I’m pretty disgusted by politics. I very likely disagree with you politically, and I definitely disagree with just about anyone who could realistically get elected to public office. The two-party system in the United States makes me grumpy, as do corporations holding more sway in the government than my vote or yours ever will. Voting depresses me. Hate it. Hate it.
I do it anyway. What we have now is not what I want, but until I’m ready to invest all my energy, and my very life, in revolution, I am tacitly complicit in the current system. I can’t justify turning my back on one of the major processes in that system that might– might!– make a positive difference for all of us.
So it’s election day where I live, and I just voted for a bunch of assholes. I hope they were the better assholes.
I watched the presidential debate last night with my partner. We had sex the whole time. It was probably the best debate I’ve ever seen, and made listening to Romney’s political positions bearable. Mostly because it was difficult to hear him while moaning.
Sex may not be the only thing that can get us through this difficult time. Maybe booze would help too, but I don’t drink and I’m all out of bubblegum.
I’d been in a slump. Like six months with no partner. I was getting horribly upset, because I’m attractive, confident, and willing, but no chemistry was happening with anyone, anywhere… I resigned myself to the fact that if you’re looking, it isn’t likely happen. I gave up. I quit trying to look sexy, act sexy, put on any guise of needing or wanting sex. Going places with your Mom does that to you.
BUT! When I wasn’t looking for a mate, wasn’t even shaving my legs, someone caught my eye. And by luck, perhaps, I had caught his! Sat and talked for a while and realized it was on. Within 15 minutes, we’d both given into the idea that yeps, we were going to have sex!
So, the secrety part of this all? He’s homeless and broke… I can’t tell my family or friends (small circle) that I’m fucking a homeless, jobless man. Firstly, they’d be likely to tell me he’s using me for whatever it is he can get, be it food, warmth, sex. I don’t think this is the case. He knows he’s not coming home with me, nor does he want to, as far as I can tell. I’ve too many children and animals to make it feasible, anyway. He hasn’t asked me for anything, food, money, supplies. Nothing. Not begging, in the least…
We meet once or twice a week, and I either sneak him home to my place (past the children and my disapproving mother) or I rent a hotel room.
And, his idea of sexy is me. And my idea of sexy is me. Voluptuous, red-headed, and tart. He’s pretty fine looking himself, even staying at a church and looking for work, with a big red beard and untamed hair. Kinda viking-ish…
The sex is great, too. Repeated performances in one night, multiple orgasms for me, and he’s got great stamina, and doesn’t mind using it to pleasure me, repeatedly.
We’ve got wicked chemistry even when we’re not in person. Good e-mails, phone calls, and texts.
I’m keeping him all to myself for now. I don’t even want to share my marauding viking lover with anyone around me. Perhaps when he has a job and is doing for himself again, I won’t seem unstable for taking on an unknown quantity like a homeless hiker, I can introduce him to some of my people, so I won’t be disappearing into the night, mysteriously.
And, I feel a wee bit guilty for even thinking of him as someone I need to keep secret. I don’t want to think of myself as being ashamed of my lovers. That just seems wrong… Fuck you, guilt! I’m happy with it…
I think it’s time for us all to acknowledge that being homeless is not that unthinkable a thing (partly because of assholes), and to stop blaming people who are living in that situation. And to accept that, as real human beings, they might even be sexy. I can confidently state that I am a couple ill-fated turns away from homeless, personally, and I hope there will still be people who would unashamedly fuck me should that happen.
So, I’m staying with a good-friend-and-sometimes-sex-partner while I’m working on finding my own place (housing hunting sucks, btw, and NOT in the good way!)
Things had been pretty awesome for a while, but last week she went to the ER with appendicitis, and on her post-op care instructions it says ”your doctor will tell you when you can have sex again.” They told her it may be a month or more.
We’re both extremely horny; she’s down the hall with her life-partner sleeping night after night and I’ve got my choice of ”right hand or left.” Neither one has done great at keeping up with my libido — 2 or 3 times a day masturbating, which is up from my typical frequency of once every 2 or 3 days… it’s really wearing on me!
Maybe someone out there can send quick-healing wishes her way (or an Adamantium skeleton! Wait… then again, maybe not…) and/or sex-partner-discovery wishes my way?
Would a single-payer healthcare system bring us closer to Adamantium skeletons? I guess it doesn’t matter because in the U.S. both things are fictitious. But you and she, my friend, have my best wishes.
This past weekend, out of the blue, we reconnected in a way that ended up in bed. We started off cuddling and kissing and then I remembered how much fun he is to go down on and we agreed that clothing was expendable. Hours later, we snuggled and talked about how our sexualities have changed since we dated, then continued fucking until we ran out of condoms and energy. I know it’s not likely to happen again, but the next morning I woke up deliriously happy with a vivid memory of his incredibly expressive orgasm faces, some lovely bite marks on my shoulder, and renewed determination to find another partner who I am that sexually attracted to.
This just reminded me that I hope I wake up tomorrow morning deliriously happy that the Patriot Act has been repealed.
Also, ::internet high five:: for obvious reasons.
Two days ago I told two friends about some shit that happened when I was younger, including being raped by my first boyfriend. When I told them, I sounded SO CONFIDENT and chill and like it was no big deal that I told them, but it really really was. I’m still rather terrified that somehow, for some reason, they will judge me for it or won’t want to be friends with me anymore. I know that’s crazy, but I can’t help it.
It was a big deal, and you are awesome for your honesty. For showing people that a rape survivor isn’t some abstract stranger, but someone they know. I go through something very similar to what you describe when I talk about–well, a lot of my past– but particularly the rape stuff. And I think people have judged me, to a point. I think knowing that what I’ve been through does affect people’s views of me, and colors their perception of who I am. I don’t know the details how it changes their views of me, but I assume it does somehow. I’m academically interested in whether it’s for the better or worse generally, but really, if it’s for the worse, they are welcome to just fuck off.
Vote NO on Proposal Rape Culture, everybody.
I accidentally slipped and told my fuck buddy I love him while we were having sex. I would be less embarrassed if it weren’t true.