Coming out is a big deal. People come out as queer or kinky or nudist or whatever, and it both grants them freedoms and brings a lot of risks. Coming out as gay, for instance, finally opens you up to the gay community, it gives you the opportunity to date whom you please in an honest way. Unfortunately it all to often also comes along with familial, social, and even occupational consequences. Most people, though, say that coming out has more benefits than drawbacks for most financially independent adults.* Coming out can put you in touch with resources that you didn't know about before. It can give you the relief of being able to live an honest life. It is generally a good thing for one's life as a whole to come out even if not for individual portions of it.
I think what we sometimes fail to realize, though, is that people come out in ways beyond their sexual lives, and these versions of coming out have different effects. One's sexual practices may make have stigma in the form of how others perceive of one's morals. For example, because I am bisexual, certain people probably perceive of me as a godless heathen. Because I am somewhat of a masochist, certain people may suppose that I had an unhealthy childhood. Neither of those prejudices, by the way, are true. The thing is, though, our sexual identities rarely make a comment on our competence or intelligence. While my various sexual comings out have caused people to ever so kindly inform me that I am headed straight for the fires of hell, it has never caused them to tell me that I would not be headed there via a top university and a lucrative career.
I've come out quite a bit sexually, but there's a portion of my life that I am not very out about. It becomes painfully salient in the workplace, but it also is something that I rarely know how to broach with new friends or lovers. It's one of those comings out that does reflect upon my competence, that has caused people to question my capabilities. I have Bipolar Disorder. That is, I get depressed much like any twenty-something in America, but I also sometimes have these wonderful little upshoots when I feel really good. It's not running around thinking that I'm talking to Jesus good, but it is better than average. I don't need as much sleep. I can talk at a breakneck speed. Sometimes my thoughts jump so quickly from topic to topic that people can't quite follow where I'm going. Oh yeah, and sex feels AWESOME. Like more awesome than usual. Like dark chocolate salted caramels mixed with some fine opiates style awesome. The technical term for this experience is hypomania, and generally it rocks. Except when it doesn't.
You see, one of the downsides of hypomania is that when you're in it, your judgment isn't always all there. That translates for some people into thousands of dollars of credit card debt. For me, it translated into a rather long list of sexual partners (remember what I was saying about the awesomeness that is hypomanic sex?) I am not ashamed of my sexual history (anymore), but I do acknowledge that I have hurt some people and myself. I also acknowledge that I am very, very lucky because poor judgment plus sex that feels like candy coated heroin does not always lead to the safest of sexual practices. I (thankfully) have been on hormonal birth control since I was fifteen and never contracted anything, but again, I am VERY lucky.
Another downside of hypomania is that, for me at least, it is inevitably accompanied by crippling "can't get out of bed" depression. There was a period during Sophomore year when I gained twenty pounds, didn't sleep, and barely got out of bed for more than two hours at a time. How I passed my classes, I will never know. I think it was the help of some professors who get that life is hard sometimes. Needless to say, I was not getting laid during that period. Though the nice dopamine rush probably would have helped...
You see, though, I still graduated from a top tier university. I am gainfully employed. I'm going to go to medical school. Yes, sometimes I have made some choices that, in retrospect, I probably wouldn't make again. Yes, I have a disease that can be disabling if not incapacitating at times. Yet I have been terrified to tell people that I have Bipolar Disorder because that is one of those "crazy person" mental illnesses. We can deal with depression. Phobias are almost fashionable these days. When we hear "bipolar," though, our minds leap to that person in the street screaming about the end of days or the crazy cat lady living up the street. I promise you, we aren't all like that. Some of us just have a lot of sex to make up for how little sleep we're getting.
...but, on a sidenote, I really want to be a crazy cat lady when I grow up.
*Please note that I would NEVER recommend that a kid who is dependent on his/her parents for support to come out if it meant sacrificing home, education, livelihood, etc.
11.13.2010
10.21.2010
SICK
I'm sick which is notably unsexy, but you know what is sexy? Time to write a blog post. I know, I know, I've been sick since yesterday. I should have had time to write like fifty blog posts by now, and while that is true, I'm not sure that you would have wanted to see the garbled nonsense that would have come out of my fever-ridden brain. As VSF put it yesterday when I said, "I'm not that sick."
"Dear. You can't sit still for two seconds and you keep laughing at things that don't exist. You are that sick."
Anyway, onto the interesting stuff. I've been having a lot of sex recently. You see, it's funny, I started this blog when I was having zero sex (depending on your definition of sex. I think masturbation deserves its own separate and VERY special category.) Now I'm having quite a bit and I'm not updating. In fact, VSF pointed out this irony to me the other day which caused me to give the very firm rebuttal that I have been doing "RESEARCH!"
Okay, I haven't actually learned all that much about sex per se except that it is really hard to maintain eye contact while going at it and that my layaspot is even more fun with another person present...
As I alluded to previously, though, I have recently started exploring kink. I read The Bottoming Book and plan on reading The Topping Book. I've gone to two play parties now, and I have some fun bruises to show for it. This has caused me to confront some interesting questions like "Why does pain turn me on?" and "Is it anti-feminist to kind of want to be called a bitch or a whore?" I mean, resounding answer to the second question is "no" because I am in control of these situations. I choose and consent to be treated in a certain way. It is not some societal weight on my shoulders. Though I do wonder how many of these desires come out of a) being pressured to be submissive and b) my lifelong resistance to those pressures.
As to the first question, I'm not really sure why I enjoy pain. I don't think it implies any sort of pathology really. I just wonder. I think a lot of it has to do with the feeling that comes after being in pain. It's sort of floaty and out of body. I like the bruises, they're a fun reminder. I also really like the strange balance of power that I get to experience in these situations. I can't really say that it is a submissive experience, because when I want to be hit I tell VSF that he should do it. I tell him to take control. This is why I want to read The Topping Book I think, because I like having that power even if it's the power to submit. Weird? Maybe.
In other news, you may have noticed that I've been nameless up to this point. I didn't really want to attach my real name to a sex blog because, well, I work, and I don't want to be fired. Moreover, I kind of don't want my parents/brother/sister-in-law reading this. So! I've come up with a nom de plume. The grand unveiling:
Persephone Mela
And with that, I will go back to napping. It's what we sickies do best!
"Dear. You can't sit still for two seconds and you keep laughing at things that don't exist. You are that sick."
Anyway, onto the interesting stuff. I've been having a lot of sex recently. You see, it's funny, I started this blog when I was having zero sex (depending on your definition of sex. I think masturbation deserves its own separate and VERY special category.) Now I'm having quite a bit and I'm not updating. In fact, VSF pointed out this irony to me the other day which caused me to give the very firm rebuttal that I have been doing "RESEARCH!"
Okay, I haven't actually learned all that much about sex per se except that it is really hard to maintain eye contact while going at it and that my layaspot is even more fun with another person present...
As I alluded to previously, though, I have recently started exploring kink. I read The Bottoming Book and plan on reading The Topping Book. I've gone to two play parties now, and I have some fun bruises to show for it. This has caused me to confront some interesting questions like "Why does pain turn me on?" and "Is it anti-feminist to kind of want to be called a bitch or a whore?" I mean, resounding answer to the second question is "no" because I am in control of these situations. I choose and consent to be treated in a certain way. It is not some societal weight on my shoulders. Though I do wonder how many of these desires come out of a) being pressured to be submissive and b) my lifelong resistance to those pressures.
As to the first question, I'm not really sure why I enjoy pain. I don't think it implies any sort of pathology really. I just wonder. I think a lot of it has to do with the feeling that comes after being in pain. It's sort of floaty and out of body. I like the bruises, they're a fun reminder. I also really like the strange balance of power that I get to experience in these situations. I can't really say that it is a submissive experience, because when I want to be hit I tell VSF that he should do it. I tell him to take control. This is why I want to read The Topping Book I think, because I like having that power even if it's the power to submit. Weird? Maybe.
In other news, you may have noticed that I've been nameless up to this point. I didn't really want to attach my real name to a sex blog because, well, I work, and I don't want to be fired. Moreover, I kind of don't want my parents/brother/sister-in-law reading this. So! I've come up with a nom de plume. The grand unveiling:
Persephone Mela
And with that, I will go back to napping. It's what we sickies do best!
10.16.2010
It's been a while
My dearest readers, it has been a while. I do apologize, but you see the VSF returned from his travels abroad, and I've been conducting thorough and complete research in the ways of The Sex to bring you new and exciting posts about exotic and amazing things.
We can start with this new fondness that I have developed. It might seem a bit odd, but essentially it is for being beaten up. I have these amazing bruises on my thighs that made a doctor's appointment on Tuesday rather awkward. But you learn such amazing things when someone hits you. For instance, I bet you never knew that a kitchen spatula would provide the most wonderful stinging sensation that sort of builds as it is used more and more. I really like spatulas now.
I guess the thing that I've learned most from this foray into the SM side of BDSM is the interesting difference between the sexual, sensual, intellectual, and emotional. For me, having pain inflicted is very emotional and rather sensual, but not intrinsically sexual (though my body seems to disagree...I lubricate quite well while being beaten...) For VSF, it seems to be a very intellectual/emotional experience. He expresses a lot of fear of getting out of control when causing pain because it is a way of releasing some aggression that he feels he can't let out in his day-to-day life.*
More soon, my darlings, but I am coming from a friend's 21st and I am rather sleepy. But we must speak of all of these things I've been carefully exploring.
With love!
We can start with this new fondness that I have developed. It might seem a bit odd, but essentially it is for being beaten up. I have these amazing bruises on my thighs that made a doctor's appointment on Tuesday rather awkward. But you learn such amazing things when someone hits you. For instance, I bet you never knew that a kitchen spatula would provide the most wonderful stinging sensation that sort of builds as it is used more and more. I really like spatulas now.
I guess the thing that I've learned most from this foray into the SM side of BDSM is the interesting difference between the sexual, sensual, intellectual, and emotional. For me, having pain inflicted is very emotional and rather sensual, but not intrinsically sexual (though my body seems to disagree...I lubricate quite well while being beaten...) For VSF, it seems to be a very intellectual/emotional experience. He expresses a lot of fear of getting out of control when causing pain because it is a way of releasing some aggression that he feels he can't let out in his day-to-day life.*
More soon, my darlings, but I am coming from a friend's 21st and I am rather sleepy. But we must speak of all of these things I've been carefully exploring.
With love!
9.16.2010
Sexy talk
As VSF would probably inform you with very little hesitation, I am not actually very sexy. I mean, I'm pretty good looking, articulate, intelligent, etc. but my demeanor and means of interacting with people are not actually that suave. In fact, I'm rather awkward. I trip over things, fart, say really horrible things in the heat of the moment (...slugbeast...), and the time that I tried to have phone sex involved me giggling for half the time. It's a wonder that I get laid at all.
I make up for not being sexy by being highly sexual. It would seem a lot of the time that my life revolves around sex. I get turned on by the most mundane things: a breeze across the back of my neck, the smell of concrete after a good rain (that scent is called petrichor!), the feeling of damp dirt under bare feet, and, most of all, good language.
I don't particularly love dirty talk. It usually feels a little forced and artificial, but I do love and adore language and words. For example, the word petrichor has an inherently sexual sound to it. It rolls off of the tongue and has a great combination of open and closed vowels.The consonants move progressively backwards causing the word to begin at your closed lips and slowly, gently move toward the back of your throat. It's like this simple, under utilized word is a massage for your entire speech system.
I remember the first time I had an exciting experience with sound and sexuality. It involved a pretty failed date in high school. I went out with this dude and I was just not that into him, but then at lunch his mom called and he spoke Russian on the phone with her. Something about the sounds that were coming out of his mouth really turned me on quite dramatically. I ended up making out with him for two hours. Was it worth it? Not sure, I did have to explain the next day that this action did not, in fact, make me his girlfriend which was rather difficult using a high school senior's relationship vocabulary. But wow, those sounds that I did not even understand as comprehensible words were so deep and guttural and earthy that I really couldn't help it.
So, some sex advice that I am probably not at all qualified to give, strengthen your vocabulary. You never know who you are going to speak to that will be helplessly aroused by your use of "petrichor."
P.S. Someone else who is rather awkward and gets turned on in awesome ways is Erika Moen. If you haven't read DAR (which is unfortunately ended), you should. Here are some relevant samples: Awkward!
Orgasms!
I make up for not being sexy by being highly sexual. It would seem a lot of the time that my life revolves around sex. I get turned on by the most mundane things: a breeze across the back of my neck, the smell of concrete after a good rain (that scent is called petrichor!), the feeling of damp dirt under bare feet, and, most of all, good language.
I don't particularly love dirty talk. It usually feels a little forced and artificial, but I do love and adore language and words. For example, the word petrichor has an inherently sexual sound to it. It rolls off of the tongue and has a great combination of open and closed vowels.The consonants move progressively backwards causing the word to begin at your closed lips and slowly, gently move toward the back of your throat. It's like this simple, under utilized word is a massage for your entire speech system.
I remember the first time I had an exciting experience with sound and sexuality. It involved a pretty failed date in high school. I went out with this dude and I was just not that into him, but then at lunch his mom called and he spoke Russian on the phone with her. Something about the sounds that were coming out of his mouth really turned me on quite dramatically. I ended up making out with him for two hours. Was it worth it? Not sure, I did have to explain the next day that this action did not, in fact, make me his girlfriend which was rather difficult using a high school senior's relationship vocabulary. But wow, those sounds that I did not even understand as comprehensible words were so deep and guttural and earthy that I really couldn't help it.
So, some sex advice that I am probably not at all qualified to give, strengthen your vocabulary. You never know who you are going to speak to that will be helplessly aroused by your use of "petrichor."
P.S. Someone else who is rather awkward and gets turned on in awesome ways is Erika Moen. If you haven't read DAR (which is unfortunately ended), you should. Here are some relevant samples: Awkward!
Orgasms!
9.09.2010
A break: Religious Musings
First, and in keeping with the theme of this post, a short prayer: Dear higher power, I know that I should not be writing blog entries from my mom's computer, but I left my laptop at home. Please give me the strength of memory to remember to logout of this account before leaving. Ever your faithful supplicant, RS.
Now that that's over with...
As I have mentioned before, I am a Jew, and as most of you probably know, we are now entering into the Days of Awe or the Jewish High Holy Days. This is a time when your Jewish brothers and sisters are supposed to contemplate the wrongs that they have done over the course of the year and to ask forgiveness from friends, family, and God for their sins. While I am typically a pretty bad to mediocre Jew, this is one of those Jewish things that I take pretty seriously. I think it is useful to look back over your wrongs and ask for forgiveness. I think it is also useful to have a time to forgive.
I'm having a problem this year, though. For some reason this year more than in years prior, I am confronting the nature of my life as a "sinner." Personally I don't see my lifestyle as very sinful. I am kind, caring, generally helpful, and dedicated to my work and study. This doesn't change the fact that many of the activities in which I enjoy engaging are "sinful" according to religious dogma. In case you didn't catch it yet, I'm referring to The Sex. I enjoy sex. Currently I'm not enjoying very much of it, but that's a different story (will this month PLEASE just end already.) I do not feel the need to beg God for forgiveness about my sex life. I am quite ethical sexually, and I try my best not to hurt people. So what do I have to apologize for? For pleasure? That is so stupid.
But it doesn't change the fact that I am a sinner and this is the time of year to change that. The whole effect of this is heightened when I'm standing in front of a synagogue of people beating my chest to punish myself for my sins of arrogance, betrayal, causing others to sin...What am I supposed to do? Just ignore that rather large part of my life?
I have no answers for this. Do you?
I leave you with some sexy God-Poetry:
- I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
- As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
- As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
- He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
- Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
- His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
- I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
- The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
- My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
- My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
- For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
- The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
- The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
- O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
- Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
- My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
- Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.
9.06.2010
A History of Sex Part One: Masturbation
I am not dissatisfied with my sex life. Many people find this incredibly hard to believe as VSF is far away (though finally back in the same country) and I am not currently sleeping with anyone else. My sex life, as we define "sex life" is pretty empty you may say. The thing is, it's not. Not at all. I have a confession to make, you see, I am a Champion Masturbator. That's not to say that I've won any awards, but rather that I am really good at masturbation. I know my body. I know what feels good and what doesn't, but I'm also totally willing (and excited) to try new things. All of the things that make me a good lover, make me a good masturbator. I am GGG with myself. A funny story relating to this which my friend told me that I absolutely have to include in this entry is that one day I was really down, anxious, and generally not feeling great. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I had slept well, eaten well, exercised, etc. Then I realized that I hadn't masturbated the night before. It's like an apple-a-day people. It'll change your lives.
Anyway, back to the story, I have enjoyed masturbation for a really long time. I think I might have started earlier than most. I remember the occasion. I was 11 or 12 and my mom had gotten me one of those "Your Body, Yourself" books. In it they do a brief discussion of female anatomy including that of the vulva. Of course they point out the clitoris with the explanation that sometimes when women are touched there, they can experience really pleasurable feelings. Well, I like really pleasurable feelings. So I sidled myself right up to a mirror, figured out where that little thing was, and touched it. I will state for the record that that first time was not really earth shattering or even minor-earthquake-that-being-a-native-of-California-I-generally-sleep-through worthy, but it was formative. I had learned how to do something that could give me a lot of pleasure. Not to get all cheesy, but the ability to masturbate and do it effectively I think has given me a lot of freedom in my choice of partners. That is, I can love sex and want sex and be obsessed with sex, but not need another person to explore it. That said, having another person there does change things, but I don't think it makes it better or worse, just different.
So, thanks Mom for getting me that book, and thanks curious brain for not letting me just read about the clitoris and not exploring it.
Anyway, back to the story, I have enjoyed masturbation for a really long time. I think I might have started earlier than most. I remember the occasion. I was 11 or 12 and my mom had gotten me one of those "Your Body, Yourself" books. In it they do a brief discussion of female anatomy including that of the vulva. Of course they point out the clitoris with the explanation that sometimes when women are touched there, they can experience really pleasurable feelings. Well, I like really pleasurable feelings. So I sidled myself right up to a mirror, figured out where that little thing was, and touched it. I will state for the record that that first time was not really earth shattering or even minor-earthquake-that-being-a-native-of-California-I-generally-sleep-through worthy, but it was formative. I had learned how to do something that could give me a lot of pleasure. Not to get all cheesy, but the ability to masturbate and do it effectively I think has given me a lot of freedom in my choice of partners. That is, I can love sex and want sex and be obsessed with sex, but not need another person to explore it. That said, having another person there does change things, but I don't think it makes it better or worse, just different.
So, thanks Mom for getting me that book, and thanks curious brain for not letting me just read about the clitoris and not exploring it.
9.05.2010
The relationship between a citadel and a synagogue
This weekend was seriously amazing people. Let me just say that today was spent grocery shopping then laying out by the pool and swimming a bit then doing some kickboxing then relaxing with Tristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women which will be reviewed right here once I finish it. This book, however, was an unlikely centerpiece to some amusement this weekend.
Friday I went to a play party at The Citadel in S.F. For those of you who don't know a play party is a party at which kinky people "play." This play could involve any activity that your mind imagines plus one or two extras probably. My lovely friend Hobbit* brought me along with him. It was my first time at such a party, but it will not be my last. I was certainly nervous going in, and like most girls this nervousness translated into a frenzy of "Oh my God, what am I going to WEAR?!?!"I did end up clothing myself and making it out to the city where I met up with Hobbit and entered this actually pretty tame looking building.
I must say that they thing that struck me the most about this party was not that there were people having lots of very fun looking sex almost everywhere, rather it was how unthreatening an environment it was. Yes, there was flirting, but it was so low pressure. Everyone, I believe, is just so tuned in to the idea of consent that it makes for an environment where it is perfectly acceptable to say, "No, I do not want you to touch me/stand so close to me/fuck me until I can't remember which way is up."
Anyway, more on the party in some later entry, but the amusing part of this entire experience was that the next evening I had to sing at a Selichot service at a synagogue. (Yes, in my spare time I work as a cantorial soloist. My life is very well compartmentalized, thank you.) I stayed the night at Hobbit's house, and the next morning he handed me that delightful little book that I mentioned. I then left to spend the day with my parents until leaving in the evening to go be a good little Jewish girl. I did manage to have the foresight to leave the buttfucking book in my car. I did not have the foresight to turn it upside-down such that anyone looking in my window wouldn't see "ANAL SEX." This became painfully obvious to me when our rabbi walked me out to my car. My life is awkward.
Then again, isn't that the point? I mean, sex will never cease being shameful/taboo until we stop treating it as something to be hidden from our parents/rabbis/bosses. Yet it's hard to contemplate that idea especially when it's so easy to lose one's job and the economy is as bad as it is. I wish that I were brave enough to do it, but I'm stuck here on an anonymous blog talking about it.
Friday I went to a play party at The Citadel in S.F. For those of you who don't know a play party is a party at which kinky people "play." This play could involve any activity that your mind imagines plus one or two extras probably. My lovely friend Hobbit* brought me along with him. It was my first time at such a party, but it will not be my last. I was certainly nervous going in, and like most girls this nervousness translated into a frenzy of "Oh my God, what am I going to WEAR?!?!"I did end up clothing myself and making it out to the city where I met up with Hobbit and entered this actually pretty tame looking building.
I must say that they thing that struck me the most about this party was not that there were people having lots of very fun looking sex almost everywhere, rather it was how unthreatening an environment it was. Yes, there was flirting, but it was so low pressure. Everyone, I believe, is just so tuned in to the idea of consent that it makes for an environment where it is perfectly acceptable to say, "No, I do not want you to touch me/stand so close to me/fuck me until I can't remember which way is up."
Anyway, more on the party in some later entry, but the amusing part of this entire experience was that the next evening I had to sing at a Selichot service at a synagogue. (Yes, in my spare time I work as a cantorial soloist. My life is very well compartmentalized, thank you.) I stayed the night at Hobbit's house, and the next morning he handed me that delightful little book that I mentioned. I then left to spend the day with my parents until leaving in the evening to go be a good little Jewish girl. I did manage to have the foresight to leave the buttfucking book in my car. I did not have the foresight to turn it upside-down such that anyone looking in my window wouldn't see "ANAL SEX." This became painfully obvious to me when our rabbi walked me out to my car. My life is awkward.
Then again, isn't that the point? I mean, sex will never cease being shameful/taboo until we stop treating it as something to be hidden from our parents/rabbis/bosses. Yet it's hard to contemplate that idea especially when it's so easy to lose one's job and the economy is as bad as it is. I wish that I were brave enough to do it, but I'm stuck here on an anonymous blog talking about it.
9.01.2010
Relationship politics, the first of many
I saw "Eat, Pray, Love" with my mom last weekend. It was not a great movie. I haven't read the book, but I gather that it is not a great book either. The movie was, however, rather enjoyable if you are able to turn on your chick-flick eyes and take it for what it is. I even found myself (reluctantly) identifying with the main character a bit. Like this character, I do tend to be that person who gets a little subsumed in relationships. My psychiatrist says it's a desire to not take risks. I agree. I don't want to be abandoned. Who does? I don't want to be disliked. Again, who does? Anyway, sometimes I can lose the core essence of myself in relationships. I like to think or hope that this has gotten better.
In fact, I know it's gotten better. Here's a roundabout way of explaining that: So I promised to say a little more about "boring sex." Now, I'm loathe to talk a lot about exes. I know it can be disrespectful, but I'll include a little disclaimer: I was with this guy for over a year. There were obviously some very wonderful components to this relationship. He is not a bad guy; he was just not a good guy for me. That said, sex with we'll call him Beige On Beige (BOB)* was really boring. At first I thought it was me. I had started some new brain drugs, and a common side effect is decreased libido. So I just figured my lack of interest in sex had to do with me, not him. But the sex was never really good. I distinctly remember from very early on trying to figure out ways to not have sex as I drove over to visit him. I can hear you all asking, "Then why did you keep seeing him?" Why indeed. Well, because I thought that I had found a special person. I convinced myself that this was the guy. I do this, you see. I managed to tell myself that I liked the things he liked like permaculture and noisy post-rock when really I hate getting my hands really dirty and I prefer Rufus Wainwright. For some reason I had told myself that this was The One and I had to Make It Work. Why I thought this at two months into a relationship, I will never know.
This whole experience has convinced me that sex is a really good litmus test. Yes, we all want to believe in romance that extends beyond sex, that is more important than sex, but you know what, sex is really important. Beyond the fact that it is the single action that has succeeded in perpetuating our species, it's also really fun. If you want to say that fun is not important, then I think you need to seriously examine how much you like yourself.
Anyway, eventually my inhibited sexual frustration made me really grumpy and moody, and BOB broke up with me because I was "mean." Two days later, though, I was okay. Angry, yes, but okay. This isn't the response of a person whose self-worth is tied up in another. Then I realized, that my self worth wasn't and that I was actually a pretty okay individual. I still catch myself in the mindset of "Well, who will I find if VSF up and leaves." I have a new mantra for this:
1. Hell no he won't leave me. I'll leave first. (Okay, not really, but kind of a little.)
2. If he does leave, I don't need to find someone else. I can enjoy singledom and masturbation. Never underestimate the power of masturbation.
So I leave you with that moral, friends. Never underestimate the power of masturbation (or self-fulfillment and all those other things that go along with it.)
* No, his name was not Bob or Robert or any derivation thereof.
In fact, I know it's gotten better. Here's a roundabout way of explaining that: So I promised to say a little more about "boring sex." Now, I'm loathe to talk a lot about exes. I know it can be disrespectful, but I'll include a little disclaimer: I was with this guy for over a year. There were obviously some very wonderful components to this relationship. He is not a bad guy; he was just not a good guy for me. That said, sex with we'll call him Beige On Beige (BOB)* was really boring. At first I thought it was me. I had started some new brain drugs, and a common side effect is decreased libido. So I just figured my lack of interest in sex had to do with me, not him. But the sex was never really good. I distinctly remember from very early on trying to figure out ways to not have sex as I drove over to visit him. I can hear you all asking, "Then why did you keep seeing him?" Why indeed. Well, because I thought that I had found a special person. I convinced myself that this was the guy. I do this, you see. I managed to tell myself that I liked the things he liked like permaculture and noisy post-rock when really I hate getting my hands really dirty and I prefer Rufus Wainwright. For some reason I had told myself that this was The One and I had to Make It Work. Why I thought this at two months into a relationship, I will never know.
This whole experience has convinced me that sex is a really good litmus test. Yes, we all want to believe in romance that extends beyond sex, that is more important than sex, but you know what, sex is really important. Beyond the fact that it is the single action that has succeeded in perpetuating our species, it's also really fun. If you want to say that fun is not important, then I think you need to seriously examine how much you like yourself.
Anyway, eventually my inhibited sexual frustration made me really grumpy and moody, and BOB broke up with me because I was "mean." Two days later, though, I was okay. Angry, yes, but okay. This isn't the response of a person whose self-worth is tied up in another. Then I realized, that my self worth wasn't and that I was actually a pretty okay individual. I still catch myself in the mindset of "Well, who will I find if VSF up and leaves." I have a new mantra for this:
1. Hell no he won't leave me. I'll leave first. (Okay, not really, but kind of a little.)
2. If he does leave, I don't need to find someone else. I can enjoy singledom and masturbation. Never underestimate the power of masturbation.
So I leave you with that moral, friends. Never underestimate the power of masturbation (or self-fulfillment and all those other things that go along with it.)
* No, his name was not Bob or Robert or any derivation thereof.
Sex and literature (or sexy literature?)
When I was in middle school and high school, fan fiction was a really big deal. Maybe it's still a big deal, and I'm just not as good at the internet as I used to be. Anyway, my friends and I would spend ridiculous amounts of time hunting down, consuming, writing, and discussing fan fiction. Generally we were into Harry Potter and Gundam Wing fics. Occasionally Sailor Moon would prop her pretty little head in. Yes, I am a nerd. I never made any claims to the contrary.
Anyway, as I got older I decided that maybe I'd better start reading real books rather than stories written by teenagers on the internet. Before that happened, however, I did discover the joy of erotic fan fiction. I mean, come on, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were totally meant to be together forever and have lots of hot gay sex. Don't judge me. These stories were, looking back, rather formative in my own sexual development. They bridged the gap between childhood literature and adult sexual existence. I did write some fan fiction as a kid. I don't remember if I ever wrote anything erotic, but I certainly did write erotic original stories that followed the same basic formula of a short fan fiction.
Here I am, though, 22 years old, and I'm back to it. Here's the story: my Very Special Friend (VSF) read Atlas Shrugged and then encouraged me to read it so that he could discuss it with someone. So I read it. In case you are unfamiliar with the story it follows this Railroad Executive, Dagny Taggart, as she discovers the incompetence of men in our society. It also has a lot of sex because Ayn Rand wrote Dagny to be a surrogate for herself. Anyway, there's this great scene that involves Dagny, Francisco (Dagny's childhood lover), and John Galt. I don't want to give away too much, but VSF and I both came to the conclusion that, although a threesome never did happen, it totally should have. I figured such a fan fiction must exist on the interwebs. Lo and behold, it does not. So I said I'd write it. Yes, I am currently in the process of writing a fan fiction based upon Atlas Shrugged. I am discovering in the process that I have a bit of a block about writing about sex. Some of it is vocabulary: Do I write come? cum? ejaculate? And what on earth do you call a penis? A penis? Cock? Dick? Man-sausage? I'm also having trouble describing sex. Which is weird, right? Because I have a lot of sex, and I spent a bit of time having a lot of boring sex (more on that later) during which I definitely daydreamed/narrated to myself. Yet I still have trouble with it.
I think a lot of the problem might have to do with the disconnect in my head between sex and literature. I know that there's tons of sex in literature. I've read Romeo and Juliet. I've read Lady Chatterley's Lover. Literature is engorged with sex, but I still see it as something pure. I see sex in literature as a tool to make a point. To write in gratuitous sex in the form of a fan fiction seems a bit...sacrilegious? I know that's stupid. I mean if literature is engorged with sex, the authors of said literature were swimming in it. So I have hang-ups. I'm getting over them. I also need to just finish this damn fan fiction before VSF gets back. Until then, anyone want to give me some vocabulary tips?
Anyway, as I got older I decided that maybe I'd better start reading real books rather than stories written by teenagers on the internet. Before that happened, however, I did discover the joy of erotic fan fiction. I mean, come on, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were totally meant to be together forever and have lots of hot gay sex. Don't judge me. These stories were, looking back, rather formative in my own sexual development. They bridged the gap between childhood literature and adult sexual existence. I did write some fan fiction as a kid. I don't remember if I ever wrote anything erotic, but I certainly did write erotic original stories that followed the same basic formula of a short fan fiction.
Here I am, though, 22 years old, and I'm back to it. Here's the story: my Very Special Friend (VSF) read Atlas Shrugged and then encouraged me to read it so that he could discuss it with someone. So I read it. In case you are unfamiliar with the story it follows this Railroad Executive, Dagny Taggart, as she discovers the incompetence of men in our society. It also has a lot of sex because Ayn Rand wrote Dagny to be a surrogate for herself. Anyway, there's this great scene that involves Dagny, Francisco (Dagny's childhood lover), and John Galt. I don't want to give away too much, but VSF and I both came to the conclusion that, although a threesome never did happen, it totally should have. I figured such a fan fiction must exist on the interwebs. Lo and behold, it does not. So I said I'd write it. Yes, I am currently in the process of writing a fan fiction based upon Atlas Shrugged. I am discovering in the process that I have a bit of a block about writing about sex. Some of it is vocabulary: Do I write come? cum? ejaculate? And what on earth do you call a penis? A penis? Cock? Dick? Man-sausage? I'm also having trouble describing sex. Which is weird, right? Because I have a lot of sex, and I spent a bit of time having a lot of boring sex (more on that later) during which I definitely daydreamed/narrated to myself. Yet I still have trouble with it.
I think a lot of the problem might have to do with the disconnect in my head between sex and literature. I know that there's tons of sex in literature. I've read Romeo and Juliet. I've read Lady Chatterley's Lover. Literature is engorged with sex, but I still see it as something pure. I see sex in literature as a tool to make a point. To write in gratuitous sex in the form of a fan fiction seems a bit...sacrilegious? I know that's stupid. I mean if literature is engorged with sex, the authors of said literature were swimming in it. So I have hang-ups. I'm getting over them. I also need to just finish this damn fan fiction before VSF gets back. Until then, anyone want to give me some vocabulary tips?
8.31.2010
How I spend money
I'm Jewish. This says a lot about me, and it says even more about my mother. You know those stereotypes of the Jewish mother? The nervous woman encouraging her children to eat, do well in school, and marry a nice Jewish boy? Yeah, that's my mom. Except that she's really skinny instead of squishy and soft. It makes it scarier.
In addition to a deep-seated unconscious feeling that Jewish boys are nicer, sexier, and just all around better, my mom also instilled in me an extreme fear of money. Well, it's a fear of losing money. I am terrified to spend money beyond basic survival -- food, rent, electricity. I do it, but every time I do it's a little heart-racing experience. "What if I go broke? What if I can't pay the rent? What if I have to move back in with my mother who deletes phone messages from boys who don't sound Jewish enough? Maybe I don't really need to spend that buck fifty on a cup of coffee..."
There's one exception to this: Sex Toys. I love my vibrators, and I NEVER feel guilty buying them. I mean, I've never sprung the $160 for the Lelo Mona that I so desperately desire, or for the Fun Factory Share that I keep telling myself will be a good investment. I mean, if I get it, I'm basically assuring that the people I date will have to enjoy me having the penis in the relationship at least some of the time. Right? Right?
It seems ridiculous to friends and family that I fret about going out to dinner but will drop money almost thoughtlessly on a nice sex toy, and I will admit that it's a little odd. I love food almost as much as I love sex. A nice dinner would probably give me about as much enjoyment as that vibrator will, but here's the thing. That nice dinner will only give it once. My favorite vibrator (for those who are interested, the Layaspot) has given me enjoyment time after time after time, and every single orgasm is different and beautiful in its own way. So that's why I spend money the way I spend money. Oh yeah, that and I'm generally a nervous wreck who needs to not worry so much about her finances. It's another thing that goes along with being Jewish.
In addition to a deep-seated unconscious feeling that Jewish boys are nicer, sexier, and just all around better, my mom also instilled in me an extreme fear of money. Well, it's a fear of losing money. I am terrified to spend money beyond basic survival -- food, rent, electricity. I do it, but every time I do it's a little heart-racing experience. "What if I go broke? What if I can't pay the rent? What if I have to move back in with my mother who deletes phone messages from boys who don't sound Jewish enough? Maybe I don't really need to spend that buck fifty on a cup of coffee..."
There's one exception to this: Sex Toys. I love my vibrators, and I NEVER feel guilty buying them. I mean, I've never sprung the $160 for the Lelo Mona that I so desperately desire, or for the Fun Factory Share that I keep telling myself will be a good investment. I mean, if I get it, I'm basically assuring that the people I date will have to enjoy me having the penis in the relationship at least some of the time. Right? Right?
It seems ridiculous to friends and family that I fret about going out to dinner but will drop money almost thoughtlessly on a nice sex toy, and I will admit that it's a little odd. I love food almost as much as I love sex. A nice dinner would probably give me about as much enjoyment as that vibrator will, but here's the thing. That nice dinner will only give it once. My favorite vibrator (for those who are interested, the Layaspot) has given me enjoyment time after time after time, and every single orgasm is different and beautiful in its own way. So that's why I spend money the way I spend money. Oh yeah, that and I'm generally a nervous wreck who needs to not worry so much about her finances. It's another thing that goes along with being Jewish.
8.29.2010
Well, this is new...
So, I'm not going to lie: a large incentive for starting a blog is to get free books to review. I mean, who doesn't love free books? Especially free books about sex.
That said, I've wanted to start a blog about sex for a long time. I mean, who doesn't want to hear EVERYTHING that I think about sex, and I think a lot about sex. I mean a lot. I mean enough that it maybe should be criminal.
On a side note: I really hope that I have successfully divorced this blog from my work email enough that I do not get fired. It would really suck to be fired.
Back to business: Some other wonderful things to expect from this are the occasional non-sexy book book review, maybe some discourse on mental health rights, and, of course, the obligatory occasional "Look what I did today that's super cool" narcissistic blog post by which the internet is defined. We'll try to keep those to a minimum, okay?
That said, I've wanted to start a blog about sex for a long time. I mean, who doesn't want to hear EVERYTHING that I think about sex, and I think a lot about sex. I mean a lot. I mean enough that it maybe should be criminal.
On a side note: I really hope that I have successfully divorced this blog from my work email enough that I do not get fired. It would really suck to be fired.
Back to business: Some other wonderful things to expect from this are the occasional non-sexy book book review, maybe some discourse on mental health rights, and, of course, the obligatory occasional "Look what I did today that's super cool" narcissistic blog post by which the internet is defined. We'll try to keep those to a minimum, okay?
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