Recent History 2

I'm getting the itch again. And before I decide to do anything about it I think it would be good to write about it. My friends tell me that my face lights up when I talk about the guy I've been seeing.   Aside from what has already been mentioned in my previous post, the stability he offers me has provided for a wealth of time to devote to my work. I have been choosing to stay in versus go out, in fact before last night, I hadn't been to the bar in two weeks! I've been so happy, so fulfilled, I literally cannot imagine sex being better, so why is it that I am starting to look again!? Last night for example, he came to the bar to be with me, and something about his devotion made me want other men more. There was a man at the bar, a man I have talked to only briefly, that I am so intrigued by. A musician, a writer, he was sitting alone and I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't. Sometimes I feel like my urge to meet new men, to sleep with them, is similar to the urge to collect things, to find and conquer and then look again for something new. I mean in a way, isn't my writing this way? Collecting memories, stories and giving them (me) a sense of immortality? I wonder if other people feel similarly or if I have some misdirected energy.  It's so wonderful to meet someone new. To see how you work in relation to someone else, the experiences you can offer each other, the point of reference. It's similar to art really. You have a wooden box for instance. What does it mean on it's own, what is its context, there is a lot of history, of symbolism, contained in this box. Now what happens when you place the square next to a circle? Another square? It changes. It is the same with people. The meaning we create alone is different than the meaning that we create when we are with someone. And the meaning we create with that someone, varies. Part of what I am so addicted to, I think, is the way I begin to know myself through each relationship I am part of. Me, in relation to man A - man Z. 


Very Recent Sexual History 1

   My son started kindergarten last month. A week after I started school. Mornings are difficult, I wake up to the vibration of my cellphone, then drag myself and my son out of bed.  I grab a granola bar or pack of fruit snacks for breakfast and drive him to school. By this time, nine is quickly approaching, and as much as I try to swallow my anxiety and have a peaceful goodbye, I fail. Every time it's the same, the walk through the front entrance is smooth, but as we turn the corner and approach the hallway he buckles and grabs my legs. I pry him off and push him gently, back-pack bobbing, down the hallway to his classroom.
   With part one accomplished, I walk myself to the train. The morning commute is my favorite part of the day.  Students and professionals packed like sardines, smelling like soap, dressed for the office, drinking coffee. The quiet vulnerability, the closeness, the coffee, the eye contact... every morning I look for a handsome man to make eye contact with and though I rarely find him, it is fun to look. I wonder how many people think about sex during their morning commute?
   My evenings have taken on a similar sort of routine. Though the four-thirty train is much less romantic. I've been spending a good bit of time, almost every free night I have, with a new man. With him, I have realized the true power of good sex. Of course I've always known how much I liked sex but what I didn't know was that really good sex, the kind I am having with this man had the power to keep me fully interested, committed even. I mean, I've gone out on dates with other men and I still browse ok-cupid, I still give my phone number to cute boys at bars, and accept drinks when I am sitting alone, but at the end of the day (I'm starting to sound domestic) he is the only man I want to sleep next to, the only man I want to Fuck. I've stopped maintaining my go-to's (as in men I go to for sex), I stopped writing the married man, stopped sending how are you text's to ex-boyfriends, stopped having bi-weekly maintenance sex to keep certain men in my life, all of it.
    With him, I have also realized how much I'm into domination. Not the leather and chains kind, but almost?  He bites me, and I love it, and he spanks me, and I love it, and he pulls my hair, hard, and I love it, all! I provoke him, bite him, and he reacts, asserts his 'power' and it is wonderful. SAFE, SEXY, and WONDERFUL. We even bought rope! I have been asking men to tie me up (just to try it) for years, and though he hasn't done it yet, we talk about it, and we have the rope, and it's going to happen, and it's wonderful! Am I starting to sound, smitten?  What can I say? It is a relationship that has everything I need right now,  the right kind of sex, the right kind of rules, great communication, flexibility, the right amount of jealousy, fun, and on and on and on. Now I am not saying that this is forever, or that I will not have new men in the future, but I am satisfied in a way that I haven't been in a long time, and so, for now at least, I am happy to say that there will be more stories about him in the future, hopefully stories that include rope.



     With a little chemistry; a word, a movement, even silence can be stimulating. The first time I went out with R, I was thrown off, not by a lack of chemistry, but by the fact that our conversation actually overpowered it.  We were real people communicating in a real world about real things, and sex which is usually my focus, was merely a side-note.
     Because of this, having sex on our first night together felt similar to eating too much of a really good food. But, I had never before felt satisfied on a first date with conversation alone, and the rhythm of pursuit was so ingrained in me that it sort of just happened.  The confusion I felt when I left the next morning turned into a general feeling of remorse in the days after. I wanted to talk to him about it, to regain the feeling I had before the sex, but I was afraid. When I did finally call him the ease of our conversation, of our ability to communicate left me feeling giddy. For the first time in my life I had a relationship built upon real, open-communication.
    R had a self-comfort that was contagious, I felt comfortable when I was with him, at ease, I didn't have to explain myself, or defend my sanity, and most importantly, he didn't see difference as weakness like men often do.  Mine and R's relationship lasted for several months.  Though we were both unwilling to commit to a status, we were content. Eventually though his complacency inspired me to rebel, or at least try.
    In the same amount of time I spent in the relationship I spent out of it, trying to invoke a reaction. I slept with other people, ignored his calls, but the jealousy never came. Then one day, after months of being in a non-relationship, he met someone. After all the time I had spent trying to make him jealous, he succeeded, without even trying, to make me jealous in one day. All those times that he had said, "I don't want to date" he had really been saying, "I don't want to date you".


Sexual History Part 3 Section 2

     After J and the lessons he taught me, I began to approach my relationships with men more honestly.  During each new encounter I would make time to state my position: "I can't commit. I value my freedom. I like to sleep around. I think we could have fun together but I just don't want you to expect more from me than I am willing to give." Most of the time the men would understand.  Within one month, I slept with K on my porch, L on his (dirty) bedroom floor, M in my bed after the beach, N in his swanky black and white bedroom.  I slept with my friend's little brother O with his music and incense and candles and then I met P.  
    P was a mathematician.  He wore second-hand slacks, button-down plaids, grandpa-cardigans, and sneakers.  He woke up to NPR and had the paper delivered to his door. 
  I met P at my favorite bar.  He was sitting in the nook where the bar wraps around and meets the stage, which to many is considered the best seat.  I had just come back into the bar with a bag of skittles.   I offered some to the doorman, which he gladly accepted and then I walked over to P's nook and offered some to him.  Of course, he didn't like skittles but he did ask me to sit down. We talked for hours and then went back to his place.  When we got inside his apartment he carried me through the dark and into his bedroom.  The next morning he told me that he had never slept with someone on the first night.  I felt really sexy around him.  Like I was the young, wild, adventurous girl that he would ask over to play.  P was the first man in a long time I could imagine a future with. 
    I told him that I liked him in an email. He responded with an invitation to dinner.  When I got to his house there was a note on the door saying, "come in".  He was in the kitchen.  The table was set with a tablecloth and place-mats, bright orange soup in bowls, with fresh bread in the oven.  He told me that he didn't want to be anything more serious than we already were. That he wanted to date and have fun with women in the way that we had done. 
           I sat on his bed and pouted.  I imagined my earlier relationships, when pouting would get me what I wanted.  I was sad for about a day and then I moved on to someone new. After about two weeks of not hearing from me, I received an email from P saying that he was thinking of me.  For the sake of my reputation and ego, I was very happy to tell him that I had met someone else.


Sexual History Part 3 Section 1: Do unto others as..

      Around the time my and G's relationship ended, I went away to art-camp.  For two weeks my day consisted of fresh coffee in the morning, painting class in the afternoon, beer in the evening time, and the pursuit of sex at night. First I met H.  He was a welder.  He had a dark tan and wore black overalls.  I came onto him at the bar one night. Enough so, that I feel pretty certain that he felt pretty certain that I would go home with him if he asked. And I did.  But to be perfectly honest H was a fix, a stand-in for another man that I desired.
    You see, before camp I received a call from F.  "Look-out for someone named J.  He works at the camp and he will try to sleep with you." And so I did.  I looked-out for him and I found him.  He was a self-declared sex-addict in a long-term relationship (to which he was not loyal) and he was into girls like me.  One night after dinner a group of us went to a pool-bar.  I played pool poorly but succeeded in gaining J's attention.
     Back at camp, I sat down at the commons table to read. With my intention's out there it was his turn to move.  And so I did what any horny and determined woman would do, channel positive sexual energy and wait.  I wanted to give him enough time to change and change his mind again.  And he did ultimately give in to my determination.  He approached the table, looked deep into my eyes, and invited me back to his cabin.
    The sex was just as I had imagined it would be. It was so a part of us, like a drug. There was so much wrapped-up in it but what we really wanted was physical. I had the most intense orgasm. Afterwards, he gave me a t-shirt to wear then we fell asleep making plans to do it again.  The next morning I woke up early to beat the campers. Wearing his t-shirt as a prize I ran barefoot back to my room to get ready for the day.
    As you might expect, I fell for J.  But I soon realized that to him I was just another woman at camp.  My charm, my sex, was not enough for him and he quickly found someone new.  The remainder of my time at camp was focused on regaining J's attention. On the last night of camp, after the weekly dance party had ended, I walked over to the bonfire where J and his woman were sitting, and did the one thing I could think of (in my drunken state) to get his attention. I stripped naked. Of course, as would any respectful man, J stood up, took the girls hand and walked back towards camp, leaving me to face the bonfire (and all the people sitting around it) alone. I fell to the ground and sobbed.


Sexual History Part 2

         In August of 2009 we moved to Chicago so I could attend art school.   D got a job working at the cheese counter of a local grocery store and our son went to a small catholic preschool. In school I felt so alive. I wanted to meet people: To be a part of things, to fit in and to stand out. About a month into school I stopped wearing my wedding ring and took up smoking. The art kids would stand outside between classes smoking and flirting. I met F this way. He was handsome and smart and well respected in school. About two weeks after meeting we started sleeping together. D was feeling suspicious and consequently read my text-messages. He approached me one night while I was brushing my teeth. He was crying, and both ashamed of invading my privacy and saddened by what he had found within it. I moved out a month later.
           With the help of F, I painted my bedroom pink.  I rationalized it as a feminist choice: My first room over which I had full control and my first bed in which I might sleep without guilt. On Halloween I cheated on F.  I was remorseful when I told him. He was hurt and angry but my remorse was believable enough for him to forgive me. Towards the end of F and my relationship, I started to fantasize about other men. I was honest with him about my feelings but it affected our sex-life tremendously. In May, I broke up with him and within a week I met G. G was the ex-boyfriend of a friend of mine.  I asked her for permission, which she gave and then receded weeks later. Her recession came in the form of friend banishment. Consequently my relationship with G became too controversial to continue. In the weeks before it ended though, G and I had a foursome with another couple. It was my first time sleeping with a woman. It was around this time that I had a few realizations
 1. Sex is powerful.
 2. Strength is sexy.
 3. Independence tends to be misunderstood.
 4. Promiscuity is threatening to those who do not believe 
    or partake in it.