My New Favorite Nightie

It clings to my breast, cradling them in a sexy way, and then wafting out to just below my undies. It is diaphanous, without being obscene, flattering and sexy. Oh, and it is ballerina pink with a little rose and bow under my left breast. It is the same as the ivory one that Steven so lovingly and gently removed from my breasts and hips when my hands were handcuffed behind my breast, carefully kissing each inch of skin that he lovingly revealed. And it is the kind of nightgown a woman would wear who was being lovingly revealed. The object of the Father Figure song, not a trashier predecessor.

I've worn it every night since the Republican called me a stupid bitch. I even came home from work the other day, and took a nap in the middle of the day, in this nightgown. Normally, it is the sort of thing I'd save till I had someone to wear it for. But I seem to have this chasm of vulnerability and neediness that I don't want to just dump on an unsuspecting guy. I need to comfort myself, and this nightgown is a reminder that I am cherishable and worthy of love and kindness. And then I run my hand over my cheek and fall asleep, trying to cradle myself.

Fundamentally, I think I'm not looking for a kinky relationship. They just don't feel healthy to me. I want kinky sex within a vanilla relationship. But I want tons of vanilla. I want hugs, and appreciation and gentle caresses and warm words and encouragement and kindness and love. And within that, I want someone who will do evil things to me, but always with an overriding kindness and love.

It was actually a lovely date with the eharmony man. We didn't talk about sex at all--not even hint. But we talked about the fact that I played dumb for years, and I can't date men that aren't smart because I start to play dumb again. And we talked about difficulties at work and what selfish superpower we'd each pick, if we could (he wants mind-reading--I opted for either staying my current age or time travel), and what altruistic one we'd pick (he'd stop hunger, me global warming), and what we were reading, and whether we believed in God and what that meant, and what we'd change about work, and our families, and the cost of gas, and our favorite youtube videos and some of our fears, and the rightward tile of The Economist's US coverage in the last decade. It was a lovely evening. He isn't under my skin the way the Republican was after a date, but the Republican made me super-vulnerable and followed it up with making me feel insecure, which was actually a really manipulative thing to do, and I've fallen for that one-two punch before. I think this is actually better, healthier, for me. I'm not questioning my worth, the way I do when someone pulls that trick on me. And I'm just going to trust that if everything else worked, we could make that work too. But I seem to have this huge chasm of yearning. Usually that hunger is a raw, sexual hunger barely (but completely) hidden under a proper lady, but, right now at least, it is a hunger for comforting and kindness more than sex.

Wow--Excited and Nervous

I have a date with the eharmony guy tomorrow night, and I'm nervous! I really like this man. He is bright, engaging, optimistic, and seems to actually see some of me. He really likes my writing (and that is just on eharmony, and some emails) and he writes really well too. I think we'd have a lot in common (we are in complementary professions), and we could support each other.

And the whole 'how-the-hell-do-you-talk-about-sex' thing looms large. Very large. First of all, I'm not sure if I know how to fall in crush with a gentleman off the dance floor. If said gentleman is strong, turns me the way he wants me to go, lifts up my chin when I look down, brushes some hair out of my face, then, perhaps. But if said gentleman lets me control the situation, I will lose interest. And the thing is, I will try to control the situation. I really will. I wish I wouldn't, but I will. I will test him to get a sense of how strong he is. (And if he is strong, I will test him to get a sense of whether or not he would take good care of me.) I wish I didn't work that way, but it is like having a pint of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer--I'd eat it, even if I'd wish I wouldn't. That is just how I work.

I've sort of tried to figure out how I might drop hints. So far, he has had two. The first is my eharmony profile, which says:

• What I'm looking for includes: it wouldn't hurt if you had an evil streak and wanted to do unspeakable things to me, if we were serious about each other.
• 5 things I can't live without includes: Fabulous, frequent, faithful sex, vanilla +++
  
• And most private thing I'm willing to admit says: I want a true partnership of equals in the world, even as I yearn for someone to sweep me off my feet and take charge on the dance floor and in our erotic lives. Working out that balance of power--when is it appropriate to lead, when to follow and when to row together is a tough one, and one I think our society is scared to talk honestly about. I welcome that honest dialog, not because I know the answers, but because it is darn important.

So, really. That kind of says it all, right? Then, at one point, I said "I'm really blunt! We've already talked about religion and politics, so I guess we should move on to money and sex!" I was joking, but, I was also trying to reinforce that last point. He says he has re-read my profile on several occasions, and that it what the best-written profile he's read. If he has really, really read it, he has to kind of know, right? I mean, that isn't exactly written in Esperanza or something. Do vanilla people talk about 'working out that balance of power," and hoping someone had an 'evil streak' wanting to do 'unspeakable things' to me? What else would that mean?

Anyway, if we have chemistry (or maybe even if we don't tomorrow), I want to try to let this work. But, I think the way that I'll introduce it, if he doesn't by the third or forth date would be if he asks about my ex and why we broke up. Sooner or later, that seems to get asked. I will say that honestly, we each failed each other in a specific way. I was unable to support my ex as he pursued his dream. (And I honestly feel partially justified and partially bad about that.) And he was unable to fulfill my erotic core. I really don't like the idea of waiting until 3 or 6 month anniversary to bring up the whole kinky thing. That seems to be dissembling to the point of dishonesty.

The next question is this blog. I think that if we worked, I might delete it. I'm trying to figure it out. I did mention that I blogged occasionally. But I also left the impression that I blog on political matters, which I do at least a few times a year! I tried to say it so that it wasn't a lie, but you can't say "I blog about how I feel about sex and dating, but I'm not going to tell you where--nee ner, nee ner, nee ner." That is just too mean.

On the kinky websites, I'm comfortable saying "yeah, I blog about this stuff. No one who knows me gets to see it" and leaving it at that. But this feels differently. If I couldn't say that, I couldn't keep the blog. And frankly, I feel like I might need to delete it before we got serious about each other. I wouldn't want to sleep with someone and not know he was publishing a blog about it, nor that the entire world knew what made him tick, but I didn't get to. It is really, really important to me to not lie. I dissemble about little things, mostly about trying to give the impression that I'm not as smitten with a man as I might be. I may act a little more nonchalant than I actually feel at a given time and attempt to pretend I haven't checked my e-mail 48 times before the 12:00 noon cutoff in my head that will tell me whether he wants to see me again. But that isn't lying. But having a blog about sex and dating and never mentioning it, that seems like lying to me.

Overall, though, I'm clearly excited about him, or else I wouldn't be up this late on a Sunday night. And I'm excited to be excited about a vanilla man who clearly cherishes me already. I think it would be easier to teach him to dominate me than teach a dominate man to cherish me.

A New Direction

So, I am finally taking Stephen's advice. I removed my ad from CollarMe. I don't know for how long, but I have 2 months left on an eharmony subscription, and I'm going to try that 100% till it expires. Well, that and the other, vanilla ways people meet.

I think the Republican got frustrated with me after he slapped me on the face and called me a 'dumb bitch' and I freaked out. Well, you know, I'm glad I freaked out. I don't want to be slapped on the face, except under very special circumstances, and I don't want to be called a dumb bitch at all. And I'm tired of trying to compromise on that. I bet more men than not, vanilla or not, would be delighted with the erotic packaged I'd offer: "Gee, honey, I really get off on pleasing you, in whatever way you like, but you'll have to let me know what you want me to do, 'make' me do it, and let me know you liked it." Really, what is so horrible about that? Are there any men reading this blog that would freak if a girlfriend of three months dropped that little bombshell on them? (Well, is anyone reading this blog? That's another issue.)

And there is a man on eharmony who has spent the last week flirting with me in the most marvelous way. This man is excited by my work, supportive, smart, optimistic and even researched one of my interests enough to find out that I'm mentioned on the wikipedia page connected with it! (I didn't even know--I made Wikipedia! Wow--I don't have an entry on me--just mentioned in something else, but I'm sort of known for something!) He figured out I was interested in something I mentioned, wanted to know more and went to look at it! How lovely! And he is interested in my work and I believe would be an enthusiastic and kind partner. And, he said in his 'must haves' on eharmony that he must have a passionate woman, willing to explore our mutual sexual interests. So, that's gotta mean GGG, right?

The Republican got under my skin, and I haven't been as engaged with this lovely man, who may not be strong enough to dominate me, but he might be strong enough to seduce me and relax me and protect me. (We haven't yet met, but we've talked on the phone, and I like his pictures, and really liked our chemistry talking.) And maybe the whole D/s thing is really like enjoying junk food. Of course Ben & Jerry's Phish Food tastes better than fresh fruit. And, in small quantities, that's OK. But if you gorge on Phish Food, you'll make yourself sick. And if you stay away from the Phish Food, the texture of mangoes and the flavors of berries and the soft kiss of honeydew and the sharp crisp of watermelon actually brings far more pleasure than Phish Food. Maybe I'm wrong and I'll be back with the Ben & Jerry's in May. But maybe I've been trying for a quick fix when what I really need is a strong foundation. It is worth a try.


Sooner or later, if I got serious about someone, I'd have to tell him about this side of me, and that scares me a great deal. Fortunately, I've never been promiscuous, at all. (Sorry--I'm sure I'd have a much more interesting blog if I were.) But I wonder if this touches on the madonna/whore dichotomy. If a man would be horrified to find out that, within a monogamous relationship, without any of the promiscuity the word implies, he was dating a woman who really just wanted to be his slut. I think that's what men want. But I think it is only part of what they want, and they also recoil from such a thing. I don't know.

The Republican and my Body Image

It is always nice when people reconfirm stereotypes I've previously held. It is such hard work to take people out of their little boxes and try to relate to them as individuals, without preconceived caricatures. So, I should be quite grateful to the Republican.

In all honesty, there were several warning signs. When we went out, he had 5 drinks and had no effect at all. And when I said I needed more from him before I was ready to submit, preferably without alcohol, he didn't like that idea. Asked me to think specifically about what I needed, so I sent him a very open, honest e-mail. Explaining about the differences between public woman and private girl, and what the two needed in order for me to be able to submit. I also confided that I thought that while he was quite attracted to public woman, he didn't care for private girl. So asking to see a lot more of her, seemed problematic.

He replied that he wouldn't know if I was good enough till he saw my tits. Once an Ayn Rand fan, always an Ayn Rand fan.

I told him: "I can't imagine a man overlooking flaws in my mind based on my physical attributes. The reverse, perhaps, but not that."

But it brings up a couple of interesting issues; what do I expect men think I'll look like nude? I mean, I'm a size 14 or so (designers are all over the place--sometimes I'm a 12; sometimes I'm a 16, but I hover in the 14 range). In other words, I'm plumper than Kate Winslet is or Marilyn Monroe was. I mean, I thought Botticelli was synonymous with beautiful plump women, but I don't look anything like the Birth of Venus. I don't even think the Birth of Venus looks plump. Renoir is the only one that has come close to painting what I actually look like, and only with some of his paintings. Furthermore, I have a couple of scars. I'm pale white--I look like I soak in Clorox at night. And you simply aren't going to count my ribs. Quite the contrary--my stomach jiggles. I certainly don't look like the Leonard Nimoy nudes; thank God! All my feminist principles say 'but of course they are lovely, but all I can say is Thank God I don't look like that! But I'm not thin by any stretch of any imagination.

I know statistically men look at face, tits and butt. My tits and face are great. I don't know where my butt would be on a scale. But I look at my stomach. Oy, do I look at my stomach. I look at my thighs, which are just too muscular. My inner arms, which jiggle too. But mostly my stomach.

And I have no idea what men would think of me naked. No man has ever said "oh--this isn't what I expected," but I just have no clue there.

Now, the Republican didn't have a problem calling me a 'dumb bitch' at one point. (Why the hell would I overlook something like that? What the hell is wrong with me? I must be a dumb bitch!) When he asked for more and more pictures of me, I assumed it was because he wanted to make sure I really looked like my photos. Every compliment he gave to my looks, based on my photos, I dismissed in my head, because I'm kind of photogenic. I have a smile the camera likes. When we met, he said on several occasions that he thought I was hot. Beautiful. And pretty. Me, being me, I assumed he was being kind because he could pick up that I had an underlying insecurity there. It didn't occur to me that he was quite as selfish as he later proved himself. I don't quite now what I think he expects to see if I were naked. I mean, the man must have some sense of physics and know that the size 14 skirt contains a size 14 body, right? And yet, I cannot intellectualize my way out of believing that a man would be attracted to me despite my body, not because of it.

Oh, A Republican!?

A Republican? An unrepentant, defiant Republican? Not only will he vote for McCain in November, not only did he vote for Bush in 2000 and again in 2004, knowing what he knows now, he would do the same thing!

I mean, this floors me. I do not have a single Republican friend. I had one. I worked damn hard to be open-minded enough to have one, but I did have one. Of course, by 2004, she volunteered with me for Kerry and has since decided, as a Christian, that global warming is a bigger issue than abortion and is 100% for Obama. My other Republican friend was gay, and he died, so I'm not really sure, but I'm 98% sure he switched to the Dems by 2004.

I think of this as a moral failing. I actually call mosquitoes "Republicans," because they are blood-sucking parasites that spread disease, don't care how their behavior impacts others, as long as they get what they want, and the world would be better off without them. I know some people could argue this is a form of 'hate speech' and that I'm depersonalizing them the way the Nazis treated the Jews. But I think Bill Reilly's is an idiot, so I don't really care. The analogy works.

And yet, I have to say, the evening started off with me unsure and having trouble making eye contact and young, and wanting to please. And then politics came in. And I had no doubt, no difficulty making eye contact. We argued like hell. We were both witty, quick and sharp. And it was actually rather hot. And he enjoyed it as much as I did, although I think he liked definitely pushing my buttons. And he made it damn clear that he would support me 100% in my activism, even as he'd cancel my vote in November.

He thinks my ex abused me, and there is a little truth to that. Not a lot. I agreed to everything that happened. But much of what happened wasn't healthy for me. And it has left me scared and fearful when certain boundaries are pushed. I was surprised how quickly the Republican pushed some boundaries. And he wasn't great about it when he pushed them--left me to deal with that on my own, which I don't like.

The chasm between the two of me is SO great, I question whether anyone could actually appreciate both of me. And he SO enjoyed the smart, engaged, sharp, witty public woman, and he effortless called out the little girl. This man, this Republican, he seems to! When I told him (because it came up in conversation) that I would not have an abortion if we got pregnant, and he said "that means you could have 25% of my paycheck" and I said "that's why you have a right to know I've already made that choice for me--the law isn't fair to men in some ways, and if it is a dealbreaker for you I understand, but I'm not changing my mind on that; but I do believe in using 2 forms of birthcontrol" he asked "how the hell are you not married?" I can't tell you how many Democrats I've scared off with that statement. Actually I can. Three, I believe. It didn't scare him off. He appreciated the head's up. So who knows. But, he's a Republican!

Needs that Matter

I’m 38 years old. And more than anything, I want someone who would put me first. A man I’ve been flirting with, who seems quite compatible on many realms, but he repeats the line ‘you would come second. Literally.” And I think, no.

My parents never put my needs first. Part of the ‘me’ generation, they figured their needs came first. This imprinted on me time and time again. I’m continually shocked when I see my friends putting their kids’ needs first. Sometimes at great sacrifice, sometimes at mild inconvenience. I never had that. And how does that affect the D/s dynamic?

To me, ideally, we both put each other first. I don’t know that I can be with someone who puts himself before me and also expects me to put him before me. But I naturally put other people’s needs first. That is quite natural to me. I don’t know how to put my own needs first, and I don’t enjoy it. It brings me no joy to put my needs at the top and then fulfill them.

With my ex, I went along with the line that my needs weren’t as important. But I would argue that my needs mattered. I think we literally discussed whether my needs counted for 40% (which I was pushing for) or 20%, which was his view. I somehow believe if I lived that life, I would come to accept it. In fact, just the opposite happened—I came to see why that wouldn’t work for me.

Steven, on the other hand, put my needs first. And that was lovely. An incredible gift. But Steven seemed an anomaly, and he made his decision.

Part of me, a big part of me, doesn’t believe I deserve to have my needs put first. And there are 2 contradicting reasons for it. The first is quite simply that I’m a grown up now. I need to get over the wounds of childhood and take care of myself and in the real world, people do not put other people’s needs first. Except I always do. But aside from that, people don’t/ I put my sister and my parents’ needs ahead of my own in my dealings with them, and I don’t know that they even notice. If they do, they take it for granted. Although, I do think they noticed that I moved to another coast and only see them once a year. But other than that, I don’t do a good job of setting boundaries with them. I never do a good job of setting boundaries with anyone. I always want to take care of the people I love.

The second issue is that I’m not thin. I’m not huge. I can shop for clothes in the regular stores. In the whole D/s world, there are a lot of women that make me look thing. But my tummy isn’t flat. It jiggles. You can’t count my ribs. Who would want to be a with a woman if you can’t count her ribs?

When I saw the pictures of ‘Kristen,” I was surprised because she just didn’t seem like that big a deal. She seemed like the minimum of what you would expect from someone you might love. Never mind that I don’t think the governor loved her. My guess is he couldn’t love anyone who didn’t even know what he did. I doubt he respected her. But he clearly wanted to have sex with her an my little mind has interwoven the issues of who you’d love with who your fantasy chick is.

And then there is the whole D/x issue. Is this endemic to all the D/s relationship? Is it endemic to male female relationships? Is it too much to wish that someone would take care of me, just in a difference way? Someone would want to have that level of control, to thrive off it, to get hard from it, but not to abuse it for his own gain? I truly want someone who would put my needs first.

That said, I wonder how important it would be for someone to acknowledge my needs as mattering? Does that affect the whole D/s dynamic if I force him to acknowledge it? The guy I’m flirting with right now, let’s call him, Greg, I think he would meet my needs. I think he would actually really enjoy my orgasms. But I think he would argue that my needs are secondary to his. Does that abstraction matter?

I want someone who will spoil me rotten. Who will put me on a pedestal and worship me. And grab me by the hair, throw me over the couch and spank me. Is that too much to ask for? Probably. Especially when I throw in all the other things I want (someone I can look up to, respect, admire, who has intelligence and quick wit.) But this is an issue that I think will return to. I’m not sure what it means. Maybe Steven is right and I should just look for eharmony. But I need someone who can actually tame me, and I don’t think any of the men could there.

Silda, Kristen and Camille

The Elliot Spitzer thing really did shock me. When we played "dream cabinet" (I can't be the only one starting to think about cabinet and judicial appointments, now, can I?), he was my pick for AG. I genuinely liked him. And I wonder: what the hell?

Evidently he adores his wife, Silda. Absolutely adores her. Enough that she had the final say over whether he resigned or not. This is a woman who, according to the The Times, "gave up a high-powered career as a corporate lawyer to raise three daughters and support her husband as he sought elective office." And Spitzer supposedly absolutely cherished her:

The only person whose approval he values so much that she has even, at times, been
able to take the edge off his abrasive style. They cite her willingness to quit her job...as
something for which he has always felt especially grateful.... "The fact that she believed
in me enough to put her very promising legal career on hold was a great source of
inspiration," Mr. Spitzer said.

So why would the man risk not only the governorship, but also the woman he loved? I think it comes back to the virgin/whore dichotomy. (I'm totally making this up--I base it on nothing other than my gut feeling and Peter Segal of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me and The Big Book of Vices, had some terrific theories on Talk of the Nation.) We know some part of Spitzer wanted "unsafe" and "dangerous" things. And I'm guessing, he viewed his wife as a truly wonderful and amazing being. She gave up her career. She's the mother of his children! How could her ask her to do that, to go to the dark places of his eroticism that his soul craved? He could never ask that of her, and so he went elsewhere.

Kristen, meanwhile, is 22. And, it seems to me, a rather ditzy 22. There is no way this woman could be a partner, a confidante, a respected equal. She is pretty and sexy in a cold, antiseptic sort of way. Perfect, but generic.

But that seems to be what so many men want. A generic girl with a cute butt and a flat stomach.

And that is the difference between eroticism and sex. Just imagine, for a moment, if Spitzer had had the courage to tell his wife what he wanted, back when she was his girlfriend? And if she had had similar areas she wanted to explore? But how the hell do we have that conversation? You never see a chick flick where the couple discusses what nourishes their erotic lives. It is completely unspoken in our culture. Scary. Dark. Bad. Wrong.

I'm not really a fan of Camille Paglia--in fact, for no reason at all, I've actively disliked her without knowing enough to justify that dislike. However, she raised a really interesting comment yesterday:

I am very concerned by a degeneration of erotic images in American media. It isn't
their mammoth proliferation that disturbs me (as it does many other feminists); it's
their antiseptic quality in this era of Botox and plasticized Barbie boobs. American sex is
all flash and no sizzle.

I think her analysis doesn't go far enough, and her examples, I don't think, do justice to her argument, but she raises something I've been trying to articulate, which I would label the difference between 'sexiness' and 'eroticism.'

Our popular culture has denigrated eroticism to a shocking degree. It is, I believe, a force too scary to be harnessed and impossible to be marketed. Contrary to popular view, advertisements don't sell sex as much as they sell dissatisfaction with your current sex life. If they just sold sex, we'd go have sex and we wouldn't buy their products. But they are feeding us this insiduous idea that our current sex lives aren't good enough (which they often aren't because we, as a culture, are so damn scared to actually talk about what we want and go to those dark places), so we need this product to be fulfilled. Meanwhile, while they are busy trying to sell us products we don't need based on insecurities they've invented.

Meanwhile, in order to sell us products they have to tell the women they aren't pretty enough the way they are, so they will obsess about the fact that their stomachs aren't concave. It is no wonder that Hollywood starlets are discarded by the time they are 40. It is no wonder that Susan Sarandon is an exception to this rule--that woman has eroticism in her bones.

Meanwhile, the men are told they aren't virile enough without a sports car, or a blackberry, or whatever the gadget du jour is. And the woman at his side isn't a partner; she is yet another gadget to show the world his power. She is an item on his list of acquisitions.

And eroticism falls by the wayside. Too dangerous.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I always fuck everything up. Somehow or other, everything I touch is either bad for me, or I mess it up. I don't understand how. I'm not clear enough, or I'm too clear.

John wanted me to be able to joyfully be a masochist, and maybe what he wanted and what I thought he wanted were different, but I couldn't do it. And it left this hole in my heart. And so, Maginot line style, I forced myself to do that with Ben, and that just numbed my soul. I met someone for a 2nd date this week and I had a drink (big mistake) and talked too much and he disappeared (and if you frenchkiss someone good-bye--I think it is kind to drop an e-mail and say "I think we are looking for different things").

And then Steven. Oh, god. Oh, god. How the hell did I mess that one up? But I did. And now I'm crying and that is making the sunscreen run in my eyes, which is making me cry worse. When the hell did I get too old to cry without sunscreen running in my eyes?

Steven wanted to get together yesterday and I was scared it would be till Monday when he'd send me another e-mail and basically said I couldn't sleep with him last night--I needed to know it wouldn't be just for a night. And then today it seems like I miscommunicated or didn't understand or something. But he says it is over. Period. Clean break. And I'm left with sunscreen in my eyes.

It seems the only man that can tolerate me is my ex. And I just don't think he is healthy for me.

Trivialities: Waiting for Godot

There is a sense of waiting. Waiting for e-mails. Waiting for a job that may or may not come. Waiting to figure out what my ex will do, what Steven will do (he has been flirting with me more, of late, which alternates between exhilarating and agonizing), and what, of course, I will do in response to all of that.

Intellectually, it feels gossipy and trivial. Emotionally, it has me teetering.

Right now, I also seem to have several men who are protective and/or admiring of me. For the last 6 months, I've consistently had several younger men who followed my writing and some of them seemed to almost look up to me in a 'yeah--I want to be there (or have someone who is there) in 10 years' sort of way. Lately, though, I seem to have a couple of older men who are protective of me and a few more men from around the country that send really nice notes.

So I hope this is portentous, but it feels agonizing. Intellectually, I know I had 2 dates this week--not bad. Emotionally, I'm like a roller coaster. I don't know what to do.

Part of me wants to cut it off with all the men currently in my life. My ex made a heroic attempt at cherishing me this week, but even if he did for a week, I seriously doubt he could make that his default mode in the erotic realm. I don't want to accuse him over what happened when we were together, but, when I'm quite blue, I can feel the outline of his hand hitting me across my cheek and telling me to shut up. I don't want to shut up. I want someone who likes my playful, silly side.

Meanwhile, Steven comes up with the most delicious propositions I can think of. He sent an e-mail yesterday that made me want to just crawl in a cave and hibernate with him till spring, but I can't get together with him, get dumped, get together with him, get dumped, and repeat, and repeat, and repeat. I haven't got it in me. I feel as if we ought to be able to figure out a way to be together but he keeps switching what he wants.