So, I’ve agreed to meet Ben for drinks on Wednesday, followed by a trip to a hotel room where I will take off my clothes and his belt for what follows next.
This terrifies me. Absolutely petrifies. I can’t think about it. I can’t even get myself off in the safety of my own bed because this is hanging over me, scaring me and I can’t think about sex without freaking out. All I can think about is his hand on my cheek. The feeling of his hand running down my cheek as he looked in my eyes has replaced the feeling of my ex slapping me hard and telling me to shut up. There is a kindness and a cherishing and a taking control there that I need to follow.
Despite that, I feel like the ‘before’ in an anti-drug commercial where the ‘after’ involves some crystal meth addict in a trailer park without an ounce of dignity or soap in the vicinity—like there is this slippery slope and if I have a relationship based more on erotic energy than all the trust, love, emotional intimacy, respect, etc—then I’m a slut and practically a prostitute. Twice in my life I met someone with this intense erotic interaction and both times I ran far away, as quickly as I could, and wondered what it would have been like to follow that.
It amazes me the power of the word ‘slut’ to control my behavior. I don’t even believe in that demarcation, and I certainly don’t intellectually think it applies to people until they are above a certain number of partners (figure their age, minus 16). And yet it resonates in my bones. I may be into S&M, but I’m sure as hell not promiscuous!
In addition to the slut factor, I’m scared of him seeing me naked. I look good in clothes (although I’m more insecure than I think men realize. When I weighed 20 pounds more, men always told me I was beautiful. Many more men try to pick me up on the street, but once a guy has picked me up, he never tells me I’m beautiful any more. Intellectually, I don’t think it is because I’m looking too old—I think it has to do with men not thinking I need to hear it, but I still need to hear it.
But my stomach. It isn’t flat. It jiggles. It’s just not sexy. I keep imaging him looking at my stomach and saying ‘yeah—no thanks!’
Given that I’ve had two men who saw my soul, who saw who I am under whom I pretend to be and said “yeah—no thanks” I spose this is safer. My stomach isn’t all of me, the way John and the man before him saw me deep down.
Ben says it isn’t that he is looking for a fling—he wants a long-term relationship but he wants to establish the D/s dynamic from the beginning. I partly believe him. I believe him enough to try, but intellectually, I don’t think that is the case.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Women Work!
I made dinner tonight. First time I've ever hosted a holiday dinner. Now, that might not sound very impressive, but, as a woman who's done some damn impressive stuff (e-mail me if you want the resume, but suffice to say I've wended my way into three of the Who's Who In American __________ books), I have to say, making dinner took more skill, patience and planning than many of my accomplishments.
A nice dinner, not particularly impressive. My grandmother would have been gracious and lovely, but not the least bit impressed. A stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry relish, brussel sprouts, green beans, a salad, some 'fresh' (Pillsbury) bread. Someone else handled desert. My grandmother would have made hordorves (and I don't even know how to spell them!), at least 4 green veggies (2 with beautiful sauces, 2 'just' steamed for the healthy folk), and probably 3 different kinds of potatoes (mashed, scalloped and sweet potatoes), with 2 different kinds of stuffing (maybe 3--one in each end of the bird and a third one baking in the oven) and a homemade pie. Or 3--pumpkin, lemon meringue and pecan so everyone had their favorites.
How the hell did she do it? Just trying to time everything so that each hot item happened to hit its peak temperature at the exact same time when I only have 4 elements and one oven and everything takes longer or shorter and you can't overcook or undercook anything would take the planning of a lawyer. I literally took out a pad of paper, wrote everything down, figured out the order, checked each thing off as it was done and put little stickies in the serving dishes to know what would go where. And still, I forgot about gravy, undercooked the bread and overcooked the green beans.
One top of it, my grandmother was a paragon of patience. PATIENCE!!!! In the midst of holiday cooking, she always had the perfect task that would let me help (yeah, right a 7 year old in her beautiful kitchen helping)--she must have planned them out the night before. I could safely peel, polish and stir without supervision. "Sweetie--I forgot to polish this, and you are so good at polishing--would you please?" ) I nearly yelled at several family member by the time the night conclued. "Please! Let me have my kitchen to myself?!" I felt like I must be channeling unknown women from generations past, but they all knew what they were doing and did it with such grade--it seemed effortless and fun!
After everyone had gone, and the kitchen returned to normalcy, I spent half an hour washing my table cloth. It is about 70 years old. Hand embroidered--white on white linen. All along the edges, about 5 inches in, is a geometric pattern, then another rectangle further in, then beautiful flowers. My grandmother embroidered this. It must have taken hundreds of hours, and there are a few places it is falling a little apart. Stunningly beautiful. Such love and care and skill. I never even realized someone had to clean the tablecloth, not to mention embroider it. She never had a 'career.' I asked once what she did during WWII and she said "just a housewife--I wasn't one of those interesting women." I adored her, but for someone that hates being taken for granted, I'm stunned by how much I took her for granted.
A nice dinner, not particularly impressive. My grandmother would have been gracious and lovely, but not the least bit impressed. A stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry relish, brussel sprouts, green beans, a salad, some 'fresh' (Pillsbury) bread. Someone else handled desert. My grandmother would have made hordorves (and I don't even know how to spell them!), at least 4 green veggies (2 with beautiful sauces, 2 'just' steamed for the healthy folk), and probably 3 different kinds of potatoes (mashed, scalloped and sweet potatoes), with 2 different kinds of stuffing (maybe 3--one in each end of the bird and a third one baking in the oven) and a homemade pie. Or 3--pumpkin, lemon meringue and pecan so everyone had their favorites.
How the hell did she do it? Just trying to time everything so that each hot item happened to hit its peak temperature at the exact same time when I only have 4 elements and one oven and everything takes longer or shorter and you can't overcook or undercook anything would take the planning of a lawyer. I literally took out a pad of paper, wrote everything down, figured out the order, checked each thing off as it was done and put little stickies in the serving dishes to know what would go where. And still, I forgot about gravy, undercooked the bread and overcooked the green beans.
One top of it, my grandmother was a paragon of patience. PATIENCE!!!! In the midst of holiday cooking, she always had the perfect task that would let me help (yeah, right a 7 year old in her beautiful kitchen helping)--she must have planned them out the night before. I could safely peel, polish and stir without supervision. "Sweetie--I forgot to polish this, and you are so good at polishing--would you please?" ) I nearly yelled at several family member by the time the night conclued. "Please! Let me have my kitchen to myself?!" I felt like I must be channeling unknown women from generations past, but they all knew what they were doing and did it with such grade--it seemed effortless and fun!
After everyone had gone, and the kitchen returned to normalcy, I spent half an hour washing my table cloth. It is about 70 years old. Hand embroidered--white on white linen. All along the edges, about 5 inches in, is a geometric pattern, then another rectangle further in, then beautiful flowers. My grandmother embroidered this. It must have taken hundreds of hours, and there are a few places it is falling a little apart. Stunningly beautiful. Such love and care and skill. I never even realized someone had to clean the tablecloth, not to mention embroider it. She never had a 'career.' I asked once what she did during WWII and she said "just a housewife--I wasn't one of those interesting women." I adored her, but for someone that hates being taken for granted, I'm stunned by how much I took her for granted.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Date Rape
Every communication textbook in the country says something like "Where there is a conflict between verbal and non-verbal communication, humans trust the non-verbal." You know it is true. Someone says "Oh. Great to see you" and the way they say it is all that matters.
And yet, there are young men in prison for trusting non-verbal communication instead of verbal communication. "No means no" intone posters, counselors and just about everyone who is asked. And a firm clear "No" does mean "no."
But what about "no" with a giggle, a laugh, a smile, a blush, a slow and meaningful downward cast, a biting of the lower lip, or an inching of the body closer? What about "Oh, I don't think we should do this?" with a laugh and an subtle arching of the back to raise the breasts just a little bit closer? What does that mean?
We may want to have a model where men must get consent rather than an absence of dissent, but I'd sure hate that. I can't stand it when men ask permission to kiss me! Trust my body language. Trust me to articulate what I need, but lead this dance, please! But in today's environment, a man would be a fool to take that stance trustingly.
The current view on date rape actually disempowers women, because it makes us helpless. 95% of all men (I actually believe higher) would never want to force a woman to have sex, without her acquiescence. But, there are women who do want to be led. "Bodice Rippers" is a very popular romance genre. There are women who don't want responsiblity for their desires. And frankly, given how totally fucked up our society is about women's sexuality, there are quite a few women who do give mixed signals.
Women are socialized to be polite, charming and gracious. We are sent unbelievable mixed signals--something along the lines of "you aren't lovable if you are beautiful. Only a man can determine whether you are beautiful, and he'll prove it by wanting to sleep with you. So if you aren't having sex (or enough sex), you probably aren't beautiful or lovable and you are a failure as a woman. But if you are having sex (or too much sex), you are a slut, and practically a whore and have no worth but your sexuality, which is so cheap it ain't worth much anyway. So it is no wonder women send such mixed signals.
In the face of this confusing mess, we need more conversation, more respectful dialogue. A century ago (more or less), Tolstoy, Ibsen, Strindberg, DH Lawrence and the Brontes were all trying to figure out how the hell we can navigate relationships with women being partners. Today, we have almost no dialogue. We know the models don't work for us, but we're too scared to talk openly about what might work.
Over a year ago, I came close to being a victim of date rape. I met a guy I couldn't stand. I really didn't believe we had any chemistry whatsoever--he'd spent 20 minutes lecturing me on how global warming wasn't happening and the next 20 minutes about how Paul Krugman didn't really understand economics. When he took of his jacket he had a t-shirt on that I found deeply offensive.
He suggested we go to his place to watch a movie. I said "I don't think that's a good idea" and 3 times he promised he would be a "perfect gentleman." Worried someone from work might see me with his t-shirt, and trusting that there was no chemistry, it seemed a polite way out of the evening. Careful to not give a non-verbal opening, I sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible with a rigidly straight back, with my legs crossed away from him and my arms folded in my lap.
Needless to say, he and I had different ideas as to how a 'perfect getleman' behaves. I don't need to give the details--you've heard them a hundred times. But after fending him off for a moment, I took a step back to try to figure out what the hell was going on and I realized, I was apologizing! "I'm sorry, but...," "I don't think...." "This doesn't seem..." What the hell? I didn't want to be rude! I was taught to be polite. Always. Gracious and warm and ingratiating.
Once I realized what I was doing, I shoved him off me, stood up, got my coat and left. Now, I would never go out with that twit again. Even if I'd been remotely interested, I cannot forgive a man who makes me be rude to him. But once I sent a very clear message that "No, I'm leaving" it immediately stopped. I don't believe his behavior that evening was acceptable, but I also don't believe it should be something that results in years in prison and a life-time label of 'sex offender.'
And yet, there are young men in prison for trusting non-verbal communication instead of verbal communication. "No means no" intone posters, counselors and just about everyone who is asked. And a firm clear "No" does mean "no."
But what about "no" with a giggle, a laugh, a smile, a blush, a slow and meaningful downward cast, a biting of the lower lip, or an inching of the body closer? What about "Oh, I don't think we should do this?" with a laugh and an subtle arching of the back to raise the breasts just a little bit closer? What does that mean?
We may want to have a model where men must get consent rather than an absence of dissent, but I'd sure hate that. I can't stand it when men ask permission to kiss me! Trust my body language. Trust me to articulate what I need, but lead this dance, please! But in today's environment, a man would be a fool to take that stance trustingly.
The current view on date rape actually disempowers women, because it makes us helpless. 95% of all men (I actually believe higher) would never want to force a woman to have sex, without her acquiescence. But, there are women who do want to be led. "Bodice Rippers" is a very popular romance genre. There are women who don't want responsiblity for their desires. And frankly, given how totally fucked up our society is about women's sexuality, there are quite a few women who do give mixed signals.
Women are socialized to be polite, charming and gracious. We are sent unbelievable mixed signals--something along the lines of "you aren't lovable if you are beautiful. Only a man can determine whether you are beautiful, and he'll prove it by wanting to sleep with you. So if you aren't having sex (or enough sex), you probably aren't beautiful or lovable and you are a failure as a woman. But if you are having sex (or too much sex), you are a slut, and practically a whore and have no worth but your sexuality, which is so cheap it ain't worth much anyway. So it is no wonder women send such mixed signals.
In the face of this confusing mess, we need more conversation, more respectful dialogue. A century ago (more or less), Tolstoy, Ibsen, Strindberg, DH Lawrence and the Brontes were all trying to figure out how the hell we can navigate relationships with women being partners. Today, we have almost no dialogue. We know the models don't work for us, but we're too scared to talk openly about what might work.
Over a year ago, I came close to being a victim of date rape. I met a guy I couldn't stand. I really didn't believe we had any chemistry whatsoever--he'd spent 20 minutes lecturing me on how global warming wasn't happening and the next 20 minutes about how Paul Krugman didn't really understand economics. When he took of his jacket he had a t-shirt on that I found deeply offensive.
He suggested we go to his place to watch a movie. I said "I don't think that's a good idea" and 3 times he promised he would be a "perfect gentleman." Worried someone from work might see me with his t-shirt, and trusting that there was no chemistry, it seemed a polite way out of the evening. Careful to not give a non-verbal opening, I sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible with a rigidly straight back, with my legs crossed away from him and my arms folded in my lap.
Needless to say, he and I had different ideas as to how a 'perfect getleman' behaves. I don't need to give the details--you've heard them a hundred times. But after fending him off for a moment, I took a step back to try to figure out what the hell was going on and I realized, I was apologizing! "I'm sorry, but...," "I don't think...." "This doesn't seem..." What the hell? I didn't want to be rude! I was taught to be polite. Always. Gracious and warm and ingratiating.
Once I realized what I was doing, I shoved him off me, stood up, got my coat and left. Now, I would never go out with that twit again. Even if I'd been remotely interested, I cannot forgive a man who makes me be rude to him. But once I sent a very clear message that "No, I'm leaving" it immediately stopped. I don't believe his behavior that evening was acceptable, but I also don't believe it should be something that results in years in prison and a life-time label of 'sex offender.'
Monday, November 19, 2007
So Conservative in Private!
I'm a raving liberal in public. I mean really liberal.
So why the hell am I so conservative, in some ways, in my private life? I have never done the casual sex thing. Not once. I've tried to get myself there, but I just can't do it. It feels like it would mortally damage my integrity or numb my soul or something. Which is rather bizarre, because I really don't think there is anything wrong with it. No--it is more than that, I want a fling. I mean, I'd really like a serious relationship, but I don't see one on the horizon. And being fucked to fabulous depths actually makes me a hell of a lot more attractive, and more men show up.
Every single time I've had a purely sexual reaction to someone, I've run away from it.
There was a man in college who I think had some pretty kinky tendencies, and I still regret not getting involved with him. But I couldn't do it.
I think, somehow or other, I picked up that entire 'Madonna/Whore' complex. Different because I'm only interested in having a serious relationship that has amazing sex, but I still want to be the 'good girl,' who doesn't sleep around. Just have amazing sex without promiscuity.
And here I am with Ben and Mike. Ben says it could be ltr, but he wants to establish the D/s dynamic before we do any more vanilla stuff. Mike desperately wants an LTR, offered to introduce me to his family this weekend, wants to meet my sister, and we still haven't kissed! And here I am saying, OK--I'm going to do my damnedest to follow these through and see where it leads. (I have not mislead either guy--I wouldn't lie!)
But I can't sleep at night. I lie in bed and my mind races, because first I get excited about the possiblities with Ben and then I start to freak out. And we can't even get together till December because of family obligations over the holidays. But my gut feeling is that I can't surrender to Ben without giving him far more of my heart than he wants to take responsiblity for. I'm going to try, but I've never pulled that one off.
So why the hell am I so conservative, in some ways, in my private life? I have never done the casual sex thing. Not once. I've tried to get myself there, but I just can't do it. It feels like it would mortally damage my integrity or numb my soul or something. Which is rather bizarre, because I really don't think there is anything wrong with it. No--it is more than that, I want a fling. I mean, I'd really like a serious relationship, but I don't see one on the horizon. And being fucked to fabulous depths actually makes me a hell of a lot more attractive, and more men show up.
Every single time I've had a purely sexual reaction to someone, I've run away from it.
There was a man in college who I think had some pretty kinky tendencies, and I still regret not getting involved with him. But I couldn't do it.
I think, somehow or other, I picked up that entire 'Madonna/Whore' complex. Different because I'm only interested in having a serious relationship that has amazing sex, but I still want to be the 'good girl,' who doesn't sleep around. Just have amazing sex without promiscuity.
And here I am with Ben and Mike. Ben says it could be ltr, but he wants to establish the D/s dynamic before we do any more vanilla stuff. Mike desperately wants an LTR, offered to introduce me to his family this weekend, wants to meet my sister, and we still haven't kissed! And here I am saying, OK--I'm going to do my damnedest to follow these through and see where it leads. (I have not mislead either guy--I wouldn't lie!)
But I can't sleep at night. I lie in bed and my mind races, because first I get excited about the possiblities with Ben and then I start to freak out. And we can't even get together till December because of family obligations over the holidays. But my gut feeling is that I can't surrender to Ben without giving him far more of my heart than he wants to take responsiblity for. I'm going to try, but I've never pulled that one off.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Seduction in a Feminist, Patriarchal and Aware Society
I sometimes wonder if I really am a feminist, or if I'd better be labeled a humanist. We live in a society that is still patriarchal in many ways, but there are places where the feminist movement has over-reached in ways that are unfair. Specifically, I believe we need to have more honest discussions about sex, seduction, date rape and alimony. I'll deal with the other two later, but let's look at seduction.
I would not want to be a young man today, or frankly, a young woman. Men are not being allowed proper outlet for seductive energy. I do believe the "Antioch" rules were overblown by a conservative backlash. (Antioch has a code that explicit permission must be ascertained before any increase in physical intimacy in pursued by a person. However, Antioch has been quite reasonable in implementation--it is important to note that if both parties are implementing an increase intimacy, then no explicit permission need be given.) That said, seduction is being criminalized at the same time a preschooler is charged with inappropriately touching a staff member. The simple fact is, some men are lacking in social skills and don't know how to read body language, and many women send mixed signals (hardly surprising in a society that tells women they are only as valuable as their physical looks and the only way to prove that is for men to want to sleep with them, and if they aren't having sex, they must be really ugly, but if they are it is because they are total sluts with no morals).
But in trying to deal with the men who are not developmentally mature enough (or will always be clueless) we are not allowing the dance of seduction to occur. Every single one of my vanilla girlfriends wants a man that will grab her hair and take her. (Oh, and for the record gentlemen, the correct way to grab a woman's hair is NOT like a ponytail--run your hand up her scalp then curl each finger individually so that you have a little hair in each finger, then pull your fingers into a fist, but not too tight--don't break our hair! It is many of ours best feature!!) Only when we are fine with it. Only after we have decided we want it. But we all have that same, primal, desire. Men asking permission to kiss us? No! NO! NO!!! Not sexy. Get our permission from our body language. Accidentally brush up against our hands. Notice if we lean in towards you or away. If our hand is on the arm rest in a movie, chances are we are fine holding hands. If our arms are crossed over our chest and we've crossed our legs away from you--we aren't interested.
But don't reduce the dance of seduction to a contract negotiation:
"Pardon me--could I lean in two inches closer to you?"
"Why yes, but only if you don't mind if I hold eye contact a second longer than is normal."
"Well, that would be fine as long as I can accidentally touch your hand when I'm walking by."
"That's doable, as long as I can laugh a little longer at your joke."
"OK--but then I'm going to hold your eye contact for three seconds, smile, and nod like I know what you are thinking."
"Alright, but only if I can realize you know what I'm thinking, blush, look down, get over it, and look back in your eyes with a little more presence."
It's beautiful and elegant and delicious and makes a gal's toes curl. And fewer and fewer men trust their instincts to do it. In part because of all the mixed signals going on right now. But in part because all the fear about sexual harassment is telling men they can't trust their instincts. That they are predators and that is bad and they need to be nice, thoughtful, men who never take the lead. Maybe we need to go back to teaching everyone ballroom dancing--at least then there was a parameter for negotiating the dance of seduction.
I would not want to be a young man today, or frankly, a young woman. Men are not being allowed proper outlet for seductive energy. I do believe the "Antioch" rules were overblown by a conservative backlash. (Antioch has a code that explicit permission must be ascertained before any increase in physical intimacy in pursued by a person. However, Antioch has been quite reasonable in implementation--it is important to note that if both parties are implementing an increase intimacy, then no explicit permission need be given.) That said, seduction is being criminalized at the same time a preschooler is charged with inappropriately touching a staff member. The simple fact is, some men are lacking in social skills and don't know how to read body language, and many women send mixed signals (hardly surprising in a society that tells women they are only as valuable as their physical looks and the only way to prove that is for men to want to sleep with them, and if they aren't having sex, they must be really ugly, but if they are it is because they are total sluts with no morals).
But in trying to deal with the men who are not developmentally mature enough (or will always be clueless) we are not allowing the dance of seduction to occur. Every single one of my vanilla girlfriends wants a man that will grab her hair and take her. (Oh, and for the record gentlemen, the correct way to grab a woman's hair is NOT like a ponytail--run your hand up her scalp then curl each finger individually so that you have a little hair in each finger, then pull your fingers into a fist, but not too tight--don't break our hair! It is many of ours best feature!!) Only when we are fine with it. Only after we have decided we want it. But we all have that same, primal, desire. Men asking permission to kiss us? No! NO! NO!!! Not sexy. Get our permission from our body language. Accidentally brush up against our hands. Notice if we lean in towards you or away. If our hand is on the arm rest in a movie, chances are we are fine holding hands. If our arms are crossed over our chest and we've crossed our legs away from you--we aren't interested.
But don't reduce the dance of seduction to a contract negotiation:
"Pardon me--could I lean in two inches closer to you?"
"Why yes, but only if you don't mind if I hold eye contact a second longer than is normal."
"Well, that would be fine as long as I can accidentally touch your hand when I'm walking by."
"That's doable, as long as I can laugh a little longer at your joke."
"OK--but then I'm going to hold your eye contact for three seconds, smile, and nod like I know what you are thinking."
"Alright, but only if I can realize you know what I'm thinking, blush, look down, get over it, and look back in your eyes with a little more presence."
It's beautiful and elegant and delicious and makes a gal's toes curl. And fewer and fewer men trust their instincts to do it. In part because of all the mixed signals going on right now. But in part because all the fear about sexual harassment is telling men they can't trust their instincts. That they are predators and that is bad and they need to be nice, thoughtful, men who never take the lead. Maybe we need to go back to teaching everyone ballroom dancing--at least then there was a parameter for negotiating the dance of seduction.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Ah, Maureen Dowd
I had planned to blog about Dowd's last column, the one about "Should Hillary Pretend to be a Flight Attendant." The question that seems to haunt Dowd is Why can't she seem to land a rock? She clearly seems to want one. Now that the late, great and much missed Molly Ivins has left for a great political protest in the sky, Dowd is the most visible, competent female columnist in the country. (Of course Coultergeist is more visible, but given all the insane things that woman has said, let's do our best to ignore her?) I'll talk about this issue later, but in the meanwhile, let's look at today's column: "Shake, Rattle and Roll."
This isn't a particularly political blog (although I'm a very political person), so I'm not going to go through a long list of Dowd's insane attacks against liberal politicians. Her vitriol against Al Gore took every nasty right-wing rumor and dressed it up with a little respectability. She has been hounding left-wing politicians with factually inaccurate issues for ages now.
But today's column takes this to a new level. Clearly Dowd knows her way around the BDSM world: Hillary is a "control freak," "the Debate Dominatrix" who "started disciplining" and "has continued to flick the whip," "using her voice, gaze and body language to such punishing effect that Obama looks as if he has been brought to heel." "After a tortured exchange... she owned him."
Meanwhile Obama, being a nice, sensitive guy, is clearly not a real man. He is pussy-whipped. "Obama does care." "He responds to the sort of belittling treatment," which makes sense because "he lives with another strong woman who knows how to keep him in line" and is "a master at the art of the loving conjugal put-down."
Rudy, on the other hand, is a real man. "Rudy will not be so easy to spank." He's probably a top too, and will "will go with relish to all the vulnerable places."
OK. So I don't think the BDSM references are just in my head. Dowd seems pretty obsessed with this stuff. If I were to do to Dowd what she does to everyone else, I would guess she's pretty obsessed with the BDSM stuff, but hasn't acted on it and still keeps it at the 'eww' factor in order to avoid coming to terms with her own desires. If I had to guess (and I do read her columns and even made it through her last book, Are Men Necessary), she would love to submit, but is from a generation where women had to fight for every ounce of power and so it just seems too horrible to admit that, on some level, some of the traditional values, 'men should be in charge' folks are right for some people some of the tim. How the hell can they be right? She's one of the most powerful fivethousand people in the country! There's no way in hell she's going to let her own nature betray her ambition that way. But that sort of arm-chair psychoanalysis of a public figure is silly. Almost as silly as most of Maureen Dowd's columns.
But this kind of talk drives me insane (and not in the good way). It is part of the marginalization of kinky folk and has a voyeuristic, tittering, smirking quality. Maybe most of the "of course, I'm not into that" are really wishing to submit to whatever their desires are. "Can you believe, oh my God! No one should do that." It enforces social norms by shame and humiliation.
Additionally, the idea that if someone is submissive they are weak is a stereotype, that, in my experience, is just not true! Speaking for myself, when I have a lousy job where I have to be subservient during the day, I have no interest in surrendering at night. I only ever surrender at night when I have authority and respect during the day.
Finally, someone who does want to dominate needs to do it with respect for the needs of the person they are dominating (duh). I bought into this stereotyped rendition of treating someone like absolute crap and ran away for a long time because of it. It continues a marginalization that serves to make it all the harder for people coming to terms with what truly excites them.
This isn't a particularly political blog (although I'm a very political person), so I'm not going to go through a long list of Dowd's insane attacks against liberal politicians. Her vitriol against Al Gore took every nasty right-wing rumor and dressed it up with a little respectability. She has been hounding left-wing politicians with factually inaccurate issues for ages now.
But today's column takes this to a new level. Clearly Dowd knows her way around the BDSM world: Hillary is a "control freak," "the Debate Dominatrix" who "started disciplining" and "has continued to flick the whip," "using her voice, gaze and body language to such punishing effect that Obama looks as if he has been brought to heel." "After a tortured exchange... she owned him."
Meanwhile Obama, being a nice, sensitive guy, is clearly not a real man. He is pussy-whipped. "Obama does care." "He responds to the sort of belittling treatment," which makes sense because "he lives with another strong woman who knows how to keep him in line" and is "a master at the art of the loving conjugal put-down."
Rudy, on the other hand, is a real man. "Rudy will not be so easy to spank." He's probably a top too, and will "will go with relish to all the vulnerable places."
OK. So I don't think the BDSM references are just in my head. Dowd seems pretty obsessed with this stuff. If I were to do to Dowd what she does to everyone else, I would guess she's pretty obsessed with the BDSM stuff, but hasn't acted on it and still keeps it at the 'eww' factor in order to avoid coming to terms with her own desires. If I had to guess (and I do read her columns and even made it through her last book, Are Men Necessary), she would love to submit, but is from a generation where women had to fight for every ounce of power and so it just seems too horrible to admit that, on some level, some of the traditional values, 'men should be in charge' folks are right for some people some of the tim. How the hell can they be right? She's one of the most powerful fivethousand people in the country! There's no way in hell she's going to let her own nature betray her ambition that way. But that sort of arm-chair psychoanalysis of a public figure is silly. Almost as silly as most of Maureen Dowd's columns.
But this kind of talk drives me insane (and not in the good way). It is part of the marginalization of kinky folk and has a voyeuristic, tittering, smirking quality. Maybe most of the "of course, I'm not into that" are really wishing to submit to whatever their desires are. "Can you believe, oh my God! No one should do that." It enforces social norms by shame and humiliation.
Additionally, the idea that if someone is submissive they are weak is a stereotype, that, in my experience, is just not true! Speaking for myself, when I have a lousy job where I have to be subservient during the day, I have no interest in surrendering at night. I only ever surrender at night when I have authority and respect during the day.
Finally, someone who does want to dominate needs to do it with respect for the needs of the person they are dominating (duh). I bought into this stereotyped rendition of treating someone like absolute crap and ran away for a long time because of it. It continues a marginalization that serves to make it all the harder for people coming to terms with what truly excites them.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Dominance & Surrender
I had a pang of regret stuck in traffic yesterday. In many ways, I am doing with Ben what I couldn't do with John. My inability to do it with John may be why we couldn't work. Why, oh why? I care about John much more than I think I will care about Ben, and even if Ben and I work on a sexual level, we would not have the emotional intimacy that John and I exuded in every interaction.
But I realized--John never dominated me. John would say "I'm going to whip you this week" and I'd say "Oh! Too fast" and then he'd pull away. He wouldn't talk me through my hesitation, he wouldn't guide or convince or insist. He suggested, and if I couldn't go along with the suggestion, he relented (although I think he resented it). No cajoling. No looking in my eyes and saying "baby--you know this is right. You need to give yourself to me." I wish I could have given John that without needing reassurance, without needing to be dominated, without needing, on some level, to not have a choice in the matter. I think, ultimately, John wasn't really into the D/s--just the SM, and I swim in the D/s waters. SM is just a way of exploring the D/s.
Ben, on the other hand, hasn't worked to have any intimacy on an emotional level. We haven't talked about our families, our hurts, our vulnerabilities. He doesn't know where my insecurities are, or where I've been hurt or what I want to be when I grow up, or that I still don't think of myself as grown up. None of that. But he looks in my eyes and says "you know you will give yourself to me" and I do. I so wish I could have it all, but maybe the universe doesn't work that way.
But I realized--John never dominated me. John would say "I'm going to whip you this week" and I'd say "Oh! Too fast" and then he'd pull away. He wouldn't talk me through my hesitation, he wouldn't guide or convince or insist. He suggested, and if I couldn't go along with the suggestion, he relented (although I think he resented it). No cajoling. No looking in my eyes and saying "baby--you know this is right. You need to give yourself to me." I wish I could have given John that without needing reassurance, without needing to be dominated, without needing, on some level, to not have a choice in the matter. I think, ultimately, John wasn't really into the D/s--just the SM, and I swim in the D/s waters. SM is just a way of exploring the D/s.
Ben, on the other hand, hasn't worked to have any intimacy on an emotional level. We haven't talked about our families, our hurts, our vulnerabilities. He doesn't know where my insecurities are, or where I've been hurt or what I want to be when I grow up, or that I still don't think of myself as grown up. None of that. But he looks in my eyes and says "you know you will give yourself to me" and I do. I so wish I could have it all, but maybe the universe doesn't work that way.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Ah... surrender
I layer my moods as carefully as I layer my makeup. We are meeting just after work--I'm in the field today so I go casual: jeans and a casual top, with a wonderbra. In the parking lot I slip into boots with 4" heels give me the sexy-but-casual-look I covet. (He is 6 feet, so that puts me a couple of inches shorter--I always check a man's height and aim for at least 3" shorter.) As I put on powder, I listen to "Here I am"--a pop song with an unusual beat that I always listen to before dates. (Am I the only one with a 'feel sexy' playlist on my podcast? Of course I don't call it that, in case someone starts browsing, but that's what my 'purchased' list is for.) "Here I Am" has an unusual beat and rhythms, and a message that is so apropos to me as a human, it is rather stunning really: "Something calling from deep inside me, voice I knew but I would not hear. For so long I have tried to hide me." And then the release: "Here I am; ready for your love...I'll never run away." So it builds confidence and reminds me that to be vulnerable you have to be strong. Real surrender can only come from a place of strength, where you are matched and respected and then dominated.
After "Here I am" comes "Because The Night." (I've actually practiced this enough so that if I'm ever doing karaoke, on a date, I wouldn't embarrass myself.) It seems almost like a cheesy love song, but the Patti Smith imprimatur gives it a little more darkness. And it is pure sex. "Take me now baby, here as I am. ... Desirous hunger is the fire I breathe. ... Come on now try to understand, the way I feel under your command."
He, we'll call this one Ben (yes names have been changed for anonymity--not fair to blog about people who could be identified without them knowing about it!), is understated. One of the banker types that hit Seattle during the dot.com boom and didn't leave, but the East Coast patina hasn't disappeared yet. His picture is smiling and more casual, so I don't quite recognize him on my way into the bar. He recognizes me and we passionately discuss politics for a good 45 minutes while the first of two very expensive drinks ($64 for 2 drinks each! Ouch! He paid and I was grateful) starts to relax my inhibitions.
My brain suddenly reels to an e-mail exchange we had. He understood my bifurcation where my body is totally turned on even as my soul rebels and I'm unaware that I'm even enjoying what is happening, and how I need someone to dance with both, to bring my soul along for the ride. And I started blushing, and lowered my gaze. He played with my hand, and noticed I got quiet. He commented on the look of total, beautiful weakness in my eyes. He suggested we meet in private next time and almost kissed me. I wasn't ready for sex--he said fine--"work out the limits you need, because you know darn well that I'll be the only one paying attention to them. There's no way you would keep limits in mind. You will completely surrender. I can see it in your eyes."
As we left he almost kissed me, came in for the kiss, felt my anticipation, knew he could have kissed me any way he wanted and then barely grazed my lips. And I went to the ladies room to 'freshen up,' which, in this case, was a euphemism for wringing out my panties.
And the conundrum enters. I've never been promiscuous. Ben says "it isn't just about sex, but you get only one chance to set the right tone in the beginning" and I believe that there is a 20% chance that would actually be true. But, would it kill me if it were just about sex? I've never really had a fling. Yes, I'll get hurt (again), but hell, I'm close to sleeping with the ex. I haven't kissed anyone since early September with "the man that smote me." My ex isn't satisfying sex and it is well-worn territory. I protected myself with John--we never kissed, and yet losing him (not that I should even count is as 'losing') hurt more than I could have ever imagined. Mike is so sweet, but he looks up to me. He needs my advice and my guidance. (He is going through a crisis at work very similar to one I went through after my first job after.) He wants validation. He needs to know that he can survive standing up to his parents. ]Occasionally he'll make suggestions but he hasn't kissed me after 3 dates and so much conversation--I like to talk more than most people, but after 7 hours of flirting in his apartment, the history of European economist systems starts to lose its pull! I just don't see him being able to match me, to challenge me, to open me. (The Portland guy bored me on the phone--there are blue collar guys with real intellectual interests and blue color guys who watch Faux news and he was in the latter category. Good man, but no chemistry for me.)
And frankly, my panties have never been so wet from a meet and a drink. I had to throw my jeans in the dirty clothes. And all from a little hand-footsie (handsie?) and a graze of the lips. I know his name (I saw his last name on his Amex) and I could figure out where he works. Chances are, we'd meet at a hotel room in the city (and I'd insist on the name and room number beforehand) and have a safecall worked out. But I don't see him doing anything to betray my trust. He gets off on that look in my eyes. He'd push me hard. Very hard. Harder than I think I could go. But not so hard as to snap me out of surrender mode and into flight mode.
I'm actually embarrassed by my 'number' because I've slept with so few men. (Of course, I'm a Clinton gal in more ways than one, which means I don't count oral in that number. I'm sure I've blown less than 20 guys, but I don't know the exact number. Real sex though? 4! Should be more like 10-14 given my age.) So what the hell? Maybe I just need to take sex a little less seriously and be a little less careful with my heart. It will die for lack of oxygen if it doesn't get out for some air soon!
Maybe we could celebrate my birthday a couple of weeks late. I could tell him "I don't need any more stuff. This isn't about a present or a cake. I got that already on my birthday. Just one thing was missing..." Yes--that seems right. But maybe I'll chicken out before he gets around to e-mailing...
After "Here I am" comes "Because The Night." (I've actually practiced this enough so that if I'm ever doing karaoke, on a date, I wouldn't embarrass myself.) It seems almost like a cheesy love song, but the Patti Smith imprimatur gives it a little more darkness. And it is pure sex. "Take me now baby, here as I am. ... Desirous hunger is the fire I breathe. ... Come on now try to understand, the way I feel under your command."
He, we'll call this one Ben (yes names have been changed for anonymity--not fair to blog about people who could be identified without them knowing about it!), is understated. One of the banker types that hit Seattle during the dot.com boom and didn't leave, but the East Coast patina hasn't disappeared yet. His picture is smiling and more casual, so I don't quite recognize him on my way into the bar. He recognizes me and we passionately discuss politics for a good 45 minutes while the first of two very expensive drinks ($64 for 2 drinks each! Ouch! He paid and I was grateful) starts to relax my inhibitions.
My brain suddenly reels to an e-mail exchange we had. He understood my bifurcation where my body is totally turned on even as my soul rebels and I'm unaware that I'm even enjoying what is happening, and how I need someone to dance with both, to bring my soul along for the ride. And I started blushing, and lowered my gaze. He played with my hand, and noticed I got quiet. He commented on the look of total, beautiful weakness in my eyes. He suggested we meet in private next time and almost kissed me. I wasn't ready for sex--he said fine--"work out the limits you need, because you know darn well that I'll be the only one paying attention to them. There's no way you would keep limits in mind. You will completely surrender. I can see it in your eyes."
As we left he almost kissed me, came in for the kiss, felt my anticipation, knew he could have kissed me any way he wanted and then barely grazed my lips. And I went to the ladies room to 'freshen up,' which, in this case, was a euphemism for wringing out my panties.
And the conundrum enters. I've never been promiscuous. Ben says "it isn't just about sex, but you get only one chance to set the right tone in the beginning" and I believe that there is a 20% chance that would actually be true. But, would it kill me if it were just about sex? I've never really had a fling. Yes, I'll get hurt (again), but hell, I'm close to sleeping with the ex. I haven't kissed anyone since early September with "the man that smote me." My ex isn't satisfying sex and it is well-worn territory. I protected myself with John--we never kissed, and yet losing him (not that I should even count is as 'losing') hurt more than I could have ever imagined. Mike is so sweet, but he looks up to me. He needs my advice and my guidance. (He is going through a crisis at work very similar to one I went through after my first job after.) He wants validation. He needs to know that he can survive standing up to his parents. ]Occasionally he'll make suggestions but he hasn't kissed me after 3 dates and so much conversation--I like to talk more than most people, but after 7 hours of flirting in his apartment, the history of European economist systems starts to lose its pull! I just don't see him being able to match me, to challenge me, to open me. (The Portland guy bored me on the phone--there are blue collar guys with real intellectual interests and blue color guys who watch Faux news and he was in the latter category. Good man, but no chemistry for me.)
And frankly, my panties have never been so wet from a meet and a drink. I had to throw my jeans in the dirty clothes. And all from a little hand-footsie (handsie?) and a graze of the lips. I know his name (I saw his last name on his Amex) and I could figure out where he works. Chances are, we'd meet at a hotel room in the city (and I'd insist on the name and room number beforehand) and have a safecall worked out. But I don't see him doing anything to betray my trust. He gets off on that look in my eyes. He'd push me hard. Very hard. Harder than I think I could go. But not so hard as to snap me out of surrender mode and into flight mode.
I'm actually embarrassed by my 'number' because I've slept with so few men. (Of course, I'm a Clinton gal in more ways than one, which means I don't count oral in that number. I'm sure I've blown less than 20 guys, but I don't know the exact number. Real sex though? 4! Should be more like 10-14 given my age.) So what the hell? Maybe I just need to take sex a little less seriously and be a little less careful with my heart. It will die for lack of oxygen if it doesn't get out for some air soon!
Maybe we could celebrate my birthday a couple of weeks late. I could tell him "I don't need any more stuff. This isn't about a present or a cake. I got that already on my birthday. Just one thing was missing..." Yes--that seems right. But maybe I'll chicken out before he gets around to e-mailing...
Monday, November 12, 2007
Tomorrow's Comedy
They say comedy is tragedy plus time. I need time and this will be hilarious. I went to see Dan in Real Life tonight, and I cried. It didn’t feel like a comedy to me—one of the clearest little tragedies, with a happy ending tacked on to make it commercial. In real life, it doesn’t matter if someone touches you so deeply and then they aren’t available. You have to move on and let go.
How can you know you love someone after a few days? How the hell, when it has been nearly a month and we never kissed, how can I still care? Even I have started to feel like I’m melodramatic. I won’t even bother my best friend with this anymore.
And the funny thing is, there are a couple of guys who are interested in me right now. One of them, the younger guy, let's call him Mike, is very sweet. However, he is new to the bdsm, and he doesn't dominate (at least not yet)--he suggests. "Would you like to"? Well, I would like him to make me. Just a look from the eyes that tells me he knows he is stronger than me.
He suggested spanking me and I flashed him a look at that said "I'd like to see you try"--but I did want to see him try. I wanted him to be stronger than me and take the reins. He is a lovely person, but even I can only talk for so much when I'm dying to have him grab my hair and kiss me. He wanted me to take my skirt off and we still hadn't kissed (and far worse, I had nylons on and they had gotten a run in them!) and I said "I'm not ready to do that" and so he stopped everything and we went back to a dynamite conversation. But three dates and we still haven't kissed!
We talked about it later. I told him I would resist a little and he was just the perfect gentleman. Problem is, I don't want to date a perfect gentleman.
Several other men seem like real possiblities. I'm sure one of them will work out. One sent me his phone number today and said "I'm no fool--I want to grab you before someone else does," but he lives in Portland--that seems an awful long distance.
Until someone touches me as deeply as John did, I don't see myself not falling into tears over John. He told me, after we were discussing our family issues "nothing will be as powerful for you as the approval of a man" and he said it just totally accepting. No judgement, no questioning. Just a comment from someone who cared for me exactly as I was. And he's right. The approval of a man in my life is the absolute most powerful thing for me. I yearn for approval. I ache for it. I want to earn the right to be loved even as I also want unconditional love. I need to prove it for me, even as I also need for him to care without that.
How can you know you love someone after a few days? How the hell, when it has been nearly a month and we never kissed, how can I still care? Even I have started to feel like I’m melodramatic. I won’t even bother my best friend with this anymore.
And the funny thing is, there are a couple of guys who are interested in me right now. One of them, the younger guy, let's call him Mike, is very sweet. However, he is new to the bdsm, and he doesn't dominate (at least not yet)--he suggests. "Would you like to"? Well, I would like him to make me. Just a look from the eyes that tells me he knows he is stronger than me.
He suggested spanking me and I flashed him a look at that said "I'd like to see you try"--but I did want to see him try. I wanted him to be stronger than me and take the reins. He is a lovely person, but even I can only talk for so much when I'm dying to have him grab my hair and kiss me. He wanted me to take my skirt off and we still hadn't kissed (and far worse, I had nylons on and they had gotten a run in them!) and I said "I'm not ready to do that" and so he stopped everything and we went back to a dynamite conversation. But three dates and we still haven't kissed!
We talked about it later. I told him I would resist a little and he was just the perfect gentleman. Problem is, I don't want to date a perfect gentleman.
Several other men seem like real possiblities. I'm sure one of them will work out. One sent me his phone number today and said "I'm no fool--I want to grab you before someone else does," but he lives in Portland--that seems an awful long distance.
Until someone touches me as deeply as John did, I don't see myself not falling into tears over John. He told me, after we were discussing our family issues "nothing will be as powerful for you as the approval of a man" and he said it just totally accepting. No judgement, no questioning. Just a comment from someone who cared for me exactly as I was. And he's right. The approval of a man in my life is the absolute most powerful thing for me. I yearn for approval. I ache for it. I want to earn the right to be loved even as I also want unconditional love. I need to prove it for me, even as I also need for him to care without that.
Monday, November 5, 2007
The Storm Passes
I seem to have weathered the storm. It is amazing--when I'm in it, I know intellectually that it will pass, but I don't see how. I feel as if I'm lost at sea in a tiny little canoe in the middle of a lightening storm. I'm riding the swells, 30 or 40 feet high. Flashes of intense emotion keep hitting me and I avoid the direct hits. I know the direction of shore and aim that way, with no clue how far away it is. Eventually, I can see the shore, but getting there feels impossible. Each wave seems higher than the next. I try to avoid my emotions, knowing that I'll be crushed under the breaking waves. Then, finally, I catch one, convinced it will kill me, clinging to my canoe for dear life. And I finally hit the shore, the canoe in smithereens and I swear I'll never go back out there, not the same way, not without a paddle, not without a life jacket and a weather report and a GPS system and a cell phone and a private helicopter. But the next day, I'm back, checking out rafts. See a raft will be different. It was the canoe that was the problem.
Had a nice date tonight. For one thing, I'm looking really good! Tight jeans (not too tight, just tight enough), a push-up bra and 4" heels on my boots meant that 2 teenagers or 20-somethings said sexy things to me while I was walking to parking lot. Not bad for a woman being comforted by a client less than half her age earlier today.
Fabulous conversation. So smart, broad ranging and fun. No fireworks (although he had e-mailed me by the time I got home to ask me out again). He seems like a lovely human being, but he is over a decade younger than me. I was born in 69. Summer of love. Hell no, we won't go. The People! United! Can never be Defeated! One of my earliest memories is voting for Jimmy Carter. (OK--it was technically my father's vote, but I got to flip the little red thingies for all the Democrats as we talked about each one, then daddy helped me pull the big lever back.) He was born in 1980. Reagan revolution.
He is smart as hell, and wise beyond his years. Easily as wise as most men my age. But I don't think he could guide me. Maybe I'm wrong. But I caught myself giving him advice at a couple of points, and worse, he appreciated it! Oy. Not a good idea. But I couldn't have been authentic and not have done that. And even if it did work, I could just see me being 65 and him being 54, and what 54 year old man would want to stay with a 65 year old woman? But that is silly--I won't be 65 for a few years, so I should enjoy myself now. I enjoyed myself enough to see him again.
And I will survive this storm, like all the others. And I learned a great deal and I'm glad I knew John. I never had a clue I could fall for someone so hard without even a kiss. But maybe the next guy (whoever he turns out to be) will have John's depth without the cigarettes. Now that would be heaven!
Had a nice date tonight. For one thing, I'm looking really good! Tight jeans (not too tight, just tight enough), a push-up bra and 4" heels on my boots meant that 2 teenagers or 20-somethings said sexy things to me while I was walking to parking lot. Not bad for a woman being comforted by a client less than half her age earlier today.
Fabulous conversation. So smart, broad ranging and fun. No fireworks (although he had e-mailed me by the time I got home to ask me out again). He seems like a lovely human being, but he is over a decade younger than me. I was born in 69. Summer of love. Hell no, we won't go. The People! United! Can never be Defeated! One of my earliest memories is voting for Jimmy Carter. (OK--it was technically my father's vote, but I got to flip the little red thingies for all the Democrats as we talked about each one, then daddy helped me pull the big lever back.) He was born in 1980. Reagan revolution.
He is smart as hell, and wise beyond his years. Easily as wise as most men my age. But I don't think he could guide me. Maybe I'm wrong. But I caught myself giving him advice at a couple of points, and worse, he appreciated it! Oy. Not a good idea. But I couldn't have been authentic and not have done that. And even if it did work, I could just see me being 65 and him being 54, and what 54 year old man would want to stay with a 65 year old woman? But that is silly--I won't be 65 for a few years, so I should enjoy myself now. I enjoyed myself enough to see him again.
And I will survive this storm, like all the others. And I learned a great deal and I'm glad I knew John. I never had a clue I could fall for someone so hard without even a kiss. But maybe the next guy (whoever he turns out to be) will have John's depth without the cigarettes. Now that would be heaven!
Music to Manipulate the Soul
After blinking back the tears in a bathroom stall, I thought I had an OK persona on and ventured out. I bumped into a 17-year old client on the street, he put his arm around me and said "Miss--what's wrong?" Oy. Hopefully not a true breach of professional ethics, but not something that should become a precedent. I snapped out of it, blamed the sun in my eyes and put on a happy face. Even my blog seems melodramatic! But I need to do a better job with that happy face, and so I turned to music. So I've been reduced to listening to Bon Jovi.
Plato wanted to ban music in his ideal Republic because when the modes of music change, the laws of society must change to accommodate the underlying change of consciousness. "Shot in the heart and you're to blame. You give love a bad name." You'd think this would make me bitter. Angry. Instead, it tucks the hurt into a little manageable corner and let's me get on with my life.
Part of it is that when I listen to music, it seems to me, it takes me to who I was in the moment of my life that I first liked that music. Or, more accurately, each song starts with who I was then, but I can mature with songs I listen to regularly. Beethoven doesn't rush me back to my early 20s, when I first fell in love with him, because I've listened to him repeatedly. But Bon Jovi takes me back to my teens because I haven't listened to them consistently. Rock doesn't seem to do grief well. It does sexy very well. And it does a fake nonchalance, insouciance (I've never actually used that word before)--a 'fuck you, I don't need any of you, and I'll show you by being better than all of you." But it doesn't do grief. It doesn't do yearning. It keeps you more on the surface and avoids plumbing the depths of the soul.
Plato wanted to ban music in his ideal Republic because when the modes of music change, the laws of society must change to accommodate the underlying change of consciousness. "Shot in the heart and you're to blame. You give love a bad name." You'd think this would make me bitter. Angry. Instead, it tucks the hurt into a little manageable corner and let's me get on with my life.
Part of it is that when I listen to music, it seems to me, it takes me to who I was in the moment of my life that I first liked that music. Or, more accurately, each song starts with who I was then, but I can mature with songs I listen to regularly. Beethoven doesn't rush me back to my early 20s, when I first fell in love with him, because I've listened to him repeatedly. But Bon Jovi takes me back to my teens because I haven't listened to them consistently. Rock doesn't seem to do grief well. It does sexy very well. And it does a fake nonchalance, insouciance (I've never actually used that word before)--a 'fuck you, I don't need any of you, and I'll show you by being better than all of you." But it doesn't do grief. It doesn't do yearning. It keeps you more on the surface and avoids plumbing the depths of the soul.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Breaking apart
Well, crying myself to sleep isn't working; I'm crying too hard so my breathing messes up, unless I distract myself. Writing actually soothes. Sooner or later I'll break out the pity album and that will help me cry soft enough to breathe and yet also feel a little cathartic. Bizarre I actually know which album will have that affect on me. Sometimes I think I should just feel everything and get it out of my system--other times I wonder if that plays into my emotions and just makes them worse. And I a Victorian or a Romantic? Probably an outer Victorian and an inner-Romantic. Always keep the appearances up even when the world is crashing down inside you. But is that the best way to be? Could I better deal with my emotions? Or do I manipulate my emotions so much that I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time anyway?
When I was a kid my brother and I had a 'game.' He would hit me as hard as he could and I wouldn't show emotion. If he could see he hurt me, then I was weak, and I'd lost. If I managed to block out what was happening, then I was strong and I won. Most of the time, I won.
I've never let people see how badly they hurt me. I don't know if anyone knows.
My ex was the only one that ever knew a fraction of it and he couldn't believe it. I think he wanted to put it back together, just because he was almost in awe of how much I cared. He said no one had ever loved him that way except his mom. Not his wife of 14 years, not any ex. He really couldn't believe I cared that much. And I couldn't believe that a) he wasn't repelled by my weakness, b) didn't try to take advantage of it and c) that it was any different from anyone else.
Somehow, I've started to learn to be more vulnerable. A hell of a lot more vulnerable. I've consciously made the choice that I have to be vulnerable and gone about trying to do it. Maybe that's why I crave the Ds--the forced vulnerability and having someone to say "be vulnerable--I can handle it and I will protect you." But not with emotional pain linked to whether or not I'm actually loveable. Since I already suspect I'm not, it just destroys me. I shrivel or snap the armour back or numb out on media. I feel SO silly and immature and like I'm still in high school and everyone else is cool, and I can't believe I'm 38 and can't deal with this is a substantively better way than I did at 19. Hell--I can't believe I'm 38 at all! The big day went unremarked and uncelebrated and unspanked. I had SO hoped to have someone by then, but, alas, it is not to be. I mean, my friends are wonderful and spoiled me rotten, but it isn't the same.
I don't know if feel things more intensly than most people, I don't know if that is a good thing or just being melodramatic, don't know if everyone is hiding what they feel, don't know anything at all. Except I can't keep doing this. And I refuse to shut down and hide behind my so-called self defense. But if I keep having no defense and keep getting hurt, I won't survive it. I know the road to wisdom leads through the gate of excess, but need to find wisdom pretty damn soon now!
When I was a kid my brother and I had a 'game.' He would hit me as hard as he could and I wouldn't show emotion. If he could see he hurt me, then I was weak, and I'd lost. If I managed to block out what was happening, then I was strong and I won. Most of the time, I won.
I've never let people see how badly they hurt me. I don't know if anyone knows.
My ex was the only one that ever knew a fraction of it and he couldn't believe it. I think he wanted to put it back together, just because he was almost in awe of how much I cared. He said no one had ever loved him that way except his mom. Not his wife of 14 years, not any ex. He really couldn't believe I cared that much. And I couldn't believe that a) he wasn't repelled by my weakness, b) didn't try to take advantage of it and c) that it was any different from anyone else.
Somehow, I've started to learn to be more vulnerable. A hell of a lot more vulnerable. I've consciously made the choice that I have to be vulnerable and gone about trying to do it. Maybe that's why I crave the Ds--the forced vulnerability and having someone to say "be vulnerable--I can handle it and I will protect you." But not with emotional pain linked to whether or not I'm actually loveable. Since I already suspect I'm not, it just destroys me. I shrivel or snap the armour back or numb out on media. I feel SO silly and immature and like I'm still in high school and everyone else is cool, and I can't believe I'm 38 and can't deal with this is a substantively better way than I did at 19. Hell--I can't believe I'm 38 at all! The big day went unremarked and uncelebrated and unspanked. I had SO hoped to have someone by then, but, alas, it is not to be. I mean, my friends are wonderful and spoiled me rotten, but it isn't the same.
I don't know if feel things more intensly than most people, I don't know if that is a good thing or just being melodramatic, don't know if everyone is hiding what they feel, don't know anything at all. Except I can't keep doing this. And I refuse to shut down and hide behind my so-called self defense. But if I keep having no defense and keep getting hurt, I won't survive it. I know the road to wisdom leads through the gate of excess, but need to find wisdom pretty damn soon now!
Three of Swords
I was given a tarot card by a fortune teller once. She said to pick the card out of the pack and that was my fortune. I picked the 3 of swords. A heart, pierced through with 3 separate swords. Getting hurt again and again. And my job is to endure and stay open and not try to protect myself because the protections only lead to more pain.
John is dating someone else, and I'm happy for both of them and absolutely anguished through my tears. Back to the music I've comforted myself with for going on 2 decades now. I feel like I'm back in high school, hiding my tears as I weep. It is amazing how certain recordings come in and calm and claim. And yet the tears don't stop. They are less convulsing and confusing, but my eyes burn and my heart. I just can't do this again. Three swords, this year. How the hell can anyone stay open and get hurt and stay open and get hurt and stay open and get hurt and stay open? And does the ex count as a sword or is there still one more out there waiting to pierce my heart? I'm not this strong. I put up a good a front ('I'm happy for you' I said, the words blurry through my tears). But I'm not strong anymore. I never was. And I'm exhausted from pretending to be.
Maybe now I can move on. Another date tomorrow night--2 dates on the last 2 Monday nights--all at Starbucks. Hopefully the third time will be a charm. But I mostly just want to cancel and cry myself to sleep in a little ball. I even thought about sleeping with the ex--I had coffee with him this week and he was totally looking to get laid. At least that would take my mind off the things I really wanted and put it back on what I tried to settle for. (Oh--ouch. I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it does. The ex is a good man, or at least trying to be. But he is unwilling to look at how his actions impact other people or compromise on anything.)
John is dating someone else, and I'm happy for both of them and absolutely anguished through my tears. Back to the music I've comforted myself with for going on 2 decades now. I feel like I'm back in high school, hiding my tears as I weep. It is amazing how certain recordings come in and calm and claim. And yet the tears don't stop. They are less convulsing and confusing, but my eyes burn and my heart. I just can't do this again. Three swords, this year. How the hell can anyone stay open and get hurt and stay open and get hurt and stay open and get hurt and stay open? And does the ex count as a sword or is there still one more out there waiting to pierce my heart? I'm not this strong. I put up a good a front ('I'm happy for you' I said, the words blurry through my tears). But I'm not strong anymore. I never was. And I'm exhausted from pretending to be.
Maybe now I can move on. Another date tomorrow night--2 dates on the last 2 Monday nights--all at Starbucks. Hopefully the third time will be a charm. But I mostly just want to cancel and cry myself to sleep in a little ball. I even thought about sleeping with the ex--I had coffee with him this week and he was totally looking to get laid. At least that would take my mind off the things I really wanted and put it back on what I tried to settle for. (Oh--ouch. I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it does. The ex is a good man, or at least trying to be. But he is unwilling to look at how his actions impact other people or compromise on anything.)
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