UST and Friendship

I have a lot of relationships that are mostly about sex, without a lot of deep personal connection. Currently I have a friendship with a lot of really deep personal connection, but no sex (sexual tension, sure, but no sex). None of these is a Relationship with a capital R and Monogamy, and I’m so completely cool with that. I’m a little cautious about monogamy, especially after what happened with Sam. Not having a lot at stake with one person allows me the space and emotional distance to heal while still getting my considerable emotional and physical needs met.

I think sexual tension is one of those things that’s really underrated. Maybe it’s because my sex life is all about the instant gratification these days but I’m really enjoying this slow burn of mutual attraction and unconsummated desire that permeates my friendship with Seth, this guy I met while swing dancing (remember him?). We seem to have really clicked as friends, and its wonderful to have someone seek out my company as much as I seek out theirs. I’m in a really deep rut right now, and it’s hard to see how I’ll pull myself out, but he’s really been there for me in a way that’s both emotionally satisfying and objectively helpful. Throwing sexual tension on top of that makes everything energized and invigorating. I could barely get out of bed this morning, and now I feel like I can tackle the world again. It’s wonderful.

There’s not really a point to this post. Sexual tension and mixed with solid friendship makes me happy I guess. I’m just going to leave behind this post from Graydancer; a lovely and hot piece that perfectly what I’m talking about and how I feel about the whole thing.

Enjoy.

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Sometimes this Sex Pozzy thing can be Hard.

Clarisse Thorn talks about rejection. But more than that, she talks about how sometimes it’s difficult to have a strong outlook on life (like being a sex positive feminist) when it drives away people you actually like.

When dissenters crop up and tell us sex pozzies that no quality man will ever want us and we will surely die alone with a used up vagina and so many cats, we often blithely wave our hands (and roll our eyes) and say that there are plenty of people who will accept us for who they are and if they don’t, well, we don’t want them anyway.

And that’s true! But some days it’s more true than others. I recently lost friends because they didn’t approve of how I conduct my sex life. I’m dealing with a guy I hooked up with months ago treating me like a piece of meat and/or a toy and/or an easy fuck. I’m constantly, constantly around people who slut shame all the time and on the (somewhat rare) occasions that I call them out on it they feed me some bullshit version of “Oh, you’re just being too sensitive.”

It’s not easy, is what I’m saying.

For a while the sex positive thing just made so much sense to me that I didn’t think that anyone wouldn’t agree with it. I mean, I guess I knew that some people out there would take exception, I suppose, but certainly know one I knew or cared about. I lived in a kind of sex positive bubble, having lots of sex with great gusto while practicing honest communication and safe sex. It was hard when I had that bubble burst on me, and like Clarisse, I had a brief period of doubt. After all, many people I thought perfectly nice had a lot of sex-negative views, and did I REALLY want to be looked down on as a slut by all of my peers? Even my flatmate has said (maybe not in so many words) that she looks down on my sexual activities.

But then!

The I spent time with my best friends. Then I had long conversations with Andy that bolstered my resolve. Then I had a lot of discussions with good friends who were willing to listen to the things I was saying. Then I found more people who thought a little more like me and who far from judging me applauded my adventures.

There will always be people who disapprove and delight in passing judgement. But, also, there will always be like minded people who will support me and be there for me and share in my stories be they hilarious or exciting or painful. And there will also always be the knowledge that this life style and this ideology are so undeniably right for me and just make me a better, happier person. That knowledge is like, the best thing in the world.

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My biggest difficulty with Social Justice conversations.

These conversations/arguments inevitably boil down to:

“Wait, can you explain to me why I should care about being an asshole to people for no reason?”

If “Because treating people well is what good people do” isn’t an acceptable answer, there’s literally nothing else for me to say.

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I just had a wonderful moment.

I’ve been on a Tim Minchin binge. I just came across a song of his called “Confessions – Feminism, Poverty (Altruism), Environment.” Now, when it comes to comedians, I always cringe when I come across the word “feminism” because it almost always seems to turn into some hairy man-hating strawfeminist bashing. I was expecting the same tired old jokes that would forever lower yet another otherwise hilarious comedian in my esteem, so it was with great reluctance that I pressed play.

But that didn’t happen.

I love you forever, Tim Minchin.

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Something that Puzzles me about Online Dating (or dating in general)

Something I’ve seen a lot of on the internet;

“Why couldn’t she have been polite and message me back that she wasn’t interested?”

This can also be extrapolated to Real Life with calls or texts, and some such statements are filled with more bitter, entitled misogyny than others, but it all boils down to this:  “Why didn’t this person reject me to my face?”

Why would you want to be rejected to your face?  I don’t want to be rejected to my face!  When I see the little pink letter on my the top of my OK Cupid page, I want to see a message from someone who thinks I’m pretty and groovy and wants my bod.  I get a little excited when I see that little icon, even if I know that the person messaging me is probably illiterate and/or someone I’m not attracted to.  I don’t want to have that little frisson of excitement and then read a rejection!  A rejection message would bum me out, while no response at all will probably not even register as a blip on my radar since I have a policy on forgetting about guys right after I message them.

Same goes for more real-life non-serious dating-type things.  A slow fade is effective and relatively painless way to let someone know you don’t want to take things further.  “Oh, I see you are not responding to me!  This is the behavior of someone who is Not That Into Me and my cue to push them out of mind and move on!  Done and done.”  I don’t need someone to tell me that they’re not interested in me, and I certainly don’t need a list of my character flaws as a parting gift.

Obviously the rules change after you get to Teh Sexytimes or otherwise raise the stakes, but in the low-stakes preliminary period why make a big production out of “eh, not that into you”?

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Why buy the Cow, when you can get the Milk for Free?

The other day I got into a knock-out drag out argument with some guy on facebook. I might go into it in detail later if I feel like it, but at some point he threw out the horrendous analogy above.

And it got me thinking…

A couple weeks ago, I met a guy on OK Cupid. He’s a really cool guy; great to talk to, fun to chill with, good in bed, GGG, and just generally a pleasant person to be around, but I didn’t really want to be in a Relationship (with Monogamy!) with him. I told him this about a week in and he was cool with that, so since then we’ve been enjoying a wonderfully uncomplicated friends with benefits relationship.

Last night I went to a party, got pretty drunk, and rung him up for a booty call. We ended up back at my place and we were both hungry, so we made dinner. We cuddled and chatted about nothing particular while we ate and then put our dishes aside and set about enjoying each other properly. He told me to let my hair down, that I was sexier that way, and that I was silly for feeling self conscious when it got frizzy. We fucked until six o’clock in the morning. I’m on my period, so I’d bled all over him during the first round. He didn’t care in the least and round two commenced shortly thereafter. We fell asleep cuddling, sated and exhausted.

This morning we woke up, cuddled sleepily, and just kind of…. played is the only word I can use to describe it. He poked and tickled me, heartily amused at the noises I made, and I retaliated in earnest. He promised sushi and more sex for my birthday tomorrow, and left to meet up with a friend he had plans with.

I suppose you could say my friend is “getting the milk for free” but that would be an absurd misunderstanding of what is going on here. Sex, respect, and affection are all freely given here, not stingily withheld, only to be traded for the highest price. It seems that lately people in my life have been coming out of the woodwork to bleat about how the sexual marketplace works, and how I need to “respect myself” and not “sell myself short” and I’m completely baffled by it all. The “Economy of Sex” has absolutely no reflection on how my life actually works, and I have trouble understanding why anyone would ever want it to.

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Questioning Kink

If you’ve read this blog, you probably know that over the summer I was in a monogamous relationship with a sadistic BDSM top.  Obviously kink was a pretty big part of our sex life, but I’ve been ambivalent about applying various kinky labels to myself, or even describing myself as “kinky”.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved kink.  Initially I was nervous and intimidated by just about everything, especially anything having to do with pain.  Sam was a wonderful lover though, and within a month he was beating me with floggers that I’d initially looked all wide eyed and worried, thinking that I’d never want to be hit with that.  Turns out I was really, deliciously, fantastically wrong.

Even so, I still balk from a lot of labels.  Just because I like pain during sex doesn’t mean I’m a masochist.  My pain tolerance is pretty low, I think, and there’s a lot I can’t take, so I can’t be, right?  I mean, not really.  It seems I have a lot of thoughts about what it really means to be kinky, even though Sam would scoff and roll his eyes at the thought of kinksters who think there’s One Twoo Way for kink.  But the picture in my head of what makes a kinkster doesn’t come from these pretentious, holier than thou types.  Quite the opposite, they come from people like Holly Pervocracy and Ozymandias and Thomas Millar and Clarisse Thorn.   People for whom kink is such an integral part of their sex lives, who, like Clarisse, have a need for it that can diverge completely from their need for sex.  That’s not what kink is, for me.  For me it’s just a way to have fantastic sex, and something I enjoyed very much, but really did more or less out of a desire to be GGG for my new boyfriend, and out of curiosity.  I don’t really have a great need or craving for it myself, after all, so I’m not really kinky.

At least, that’s what I thought.  But lately…

Lately I’ve been craving pain with sex.  My mind has been filled with fantasies painful bites and fingernails raking harshly down my skin.  I want to be wrestled into submission and dragged around by my hair.  I want to be hit.  I want to feel the sting of a leather flogger coming down on my back.  Last post I talked about a recent hookup.  The sex had been fantastic, and near the end he started spanking me.  Before Sam, I didn’t care much for spankings, but this time I went wild, even though in a small corner of my brain I was thinking “Come on, you can hit me harder than that.

So I’m starting to think that maybe I am kinky, and that maybe I am a masochist.  I’m still not sure, but maybe.  The logical path from here would be to go forth and find some kinky tops and get down with my kinky self and collect a few more data points to nail down my self-identity.  The problem is, I really don’t think I can do that.

I’m a person who wears her heart on her sleeve.  I form attachments quickly and as a result it’s easy for me to get hurt.  I’m usually pretty okay with this; I’ve learned to roll with the punches for the most part, and having emotional attachment is just better for me than not.  I still have some barriers though, and I still do put up walls, but I didn’t know this before this summer.  I didn’t realize I had these walls until I was with Sam and he tore every last one of them down.

It seems kink has a way of making me vulnerable and honest and open and raw.  Sam would whisper in my ear as I was coming out of subspace.  He’d say “Good girl” and “Mine” and “I love you.”  And when he did my soul would whisper back “Yours” and “I love you too.”  The vulnerability that came from wearing a collar that he put around my neck and obeying him experiencing the pain made my feelings for him run much deeper and much sooner than was normal.  So when he said “We’re through” and “I don’t love you,” it tore me apart more deeply than I thought possible for such a short relationship.  Things are getting a little bit better now, but I’ve still not recovered, and things still get a little bit ugly sometimes.

So for me, sex might not form intense attachments, but kink certainly does, so I have to be careful in a way I don’t have to with vanilla casual sex.  I do feel an intense desire for kink, though, so perhaps that means I can assume these labels I have balked from.  Maybe I am “really” a kinky, submissive masochist.  It’s certainly something to think about.

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