let's talk about sex

ya'll ready for a great big secret?

i have sex.

WHAT??

i know.

double down:

sometimes that sex is with boys.

sometimes that sex is with girls.

MOST of that sex is single player mode.

thank heavens for rechargable batteries.

now that ya'll are shooketh to your very core, time to hit the rewind.

i grew up in an incredibly conservative evangelical house. INCREDIBLY conservative.

i was at church every sunday morning, sunday night, wednesday night. my whole life was about pleasing jesus, being a good girl, staying out of trouble, doing what i was *supposed* to do. when i got in trouble about friends (or lack thereof) my mom's solution was to write out all the bible verses about friendship. when i was in regular trouble it was about disappointing jesus. all the books i read were christian books- i devoured the entire Mandy series impatiently waiting for every new book. i read all the jeanette oak books over and over and over again. want to know where some of my most twisted relationship expectations come from? read through a few of the "when calls the heart" series. 

some of my FAVORITE, ALL TIME FAVORITE books to this day are written by francine rivers. i've learned to skip some of the heavier christian parts but there's this incredible three part series about a germanic man being forced to fight for his life in the arena and how be becomes friends with a household servant that survived being thrown to the lions for being a christian. the writing is amazing. the story is amazing. but holy heavens (pun intended) the entire series is written solely around being a christian saves your life.

this is all a long way to say i was a "good girl" growing up. i took the purity pledge. i was all aboard the no sex til marriage train.

i didn't particularly date in high school. there were a few actual dates and very few actual boyfriends. mostly i was known as a frigid bitch and there was an ongoing bet around the school of who would be able to shag me first (the guys weren't shy about letting me know this).

there was one guy i had a MASSIVE crush on- he was my first kiss, my first french kiss, and the guy i snuck into the light/sound booth in the theater more than a few times with for massive make out sessions. but i would have never been allowed to date him. he was raised by a single mom, they lived on the "other side of town," and most importantly, he didn't go to church. yes. these are things that were real issues to my mom. he passed away a few years after high school and it broke my heart. he was unfailingly kind, even when he wasn't. he was the one that let me know about the running bet. he was one of the ONLY ones that still talked to me after i got pregnant. he even made me laugh a few times asking if we could have sex while i was pregnant since the damage was already done. he was the only one to ever tell me i was beautiful while i was pregnant.

side note: i heard the way my mama, a proper christian lady, talked about his mama, a single mom of two boys who *gasp* dated.

more than few of my mothers nasty judgements of his mom stuck with me over the years. i was a single mama of two boys who *gasp* dated.

to this day i am still heartbroken for that gal and they way too many stuck up assholes in that town treated her. she lost both of her boys just a few years out of high school. all those years of working so hard to raise them, putting up with the shitty people in our small town just to lose them both. wherever she is i hope with every fiber of my being the universe has been kind to her the last 18 years.

ANYWAY.

i lost my virginity my sophomore year of high school. there was a guy i had a crush on and i found out he was moving away. i offered to have sex with him before he moved, he said ok, lay down. i did, he stuck it in, i said "ow, that hurts," he got up and walked away and i never saw him again. just enough to leave a stain on the floor of the electronics classroom. good times.

the first time i had sex my senior year i got pregnant. good times.

i had a few partners in college and then had my first orgasm with my second sons father. yes, that's right, my first orgasm happened with my 10th partner when i already had a 5 year old child. now you know 50% of the reason i got married. the other 50% was that 9/11 had just happened, the world was ending, and this guy didn't care that i already had a kid. spoiler alert: one orgasm and a world war is NOT a good reason to get married.

when i was married he used to shame me non-stop about sex. that i masturbated. that i had been with other partners. it went on and on. if i was "good" at something it was a reason for suspicion. if i was "bad" at something it was, to him, a validation for having 2 mistresses.

after my divorce, around the age of 24 i bought my first vibrator.

shortly thereafter i started watching porn and figuring out my sexuality.

yes, after 2 kids, a marriage and a divorce, THEN i started figuring out my sexuality.

i honestly didn't know there was anything TO figure out.

of course i wasn't gay.

gay was only for boys and if you were gay you got AIDS and died. the 80's and 90's were rife with AIDS misinformation and fear. toilet seats! sneezes! Ryan White! 

there was one lesbian in town growing up. she was the volleyball coach at the high school. i had no idea what being a lesbian meant unless it was raising huskies, coaching volleyball, and having to keep paper over the windows in her office AND keep the blinds closed, AT ALL TIMES.

i had never heard the word "bisexual."

i knew that i liked boys. it's one or the other, right? that bisexual thing is just a stop over on your way to gay, and as already covered, i of course couldn't be gay.

sometime around 27 i started to notice that i really, really do not like straight porn. it's the same three things: a LOT of oral sex for the guy, a TINY bit of oral sex for the girl, penis in vagina sex for three of 4 different positions, and scene.

it's boring. it's not pleasant to watch.

but then there was girl on girl porn...

HEY NOW.

well then. this is something different.

and then it slowly dawned on me...you know, you REALLY like girl on girl porn...what if it's because...you like girls?

BUT I LIKE GUYS!

sure...but what if you ALSO like girls?

back then, 2007ish, there weren't a lot of dating options besides match.com and there were FOR SURE no dating options if you wanted to date a lady.

so i turned to the only other place: craigslist.

yuuuuuuup.

i arranged my first lady date on craigslist.

we met for dinner at chilis, went to a bar for drinks and somehow ended up in a threesome with one of my coworkers. the next day she said "well, that was an experience," and we never went out again. she realized she was completely and fully straight, i realized i was completely and fully bi.

i never had a big coming out to my family or friends. there was no magical TADA moment or big crying tearful confession over a holiday dinner.

in retrospect i may have slightly been a MASSIVE asshole about how i let my family know.

with my mom it was a particularly painful moment in her therapy session when i asked her: sure, you SAY you love and support me, but how many bi-sexual, tattooed, single moms do you associate with outside being FORCED to with your own daughter?

oof.

with my brother, he called one year while i was working at a booth at pride.

bro: don't you have to be one of "those letters" to go to pride?

me: well, you know there's such a thing as ALLIES, but yes, i am one of those letters. B is one of those letters. always has been.

bro: what?

me: what?

bro: like...

me: oh, did you not know i'm bi? hey, by the bye, i'm bi.

so. you know. maybe fair enough that he still refers to me as "one of those letters."

i didn't go out with another woman for YEARS after that. i had a few partners, had one gal i was really into but it was a complicated situation. but mostly i just...well..didn't.

i was never quiet about it with my kids. the topic came up several times. i have friends all across the rainbow family. my boys both at different times questioned their own sexuality and we worked through it together. my oldest took a boy to a school dance and kissed him and realized he is fully, fully straight. my youngest was picked on for wearing bow ties to school for almost a fully year and tearfully questioned if he was gay because everyone kept telling him he was.

now they're both openly, vocally, painfully completely homophobic. 

i saw this developing in them. i heard the jokes, the slurs, the insults. i knew they were hearing things at youth group. my youngest came home one day and told me his youth pastor told him he was being raised in a dangerous, abusive household because i have tattoos and i'm bisexual.

so i just shut that side down for a long time.

i liked guys. so, you know, i would just...avoid all the rest.

i didn't want to expose anyone else to my kids. i didn't want anyone else to have to hear the horrible jokes and terrible accusations and painful insults.

i raised my kids in an open, loving, non-judgmental household. they still chose hate.

here's a spoiler alert for anyone wondering: avoiding a part of yourself doesn't make it go away.

i struggled with it over the years. it made me so angry at times that i had to hide. from my own kids.

but i did. i thought it was best for them. i thought it was safer for me.

but now that's all changed.

several things have changed: first, i'm done answering to other people. if you don't like my sexuality? DON'T HAVE SEX WITH ME.

easy enough.

not sure how who i'm attracted to has any bearing on anyone else besides the person i might be attracted to.

and if they don't like my sexuality, well, i'll say it again: DON'T HAVE SEX WITH ME.

so. NOW we're getting to the point.

that's right suckers. i'm *JUST NOW* getting to the point of this week.

this week...this week.

THIS. WEEK. Y'ALL.

you think i'd be used to getting my psychological ass handed to me by now. all the work and therapy and whatnot i've been doing.

but here we are.

this week i had a lady date.

we met for pizza. we talked. it was a good time.

i did my usual first date panic, talked WAY too much.

i didn't put too much stock in it. how many first dates have i been on after all?

besides...she lives in another town, my car is for sale...just...it was just another first date.

but then the week took a turn. because of course it did.

talk about burying the lede...i don't have to sell my car right now.

i found out friday afternoon that the child support order is *only* for back support that happened while the order was going through the hearing process. that's it. because my son moved out of state and doesn't live with the grandparents now, the support order for them isn't valid. i'm sure there will be another one coming soon, but, for now, i have a small stay of execution. i have a few more months to figure things out and get things sorted financially.

i get to keep my car (for now).

and...if i get to keep my car for now...that means the possibility of dating someone in another town IS a possibility.

and holy shit.

commence full on panic.

what if i'm not bi enough to BE BI.

what if i'm not gay enough to date a lady full time? 

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

like, 3 weeks in i'll change my mind and be like, NOPE. NEVER MIND.

girl, YOU LIKE GIRLS. you know this.

funny thing, i've never worried about not being straight enough to date a fella.

and, let's be real, this is ME. not like i'm exactly aces at dating ANYONE.

BUT. the point. i swear i'm getting to the point.

the point is it's a possibility.

it's a real chance for me to BE ME. i've hidden all these years because it was the easier choice. 

now i get the chance to just...LIVE.

and it feels like this week shifted everything.

i've struggled with this project so far. i've struggled with how sad it felt. how much of a STRUGGLE it felt. like it was just rehashing terrible things and sad experiences. and i kept trying to change the focus. i kept trying to frame it as an opportunity. i kept trying to frame it as an adventure. i wanted to post the positive opportunities. i wanted to find the silver lining to what was feeling like a year of trying to just survive.

and this week it shifted to #thrive.

i don't have to sell my car. i have a little breathing room. i have a focus. i have a path. i have a plan.

i can work on BECOMING myself.

i was geared up and ready for battle. i was ready to SURVIVE. i was on the island. i had an ice skate ready for any medical emergencies and a volleyball to keep me company. I WAS GOING TO GRIND IT OUT.

and i feel like...i'm a firm believer that if you shut up and listen you can hear the universe talking to you.

in my case it spent this weekend SCREAMING at me.

i select a random playlist and it's one song after another just hammering the point home.

i go out and meet new people and the conversation ends up smacking me upside the head.

i stay home and do my chores and meditate and do my writing and and all the little pieces of my apartment that i've selected and picked and carefully arranged, they take a moment to stand out and remind me of why i picked them and brought them home.

i'm a little slow that way sometimes. i do things because they're important to me. i get specific tattoos. i buy specific books. i make a specific letterboard. and then they just become a part of things. and sometimes you forget they're even there. and then, when you need them, they talk to you. they gently remind you of things you already know.

i made a sign a year ago when i moved in. i haven't changed it. it's been there. i look at it, but i haven't LOOKED at it in a while:

i didn't say survive.


i said THRIVE.

and i feel that now.

i'm not in survival mode. this project has shifted things. life has shifted things. i'm still doing what i need to do. this isn't a get out of jail free moment. this is a stay of execution while the judge reviews the case.

i'm still writing. i'm still focusing on my budget. i'm still focusing on walking to work. i'm still focusing on making healthy life choices. doing the things i need to do for my mental health. i'm still focused on appreciating each week and each moment this year.

even if they decide to blindside me and flip the script out of no where.

i'm not just going to survive this year. i'm going to THRIVE. i'm going to become ME. i'm going to start doing the things that scare me. i'm going to start TRYING. there's no reason to hide anymore. there's no reason to let other people dictate who i am. there's no reason to let fear of how one person might respond keep me from trying something new.

i'm not just going to survive this year.

I'M GOING TO THRIVE.

behind the names

so ones of you have asked what's with the names when it comes to the stories. there's a few parts of this:

#1- I never use real names. ever. it helps protect the not-so-innocent. I don't want names popping up in google search, having people use them to stalk or find info, contact, on and on. additionally, it protects me. if someone doesn't like a story, it's up to them to out themselves and claim their second identity. finally- friends and friends of friends know some of these people outside the little blogosphere. im ok airing MY dirty laundry but I don't want to air theirs per say.

#2 how the names are selected: it seems most nicknames explain themselves. cities/countries: where the boy is from. sadly, not places I've been to. *sigh* I wish I travelled that much. military branches pretty much are what they are. jobs, holidays, it's sadly basic and unimaginative. shoulder blades is the only "odd" one that comes to mind and when I get around to that story (I may have already posted it once) youll understand that.

#3 YES, these are real stories. YES, all these boys exist. YES, I could write a full (and then some) 50 shades. I realize this may label me a whore, tramp, hussy, WHATEVER to some people. it is what it is. I have several reasons, explanations, theories, excuses...it is what it is. some of it was young/stupid. some of it was proving something to myself. the last several years have been plain and simple because I like sex and I'm not ashamed of it. if a partner isn't particularly satisfying I have no problem (most of the time) cutting loose and moving on. I also have a serious aversion to relationships so there's no "black out" times with the exception of my 23 month marriage. there's been years I've elected not to have sex. there's been years sex has elected to not have me. there's been times I would have made for one hell of a jerry springer show.

end of the day: it is what it is. I'm not ashamed of any of it. each experience had its own lesson. and each experience was just that: an experience. I've been able to pass on wisdom, help others, recognize problems early in, define what I am looking for, know when it's time to get out (ok...still working on that one.)

so. there's the behind the scenes. now. back to the stories.

brazil

chapter two: brazil

this is NOT a shining moment in my history of men. it may in fact be one of the most embarrassing stories i have to tell. it, of course, like all embarrassing stories, starts in vegas...

vegas for thirty. four girls. an AMAZING two room hotel suite. itty bitty dresses. and ALCOHOL. so. much. alcohol.

i don't remember which day of the trip it was. i don't remember which club it was. i DO remember table service. and a bottle of vokda for the four of us.

one of our girls managed to wander off for a bit and when we caught up with her she had met brazil. i'm pretty sure he had a real name. i think it started with a J.

braSil (they spell it with an s. we're ignorant americans) was pretty. a trained boxer with a body to match. apparently his rough english skills didn't matter when it came to tonsil hockey on the back patio of a vagas bar. or the back skylit section of a casino club. or the pretend it's outdoors because it's decorated with green stuff and you've had so much alcohol it doesn't really matter section of the bar.

brazil and our girl were getting friendly. there was even a warning about appropriate club behavior at one point i believe.

the night goes along, our girl and brazil are inseparable. two of our four head back to the suite in a cab. i stick behind with our girl and brazil- no girl left behind. especially with a non-english speaking stranger in a club.

are you confused as to how this is MY story yet?

the night ends with brazil giving my girl and me a ride back to the suite. we invite him up (she invites him up) to the suite for a night cap. only polite thing to do, right?

the way the suite was set up is entry way, room to the left, room to the right. the two gals that had headed back in the cab earlier were sharing the room to the left. future mrs. brazil and i were sharing the room to the right. being a good wingman i took the couch in the entry way (actually a large living room area, couches, tv, table, you get the idea) while my girl and brazil took to the room.

an unknown amount of time later i was awakened by brazil. it seems that my girl was a bit trigger shy when it came to closing the deal. combine a dead sleep (or being passed out, po-tay-to/po-tah-to), a large quantity of alcohol still in my system, and the fact that a gorgeous man was (sadly and second-handedly) hitting on me, suddenly of COURSE sex sounded like a good idea. after all, it wouldnt be polite to send the poor boy home with blue balls after a whole night of build up. what can i say, i'm thoughtful like that.

i honestly don't remember much of what went on. there was sex. bad sex. jackhammer sex. there was an orgasm. singular. his. and then he was gone.

oh how i wish the story ended there.

in the morning i was horrified about what had happened. my girl had brought the guy back with her. had i technically poached her catch? SO against code. you never poach. ever. then i got to thinking about it...how horrifying that only after he had been soundly turned away did he wander out into the living room and see if maybe there was still a chance with that other chick. holy fuck embarrassing. i was really conflicted. i didn't want to tell any of the girls what had happened. i didn't want them to know ANY of it.

i made it about half way through the day before i cracked under pressure. while out to lunch i talked to one of the other gals about what had happened. she had come home in a cab and had no idea about any of it- brazil coming back with us, his rejection and second attempt...or so i thought.

TURNS OUT.

holy fuck embarrassing.

brazil. rejected and kicked out of the bedroom on the right wandered all the way across to the bedroom on the left. woke up BOTH of the girls in there consecutively to see if he had a chance. after being rejected by girl 1, girl 2, AND girl 3, he wandered back into the living room for his last ditch effort.

that's right. i was not the second choice. i was not the third choice. i was the last ditch effort on the way out the door.

nothing romantic. nothing special. not even the slightest attempt. a last ditch effort.

so embarrassing. talk about a severe ego kick. granted- vegas, that much alcohol, and a true pure blood asshole, it's a rare combination. generally there's a little more thought and consideration put into things. a little less being a trashed non-cognitive mess. but there it is. in all it's vegas shame: brazil, the last ditch king.

a REAL first time story

if you haven't heard of the mommy porn phenomenon that is 50 shades, please send me the address of the rock you're hiding under, i would love to join you.

"know thy enemy" and so i read the books. all three of them. and i almost vomited.

where do you start? the fact that they FUCKED UP every single part of a healthy sex life? sure, let's start there. how about labeling spanking as abuse and giving it a bad name for people that have never even thought about trying it. or the fact that every. single. adult store in town has posters up everywhere about 50 shades and the toys there in? yes, i know this for a fact. yes, it pisses me off. soccer moms without a clue venturing into a world that takes research, thought and communication to be done in a healthy way. fuck. talking to the guy at castle i found out they've had to TRIPLE their order on all the stuff mentioned in the books. and it's still selling out.

"isn't this a good thing? getting people to open up sexually?"

NO. because they're going off something they read in a book. A FICTION BOOK. any spanking, toys, anything in that realm requires communication and trust. they are NOT marriage savers. they are not something that should just be picked up. it could lead to a LOT of problems, pain, mistrust, abuse if not handled properly.

let's not even start about how from the very first sexual experience (a virgin to boot) EVERY. SINGLE. ORGASM. was perfectly synchronized and magical rainbows and sunshine. FUCK YOU FIFTY SHADES. synchronized orgasms are the exception, not the rule. perfect sex every time takes TIME and getting to know your partner. thank you for setting unrealistic expectations. fucking bitch. RAWR.

ok. end rant. kind of. all that fucking BULLSHIT aside, here is my answer to 50 shades: (this may end up being multiple posts to cover all the misconstrued sexual experiences).

FIRST TIME (virgin) SEX:

She had been crushing on him for most of the year but he still hardly noticed her existence. They had talked a few times, he had snuck into her room late one night and done something strange to her. Many years later she learned that strange thing was oral sex and when done right can be amazing. MANY. YEARS. LATER. (and a few more for the amazing part).

He was perfect in her eyes- muscular, tanned, athletic. She was non-existent to him- a virgin, a church girl, a nerd. Their world had no intersection, no reason to be around each other, no matter how hard she tried to make it so.

One day she heard that he would be moving to a different state and knew it was her last chance to get his attention. There was only one thing she knew that would get him to notice her, only one thing that would make him want to spend time with her.

One fall night at a High School Wrestling match, she timidly approached him.

"I heard you were moving."

"Yup."

"Well, if you want to have sex before you leave, I'm ready."

"Ok. Lay down."

She looked around the dirty, empty high school class room. Here? But he was willing, he was paying attention to her, that was all that mattered.

She lay down on the floor of the room and wiggled her wrangler jeans down as far as they would go while he unzipped his jeans and knelt over her.

In the quiet of the empty room he pushed into her, hard and painful. She tried to relax but the pain was just too intense.

"Ow. That kinda hurts." She whispered.

"Ok." he said standing up, zipping his jeans.

Without another word he walked out of the room and she never saw him again. She quietly pulled her jeans back on and stared in horror at the large stain all over the classroom carpet having no idea what to do or how to cover it up or make it go away. Ashamed, she left the room and never went back. Thankfully, it was never one of her assigned classes the rest of the three years in high school.

The next day at school everyone knew about what had happened. It was her first lesson about how boys talk. An embarrassing, long lasting lesson. It would be two years before she let another boy anywhere near her again, and then only to quell the pressure of peers.

THAT. see that? THAT is a mother fucking first experience. not some perfectly orchestrated multi-orgasmic love fest with a perfectly sculpted multimillionaire god in a gigantic bed with a maid to wash the sheets after. FUCK YOU FIFTY SHADES. fuck you for making every woman feel inadequate. fuck you and your horribly written fanfic gone overboard. fuck you and your "escape from reality" bullshit.

oh, and if you haven't noticed, I FUCKING HATE THOSE BOOKS.

i had a date(ish)

gather around darlings, i have a delightful holiday tale that is sure to warm your hearts:

(or at least make you laugh/pee a little so SOME part of you is warmish)

i had a “date” last night.

before you get all excited for me it must be stated: this was not a “you’re hot and i want to take you out” date, this was a very old friend in town for the holidays, knows i’m single and rarely get to go out on this type of event, in the spirit of the holidays threw me a bone “date”.

so. you know. go me.

now, before i get too far into it you need to know that in spite of everything i actually had a pretty good time. it was good to be out, it was good to feel pretty, and it was good to not have to buy my own drinks/dinner/lap dances for once (we’ll get back to that last one in a minute).

so the friend in question is/was actually staying at my house for a few days while in town. he got to town thursday evening, friday we hung out a bit before he had to go do some things, then we were both back at my house around 3 (with both spawns) hanging out. 3 in the afternoon. it was actually a little before 3- yes, time is important. you see, between the time he got back to my house and the time i went to take the small spawn to a friends for a sleep over at 5 he was already SIX drinks ahead of me: two shooter bottles of gentlemans jack, firefly on the rocks, three screwdrivers. nothing lets your date know you’re excited about taking her out like getting completely smashed before it even starts.

i get back from dropping the small spawn off and start to get ready. a date is a date and damn it, i wanted to look nice. pretty skirt, nice strapless top, big girl shoes, big hair, big make up, i pulled out ALL the stops. while i’m doing this he has another drink and a bit of green because that of course lets a lady know you can’t wait to be alone with her- a completely altered reality. awesome. (also lets her know that she will be driving for the evening and not able to partake in any drinks herself. even better).

while i’m getting ready i was complimented several times along the lines of “you look hot. it’s nice to have my escort look so hot. you’re my escort for the evening, right? i’m paying for everything and getting sex after, so you’re my escort, right?”

i just love compliments. they make me glow.

yes, i still went through with the date. i’m that desperate. again: go me.

so we decide on a spot for dinner and start the evening out. dinner was actually delightful at a very nice restaurant but we forgot to factor in one thing: a gentleman’s club was on the agenda for the evening and the restaurant we had picked tended to be a little (as in the nile is just a little river) heavy handed on the garlic and onion. PERFECT for an evening of up close and personal with beautiful women (and the supposed sexy time at the end of the evening).

conversation was great through dinner. we talked about how long we had know each other, how we’ve both grown over the years, real, good, meaningful conversation. a little shocking all considered.

after dinner (one more drink) it was still early and the friends he planned on meeting at the club weren’t ready yet so we decided to drive around a bit (after stopping for a coors tall boy). this turned into about an hour and a half driving around in BFE, in pea soup fog, with NO IDEA where we were at. not the worst, but for sure not exactly a nice night out type thing. I WILL SAY: we did use this time to continue talking about things which was really nice. one caveat: you just never know how much is real conversation and how much is “altered state of mind” conversation. not really sure how much of it he remembers or meant. so. yeah.

we finally decide that we’ve had enough driving around and we’ll just go to his buddy’s house and wait for him to get ready to go to the club. translation: we’ll go park out back of his buddies house and attempt teenage car sex until his buddy is ready to go.

oh yeah. i just said that.

two adults. one car. a whole lot of (one sided) alcohol. a fuck ton of awkward.

let me just say: no matter how old you are, no matter how big your car is, no matter what you may think: CAR SEX IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA. add in a little alcohol and GOSH DARN IT, wouldn’t you now, things just didn’t quite go as planned.

we finally head out to the gentleman’s club and the rest of the evening was pretty good. see, i’m one of those girls who LIKES other girls. i think women are beautiful and i truly admire the dancers at the gentleman’s club. they are (with some exceptions) athletic, brave, sensual women who are damn smart and good at what they do. i’ve had many a conversation about this with men, women, and some dancers. they truly are damn good hustlers, sales women, business women and the best ones do this with little to no (visible) effort so that the drooling neanderthals around the stage think they’re being awesome getting this girls attention while she’s making bank and taking money that they’re willingly throwing in her direction. plus: boobies! yes, i said it.

i was able to enjoy a very nice lap dance from a beautiful woman which all the men were jealous of (yes, mine was longer than yours deal with it). i happened to run into a friend i hadn’t seen in way too long and was able to catch up on a little chatting amidst all the distractions. i got to watch boys be stupid boys which is always fun. finally i got to watch my date ingest quite a few more drinks which assured that i was safe from the sexy time at the end of the evening that he had been planning on.

so the “date” ended well enough but i want to point out a few things that really were a train wreck that i managed to ignore.

men: don’t EVER refer to your date as your escort for the evening unless you looked up an ad in the yellow pages, ordered her and had to put a credit card on reserve for the evening to happen. it is damn demeaning, angering, and honestly purely insulting. i understand that all you want out of the evening is the sexy time at the end and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. one way to make sure it DOESN’T happen is to let me know up front in plain english that’s all you think i am/am good for.

don’t EVER let a woman know you can’t afford to take her out but you’re doing it anyway. nothing ruins the evening as quick as “i know i’ll hate myself tomorrow for how much i spend on you tonight.” AWE.SOME. and YES, this was actually said to me.

also, along the same line: don’t ever let your date know you had to borrow money to take her out. FROM. YOUR. MOM. this one didn’t happen to me but it DID happen to a darling friend of mine a few weeks ago. a guy actually had the half balls to say he wanted to take her out for a drink but had to ask him mom for a loan first. if you can’t afford it, find a different option. buy a sixer and rent a movie. it’s a LOT cheaper, less noisy, and more one on one time. plus you don’t have the whole awkward: “he borrowed money from his mommy” vibe the whole evening.

i understand having a few drinks or a little herbal relaxation to mellow you out before a date. WITHIN REASON. getting smashed before she even starts getting ready is NOT a good thing. really. nothing tells a girl you dont want to go out with her more than having to be blasted to go through with it.

NEVER. EVER. suggest car sex. EVER.

don’t complain that the girls lap dance was longer than yours. enjoy the fact that you have a woman who is excited to be at the club with you and that you even got to watch her getting a lap dance. i mean how fucking sexy is that? getting to watch a girl get a LONG lap dance and enjoy it? and you complained?

don’t make her wake up in the morning to you flogging the dolphin. wrestling the cyclops. choking the chicken. FUCKING MASTURBATING IN HER BED RIGHT NEXT TO HER.

hmm. sorry. probably should have given you a little warning about that last one.

*sigh* and people wonder why i’m single.

16 again?

if you had the chance to be 16 again knowing what you know now, would you? it’s a question that’s been around forever. i’ve always said there’s no way in hell i would ever go back again, even knowing what i know now. i HATED my teen years, there was nothing good about high school or any of the things i went through back then.

who would want to go back to 16? even with adult knowledge and confidence? no thanks- i’m good.

well. things change.

last night i was 16 again. knowing what i know now. with confidence. i didn’t think of it that way at the time, but it really was just like being 16 again. and it was really great.

last night i had a chance to have a “re-do” with my first ever sexual partner. back in the day it wasn’t so great and actually left me with several of the insecurities that i’ve battled for years. long story short, he was my first lover and i didn’t have my first orgasm until i got married which was my 10th lover. so, you can tell i didn’t know my body at all back then or how to ask for what i wanted and he wasn’t exactly prepared to put in the time and effort to figure it out back then.

a LOT of things have changed since then. there was a spawn, marriages, marriages ending (mine divorce, his death). there’s personal growth and experiences and self discovery. there have been some EPIC fights, years of hating each other, years of tolerating each other, and here we are 14 years later and i would honestly count him among one of my closest friends. we’ve both been through so much and it’s been interesting to come together and help each other through those things and grow together and help raise our son together.

he came to town a few weeks ago and stayed a few days and we vaguely kicked around the idea of being together again but decided against it. last night he came back through town again and we both decided this time to see what happened.

like i said before, i wasn’t thinking of it at the time as going back to being 16. we did talk about how it had been 14 years since we had been down this road and both wondered how different things would be. details spared: MUCH different (and yes, worth it).

this morning i did get to thinking about it as going back and getting a do-over. i thought about how strong and confident i was last night and how it made everything so different. i thought about all the hang up’s i’ve been carrying with me for the last 14 years and how they really were just two inexperienced kids who really had no clue. it’s been odd today. it’s more thought than i expected. emotionally i’m good. mentally it’s been a trip. and in a GOOD way. i feel empowered. i feel sexy and sensual and confident as a woman. i feel like i don’t have to be so self conscious in bed anymore. all the things that were seared in my mind from those first few experiences don’t have to stick there any more. i can very confidently let them go.

so. for how much i argued against ever going back to 16, as much as i swore that i would never want to do that or experience that again, it was a very good thing. i’m really glad i did.

what would you do? would you go back to 16? i know not everyone would have the same good experience, but would the chance be worth it?

houston, we have a problem

and now, back to your regularly scheduled crazy:

we have a problem.

ps: this blog is about sex, so if you don’t want to know things about me, you’ve been warned.

i’m not one to keep quiet about people’s freak flag. i get it, we all have one, i’m not judging (yes i am) but that doesn’t mean that i’m not going to take every opportunity i have to let EVERYONE know about the ones i run across.

i call it a public service announcement. where would we all be if i kept quiet? you’d be in for some unfortunate surprises in the bedroom is where.

tee shirts.

i love them. they’re an EXCELLENT invention. ring neck, v-neck, long sleeve, short sleeved, I LOVE TEE SHIRTS.

except during sex.

now i get it. some people are uncomfortable with their body. TRUST. my birthday suit is NOT in tip top condition. i understand stretch marks, wrinkles, unfortunate lumps when you twist and turn. hell, some of us have unfortunate lumps when we’re laying completely flat and still. i get that not everyone is comfortable baring all.

BUT.

this doesn’t make keeping your tee shirt on ok. in any way. even if it has some witty saying for me to read during said sex. and it SHOULD take longer for said sex than it takes for me to read any witty saying. also: although there are some things i enjoy reading over and over tee shirts are not one of them.

if i have to strip, well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. TAKE IT OFF.

ALSO: if you’re oh, say...30 and maybe, perhaps...oh...a hockey player, in incredible, delicious, hard body shape (pause for drool) WHY ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR SHIRT ON?

there’s one simple reason: it makes the exit that much faster.

oh, i wish i was kidding.

i don’t care how good the sex is. i don’t care if you last two hours (not kidding on that one, there’s your TMI for the day). i don’t care how good all the kissing and (pause again for drool) all of it is. if you keep your tee shirt on the whole time and you can be out my front door less than 5 minutes after the grand finale- THAT IS NOT OK.

i will offer one allowance: SOCKS. men, listen up: YOUR FEET ARE FUCKING NASTY. i know some of you aren’t complete assholes- some of you actually know what trimming your nails means. some of you even willingly get pedicures. for that, I THANK YOU. you are allowed to take your socks off and have your bare toes in the same zip code as me. the rest of you: YOUR NASTY JUNGLE FEET SHOULD BE KEPT UNDER WRAPS AT ALL TIMES. i don’t want your nasty nails scraping my legs. i’ve had some expensive ink work done and i dont’ want to get gangrene from a nasty scratch and have to have my leg cut off. KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON. ALL THE TIME. fuck, i’ll even let you break the socks with sandals rule for that one.

everything else goes though. EVEN THE TEE SHIRT.