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...