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Posts Tagged ‘trust’
29 Sep

Saferwords

The most sensible, straight-forward safeword is probably “red”, within a “we’re doing that traffic light thing” context. I like the gooey, waffley security of having “yellow” there in case I need it.

Safewords that miss the point include “no”, “stop”, “ow”, and “motherfucker”. You might think saying “safeword” would fall into this category, but on further reflection I think it would actually make a pretty good safeword. It’s just not very imaginative.

The most evil safeword is almost certainly “pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis”.

I think perhaps the meanest, yet most insidiously effective (at stopping play; not so much at fostering a healthy dynamic), safeword would be “I’m bored”.

The best of all possible safewords is “narwhal”. That’s been scientifically proven by science.

On a semi-related note, I want every single motherfucking one of these. Immediately.

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08 Aug

The Key and the Island

The other key, of course, is Pong.

If someone with a not too terribly impressive amount of judgment were to come to me and ask, face so straight and tone so earnest: “Quizzical Pussy, what’s the key to a good relationship?” my first priority would be to not snort while I was doing all the laughing. Really, the “I Make Wonderful Romantic Decisions, And In Case You Were Wondering, Yes, That’s Sarcasm” sash I was awarded in 2004 didn’t win itself.

And then I’d be tempted to say “blind luck” because that’s certainly how I’ve landed in the one I’m in. But then I’d give my real answer.

Inside jokes.

Yes, love and trust and patience. Absolutely. And fabulous sex usually doesn’t hurt either. But it’s harder to quantify those first three things, and sometimes even tricky to detect when they’re fading away. And the sex? It’s possible to have fabulous sex with someone you actively dislike.

But if you’re always laughing together at things that would elicit shrugs and eyebrow twitches from all the rest of humanity, you have this secret language. You’re each choosing to be in closed, joyous company, which in my experience is the last thing you want when you’re fundamentally unhappy with each other. In essence, inside jokes are an old magic that transports you to the island nation of Us, a place of moderate climate and ruthless border control. You are never dragged to Us, although you can often convince the other person you’re already there just by smiling and nodding politely. But there will still be an ocean between you.

And this isn’t just romantic relationships. Not at all. I never feel like I’m fully friends with someone until we have at least one inside joke together. We’re just on the shore, friendly together but sharing no homeland.

Maybe this is just me. I could be biased by the amazing sex Laramy and I had yesterday between spates of laughing at things that are sheer nonsense to everyone else. I could be placing too much value on laughter for this to apply to anyone but me. But that would be my answer anyway.

(image source)

21 Jul

No real monsters

You always hear that rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power. And that probably holds true if you look deep enough, but why in the world would a rapist do that? On more casual reflection, I think that dictum has the potential to allow people to easily deny that what they did was rape. A lot of times, in their minds, it was completely about sex. They weren’t paying particular attention to consent, but they think they probably got it, more or less. And besides, they weren’t trying to take anyone’s power away. They weren’t being violent. They were just trying to get laid, man.

I believe that it’s easy for people to think “Rapists are monsters. I am a person. Therefore, I must not be a rapist. IT’S LIKE MATH.”

Piers Vitiard liked to bike and play lacrosse. He knew about Classical mythology and was good at Soul Calibur. He thought everyone should see Donnie Darko and the entire Godfather series. He was a pretty nice guy. He also raped me.

Reginald Sleeth dreamed of being a filmmaker. He always wove intricate stories in his head, but rarely wrote them down. His voice got louder when he was self-conscious, and he spoke in a fake Scottish accent when he wanted attention. He worried about getting fat. He thought that orange striped cats were the best kind. When he gave you a compliment you tasted it for weeks afterward. He was emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive.

They weren’t monsters, they were just people who did some fucked up things. And people don’t let themselves feel like abusers or rapists. They might have moments when they realize that they’ve done some fucked up stuff, and even feel guilty, but the homeostasis of the mind demands that our thoughts move on from there. We need to justify, rewrite history a little. We need to slant events in such a way that allows us to be the heroes of our own stories.

And along a similar vein, I’m no righteous, innocent victim. The choices I made were monstrously wrong, if I really examine them. I played into Reginald’s abuse, responding to his manipulations as if he’d scripted them and I’d memorized my part. I let our dysfunction teach me what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Every chance I had to stand up to him, I folded; right up until I found the strength to leave at the very end. I excused Piers after he violated me, and made a point of trying to make it seem to both of us like what had happened wasn’t a big deal. That was unfair to me, to him, and to the next woman he got alone in a room. He learned nothing from what he did to me.

I got it all so wrong. I denied myself the protection and respect that were mine by right. I told them it was okay to disrespect me, harm me, use me. I allowed myself to become inhuman. Maybe I didn’t feel human in the first place. I do now, though. I know better now.

You can be a real person, even a normally decent person, and fuck up big time. You can be weak. You can collude against yourself in the sickest ways imaginable. You can be a rapist. You can be an abuser. Maybe you didn’t mean for things to happen that way, but motive isn’t everything. Sometimes what actually happened is important too. And you’re allowed to forgive yourself, but that really sort of requires admitting it to yourself first.

(image source)

18 Dec

Hey, how about just “Don’t Ask”…

…because it doesn’t fucking matter?

Today, the Senate voted to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. As I understand it, this repeal needs to get certified by the President, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and Secretary of Defense to actually mean something, but things are looking good, if you don’t count the 17 years* of prejudice and systematic oppression.

I read this the other day, a letter from a gay soldier about to leave for Afghanistan. It’s very worth reading whether you’re for or against DADT. He is gracious, he is polite, he is angry, and he is absolutely right.

To members of the United States armed forces, of all sexual orientations, genders, races, religions, and political beliefs: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your service. To those of you who have suffered the most under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (because I’d argue that it’s done damage beyond its intended victims): I’m sorry we made you choose between serving your country and living authentically, without fear of exposure. I’m in awe, grateful, that you chose the choice you did. I look forward to the day you can serve openly, if you decide to do so.

Today was a good start.

*Meaning the 17 years when DADT was law, not the 17 years since people started being assholes to gay people, because that’s been going on for approximately 17 bajillion years.

07 Dec

ConTuesday! Nice guys, geekery, and guilt

I’m going to start out ConTuesday today with a non-anonymous confession of my own: sometimes I become seriously emotionally unhinged. Like, wearing bologna as a shirt and screaming “YOU DON’T LOVE ME!” in between spitting fountains of paint thinner through my front teeth mentally deranged. And I wish I could control this 100% of the time, but sometimes I just let it gallop away from me where it ends up devising huge, elaborate theories about how everything that has ever happened in my lifetime converges to prove that I’m worthless and should stop making eye contact with human beings. And then I cry. And Laramy, my boyfriend, listens to me, and dodges the paint thinner, and tells me none of it’s true, and loves me anyway. And I feel incredibly lucky, and also embarrassed.

He knows all this because I said it to his face yesterday, but I want everyone to know that he is seriously amazing. Also that I’m trying to cut back on the crazy.

Now here are some real confessions from people who aren’t me and may even be stable!

Never believe Nice Guys when they say they can’t get laid. My friend who plays WOW for hours every day and owns 1.4 terabytes of anime has no fewer than three girls pursuing him, and still hasn’t managed to get his first kiss.

“Nice Guys” often do and should have trouble getting laid, but that’s another matter entirely. Actual nice, geeky guys are totally worth pursuing, though. I highly recommend them to any inquiring readers.

My new boyfriend is new to being naked with a woman. I love his excitement about the whole thing. I also love the feeling that I can pretend I’m corrupting someone innocent, somehow taking advantage of them. I don’t think I would feel like this with a woman because I’d feel like I was buying into something misogynistic, but somehow his being male makes it feel okay.

I’d feel okay corrupting an “innocent” woman, if she was into that sort of thing. If you find any, feel free to send them my way.

The secret to a happy relationship is keeping the other person more in love with you than you are with them.

This seems like it would be a hard thing to calibrate.

Sex in the woods, while romantic, is hell on the knees. I’ve been scratching bug bites for weeks.

It’s even worse when the boyscout troop happens by. I really, really wish I were just kidding about this one.

I always thought I had escaped the death grip of Catholic Guilt. I thought of sexual experience as being akin to job experience, the more the better. I’ve never felt any qualms about masturbating and have only felt monetary guilt over buying sex toys. However I still feel the need to tell my boyfriend ”I’m sorry” when I watch a movie purely because I think someone in it is hot, or when fantasize about dating and fucking someone I’ll never meet. Somehow I’m fine with the practice, just not the theory. How the hell did this happen?

Maybe part of this is the fact that sometimes it’s hard to convey to a partner: “I love lusting after this person to a perfectly reasonable and healthy degree, but please don’t take that personally or let it affect your confidence in my ravenous lust for you, okay?” and it’s easier just to feel guilty for being a horndog. This is only a guess, though, because I was raised Evangelical Protestant.

Do you have things to say about sex and love and life that just don’t seem to fit anywhere? Why not say them here?

17 Nov

Guest Post: Shelf Life

So my brilliant friend Auntie Gibbon graciously agreed to do a guest post! And this is it. Well, the part after this italicized bit. I hope this is the first of many (no pressure, though, I swear). Enjoy, everyone, for she is, like, velociraptor clever. -Q.P.

Before we begin, a caveat: this post pretty much only applies to long-term relationships that are, fundamentally, healthy and affectionate ones. Sexual intimacy often serves as a mine canary, in that enthusiastic participation in what is really the most direct form of intimacy is going to be the first and most emphatic death in a relationship that is being poisoned by mistrust, contempt, power and control issues, or outright abuse. None of this will apply to any relationship whose basic problems boil down to two people who no longer really even like each other, let alone love each other.

That said, once the endocrine glands have backed off from the hormonal surges of the first year or two of a relationship, a few more years after that have passed, the house has been bought, the lives have been entwined, the kids have been had (or not), two people who really do love each other can find themselves wondering how the hell their sex life dwindled to once or twice a month at best- if not more like once every two or three months.

“Science says” that the passionate rush of a relationship is doomed to die, and in terms of a blood test this is true; this is often brought up to allege that the death of sex in a long-term relationship is simply inevitable, or that humans aren’t really wired for long-term monogamy at all, and that people should either plan on lifelong serial monogamy, open the relationship (which is certainly a viable answer for some but not all), or plan to accept infrequent or nonexistent sex as the pure and simple cost of long-term loving companionship.

Yeah, the hormones do calm down over time. For awhile- the “new romance” rush, which can extend into the “oh my god this is the one” territory for two people who really get along well and ARE compatible- the urge to have sex is pretty much covered by sheer biology: you fuck because you lay eyes on your partner and more often than not, if you’ve the time and the privacy, that automatically seems like the best idea going. What changes over time as a relationship enters the long-haul territory isn’t the possibility of feeling passion and desire for the same person over that time, but for those feelings to be automatically generated and kept going by sheer hormonal imperative.

Timing

One of the things that inevitably happens to any couple over the long term is that their life together falls into routine. This is not actually a bad thing; the heart of a marriage (or other long-term relationship, insert whatever applies to you regardless of the terminology used) is the efficient joining of two lives into a single smoothly functioning unit, which benefits everybody, and which definitely involves routines. However, in the course of creating smooth and structured routines, it’s entirely possible that sex won’t have been penciled in anywhere in between waking up, making the coffee, breakfast, morning chit-chat and responsibility allocation, work, chores, hobby time, bed time, sleep, repeat. Once you fall into a routine where a relatively narrow selection of events is going to happen at the same times of day every day and are only modified by vacations, unless sex is within that box of possibilities for a particular time, you will rapidly find yourself having sex only on vacations or times when someone is in a wild-hair spontaneous sort of mood.

Given that wild-hair spontaneous sorts of moods are by their nature rare events, the solution is not so much for both of you to become the sort of person that wakes up and decides that they’d really rather go elephant-hunting or spend the afternoon learning how to walk a tightrope as it is to somehow work it into the set of the expected. Go to bed half an hour before you’re tired enough to be ready for sleep, wake up half an hour before you actually have to be at work, make room in your head for the possibility of fucking your spouse bent over the arm of the couch before you settle in with your sudoku for the evening as equal to the possibility of just going straight to the sudoku. (Obviously your partner needs to be on board with this idea, though it might be a great surprise you probably ought to catch them *before* they roll out the yoga mat.)

Just remember this: you do what you practice, you are what you do. This applies to getting a consistent good night’s sleep, it applies to any skill or activity, sex is not an exception just because your gonads were doing most of the work for you in years past.

If the thought of potentially having to schedule your sex is depressing to you, bear this in mind: even if you somehow fell into a wild and torrid affair with someone impossibly sexy who was not your partner, you’d still have to schedule your sex *and* it might ruin your life.

Treat it like other relaxing things you do for fun and think about it when you’re bored doing obligatory things. If you put half as much effort into planning and refining what you’ll do in bed as you might to what you do on the squash court, D&D table, or with your knitting, you’ll probably wind up ahead of most of us.

Of course it’s not nearly this simple for most of us, but it IS the simplest thing with the biggest potential effect if no other major factors are at play.

Mismatched drives

That sounds like the title of an agony aunt column, but the fact is mismatched drives are probably the reality for the vast majority of couples. While the outliers with one partner who’d like it twice a day and one partner* who thinks once a month is a nice regular schedule are obviously the unhappiest, over time a difference even between one partner who’d like it three or four times a week and another partner who’d like it once or twice a week can get pretty magnified, and the contrast can drive dynamics that steadily make what was initially a non-problem into a fairly large one.

Speaking of routines and doing what we practice, the way this can and often does play out is like this: the partner with more drive always initiates sex, and is rejected as often as not if not significantly more often than not. The partner with less drive gets as much if not a little more sex than they want without ever having to initiate or risk rejection, but also feels pursued in ways they don’t want all if not most of the time, which makes them feel guarded and protective about their bodies and like more is constantly wanted of them- a private and intimate part of them- than they are able or willing to give. The pursuer feels ugly, pushy, and generally undesirable, experiences constant rejection from what they crave as much as an intimate emotional experience as physical relief, and also like they have to push to get their partner to give anything at all.

In this model, even when sex happens, nobody is having that much fun, which is a pretty goddamn sad thing to say about an activity that results in orgasm.

I don’t have a universal solution for mismatched drives, and a truly total one probably does not exist any more than a solution for mismatched heights does, but hopefully some of the rest of what I mean to address can help keep this kind of everyone-loses dynamic from reaching its full toxic potential.

I WILL say that for an individual who really seems to have no drive at all, this is a problem even if you are comfortable, unless you are in a relationship with someone equally low-torque: get yourself to a medical doctor first and have your thyroid and hormone levels checked, and to a therapist if those are clear. If you have no sex drive and NEVER had one and this just seems to be part of your makeup, that’s okay, but you’re probably better off not in a relationship with someone who has one. If it was there and is now gone- doctor time. If it was your energy level or appetite, you’d be alarmed, right? Basic biological needs vanishing is a reason to be medically concerned.

Do You Wanna Touch Me There- or anywhere?

Don’t let basic physical touch fade out of your relationship- it’s a good deal more important than you may think. While there is plenty of debate, often very silly debate, about what the sex lives of apes imply for the “natural” sexual drives and patterns of humans, what’s not debatable is that affectionate physical touch is the basic glue of social bonds for all primates. Old World and New, apes and monkeys and hominids, they all reinforce friendships, kinships, and bonds with preferred mating partners by touch- hugging, grooming, kissing, petting, whatever suits the species and the relationship.

To put it in brief: if you hug and kiss and cuddle your kids more often than your partner, this is a problem.

One of the things that can help to kill touch in a relationship is the above set dynamic of Pursued and Pursuer. Pursuer loves to touch their partner and it makes them feel sexual, because that need for all kinds of intimacy is feeling a bit gnawing. Pursued may not mind being touched but does stress like hell over the feeling of being constantly rejecting, so they learn to dodge and deflect all touch in case it goes to that place that makes both of them miserable- affectionate touch slowly becomes equivalent to an invitation to sex for both of them, and therefore something to avoid unless ready for rejection for Pursuer and something to avoid unless already and actually in the mood for sex for Pursued. No fun, and there goes simple warm kissing and hugging and cuddling, which would probably make both of them feel better.

Speaking of we do what we practice, and we become what we do: in this scenario, first sex and then most touch outside the more formalized gestures become primarily emotionally associated with stress and conflict rather than with pleasure, intimacy, and relaxation.

Play With Me

Couples don’t need to do everything together, and having separate hobbies and worlds outside the relationship can be vital in maintaining separate identities beyond the relationship- but try to make sure that, somewhere in there, you still make a regular habit of playing together in some form. Play board games, play some friendly sport, play video games, play dress-up or patty-cake, it doesn’t matter, just find some way to maintain that bond of mutual silliness and experimentation. Serious charged passionate sex is great, but given that it involves sticking an engorged body part into a wet hole while everything jiggles and everyone is somehow greased, if you can’t laugh and lose your dignity with your partner your sex life is probably doomed.

Remember this is supposed to be fun. Get some washable markers and condoms and stage a home production of Godzilla vs Mothra. Buy a slip-n-slide for the hall. Play two-person strip poker and do a shot and lose a piece of clothing when you lose a hand. Get some washable bath crayons and mark Highest Achieved Ejaculation on the shower wall. Did you know that if you keep up with your kegels, you can turn the human vagina into a fun bathtime water gun? Do you even know how hilarious most porns are when given the Mystery Science Theater treatment? Did you know you can still get off afterward but this time you’ll have someone to do it with instead of that humorless bastard Mr. Lefty?

Or don’t go quite that far if you can’t face the maid the next day, but work actively to preserve mutual play in your relationship, and extend it to the bedroom when and where you can. It’s easier to relax enough to be sexy when you can laugh about it. If part of the problem is stress, regardless of whether or not the source of the stress has anything to do with your relationship, being able to relax naked with your partner becomes really important. Likewise, being able to easily play sexually is a lot easier if you’re already in practice playing together nonsexually.

Talk to Me

Yes, yes, yes, it’s not news; communication is vital to maintaining a healthy relationship. This does not mean that you should tell your partner absolutely everything that crosses your mind, and it definitely doesn’t mean you need to approach every rocky moment with a profound and lengthy analysis with what’s wrong with your relationship, especially because often what caused the rocky moment could be mostly solved with a sandwich and a beer.

If, after quiet and mostly unemotional analysis, preferably bounced off your most pragmatic and reasonable friend, you feel you have identified a Relationship Issue That Needs Addressing, then absolutely you should find a good time and place to bring that up and talk it out. What I’m talking about, however, is much simpler, which is simply saying aloud what you may be thinking and you probably already think your partner knows or should know but doesn’t necessarily, or doesn’t really know in their heart.

You probably already know that when you’re in a black, pissy mood you should let your partner know that the reason for your anger is nothing to do with them, because being the nearest available intimate and feeling your anger quite keenly, they will worry that it is or get defensive because they think it is and they did nothing wrong. Likewise, if your sex drive is in the toilet or you just don’t feel like having sex even though your partner’s been really super nice and is obviously hopeful, you need to let them know that it’s not all or even mostly about them. If it IS, in fact, all about them, then obviously you need to address that, but otherwise it’s important for them to understand it’s not about you rejecting them as undesirable.

Think about how your sexual dynamic must affect your partner. I don’t mean you beast, why can’t you keep your hands to yourself and give your poor partner some peace, or you heartless refrigerator, why can’t you just have more sex, I mean think about what their position must feel like and how it might suck for them as opposed to how your position sucks for you. Pursued may feel like a piece of meat or that they must protect their body and therefore it’s not fully theirs around their partner; Pursuer may feel totally rejected and frozen out; neither one is a fair assessment of their partner’s actual intent to make them feel. This is especially important when it comes to gender dynamics, because men and women often internalize messages about how the opposite sex sees them that aren’t really true, especially in a long-term intimate relationship.

It may seem odd that a man can be fully convinced his wife doesn’t find his dick attractive or exciting even while she’s gobbling it like a Klondike bar because women don’t get excited about men and she must be doing it out of love or because she’s looking to get something out of it, or that a woman can be convinced her partner sees her as a fat, plain-featured cow even while he’s doing everything he can just to have sex with her and he must be doing it because men just want a wet hole to stick it in at the end of the day even if its owner is an ugly hog no one could ever beat off to… but neither scenario is even remotely uncommon. They need to hear otherwise, and you need to mean it.

Likewise, despite its being something we’re bizarrely trained not to do even though long-term relationships are what we’re told we should strive for in order to legitimize our sexual feelings, it would help the both of you out to really talk about your sexuality and what turns you on and why. Employ alcohol if you need to- if ever there were a positive use for something that lowers inhibitions, this is it right here. The goal here is not to find fantasies to act out together, though that can sometimes be a fun side bonus, it’s to get a good idea of how your partner really thinks about sex and most importantly about themselves in terms of sex instead of what you project onto them without that information.

No judging allowed. If it turns out your partner’s into kiddie porn or the non-fantasy kind of rape, then okay, you have my permission to judge, but if you want to have sex and you want your weird little self indulged, you need to take it calmly and lovingly when you find out they’re into feet or piss or Bill O’Reilly. You don’t have to participate, you just have to be okay with the existence of their desires and their roots rather than punishing your partner for being sexually open with you. Hell, if you’ve got play and not taking yourselves seriously down pat already, you can even laugh as long as it’s the “with” kind. Being his loofah might even turn out to be kind of fun; there’s a *lot* of hotness value in seeing your partner really, seriously, uncontrollably turned on and more to the point really, seriously being thrilled to death to be able to share that with you.

Long story short (too late): One of the major upsides of a long-term relationship over a series of hormone-fueled flings is being able to really share all of yourself, including your naked embarrassing silly sexuality, without fear. Don’t miss out because talking’s awkward.

You For You

This actually leads up into what I feel is the heart of the whole issue, and what makes the difference between a long-term relationship that continues right on past the inflated hormones into long-term happy fucking and mutual adoration and a long-term relationship that has nothing really wrong with it other than everyone is quietly alone inside their own heads and most certainly alone in their pants.

Here’s a secret: the hormones are a distraction, something you can measure with a blood test but not really the biggest difference between a partner you’ve been fucking like a mad rabbit for six months and a partner you’ve been with for fifteen years that you fuck maybe once a month.

The person you’ve been with for years is someone you are convinced is a person you’ve built up a whole self and identity with and they can’t be fooled about it. The person you’ve known six months is someone you can be someone other than that self with. And! This is the key bit- if the self you feel you really are, the one very probably in that long-term relationship, is someone you feel is unattractive, boring, not very passionate or sexual, or otherwise not the kind of person that fucks someone over the arm of the couch instead of sudoku- you can pretend to be a wildly sexy person with someone newer, and you can feel you’ve gotten away with it. And your hormones will help!

Once you’ve been with someone long enough and your hormones aren’t driving you to inspired new heights, if you really feel you’re unattractive or unsexy, you will also feel that your partner, who knows everything else about you including your issues, your insecurities, and the fact that you get gas if you eat lentils, also must know this. And then, even if you want sex- you may not want sex with them, or may not want it very often, because it’s very tough not to be who you feel you really are around them, which is an unsexy person they’re not attracted to. And because we do what we practice and we become what we do… you become that person that doesn’t have sex unless they’re somewhere or with someone they can pretend to be the kind of person that does. (At which point you will become the kind of person that has sex- behind their partner’s back and with people they have little real connection to.)

It may turn out that, with self-knowledge and honesty, you actually *aren’t* attracted to your partner anymore if you ever were, or the reverse case, or that you’re actually gay, or that enough critical pieces have died in the meantime that the relationship is not resurrectable… but without it, you’ll never find out one way or the other, and you still won’t be getting any.

Push Me, Pull You

What about Pursued and Pursuer? Given that they’re the base of billions in therapy and self-help books and I keep bringing them up as an example of how the dynamic can set itself and reinforce itself, it seems a little unfinished to just leave them chasing each other in a circle to exhaustion.

Pursued may learn to not automatically say no to any touch or intimacy and to sometimes give Pursuer a chance to try and get them in the mood- but only if Pursuer can also learn never to whine or beg or guilt-trip if the answer turns out to be no in the end anyway, because the only way Pursued will ever relax into intimacy is if they don’t feel they have to give their body up just because they feel a little good and a little close.

Pursuer may learn to stand still and let Pursued approach and initiate- but only if Pursued makes a serious effort to learn how to enter this mindset in the first place and be sexually ready and aggressive, which they’ve possibly never had to actually learn to do in their lives. If Pursued is the sort who simply doesn’t think about sex most of the time unless someone is nibbling their neck, they need to develop that habit through practice as well.

Pursuer needs to tell Pursued how much they want the connection with their partner more than just the physical release and that’s why they don’t just go away and masturbate- and then never make a lie of this by acting as though sex were something Pursued would just “give” if they were only kinder rather than a completely shared experience with their body. Pursued needs to tell Pursuer that Pursuer is attractive and loving and kind and everything Pursued loves, and a rejection of sex is not a rejection of them- and then never make a lie of this by coming up with constant obvious bullshit excuses or being constantly distant in other ways.

Be kind, be honest, know yourself, actively work to create new or better habits, and take your partner for who they are rather than who you imagine a partner to be, and yourself for who you are to them as well as who you’ve convinced yourself you are, and you will have happy sex within a long-term relationship until your bodies give out.

Given all this, perhaps it’s not a surprise how many of us rely on hormones.

*Obviously the cultural trope is that men want it more and women want it less, and indeed I’ve known many couples and individuals for whom this is true. I’ve also known some women profoundly depressed because they wanted more and their male partners wanted less, up to the extreme of him wanting none at all, and although I’ve never encountered a man who would admit to being in this position, I’ve met enough of their wives, girlfriends, and exes to know they must exist.

19 Oct

ConTuesday! History

The only people not haunted by ghosts of bonings past are virgins. And I’m not even sure about them. I have my share; some of them actually just think they’re being friendly. Silly ghosts. Here are other peoples’. No one knows whose…

I had to tell my veryvery recent ex that I was diagnosed with HPV today. He reacted pretty badly, coming down with slut-shaming, insisting he could not have been the source, and showing he was incredibly ill-informed about STIs, and generally being the reason people fear disclosing disease statuses. Before the conversation, I’d been depressed about the breakup, wishing he’d fall for me again, but his reaction cured me of that. I feel much better. Now if only I could get rid of this infection, too…

Isn’t it great when an ex just keeps validating and validating your breakup? It really helps with the closure. More on HPV in a minute…

I just found out I have HPV and it feels like my days of being a slut are over. I’m hoping you/QP readers can reassure me that there is still casual sex after stigma-heavy STI diagnoses…

I don’t think I’m alone in thinking of HPV as a sort of common cold of STIs. Tons of people have it without even knowing about it, and most of the time it clears up on its own (although it can take a while). I know a lot of people who’ve been diagnosed with HPV and work around it very easily using good communication and safer sex. They have plenty of willing partners and have a ton of fun. Just make sure you have regular pelvic exams, especially if it’s one of the strains known to cause cervical cancer.

If I were newly diagnosed with HPV I’d figure, “hey, it’s a virus that my body can kill…” and try to boost my immune system. If you want to try that, there are tons of suggestions online. More basically, pretend you just learned you have Mononucleosis or a cold that’s hard to shake. Cut out booze, cigarettes, junk food for a while (assuming you partake in any of these). Exercise, eat fruits and veggies, and try to minimize stress. Vitamin C, Vitamin D, Astragalus, fish oil, or other supplements might help. And drink lots of clear fluids, just like the doctors say.

All I want is a romantic partner who will not see my sexual history and lifestyle as a neutral at best or downside at worst. I want someone who will hear what a slut I am and find me desirable, and not in the ‘she’s easy’ way. I want a fellow slut to ask me about my adventures and share her/his/hir own, a slut who gets that ‘casual’ sex can be like traveling abroad – a way to grow, a source of a million experiences, feelings, theories, a valuable part of an identity and life story. It seems like too much to ask.

I don’t think it’s too much to ask. I just think it takes some searching. Good luck!

My boyfriend is wonderful, but I still miss pussy. Monogamy is hard.

Yes. Yes it is.

Do you have a secret, a regret, a rant, a fantasy, or a triumphant squee and no one to share it with? Right here.

12 Jul

Anniwhatnow?

A friend asked how long Laramy Fuquerton and I have been together now.

“Well, I mean…” I tilted my head thoughtfully, “It really depends what you’re counting as ‘together’…” We started fucking about a year ago, but we’d been making out for a month or two at that point. We sort of sauntered casually into “seeing each other” and lingered there a while until we finally admitted we were “boyfriend and girlfriend” about six-ish months later (our friends-in-common were all pretty amused when we finally figured that one out.) But we still didn’t say “I love you” until months after that. And we started being “in a relationship” on Facebook a while later.

It’s possible that we have commitment issues. Either that or he’s just been incredibly understanding of the ones I know I have. Which really aren’t that horrible. It’s just the swift, jarring kind of commitment that scares the shit out of me, so my tendency is to take it to the other extreme: the laughably obvious kind of commitment that gets lapped by molasses-flavored glaciers.

As a result, Laramy and I don’t really have an “anniversary”. In fact, anniversaries confuse me for the reasons stated above. They’re so arbitrary. I understand wedding anniversaries. A wedding is a finite date that you can point to and say “something started here”. But short of that, it’s murky: the kind of relationships I have don’t have inaugural ceremonies. I have never, in my life, thought I was on a “first date”. Of course, you don’t need a first date. You can use any of the following milestones as your anniversary:

  • first awkward pat/hug
  • first kiss
  • first grope
  • first manual sex
  • first oral sex
  • first intercourse
  • first penetration with produce (not advisable, btw)
  • first fight
  • first time you met each other’s friends
  • first time you met each other’s parents
  • first time you had to apologize for asking to meet your new paramour’s parents because s/he’s an orphan

…and the list goes on and on. If a bunch of these things happened to occur on the same day, that makes it easy (note: I did not just call you easy), but otherwise it ends up being, like I said, pretty arbitrary. Then, some people have the grand idea of celebrating anniversaries for every little progression in their relationships, which for me would feel much like the:

  • first time I wanted to die.

Seriously, that would suck.

Edwin Pomble, my boyfriend previous to Laramy, was more pro-commitment and pro-fanfare. To give an example, he told me he loved me the second time we had sex, when we’d known each other for a month, tops.  (I’m not saying that’s a bad idea in general, only that I sure as goddamn found it alarming.) He and I were together for four years, and I never quite got the hang of when our anniversary was (or what, precisely, it commemorated).  I was pretty sure it was in a month ending in “ber”, but I never advanced beyond that. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t very happy in that relationship and it’s possible that I actually just didn’t find it particularly worth celebrating. So my brain passive-aggressively refused to remember the date, which was a dickish move. And it bothered him that I couldn’t be arsed to keep track of which day in which “ber’. It should’ve been a clue to both of us that it was time to move on.

So I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been with Laramy. A year-ish. A really great year-ish, during which I’ve gotten to get closer and closer, at my own pace, to a person who amazes me and complements me and tolerates me and makes me happy. I’m incredibly lucky that way. And we’re worth celebrating, but I honestly think we do, constantly, in our own ways.

(image source)

09 Jul

Capable

If you verbally abuse someone, I don’t trust you. If you break things in anger, especially to intimidate or otherwise send a message to your partner, I don’t trust you. You can say it a million times: “I would never raise a hand against anyone!” “I’m not the violent type.” “I know not to cross the line.” Yeah, sorry. I still don’t trust you.

When I was a kid, no one sat me down to lay out the List of Unacceptable Behaviors. I honestly didn’t know that breaking things and punching holes in walls right next to me were red flag activities. I thought that if a guy didn’t hurt me, I wasn’t really allowed to complain. I didn’t understand that when a partner takes steps to try to isolate you from your friends and family, it’s time to dump the motherfucker already. If he told me he cared about me, well, that meant he did! Why would anyone bother to lie about that?

Yes, I was naive like the cosmos is big: beyond imagining.

I can’t blame anyone for my lack of education here. My parents certainly didn’t expect their daughter to find herself in an abusive relationship as a teenager (or ever, probably). In fact, I’m sure they thought I’d meet a nice Christian boy who would agree with my dad and treat me like a treasured helpmeet, and we’d get married young (the most reliable way to prevent premarital sex) and bless them richly with WASP grandbabies approximately nine months after I finally discovered on my wedding night what a penis looked like. They may or may not have also expected me to learn to speak in tongues, but this was merely implied, never discussed.

But despite my parents’ peculiar and inaccurate prophesies concerning my romantic future, I think they were deceptively typical: few parents want to plan for the worst, and perhaps fewer see the looming specter of an asshole on the horizon. I wonder how many parents ever give the List Of Unacceptable Behaviors talk.

Do people pick the list up from pop culture, peers, mentors, or their own common sense (of which I’ve never claimed adequate amounts)? The chilling answer is that far too few of us do until we’re taught the hard way. Far too many of us learn what’s unacceptable by accepting the unacceptable until we reach a crisis point. For me, the crisis point occurred with Reginald Sleeth after he broke things, after he called me names, after he hit me, after he choked me, after he threatened to kill me, and after so many other Fucking Well Unacceptable Behaviors.

I’m not a therapist or any other kind of expert in abusive relationships, but I have spent a lot of time processing and examining my experiences and the stories of other abused partners. Often there seems to be a pattern of escalation. An abuser might test to see if he (or yes, she) can get away with throwing something across the room so it almost hits his victim. If he liked the response from that, he might smash something right next to her, seeming almost about to strike her with it, and scaring her even more. After that, he might start shoving. Just a little. And so on.

The Slippery Slope is a fallacy because it does not logically follow that circumstances will inevitably escalate. But neither does not logically follow that an argument’s automatically invalid if it notes a process of escalation. When a person self-justifies abusive actions shrewd to provoke fear and grant him control over someone, he can’t be trusted to adhere to higher frequencies on an honor code spectrum he’s already breaking. Not all verbal abusers and object-violent abusers graduate to hitting their victims. But many do, and those who don’t are still abusive and still patently Unacceptable. And if no one’s ever told you that before, I’m damn well telling you now.

(image source)

04 Jul

To secure these rights…

Today's post isn't really about sex. But this makes up for it, no?

I was born in the United States, and that’s where I live. Today is Independence Day here. It commemorates not any victory or truce, but simply the intention to stop being a trodden-upon colony. This is kind of like celebrating your anniversary with a paramour on the day you first admitted you wanted to fuck each other rather than the day you actually did for the first time. Which is fine, really, just an interesting choice that becomes completely meaningless unless there’s some decisive follow-through. Which, in the case of the Declaration of Independence, there was. It was called the Revolutionary War.

I’m somewhat conflicted as a U.S. citizen. It always feels awkward that there’s not a proper word for us. “American” is desperately broad and kind of pushy, as if the manifest destiny myth gives us the right to claim ourselves the sole possessors of all flavors and varieties of Americas, some of which are entire continents. Sure, “America” in this case is just shorthand for “United States of America”, and no one else seems to need it as much as we do (try saying United Statesian. It just doesn’t work), but it bothers me anyway. Other things bother me more profoundly. Our country was never, even once, all integrity and liberty and pie. The United States government and its citizens systematically slaughtered and displaced the people of sovereign native nations to get us where we are today. They enslaved and exploited those people and so many others for generations. No ends justify those means.

I don’t believe our founding fathers were infallible or indefatigably noble. I don’t think that they necessarily planned for “all men are created equal” to mean seriously fucking everyone someday. They were, as we are, products of their era and culture, and that means they had some pretty shitty ideas about plenty of subjects. Instead of perfect intentions and godlike wisdom (or even the moral high ground), though, they gave us wonderful promises and forged them into law. That’s their beautiful legacy.

What I love about my home are the promises it was built on. Those flawed men gave us the framework to grow into an honest, fair, and free society, or as close as we’re likely to ever get. I intensely believe this, and it makes me grateful and yes, proud.

But just because those promises were made doesn’t mean they’re automatically kept. I don’t just think, I observe that we’re not as free as we think we are in this country. Votes become increasingly difficult to verify as paper ballots are phased out. Appointing corporate lobbyists to White House cabinet and advisory positions has become de rigueur. People are lining up to hand in their reproductive rights, relinquish free speech (funny how limiting someone else’s rights also compromises your own), and to thwart the one provision in the Constitution that seems designed to give us a fighting chance if everything goes irretrievably to hell. We’re losing cherished friends, family, and compatriots in two interminable wars that most of us don’t seem to believe in. Our president, who was stridently opposed to the Patriot Act while he was campaigning, recently extended it by a year, and was met with precious little outrage.

The government can do bad things. It will sometimes try to do them in secret. There are recorded, admitted instances where this has happened in the past. So I have to ask, has any government in history ever cleaned up its act and restored its integrity on its own, without a coup, a war, or at least the undeviating insistence of an incensed public? What makes us think a government that, for example, covertly performed mind-control experiments on many of its citizens without their informed consent mere decades ago can be trusted today?

And yet, apathy thrives. Helplessness encroaches.

I realize that everyone has a different vision of the ideal America (mine has a lot of naked frolicking). I don’t know the answers to everything, and I’m not pretending to. I just feel very strongly that no good can come from a nation’s citizens having fewer rights and sitting idly by while more important promises are broken. Even if you’re not using all your rights or you don’t particularly like some of them, aren’t they… I dunno… kind of nice to have? Just in case?

My fellow United Statesians, have a great Independence Day. See fireworks. Grill meat (or tofu, if you’re kinky like that) over fire. Celebrate your state’s relaxed sodomy laws. Do something outdoors. Our nation is beautiful and you have every right to love it. But today I feel bound to remind myself that freedom isn’t something you’re necessarily born with and get to keep. That’s the way it should be, in a perfect world, but in reality freedom can be taken away at any time. That’s when you have to decide whether or not you’re going to declare your intentions to fight for it. And then, fucking follow through.