I got sex.
I want to say thank you, thank you, thank you.
I want to bask in the afterglow of him and me. Wishing I could watch the 2 hours-with- a- slight- intermission in replay to validate that we looked as good as it felt. Having felt so deprived for so many months, I am hungry again. A good and vibrant thing—to want sex.
Yet I am conflicted. Yearning for tender love making, what we did together I think was frolicking fucking, with somewhat gentle stroking moments. It was middlesex. Not the 2003 Pulitzer winner by Jeffrey Eugenides referring to a hermaphrodite’s dilemma of gender, family and societal identity. But to sex that is neither solely pure and wanton carnality nor engaged in the throws of ecstatic lovemaking, either. Or perhaps middlesex can also be that which is a compromise between whatever each of the partakers want. Or to timing— of being with someone new versus what you would create together should there be more times of intimacy forthcoming.
It’s a matter of definition, or maybe more clearly of communication, or maybe like the bestseller it’s to the core of identity—because isn’t sex the expression of self with another?
When two people (or more…) decide to be sexual with each other what is it that each expects before, during and after? Spontaneity leaves much to the unforeseen. It is an understood unknown, this middlesex.
He was so incredibly passionate, unexpectedly buff and his cock, well, it was beautiful. ( It had been his mind, his confident friendly calm, and philosophy that I had been attracted to, after all.) I felt myself become visibly sexy and primordially feminine again, a state of consciousness that had been devoid from me for a long many months. But here we were two intelligent, experienced, caring, respectful adults and he assumed that I would be okay with whatever happened (I had suggested to him in an email about the possibility of being sexual, so I was the aggressor while he had expressed concern about not hurting my emotions). I was negligent in assuming he’d know (by merit of the gentleness that I thought he knew of me) that I needed more tenderness than humping, at least this time, and to spend the night over ‘til morning, snuggled and appreciated. We were both tactile givers and we verbalized during the course of touch. Like any interaction, verbal or physical, there is much subliminal complexity of balance even in the most ease. And words, spoken or here in this writing, as powerful as they are, often are unable to sentiently expose feeling as they happen.
Sexual pleasure. It’s not a male/female difference in definition. It’s what a person needs that moment and it’s about rules. In our threesome stories, many of the women were concerned about setting limits within the spontaneity. Not a paradox but really a protective tool for keeping things gratifying for all. Rules are with us internally, it’s expressing them to the other, that makes them visible, if not even then, understood.
I found myself the next day, still pulsing from him, yet alienated. Had I told him ahead of time, that no matter how wonderful the sex was that I needed the night-long cuddling, he either would have made that possible or we would have come to some other agreement. Instead my self-wounded me, after he expressed his schedule’s inability in a phone call the next day to see me again during this trip, felt a need to find immediate comfort-sex with others. So, Tuesday evening I called two men whom I’ve known in the past, and time will tell later this week what comes about.
How do I communicate with the other men whom I’ve dated (and maybe even read this blog) that bedding me is not what I planned for with them, right now? That the timing/chemistry is not yet, or might not ever be? That they are each amazing in different ways, but that I don’t want to reveal or share with them in that way? How do I communicate with the men I choose to be with what level of sexual attachment I desire with them—an appreciated fuck buddy with lots of affection, and what happens when feelings happen? Honesty goes all the many ways. And emotion is always there with sex in some way, even when ignored. We each can only try to be as honest to ourselves and to those we touch. Committed relationship makes it more innate, but even then honest touch is often unmet.
What about me chosing to be chaste for another four to six months? My life path desires a lover who is my "compadre-amour," but along the way, I will not dismiss my sensual needs. I will engage and desire this middlesex, but a spontaneity with rules expressed. Agreed by him and me. So will sex with any of the other two guys happen this week?
My platonic friend John took me to Gaby’s on Venice and Overland last night. The dressing on the Greek Salad was so clean and tart and moist and light and zesty and understated, and “ all- that” -- that my tongue was in serious rapture. He’s got a great paying new job and we talked about the difference between just surviving and enjoying living. Patience, my love, with a daily dose of this succulent sauce— the new chocolate— maybe the more wise and prudent course is just that, patience and living.
PS: Does anyone know the best remedy to heal (or at least conceal) a really kiss-scraped chin?
Thursday, April 27, 2006
I got sex.