Fucking February and All The Feels

Fair warning disclaimer: This post is going to be long, all over the fucking place, full of links to blogs I’m finding helpful, free-association lyrics, fast-forwarding and rewinding, and just a whole bunch of stuff I’m trying to extract from my brain and heart.

For some reason, over the past four years, February has had a habit of kicking me right in the feels. Without fail, by the end of the month for the past four years, I’m inundated and overwhelmed by whatever has happened in the few weeks of this brutal, brilliant, abbreviated month. I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s the shortest month of the year…how does it ALWAYS manage to pack a gut punch and a half? It probably doesn’t help that Valentine’s Day, with all it’s socially trappings and expectations, is in there, along with my wedding anniversary. Which my husband did the sweetest thing as an anniversary gift. At Wicked Faire this year, he had the DJ tech person play our wedding song during the Later Night Atrium Dance Party so we could dance to it. (Cue the chorus of “awwwwws”).

All told, it was a mostly good weekend for us personally, except for the one night he fucked up a promise. That hurt. But we’ve discussed it, he’s apologized, and we’ve moved on. And the next night’s anniversary present helped. But I’m glad that it didn’t affect him hanging out with his girlfriend and that he got to spend one of the nights with her. Long distance relationships suck, especially when you only see each other a few times a year and you’re also working during those times.

Anyway, this year, February’s Fucking Feelfest snuck up on me. I though I could escape the flood and was dealing with the past and present well. And maybe I am. But it all finally overtook me last night.

This year, there were good things on the horizon early on in the month and exciting things that happened and I made strides that I hadn’t expected. For instance, I got my ass back up on the burlesque stage, went completely topless for the first time on a public stage, pushed myself in some ways within my own relationship only to find it really didn’t need pushing at all and was completely fine, stood up for myself when things were not going as promised and mostly handled it productively.

These were the normal ups and downs, with some extra awesome thrown in. For example, seriously, so happy about performing at the last Wicked Faire. This song was floating in my brain most of the day Saturday:

I don’t know why I’m frightened
I know my way around here
The cardboard trees, the painted scenes, the sound here
Yes, a world to rediscover
But I’m not in any hurry
And I need a moment
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways
The atmosphere as thrilling here as always
Feel the early morning madness
Feel the magic in the making
Why everything’s as if we never said goodbye
I’ve spent so many mornings
Just trying to resist you
I’m trembling now
You can’t know how I’ve missed you
Missed the fairy-tale adventures
In this ever-spinning playground
We were young together

“As If we Never Said Goodbye” – Sunset Boulevard

But there were also some crazy, head-exploding moments from the weekend, including seeing someone in an entirely new light and trying to reconcile all of that then freaking out a little and doing my best to not run in the opposite direction for fear of fucking everything up, having him laugh at me, not knowing the current style of his relationship with his girlfriend and not wanting to inadvertently hurt her which would suck because she’s amazing, and just generally it took a lot to keep that together and to myself and sometimes I failed spectacularly. Added to that was the fact that I still had to do my job, and had that performance I was just talking about, and for some reason, decided this was the event I was going to experience the party side of the nights so I got into two room parties I’d only ever heard of previously. Wound up having some intense, awesome experiences and conversations. The more I opened up, I found, the more there were awesome people around to further the amazing experiences, from an really cool guided imagery massage that helped me sober up to a really interesting conversation about poly and couple privilege that has rocked my brain a little and given me a perspective on it that I never considered before.

Woman, open the door; don’t let it sting.

I wanna breathe that fire again.

-“Read My Mind” by the Killers

And there’s a part of me that’s just aching to breathe the fire I’ve felt before again. To rise from the ashes and explore feelings I get so rarely. And I have to temper that with other people, distance, time…life. But it ties into me wanting to get back into playing and unearthing my kink drive again, which has been dormant for way too long. Sure, she gets out and makes a quick walk around the block sometimes, but on a whole…I know I can go deeper. I have gone deeper. I need to go deeper again. Thankfully, there are a few interesting prospects on the horizon, but it’s coming back down to a game of hurry up and wait. But I am grateful for those people in my life who are there and want to explore and play with me. They are some truly excellent people.

Then there’s the thing where all of the people and things that are happening currently remind me or touch on some part of my past. The metamour who might be core monagamous or poly-friendly, but there’s no real way to know yet is dredging up some things from how I used to be when I first got into poly which is, in turn, pointing out some glaring mistakes I made that I now regret. Part of me wishes I could tell that to my two exes, but since they’re not talking to me, it’s a moot subject. Well, maybe not moot. Just I only get to have internal realizations and not apologize directly.  And really, there’s so much more to it than the mistakes I made anyway, but those are the only things I can control and apologize for. And god, I would apologize for the apparently standard practice of poly newbies to create rules up the wazoo in a fucked up attempt of protecting the primariness and specialness that I was so desperately afraid of losing. In my case, and in many cases, from what I’m reading and have read over the years, it tends to have the opposite affect of and instead pushes people away. Also, knowing now how better to handle jealousy and where it comes from, this article that I read years ago on the subject makes so much more sense.

Really, jealousy is just a fear of something being lost or taken away. It’s a feeling that points out where you feel there is an imbalance. And the “feel “part of that is the most important, to me, at least. Because it’s not always the case. Something isn’t necessarily being taken away. Sometimes it is. But sometimes new and wonderful things can be there to replace it if we let them. But for me, I’ve finally learned that when I’m feeling jealous, it generally doesn’t mean that I want the other person to stop what they’re doing, but that I’d really like some of what they’re doing, maybe at some point in the future.

For example, when I get jealous of the screen of emojis I see my husband texting to a love interest, it doesn’t mean he has to stop sending emojis or stop texting that person. It means I tell him that I’d really like to get some of those at some point, too, to spice up our texts. It has nothing to do with limiting or controlling his behavior anymore, in an attempt to reinforce that I’m The Most Important Snowflake Ever. I come from a place of love and knowing that he can send emojis to more than one person and it’s okay. But it’s equally okay to say something in a non-accusatory way about trying to get some sweet, sweet emoji loving, too. But on the flip side, if he’s doing that during a pre-set date night with me, then that’s a problem and I’d ask him to stop and let his sweetie know that we’re on a date and he can sext her lots later or tomorrow. In that latter case, it’s not about controlling my partner’s behavior, but both of us honoring and respecting the time and attention of the partner we’ve agreed to spend a certain amount of time with.

I’ve been struggling with this concept of poly with no rules for a while now, but it’s making more sense to me. The more I let go of my fear with my husband and begin to open up to the people he wants to explore with and the people I want to explore with, the more I find this ringing true. But it’s still struggling with my hierarchical core. But what I’m finding more and more is that once I transcend the fear of abandonment and realize I will be okay whether or not I have a primary, the stronger my primary relationship gets and the happier we both are pursuing the feelings and desires we have outside of each other. It’s a weird paradox, kinda like that quote about taking a leap and building your wings on the way down. And it’s come with its fair share of tears, anxiety, confusion, and loneliness. But it’s also been balanced out with a joy and openness and relief I didn’t expect. Also, I still think “no rules” can coexist with hierarchy, but it can get complicated.

Along the lines of where my head is kinda at right now, there’s this article that focuses more on solo polyamory, but has a quote I adore:

“…falling in love doesn’t equate to inhibiting your freedoms or my own. When I fall for you, it means you mean something to me, and I ultimately want to be a part of your life that makes you happy and builds you up. I’m not expecting anything from our relationship beyond the present moment, but I’m also not closed to the idea of a deeper connection developing. I want to see what happens when neither one of us is pushing or angling for anything.”

SO MUCH THAT.

Man, love is fucking complicated.

And just like in that article, I had to learn the hard way that love does not equal compatibility, nor does it alone solve relationship problems, nor does it mean I have to sacrifice myself endlessly in the name of love. These were hard lessons to learn. Four years ago in February, a day after Wicked Faire ended, I woke up and asked my now ex-husband a question that was the catalyst for us all (I was in a triad marriage) to begin the long, painful process of ending a relationships/marriages that had stretched from 10 to 13 years.

And it sucks because even though there are multiple reasons why it’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m better off now, and they are, too, it still hurts. There’s the part of me that wanted my first real love to want me more than anything else. Want to stay with me forever. “true love” was supposed to be in my favor. I started out as the primary, after all.

How sad and sweet it is that I actually felt that way. My understanding about the nature of love has evolved so much over the past four years that it’s kind of staggering and I have to catch myself up sometimes. Remind myself that what feels familiar is not what I actually believe anymore. Remind myself that there’s so much of the stuff in this article that I used to do because I was so afraid. Demotion, displacement, intrusion…well, I tried not to do too much of the intrusion. But god…I was a wreck when we first opened up our relationship. In between being in love with our then girlfriend, I was a goddamned wreck. My boyfriend’s chemistry with her was palpable, and for an empath who hadn’t even begun to learn much about being an empath, that just fucking wrecked me. I couldn’t feel her in the same way as I felt him and her. I now know, since hindsight is 20/20, that that also had to do with the fact that I was a cuckquean, but had no clue about that word or what it entailed way back then. This all created some intense drama and difficulty that was sometimes balanced with moments of poly clarity and brilliance. Sometimes balanced.

Fuck, it’s been a long road.

More than anything, I’m really happy to have discovered this piece about Casual Love by Carsie Blanton because it sums up my feelings about love. I used to think it was this precious commodity that came with specific things that I should have or get or that other people should do to ensure my primacy and specialness. Now I endeavor to understand and embrace love in all it’s messy glory. For friends that are awesome even when they’re annoying, for family even when they cut you so deep you examine everything about who you are, for lovers who make really fucking huge mistakes, and for all the good that all of the above do, and all the experiences that we’ve shared and could share in the future.

It’s funny; a friend and possible D/s partner texted me recently to tell me he had an odd realization about me that he wanted to share. Apparently, he feels I don’t have a mean bone in my body and I have an openness and kindness in my face that’s apparent.

Upon reading this, I was struck with two conflicting reactions. Being touched and outright laughter.

It’s an incredible compliment to be considered so open and kind. It’s also hysterical that people don’t think I don’t have a mean bone in my body. I’m human, for fuck’s sake. As I told him, I believe everyone has a light and dark side, including me. I just try really hard not to indulge or dwell in it. All humans have both inside.

Granted, I’ve spent the better part of two decades trying to over-correct for the mistakes I saw people making around me when I was growing up, like racism, homophobia, xenophobia, fear of any new experiences or people or things. I respect and honor my dark side and work my ass off not to let fear run my life. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel fear, or that I never have mean thoughts, or that I haven’t done stupid, thoughtless, bad things. Again, see HUMAN. But I over-analyze so much about relationships and people and that includes myself, so I prefer to err on the side of joy, wonder, and discovery. This quote from Rainer Maria Rilke is one of my favorites and it’s kind of my motto:

“We must assume our existence as broadly as we in any way can; everything, even the unheard-of, must be possible in it. That is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter. That mankind has in this sense been cowardly has done life endless harm…But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished the existence of the individual; the relationship between one human being and another has also been cramped by it, as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively from his own existence.”

I think this approach to being open to enigmatical things was what led to me exploring my first ever casual sex experience at Wicked Faire last year. (again, y’know, February). Which was great, but I still kinda went stone butch in that I had no problem giving sexually the person I was with, but wasn’t able to accept sexual reciprocation. I’m not disappointed; this person gave me some AWESOME and totally fulfilling sensation play that I was craving.

But now I’m trying to sort through some even more mysterious feelings and trying not to get too far ahead of myself, because there are other people involved and I’m states away and have a lot on my plate and it’s just got levels of complexity and…yeah.

It’s a lot to sort through and last night, after talking with the new person, I just got off the phone and needed to drive. And cry. And sing. At the top of my lungs. The open highway called me and I just let it all come in. Felt it all. The past, the pain, the sensation, the burlesque and creativity, the love, the loss, the moving on, the fear, the desire, the concern…just so much to feel and process.

And just some bonus content…a playlist of songs I can’t get out of my head lately that fit various parts of all this:

  1. Read My Mind – The Killers
  2. Just Enough – Charlotte Sometimes
  3. I Get Off – Halestorm
  4. Dreams – Brandi Carlile
  5. All This and Heaven Too – Florence + the Machine
  6. Amazed – Poe
  7. Epoch – HUMANWINE
  8. Holding On To Good – Delta Rae
  9. Fearless Love – Melissa Etheridge
  10. Independent Love Song – Scarlett
  11. Suddenly – Les Mis MPS
  12. As If We’ve Never Said Goodbye – Glee version, from Sunset Boulevard
  13. Arsonist’s Lullaby – Hozier
  14. Have to Drive – Amanda Fucking Palmer
  15. Time Ago – Black Lab
  16. The Winner Takes It All – Meryl Streep, Mamma Mia
  17. Fake Plastic trees – Radiohead
  18. Wild Awake – Tylan
  19. Under Pressure – Queen/David Bowie

A polytude of thanks

Once again, it’s Thanksgiving Day. For me, I have much to be thankful for and much to be thoughtful of.

  • My sister (and her family)

While I don’t always agree with all of them, they’ve welcomed me and my freaky lifestyle in their home to live when I first moved down South and then, later, when I moved out on my own, helped and supported me to do that. My sister doesn’t fully understand my life, but she loves me. Sometimes I take it for granted that I can tell her that my husband’s girlfriend is coming to visit and ask if she can partake of Sunday dinner my sister hosts. We agreed to introduce said girlfriend as our friend to the rest of the family, mostly to not have to get into a discussion about what polyamory is with the 4 and 6 year old nieces who are not my children, but my sister knows who she is and is welcoming her to break bread. When I think of families who have disowned people just for coming out as poly or an alternative sexuality or kinky, and then I think of my sister, the wellspring of gratitude I have to just be allowed to be me is sometimes overwhelming.

I’ve had conversations with her about kink stuff and while she doesn’t fully get it, she now knows a few things like  a) it doesn’t always have to be about sex, b) I’m not into being a lamp post, and c) furries exist and she may know one or two (not me). She knew my silver bracelets with my ex-husband were a collar and didn’t try to tell me I was wrong or bad because of it. She did, however, try to point out ways I wasn’t being treated well in that relationship overall, but it wasn’t because of the kink aspect. And when it came right down to it, she was right. Hence the “ex” husband part.

She’s joked with me about my job running programming for Geeky Kink Events, listened when I mooned over a new crush while currently married, and flown halfway across the country to be my Matron of Honor the weekend I decided it was a great idea to get remarried at the Wicked Winter Renaissance Faire, perform with the burlesque troupe I co-founded (White Elephant Burlesque Society – OMG so fucking good), and because I didn’t have anything else to do on Sunday, audition for The Voice. My sister is hardcore supportive love in action and living proof that you don’t need to think alike to love some one. I am truly blessed to have her as my sister and best friend.

  • My job(s)

I run programming for a company called Jeff Mach Events.  It involves working with an insanely talented pool of international writers, singers, bands, dancers, actors, performers, artists, poets, craftsman, tech people, editors, kinksters, and presenters. These people inspire me to keep creating and recreating myself. The opportunities and friendships I’ve made because of this job are too numerous to go into now, but I’m incredibly grateful for them.

In my other job, I am grateful to be allowed to teach water aerobics to people. I actually get paid to exercise, and in the water, which is amazing to me since I’ve been a water baby from the time I was born. However, it’s one of the few places I have to be careful when I talk about my other job, because this one is vanilla to the Nth degree.

  • My husband.

He and I have come a long way. To be blunt, he hurt me a lot in the beginning of our relationship and I wasn’t sure if we’d survive it. But I took a chance. I felt that if he followed through on the promises to change that he made, we stood a chance. Hell, even better than a chance. It was hard to explain, but I knew in my bones that if he could follow through, we could have something special.

And he has. And we do. We’re going to therapy. We’ve worked through some difficult trust issues. We’re building a life and a future together. He’s now teaching other people about good poly and safe sex practices. He encourages me to pursue my dreams. He’s helped make me a better person, more able to express myself out loud than I’ve ever been able to.

  • The extended family whom I’ve chosen and who’ve chosen me.

My ex-husband’s mother, for one. It was probably a clear sign that that marriage was over when I was more upset that I’d lose that particular mother-in-law than I was over the fact that my husband and wife were leaving me for each other. However, the first time I saw her after her son told her the news, she took the awkward bull by the horns and pulled me aside to tell me that no matter what happened, she loved me and I would always be her daughter. I went back to my soon to be ex-husband and ex-wife and said it wasn’t like they were losing a wife, it was more that they were gaining a sister. Ya gotta laugh, right?

Then there’s the intentional polycule apartment I live in. The poly community I’m getting to know. The kinksters I’m friends with. The burlesque dancers. The fire eaters. The hardcore punk ballerinas and fiercely fucked up clowns. The trans and non-gender binary people who’ve let me share in their journey, the multitude of sexually diverse people, and the blended families that crop up out of the most unexpected places.

  • My cell phone, computer, and car. 

Holy fuck, amirite?

  • An awesome therapist and healthcare

In the South, it’s a rare therapist indeed who doesn’t try to tell you polyamory or kinkery is wrong or a sin. Who congratulates you on publishing erotica. And just…healthcare. Sweet mother of happy, healthcare.

There’s more, but I think I’ll end it here. My goal is to remember I’m thankful for these things every day, not just at Thanksgiving, because they make all the other 364 days not just liveable, but a celebration of life. Thank you and I hope you either find yourselves similarly blessed in your tribe or that you find it soon.

Just how ‘open’ do you wanna be…?

The past few months have brought me to the crux of an interesting quandary. The title of the post says, or rather, asks it all. Just how “open” do I wanna be? About my life. My path, proclivities, feelings, loves, desires.

Years ago, after the first Susie Bright book I read (Full Exposure – OMG, go read it), I felt positive I wanted to be like her. Around that time, I offered to and wound up giving a talk on polyamory at a friend’s local convention. I was green beyond belief but I was, as Linda Ronstadt sang, “Willin'”.

Willin’ to walk into a space with people I (mostly) didn’t know and talk about the fact that I didn’t think there was anything wrong with loving (and potentially sleeping) with more than one person. In fact, if I remember correctly, I was there with my then boyfriend and girlfriend. (Now ex-husband and ex-wife, but hey, that’s for another day.) And not only was I there to talk about how there wasn’t anything wrong with it, but ways to do it, books about it, conflicts that might come up (Hey, Jealousy…apparently, I’m writing in song titles tonight), compersion, etc. I was terrified to do it, but also high as a muthafucking kite when I was done. I was a poly activist! I was fighting the good fight and spreading the word about opening up relationships.

*sigh*

I was so young.

My heart was in the right place(s), though. A few people came up to me after the “class” to thank me. Ask questions. And while I did my best to answer them or point them in a good direction, I never really went anywhere with it. Or my dreams to write.

I did write a book way back in 2007. (Paperback Writer…I wish. More like Still Editing and Once You’re Done Maybe If You’re Lucky You’ll Be a Paperback Writer…The Beatles were SO right to go with the title that actually pops.) As the parenthetical says, I’m “still working on it.” I’ve done other things. Wrote a non-fic polyamory piece about how the Sims 2 was NOT a poly-friendly game. (Srsly. For short: it’s basically considered cheating if you take up with anyone who’s not your steady person and then, a FUCKING 6′ TALL BUNNY appears OUT OF NOWHERE, that ONLY YOU CAN SEE to prove you’ve gone insane from crying at the betrayal. That’s NOT OKAY, MAXIS.) for a close friend/mentor’s event magazine.

Tried my hand at the YA short story game after I wound up being introduced to an incredible person/now colleague and (most importantly) friend. Published six short stories, commissioned and paid for and everything. It in no way paid the bills, but it was totally the first time I’d ever been paid to write things that meant something to me. Lesbian polyamory. Asexuality. Internalized misogyny. YA pregnancy. Coping with a parent’s alcohol addiction. (Man, the tags on this post are turning into word salad.) I suppose this can all be considered “building my portfolio”, but it’s never really felt even that cohesive or important when I think about them all individually. After all, I wasn’t

  1. being offered a publishing contract
  2. in print, (beyond a non-circulating event magazine that doubled as the Playbill for the event)
  3. writing regularly
  4. making enough to earn a living from it.
  5. remotely famous

Amanda Palmer, in preparation for writing her book, (The Art of Asking – another OMG just go read it and then go read this article/interview about it from Brain Pickings by Maria Popova) I think, asked people how they knew they were successful. How/when they felt like “real” artists/writers/singers/actors/creators. It got written into her book like this:

There’s no “correct path” to becoming a real artist. You might think you’ll gain legitimacy by going to university, getting published, getting signed to a record label. But it’s all bullshit, and it’s all in your head. You’re an artist when you say you are. And you’re a good artist when you make somebody else experience or feel something deep or unexpected.

It’s so simple and true and yet…and yet I still felt that thrill the first time I was in print, yet without pay. And then when my writing was liked by people. And then when I was paid for online writing. And most recently when the online writing I was asked to do was liked by people AND I was published in print and given a contract for my short story. It was like a beacon to forge ahead with those dreams. To do those things that I’ve been aching to do for years now but just never really knew how.

Sure, I had a few secret blogs that I thought I would just see if they “took off”. There are also a few secret blogs I kept secret and locked for reasons or to specific people. There’s also a not-so-secret other social networking site that I’ve been on and writing on for years. But recently, I’ve begun to tire of this cloak and dagger game of hiding who and what I am. Of being ashamed of my evolving sexuality and desires. Fuck, we’re living in the 50 Shades of Grey era. The good Christian housewives and stylists in the Southern salon where I had my hair did earlier this year were talking about kink and sex, for fuck’s sake. So when someone I’ve worked with as my gig doing programming for Jeff Mach Events asked if I’d be up for doing a guest blog post on kinkyasexuals.wordpress.com about being in the asexual spectrum and being into D/s, I thought, FUCK YES I’LL DO THAT THING. The next thought, when she asked if I had a blog or website I wanted to link up to the post was, FUCK YES I NEED A BLOG OR WEBSITE TO DO THAT THING. (BTW, you can read that post right here on my blog now, too!)

So I looked at all the myriad tried and failed attempts at making something of my dreams and realized they were either too specific and not what I wanted to do or behind barriers I couldn’t open up myself, so I set up this blog to blow open my own barriered writing. I started rebranding a lot of my social media presence (“presence”…if it can be called that…I mean, I’m not Jen Lancaster, The Bloggess, Amanda Palmer, Tristan Taormino, Lori Duron, Cecilia Tan, Dossie Easton, Janet Hardy, or Susie Bright, but they’re the stars I see in my eyes I look up for guidance of who I want to be and what I want to do. A little piece here and a little piece there…more on that later) to fit who I am and what I want to write about and stand up for.

And now, here I am, with a newly published short story in the First Annual Geeky Kink Anthology, a guest blog, and my own brandy new blog with some new stuff and some relevant writings from the past few years that I posted other places.

I’m terrified and excited all at once. This puts many things I’ve only begun talking about exploring (demisexuality, cuckqueandom), mixes it with things I’ve been doing for 15+ years (poly and kinkery) and sees what happens.

It’s scary to think about being this open because things start happening like my dad calling me to congratulate me on my newly published story. My newly published, kinky, cuckqueanarific short story. I had that moment of panic thinking he’d actually read it when I realized that one of my sisters, who’s on Facebook, where I talk about things in a slightly more controlled manner, must’ve seen me being over the moon about the anthology (and subsequently terrified before the first public reading I did of it…but that’s also another story) and then told me dad. *exhale and graciously accept congrats.

Then there’s the conversation I had with my ex-mother-in-law-turned-dear-motherlyfriend (and yet another story for another time) who is…fairly conservative. But she did eventually know about and support her son’s relationship with two women. But still, fairly conservative. But as my new husband said when he joined us for lunch a few weeks ago (srsly, that WILL be another story for another time) she’s also delightful and loves me and when I decided to take the plunge and tell her about the short story being published…in the vaguest of terms…she was elated for me and asked where to find the book. I hedged and told her she might not want to read it since it’s erotica. To which she replied, “oh, please. We’re all adults. I’ve read 50 Shades of Grey.” I damn near fell over on the spot. But it just went to show me that maybe I wouldn’t lose the people I loved if I was out and proud and me. And, um, wrote about it.

There will, inevitably, come a day when someone calls me a slut for sharing these things. For loving more than one person and having an open relationship, for liking the thought of my husband fucking other people, for enjoying consensual pain and sensation play, and, ironically, for favoring all of these above random and/or casual sexual encounters. I dearly hope I won’t lose vanilla connections. But like the above-mentioned nine women I mentioned, I have to write about what I know. So there will be some (a lot of) poly in here. There’s some (a way whole bunch of) kink. Some art and music. Some gender issues. Some geekery. Some geographic, socioeconomic snark. Some mental health issues but finding the humor in it all with brilliant humanity and a lot of spunk and snark.

Those are my goals. Those are the pieces that touch me deeply so I hope writing about them will be able to touch others deeply. The art and music may come in the form of burlesque, the gender issues may not quite be a gender-evolving child, and I know nothing of Lululemon, but it’s the spirit of it all that I want to share. And here’s where I start finding my own little corner of that sky. (Cause BAM, I hadn’t thrown in a song title in a while. Oh, did I mention I’m kinda obsessed with music and musicals? Yup, that’s a passionate thing, too.)

Welcome to our world. Thank you for being here. ❤

Sex (and dating) is boring. I want adventure.

(Note: My original post is on another, more locked down social networking site. This is the evolution of that first post.)

Okay, so they’re not entirely or always boring. Both can totally be interesting and fun. But I’m finding that plain, old, run of the mill, cat and mouse game of vanilla sex is just…boring. Sex has never been a primary urge for me. It holds no interest to me as just a thing unto itself. My primary urge is connection to specific people and energy and the adventure of that connection. But all around me, from when I was growing up to present day, there’s this push that sex is the end goal.

With modern dating as I understand it,there’s a complicated dance which involves presenting yourself as something you’re not and having conversations you don’t really want to have and faking interests. Sitcom, movie, and book plots revolve around it. And if you want to skip the dating and go right to the sex, from what I’ve heard, mainstream offerings are limited to bootie calls, one night stands, and affairs.

So the sex happens, and it’s sweaty and intense, and then…it seems to be over. Many times, if statistics are to be believed, without the female bodied person even having an orgasm. And my mind just boggles.

I have no desire to color my hair to hide the gray, apply layers of makeup, wear heels, put on restrictive garments to force my body into a shape it’s not, and have conversations about things that I don’t care about and feign interest/knowledge I don’t have in some hope of getting laid. In fact, “getting laid” has never really been a goal for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done burlesque and theatre and various other types of performances. I fully understand the benefit of makeup, specific undergarments, hair dyes and wigs, costumes. But that’s just it for me. They’re parts of costumes I wear when I want to disguise who I am and be someone else. This is why is makes no sense to me to do these things for dating and sex. I want you to see who I am and goddammit, I want to see who you are.

In my mind, it’s too easy to just go in for sex. One night stands are fairly simple to find willing partners for, bootie calls are more and more socially sanctioned, and our culture finds it more permissible to cheat rather than open up your relationship with the consent and agreement of all parties. Turn out the lights, take off your clothes, insert tab A into slot B or some variation thereof, have orgasm (or not), call it a night. The thought just makes me weep with boredom and lack of comprehension.

My goals are getting to know someone, connecting with them, taking time to listen to them and hear them and be actively interested in them, caring about them and loving them, talking about sensitive subjects, touching their skin, seeing what areas make them shiver so I can do that more and which make them shrink away so I can do less of that. My goal is to watch the changing light in their eyes like a movie and feel the emotions rolling off them as they talk about something we both fully, actively enjoy talking about. I want to dance with or for people and feel that they want to reach out and touch me and experience me the way I want to experience them. My goals are to find the people who revel in my singing or singing with me. Soaring harmonies of the musical and the physical and emotional variety are my goals. I want to not just be seen as a sexual body conquest to be “done”, but a whole person to be savored.

As I learn more about myself, I’m still trying to figure out if the label demisexual fits. Perhaps I’m just selectively sexual and looking for the types of sexual encounters that go beyond carnal. That transcend lust and dip into exploration and appreciation and fully experiencing the moment. Something that can’t be duplicated. New creation. I want to go on people adventures and I want to people to go on a Geneviève adventure.

Because there’s so much more to experience than just sex. So many touches, cuddles, glances, situations, feelings, bruises, breathless moments that fulfill me more than being fucked. I crave power play way more than I desire orgasms. In fact, I often find sex to be distracting from more interesting pursuits.

What’s funny about this is I feel like in trying to describe this and figure it out, I sound like a prude when I would wager that the very few people I have been and am sexual with would describe me as anything but. I love sex with the right person/people, have been praised for my oral skills from both teams, and do partake of some fun sexual olympics. It’s just never been a primary preference of connection and only sometimes is it my secondary preference of connection. Currently, my husband is the only person I crave in a purely sexual way. Anyone else I’m interested in is mostly for non-sexual fun, with an infrequent dose of potential sexy times.

In the words of James Boyle from Facebook/berlin-artparasites:

I hope you meet someone who wants to experience you and not just see you by their eyes. Someone who doesn’t only want to have sex with you but moves their fingers over your body like trying to find a city on a world map and mark their favourite destinations. Someone who wants to experience you like a masterpiece. Whenever we observe a masterpiece we get the urge to touch it and most of the time we do, involuntarily, because it’s so perfect that we not only want to see it with our eyes and forget it’s details later on because I read somewhere that every time you recall a memory your brain edits it bit by bit so we long to experience it so that each part which contributes to it’s perfection stays with us afterall how scary it would be to forget how perfect you felt. So I hope someone experiences you like a summer breeze stroking your hair, like the warmth of bonfire on a chilly winter night, like the taste of that traditional homemade dish by a mother for her children who’s taste forever lingers in their mouth. I hope you find someone who justifies in treating you like the perfect art you are.
– James Boyle

Granted, this has made it hard to negotiate sometimes.

Them: What do you want?
Me: To see what we can experience together…?
Them: Care to narrow it down a little?

So I’m learning to refine it. To be more specific about the types of things I want to experience, even if they do feel incredibly weird like blindfolding each other and touching skin slowly. No words. No sight. Just touch. Or a game of adult hide and seek. Or spending an hour just making out. Or having my hair brushed then being pummeled to a playlist of my favorite songs.

One of the best compliments I got recently was from a friend who was helping to massage out some issues in my lower back. My pants were pulled down slightly to allow him access and he all of a sudden said, “I know you may have some self-consciousness about your stretch marks, but these are pretty badass. You’ve got lightning bolts back here.”

It wasn’t sexual, but it had a sliver of sensuality to it. It was a true connection between two people. It was opening myself up to feeling better and letting someone in, instead of falling down a spiral of despair because he was commenting on my stretch marks.  It was appreciating that stretch marks are not horrific. He kept working out the issues in my back. He said something positive to me and helped me to see my body in a new, more powerful way. He didn’t have to buy me dinner and I wasn’t expected to “put out”.

THIS is the type of experience I want.