Category: Metaphysical/Thoughtful

I shouldn’t have had the whole pizza. That’s the thought my body tells my brain as I sit in the aftermath of a hungry decision. You know how it goes: you’re super hungry so you get more than you need because it all sounds so good. Now you’ve demolished everything you ordered simply because it’s in front of you and the feedback from your insides is not friendly.

Speaking of friends: the reason for my descent into mozzarella-based madness is a letter to a good friend. My friends have always been better at keeping in touch with me than I have at keeping in touch with them, but a stalwart few have called and written until their hands cramp and their lungs run dry. Thanks to those constant companions I have fodder for thought and also an excuse to go to my neighborhood pizza place and eat an entire medium white-sauce pizza.

In this case, the fodder for thought is love and sex, as usual, but in a slightly different context. Most of you know I grew up surrounded by conservative, Republican, Christian soldiers, raising up the next little army in a small town in Montana. There are several wonderful benefits to growing up in a small, remote town in rural Montana, but social development and cultural exposure are not among them. As a child of the creek bed and a horse riding, gun toting, bible quoting, evolution denying, Jesus freak, my exposure to sexual relationships was unusually broad among my peers. My parents regularly kissed and fondled each other in the hallways, I was 13 when I first learned of my father’s, then my mother’s indiscretions, I hid around the corner to listen in on Monty Python’s ‘The Meaning of Life’, we watched a british TV show about sex and relationships as a family when my peers were being carefully sheltered from any mention of sex, sexuality, or sex’s role in romantic relationships. The way my mother talked to me, frankly, without shame or sensationalism, about her sexual history, her opinions about when its appropriate, and many other topics, shaped my view of sex as something that is fun, normal, healthy, useful, and interesting. To me, frequent and gratuitous physical affection was normal, even in relationships where fidelity isn’t always present and love and like sometimes don’t agree with each other.

Upon my ‘maturity’ around age fifteen, I had been masturbating for three years so I knew what was possible given the right circumstances, and I had latched onto a phrase my mother shared with me that made sex ok as long as it was with the right person. She even went so far as to say it’s ‘usually your husband’ which didn’t make sense until later. Given this ‘license’ and my natural curiosity and inclination, it is no surprise to me that by the age of sixteen I was sexually active and loving it. Of course that’s where things went, not exactly south, but definitely not ‘north’. During one of my many uneventful encounters with my long term high school lover, I began stimulating myself. I hadn’t done either of us any favors months before when I told him he had given me multiple orgasms when in fact there had been none, not even close to one, but this sudden change from only needing him to climax (so he thought) to needing extra stimulation was so emasculating he stopped his thrusting and began pouting. I never again attempted to actually have an orgasm with him involved and simply continued masturbating in the privacy of my bathroom all throughout high school and college. I accepted that it was my lot in life to have orgasmless sex and I would simply do my wifely duty and take care of myself on my own. It wasn’t until a later sexual partner encouraged me to do whatever I needed (partly so he could figure it out and help, partly just to get me where I would be happier), that I discovered a fleeting ability to share climax with a partner.

I am among the fortunate. Many of my peers feel into early marriages, children too soon, and regrets. The idea that sex, love, and friendship are all separate is foreign, unlike the idea that some deity can end all woes and right all bedroom wrongs. The congregation I spent most of my time listening to espoused the notion that a god fearing couple who waits until marriage to consummate their relationship will find the sexual fulfillment of their dreams and everyone will live happily ever after. This becomes a problem under most circumstances but the two I have seen most often are the married bad sex and the unmarried bad sex. In the married relationship, if sex isn’t magical and perfect right away, that puts their devotion to god in question. Instead of seeing it as trouble in communication or a natural discrepancy in the sexual appetites of two people, any incompatibility undermines everything their world is based on. Bad sex is bad enough, but bad sex that means you’re not a good Christian is worse. The other scenario has the extra special sauce of shame and guilt before sexual activity even happens. Unmarried christian kids having sex for the first time can easily misinterpret natural awkwardness, discomfort, or dissatisfaction as punishment, reinforcing the negative attitude towards sex that they brought to the table in the first place, and further crippling future relationships. In circumstances where the sex is ok to good, the aftermath is less crippling, regardless of whether the sex is married or unmarried.

Some of these thoughts and scenarios may be familiar to you but perhaps, hopefully, you haven’t had to go through something like this or watch a close friend go through it. First experiences are formative and due to their import as firsts, what might be mediocre can feel traumatic and influence future experiences. A fleck of one of the conversations I had today involved this concept of formative firsts. We were talking about his experiences with several local providers. None were negative, but all but one lacked the liveliness and connection he was looking for. That one whom he felt a connection with happened to be his first. Had his first been any of the others, there likely would not have been a second foray into the hobby. I wish for everyone who makes their way in the world that their firsts are fabulous, and if those firsts aren’t amazing that they have the courage to try again, within reason. I, for one, will do my part to make all my firsts the best they can be, as I have for many years.

I was talking with a friend of mine last night who is a recent bride. She and I aren’t close so I was surprised when she began to confide in me: her father is having an affair and has been for nine months. Her parents had kept this information from her so as not to spoil the wedding, but revealed later that her mother had known three months into the affair and so had been living the last six months knowing her husband was actively unfaithful. This young newlywed also mentioned that her new husband’s parents were splitting up. I could tell she was upset. I had no idea what to tell her. My parents and grandparents on both sides have been together for 32 and 54 years (my grandparents married on the same day of the same year, seven states apart) and while I am aware of infidelity on both my mother and father’s part, it has resulted not in separation but in a tighter bond and stronger resolve. What my friend is seeing is a dissolution of both her model marriage and that of her husband. I can tell it has shaken her faith in her own marriage, though they have both resolved not to let their marriage suffer or weaken, despite watching their parents’ marriages dissolve before their eyes.

I tell this whole story because after telling me this she voiced an interesting opinion concerning fidelity: having sex with someone not your wife is one thing, cheating is another. Cheating involves lying or at least not discussing it beforehand. Having sex with someone not your spouse, if done safely and with at least the foreknowledge if not the explicit consent of your spouse, is not the same. I have felt this way for some time and hearing it from the female half of what I see as a very traditional couple (catholic wedding and all) was a welcome surprise. I find it fascinating that this opinion is becoming something I’m seeing more and more in traditional, vanilla married couples. I know swinging has been a thing since, what, the forties? Probably earlier, but it was an offshoot; something people thought of as sexual deviancy and offensive. Open relationships were part of the kink community and still are to a great degree. I imagine that the opinion I now share with my freshly married friend is common between couples who enjoy group activities or polyamorous/open interactions. What I see when I discover an opinion about fidelity that seems more liberal than the person who holds it is a key to the path of normalization and legalization. I like to think that at least the idea of sexual therapy and sexual surrogacy as a way to assist an ailing couple is on its way into the mainstream and that our more traditional values concerning marriage, sex, and how to heal a suffering sexual relationship are changing. Young men and women watching their parents’ traditional monogamous marriages falling apart and wishing to prevent that in their own might turn to more nontraditional methods to keep the sparks going.

That’s not to say I advocate running off and finding a fresh face every time you get bored or have a fight, nor am I saying that most or all couples should go outside their relationships for satisfaction. Infidelity, primarily the part of it that involves deception, has always seemed to me a symptom of something bigger in a relationship. Any couple that can’t discuss honestly their concerns is going to have a difficult time staying together. That being said, perhaps ‘The Session’ in which Helen Hunt plays a sexual surrogate for a paraplegic will become the next ‘Patch Adams’, changing the way people think about alternative approaches to illness or sexual dissatisfaction.

I wonder sometimes if some generations didn’t cripple themselves by marrying for love. Much as the doomed Romeo and Juliet, marrying for purely emotional reasons often leads to poor matches, lies, miscommunications, and ultimate tragedy. Some couples survive but many either do not or limp along, becoming less and less hospitable all the time. I find that the marriages I see as successful are those who maintain fondness and trust, though not necessarily passion and lust. I see two people working toward a goal who find each other’s company pleasant and who can trust each other to grow together. Sex outside of that relationship doesn’t seem as though it would diminish that kind of relationship. No amount of mind blowing sex can make up for years of quiet devotion and friendship though I’m sure it might seem so at the time. Of course I can’t say any of this from personal experience. I’ve never been in a relationship like that: ten years old, pleasant, but missing a spark. I do know people who are in marriages like that. People who wouldn’t dream of leaving their spouse but who seek sexual fulfillment elsewhere. To me that seems incredibly reasonable. Unfortunately the spouses, I imagine, feel differently. I hope that the conversation I had the other day with this fresh bride, concerned with the longevity not of the sex but of the marriage, is a sign of change.

My parents and I don’t share much anymore. I used to share my life with them, my religious beliefs, and my genetic material. Looking back, I’ve always been a nonbeliever. I once confess edit pm y mother, crying, that intellectually I knew there was a God but I simply couldn’t feel that it was true. “I believe it in my head, but not in my heart.” Of course I believed in the god of Abraham, Moses, and David. I went to church every week and sang songs and heard stories. As a toddler I attended bible class every morning where they pressed the love of Christ upon us. In middle school I watched videos of ‘scientists’ shushing or explaining away evidence for an old earth, evolution, and inconsistencies in the bible. In college we were taught but not encouraged to believe the mainstream explanations for how the world has become so. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the science classes or the philosophy that led me astray. The history of our sect, the various interpretations of the bible, the inaccuracies and poor behavior of those interpreting it are what led me astray. When I learned that the bible is known to have been written by authors it is not attributed to (psalms not by David, Daniel not actually at the time of his life but long after his death, etc) I lost what little faith I had left. The layers of intellectual armor I had been give as a child fell away and I realized that if I didn’t feel it and I no long knew it, why should I believe it. And so, as the school board erected a quarter million dollar statue of Jesus and his disciples, I lost faith in the myth I had always held.

Then life got fun. My friend group shifted to include several lgbt members, a few struggling theists, avowed and hilarious atheists, and most importantly cute boys. I finally lived on my own and was able to host and provide alcohol for what we uptight religious kids considered quite the party. A total rager. We drank, like, a whole bottle of liquor! Between the five of us, haha. I decided that I enjoyed fun and I wasn’t going to let my parents god get in the way. Plus I had boys to entertain me.

I’ve always had a weakness for the stronger sex. For a year I enjoyed a fulfilling and fun sexual relationship with two beautiful young men who were exploring their first sexual experience. I was thrilled to be their chaperone on this journey. There was a great deal of fondness between all three of us. I rarely spent a night alone with the two of them around. One night I and the older one fell asleep under a blanket in the backyard. We woke long enough to make love and then fall asleep again, cuddled close to stay warm. Three or four times that night we woke and then slept again, each time coming together under the stars, just because we could. Another time, the younger and more adventurous one met me in the basement of the science building. I had some keys, no one was around, and in the single stall bathroom with one foot on the counter we fucked furiously and as quietly as we could, excited by our daring. On another occasion we bumped into each other late at night. He was coming from the gym after a few hours on the climbing wall and what started as an innocent hug turned saucy as soon as I smelled the fresh, salty sweat on his skin. Oh, those were the days: when I was the knowledgable one, experienced and in charge.

I always have felt good about sex. I was extremely proud of my first encounter between my lips and his cock. Im not proud of the circumstances surrounding it, but be that as it may, I was oblivious to any and all slut shaming that came of that and many of my other behaviors at that age. Fortunately I only had one young man all the way through high school or I might be in a very different place right now. Sex education was severely lacking in my sleepy small tow and though my mother helped dispel some myths, it didn’t occur to me to ask some of the more important questions. At least I kept out of the kind of trouble that follows you for the rest of your life long enough to make it a point of mitigating the danger. The fist time I had sex… Oh I remember it well. Years of horseback riding, running, falling, and some more recent sexual activity meant that I felt no pain. It was all pleasure. I had no second thoughts until after when we pledged never to do it again. But of course we did. All the time. Everywhere. Usually in the back of his pickup or in ibis bedroom, but also in the woods, at the drive in theater, in the back seat of my car several times in different locations, in the school bathroom after hours… just, anywhere we could find. Childish, fumbling, over-too-soon sex, but so much of it. By the time college rolled around I was a pro. Or so I thought. I still had much to learn but enthusiasm and openness makes up for lack of technique in many ways. It also helped that my partners were all equally oblivious.

And so, I share little, if anything with my parents anymore. I love to hem, of course, and find them intelligent and able to hold great conversation, but without a god to share and withholding a large part of my life from them, I find that memories hold us together. The genetic material thing is a story for another time. Feel free to ask next time you come over 😉

I see you’ve decided to join us finally. We welcome your sunny caresses, your invitation to dive into your cool waters, and your willingness to host us foolish children. This morning has been spent sitting indoors, listening to the twitter of birds, the shhhh of cars passing by, the swoosh of the breeze and the ring of voices out enjoying your bounty. Soon this will change. I have new dresses begging to be worn all over town. I can almost feel the swish swish swish of loose fabric around my legs, the breeze lifting my skirt just a little, the sunshine warming my shoulders and my hair.

You beg me to rent a little canoe and a paddle and join you in the lake. I’m at your level, I can see the shores rising away from me as if I’m held in your arms. When I find my little backwater creek and am separated from everyone else by a screen of reeds and branches we are alone. I can see you smiling with me, pleased that I enjoy the party you host just for me. I share my noonday snack with the ducks that follow me, trusting that there will be food and not harm from their fellow creature.

I love you, Seattle. I hate you, sometimes, when the wind blows and the rain finds its way under my clothes and into my shoes. I want to stay inside and avoid you for days at a time when you behave that way but now, with your gentle caresses and your pleasant smile, I love you and I like you.

And has been for almost a week now. I’m feeling it. I can see new shoots on our house plants and every time I go to the hardware store I remind myself to pick up those little starter planters so we can start seedlings. We have enormous south facing windows and a sliding door leading to the balcony. I’ve started taking after cats and curling up in pools of warm sunshine, relaxing and blissing out. My biggest regret is that I work at night and sleep during the day. I miss out on that impulse to go outside and explore.

Here is my average Monday: First of all, it’s actually a Saturday. My work week begins at ten on Saturday night, one of the worst times to be in the service industry. I worked the night of the Superbowl and had to ride the bus -TO WORK- with a bunch of fans. I’m happy for them, I even went out to watch the game with friends, but going to work that night was not what I want to do on a normal Saturday night, much less a loud, obnoxious, drunk one. That was the worst but Saturday nights are often like that: drunk people, too late for an express bus, and a whole long night full of nothing, if I’m lucky. I didn’t mind it for the longest time. I have time to write, to read, and I got a lot of homework done while I was in school. Plus it was exciting to sleuth through the day’s transactions to find mistakes and solutions. After a while, though, it gets tiring. I could be sleeping right now and in the morning I could have a leisurely breakfast, then go to my space and see one of my lovely friends, then maybe go out for lunch and listen to the birds sing. Instead, I drop into bed as soon as I get home and sleep until my partner gets home. We have dinner and a few moments, then I leave again. Three days of that, thank goodness it’s only three days, then I get Tuesday.

Tuesday is always interesting because I never know if I’m going to be exhausted or excited. I try to stay up most of the day so I’ll be able to sleep that night. Depending on the feel of the day I might get some errands done or I might just go home and sleep a little, then get up and putter until he gets home, then have a few drinks and try to sleep. Tuesdays are often either crazy or blissful, mostly since it’s the first day that I get to fall asleep at night in my own bed and wake up with normal people. If I slept the day before much I often end up waking up before the sunrise which is always beautiful. There’s something about early mornings like that that, even though I’m not a morning person, can soothe a soul.

Now that spring is here and change is coming, I’ll be switching back to being a creature of the day. A woman who sleeps at night and lives during the day. It also means that my Sundays and Mondays will come available for me to visit with my gentlemen. As always, reflected on my calendar is an up-to-the minute look at dates and times I anticipate being available. I’m so excited for spring!