'm not ok with it, buddy, you've got another think coming! "Yes," he said. "Ok. That's fine. But I'm still allowed to give you an orgasm, right?" "Oh yes. Oral's fine, just no 'actual sex'". So I went down on him. I am no blow-job queen - Wendy and Avah would shame my ass back to the South if I ever tried to compete with them. But I gave it my best effort. After a goodly time, I crept back up into his arms, feeling slightly disappointed with myself. "Yeah...I don't often come from oral. Or from anything apart from masturbation or 'actual sex'...I guess I should've said that beforehand...but it was still amazing." Ok. I'm ok with that. I want my lovers to be fulfilled, and if orgasm isn't necessarily a part of that, I am perfectly alright with that. We went back to cuddling and kissing, until I realized that I was overdue for my afternoon hanging out with another friend. It is incredibly difficult to get back into clothes when a beautiful, lanky man is perpetually ready to love your naked body and distract you with kisses. But I managed.
Part two to perhaps follow, if anything notable happens in the next few days!
So, my holiday plans involved taking one week of my Winter Break (I love being a grad student!) and going home, seeing family and friends there, and then departing to spend New Years Week in my Undergraduate Town, and the metropolitan area 30 miles to the north of it. That first week, of necessity, has no truly sexy stories associated with it. This week, however, has been full of Exploratory Sexual Goodness.
**I realize that there are lots of names with no descriptions or context in this post. I will make a Lovers of Joy page detailing my Usual Suspects very soon. Promise.
Sunday, December 30th:
Arrived in College Town and went to Imladris, home of the Hobbit Ladies (who do not have hairy feet - but they resemble hobbits in their love for good food, good alcohol, and questionable smokeables). There has been a long-standing attraction tween me and them, so when I found myself naked between them, slightly fuzzy-headed from the pipeweed, it wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how...clumsy and inept I feel when dealing with women's bodies. In the moment, I could not for the life of me think of any particular techniques used on me in the past. Fortunately, their lovely breasts seemed to respond nicely to my amateur efforts. I was also reminded of the fact that women are (in my experience to this point) infinitely better than men when it comes to fingering (though, from all accounts, Jefferson has a special way with that Special Spot.).
Quick sidenote: I get off on penetration. Like, a lot. Oh, I love my clitoris, don't get me wrong...but the orgasms are so different, acute and defined and short. I love the long rolling, peaking and plateauing of G-spot orgasms. I love my incoherence afterwards.
Anyway. Lovely, long night with the HLs. Still did not get my fingers or tongue into their nethers - I'm painfully shy and nervous about giving pleasure to women - but they helped each other, and much fun was had by all.
Monday, December 31st:
Went to the House of the Spider Woman for a La Vie Boheme NYE party. No particularly explicit stories this night, but I met a girl who had had surface piercings in her back, had done suspensions, was into shibari, and had an amazing set of nails. I also cuddled with the Cuddle Owl, who was newly single and thus much more willing to share his amazing hugs and backrubs. My Qabbalist Water Brother (QWB) cried over my present to her - a collage Tree of Life - and nuzzled and nibbled and generally made me a happy Joy. The Spider Woman was resplendent in her Mimi-inspired outfit, and in high teasing form. Shakti informed me that her partner, DragonCat, was "curious" and wanted to join us for my planned sleepover at Shakti's place the following night. As DragonCat is one of the most adorable men on the planet (and Apollo and I had already discussed this possibility a few nights ago when we found ourselves in a "Who do you want to fuck from College Town?" discussion) I assured her that I would be more than happy to have him there.
Tuesday, January 1st:
Awoke at the House of the Spider Woman. Headed to the QWB's place for afternoon hanging out. I had mentioned my unexplored submissive tendencies to her, as well as my fascination with kink, knowing her to identify as a Domme. She, beautiful creature that she is, was very willing to help me explore, in a non-sexual context, as she is deliberately celibate. Sadly, though, she lost a childhood friend at the beginning of the month, and thus felt mentally and emotionally unable to offer me a formal "session". However, (and this was probably even better) she generously showed me her tools and demonstrated their uses on me in an informal context. This means that I experienced: a whip, used several different ways, through my clothes; hot wax on my stomach; different sorts of non-cutting knife strokes on my belly and forearm; and perhaps most profoundly, the weight of a collar and cuffs. These were decorated with large and numerous spikes - which would not be my choice - but the feeling of that weight on me was something I knew I wanted to experience again. After they were removed, and the demonstration was over, I stood up from her couch and thought "I feel a little drunk. But I have not had a drink. Hee!" We also talked, seriously and happily, about my sexual journey, our lives, and things spiritual and intellectual. But this is the sexblog *grins*.
From there, I headed to Shakti's place. When I got there, she and DragonCat were eating homemade pizza. We sat, catching up on the events of each other's lives, while they finished dinner. My stomach was home to a whole nest of butterflies - I really didn't *know* DragonCat all that well, but he's one of those people who simply radiate comfort and trust and safety. There was not a question in my mind that I would be safe, treasured, and respected by these two people. But...still. I was minutes away from kissing a HOT man and from (I had decided) finally getting acquainted with another woman's cunt. I was nervous. Fortunately, Shakti is incredibly good at easing into these situations without pretense or awkwardness. We migrated to the bedroom, where tickle wars ensued and DragonCat giggled and wriggled when he realized that I slip into CatTalk (TM) when I'm feeling playful (he and Shakti have whole conversations in mrows and mews). Soon after this, Shakti decides that she needs to go take a shower, and orders us to "cuddle amongst yourselves" in her absence. Now, DragonCat is a 5-star Cuddleslut. At any party, he will be draped over/have draped over him at least two women, if not more. This is never sexual - he's just got an infinite capacity for cuddles. Knowing this, I curl right up to him, and we sink into a comfortable, silent touching.
His hands. Oh my. His hands. We were not overtly sexual yet, but every touch of his was pure affection, pure joy in the skin of my belly, the curve of my hip. I felt holy. I felt that he was both worshiper and god to my goddess and devotee. I eventually found my voice to remark about how much I'd wanted to cuddle with him at the NYE party, but that I couldn't bear to interrupt his cuddling with the blissed-out girl who stayed attached to him the whole night - she looked as though she needed it. This launched some small talk, which concluded with him remarking that as much as he loves cuddling, it's "always hard for me to not play with the boobies. They...they're just there and so appealing." "Well, you don't have to worry about that with me," I said. Gentle, so gentle and so hot. And his kisses were meltingly sweet, soft, and intense. Shakti returned from her shower to see us making out, bare to the waist. Since she was already naked, DragonCat and I followed suit. What followed was a delicious exercise in Taking Turns. They began, like the generous souls and good hosts they are, by thoroughly exploring my body and Shakti fingering me into my first set of orgasms for the evening. Soon after, I found myself rolling through my second set as Shakti and I clung to each other in shared bliss while DragonCat fingered both of us and broke my Girls Finger Better Than Boys rule. After recovering from that for a few moments, Shakti diplomatically asked DragonCat what he'd like to do. He wiggled with excitement (like a cat about to spring, thus earning him the second part of his name), and flicked his tongue suggestively. "Would you like to do that to Joy?" Shakti asked. More wiggling accompanied by nodding. "Well, pull up a chair, then!" I took this as a figurative invitation to lay back and settle in for some prolonged, amazing cunnilingus. DragonCat took this more literally, and actually pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.
Now, I've heard of men who Genuinely Love going down on girls. I've always been fortunate to find men who at least like it, like making women squirm and moan, and are pretty damn good at it. But, at our last encounter, Shakti definitely instituted a Girls Give Oral Better Than Boys standard. DragonCat breaks this, too. It sounds cliche, but he treated my cunt like an oasis in a desert. I felt like I was the "flower in the desert, water in the dry lands" for him, a source of endless wonder of which he could never be bored. It wasn't a preface to anything "more important", not an appetizer or a bit of foreplay - this was Sex. After he finally came up for air, and allowed me to do the same, Shakti asked me, "Have you had the chance to play with a woman yet?" "No..." "Do you want to?" "Yes..." After playing with her breasts, trying to pay attention to her reactions, to figure out what worked best (no, I don't over-intellectualize things!), and admiring the beauty of her more prominent nipples, one hand drifted towards her mons. But I hesitated. I didn't want to go in blindly, so to speak. I was so scared of doing something wrong - I needed to see what I was doing. "Do you want to look at me?"she asked (she says I think loudly. I can't refute this.).
I moved myself to kneeling between her legs, and looked at her. Browner than me, she was, though still pinkish. I then noticed DragonCat at my side, with his beautiful, open grin. "He wants to watch," Shakti said. I almost had an attack of "Sex is not a performance! I refuse to put on a show!" (which...I realize that for some people that's part of it, and that's wonderful and cool...but I get anxious when I feel like I'm performing. See my upcoming post on oral sex.) but DragonCat was so nonjudgmental and supportive that I didn't feel like he was watching porn, but rather lending moral support. Truth to tell, I was eventually pretty glad of his presence beside me. I parted her lips and gazed, probing experimentally until I found everything I was looking for - surveying the terrain, so to speak. Her vagina looked so dark, so deep. It looked like it did have the potential for holding worlds, for being the primal place of Beginnings and Birth. I decided to start with her clit - it seemed at little less...intimidating. I learned that direct stimulation is too much, but that above, below and beside are effective and wonderful. I learned that I, too, can give women orgasms, and that holding down a woman's thigh and belly while you stroke her to ecstasy is a profound and beautiful pleasure. After a time, I moved down, and cautiously inserted a fingertip. She was So. Wet. So warm. So soft. I inserted my index finger, and beckoned. Ahh..response...and a little to the right evoked an even stronger response. This was *much* easier than figuring out the breasts, or even the clit. I pressed up in fast, small pulses - and Shakti screamed. Wow. I added another finger, noting the snugness of her, and tried for a second scream. Instead I got a "Honey, be careful of your nails." Ooops...lesson learned. So I backed off for a moment, contemplating, screwing my courage to the sticking point, before leaning in and touching my tongue to her clit. Shakti is a natural goddess, so I soon found that it is difficult to breathe when one's nose is pressed into luscious pubic hair. Even more difficult when said goddess starts writhing (not that I minded this, you understand). DragonCat helped steady both the Shakti and me, holding us both in place. I got that second scream.
The rest of the night was spent playing with DragonCat's cock, and playing out one of Shakti's fantasies - DragonCat fucked her doggy-style while she buried her face in me. After, she announced that "Shakti is broken! and needs to sleep!", so we all piled onto the queen-sized bed, with DragonCat in the middle. Shakti dropped right off, which led DragonCat to cuddle up to me and (we were all sleeping naked), begin to make it very difficult for me not to disturb Shakti with either sounds or fierce movements. I was tired. Fuck, was I tired. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, and had just been thoroughly worn out. But I cannot resist that man's hands and mouth: "I can't believe your hands and mouth did all of that to me. And they are so daily naked for all the world to see." ("Rexroth's Daughter"). Eventually, however, he let up and we did go to sleep. When Shakti left early in the morning for work, though, it all began again. Now that we didn't have to keep quiet or still, he looked at me and said, "You want to 69?" "Err...I tend not to do it because it requires multitasking...and I never have the presence of mind. But...I'm willing to try it! Or we could just take turns..." He decided that we'd try it...and it seemed to work out fairly well. At least, well, he didn't complain. And I can't either. I still don't know how people give an effective blowjob with someone's mouth on their cunt, but I did my best. When my jaw was to tired to continue (my stamina is pitiful. Sad.), he brought me to another series of orgasms with his incredible fingers. After which we promptly fell back asleep. When we awoke, we made out slowly, sweetly until he said, sadly, "You know, I kind of wish we could do everything." I nodded, "It's alright. Wait..you do mean that Shakti isn't ok with us having intercourse, right?" Because if you think I'm not ok with it, buddy, you've got another think coming! "Yes," he said. "Ok. That's fine. But I'm still allowed to give you an orgasm, right?" "Oh yes. Oral's fine, just no 'actual sex'". So I went down on him. I am no blow-job queen - Wendy and Avah would shame my ass back to the South if I ever tried to compete with them. But I gave it my best effort. After a goodly time, I crept back up into his arms, feeling slightly disappointed with myself. "Yeah...I don't often come from oral. Or from anything apart from masturbation or 'actual sex'...I guess I should've said that beforehand...but it was still amazing." Ok. I'm ok with that. I want my lovers to be fulfilled, and if orgasm isn't necessarily a part of that, I am perfectly alright with that. We went back to cuddling and kissing, until I realized that I was overdue for my afternoon hanging out with another friend. It is incredibly difficult to get back into clothes when a beautiful, lanky man is perpetually ready to love your naked body and distract you with kisses. But I managed.
Part two to perhaps follow, if anything notable happens in the next few days!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
In Which Joy Muses on "Casual" Sex
I over-intellectualize things. I know this. It's a fact. So, if you're not into mental strife, go ahead and skip over posts with the keyword "ponderings".
So.
My first instance of acting on my newly-gained Permission came about over my Fall Break, when I went to visit some college friends. I ended up receiving all manner of beautiful attentions from one of my wonderful, succulent woman-friends, hereafter known as Shakti. It was a single event - the night before I went back home -with no indication of a future repeat. And I was perfectly and utterly OK with this.
My next instance was with Mars, a boy I met via OKCupid. We met; we flirted; we drank coffee; we explored comics shops, and after two weeks, we kissed. Oh, man, it was high school all over again. A month later, we had sex (after Apollo and I thoroughly discussed it). We have had sex twice....and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
The difference here has a lot to do with my definition of what is "casual" and what's not. The first instance does not get classified as "casual sex". Rather, because it was with someone who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves me whether or not I'm fantastic in the sack and whether or not we sleep together again, this is friend-sex. We're friends first. And that's not a casual thing - that's important, vital. Thus, our sex is not casual - it is drama-free, stress-free and obligation-free, but it was and is a part of our larger relationship. But, with Mars, I don't have that assurance, that closeness. He's thrilling, exciting, flattering - but afterwards, I still wonder: Is the thrill enough? Oh, I like Mars. He's fun to talk to, fun to hang out with, and a great cook (and a FUN lover). But I could let him out of my life without missing him too much. He's not a Friend, a Beloved One.
My original intent, in opening up my relationship with Apollo, was to make space for friend-sex/flirting/cuddles. But, this casual-sex thing has been fun. Intellectually, I hold that more casual sex is perfectly acceptable and a valid practice, if done ethically. I find myself desiring fewer and fewer limits on what is "acceptable sex" - and celebrating the differences in Relationship-Connection-Sex, Spiritual-Sex, Friend-Sex, and Fun-and-Pleasure Sex. I'm Ecclesiastical - to everything there is a season, and a time for every type of sex under Heaven. Yet, at the same time, I'm confronting the persistent conviction that it is worthier to limit one's sexual possibilities (to people that I have a given level of intimacy with, to a certain group of friends, etc) than to be open to all kinds of sexual interactions. Tied up with this is the assumption that casual sex, by being what it is, devalues other, more traditionally "meaningful" forms of sex. I think this is a very flawed assumption, but I have to admit that I'm still struggling with it. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, just as the love I have for Neil does not diminish or lose value in the fact that I love my other friends (and lovers), neither does the sex I have with Neil (or with Friends) depreciate in value or meaning because I have casual sex with Mars.
Spiritual connection has value.
Human connection, love, and communion have value.
Pleasure and Fun also have value, and should be valid ends in and of themselves.
Ideally, my sex life would reflect these priorities. I think it can. I think part of my hesitations and misgivings surrounding my experience with Mars may center on Mars himself, rather than the fact of the "casualness" of the encounter. However, specific thoughts on Mars, and why he makes me a little less than comfortable, must wait for a later post.
So.
My first instance of acting on my newly-gained Permission came about over my Fall Break, when I went to visit some college friends. I ended up receiving all manner of beautiful attentions from one of my wonderful, succulent woman-friends, hereafter known as Shakti. It was a single event - the night before I went back home -with no indication of a future repeat. And I was perfectly and utterly OK with this.
My next instance was with Mars, a boy I met via OKCupid. We met; we flirted; we drank coffee; we explored comics shops, and after two weeks, we kissed. Oh, man, it was high school all over again. A month later, we had sex (after Apollo and I thoroughly discussed it). We have had sex twice....and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
The difference here has a lot to do with my definition of what is "casual" and what's not. The first instance does not get classified as "casual sex". Rather, because it was with someone who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves me whether or not I'm fantastic in the sack and whether or not we sleep together again, this is friend-sex. We're friends first. And that's not a casual thing - that's important, vital. Thus, our sex is not casual - it is drama-free, stress-free and obligation-free, but it was and is a part of our larger relationship. But, with Mars, I don't have that assurance, that closeness. He's thrilling, exciting, flattering - but afterwards, I still wonder: Is the thrill enough? Oh, I like Mars. He's fun to talk to, fun to hang out with, and a great cook (and a FUN lover). But I could let him out of my life without missing him too much. He's not a Friend, a Beloved One.
My original intent, in opening up my relationship with Apollo, was to make space for friend-sex/flirting/cuddles. But, this casual-sex thing has been fun. Intellectually, I hold that more casual sex is perfectly acceptable and a valid practice, if done ethically. I find myself desiring fewer and fewer limits on what is "acceptable sex" - and celebrating the differences in Relationship-Connection-Sex, Spiritual-Sex, Friend-Sex, and Fun-and-Pleasure Sex. I'm Ecclesiastical - to everything there is a season, and a time for every type of sex under Heaven. Yet, at the same time, I'm confronting the persistent conviction that it is worthier to limit one's sexual possibilities (to people that I have a given level of intimacy with, to a certain group of friends, etc) than to be open to all kinds of sexual interactions. Tied up with this is the assumption that casual sex, by being what it is, devalues other, more traditionally "meaningful" forms of sex. I think this is a very flawed assumption, but I have to admit that I'm still struggling with it. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, just as the love I have for Neil does not diminish or lose value in the fact that I love my other friends (and lovers), neither does the sex I have with Neil (or with Friends) depreciate in value or meaning because I have casual sex with Mars.
Spiritual connection has value.
Human connection, love, and communion have value.
Pleasure and Fun also have value, and should be valid ends in and of themselves.
Ideally, my sex life would reflect these priorities. I think it can. I think part of my hesitations and misgivings surrounding my experience with Mars may center on Mars himself, rather than the fact of the "casualness" of the encounter. However, specific thoughts on Mars, and why he makes me a little less than comfortable, must wait for a later post.
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