On Wants vs Needs

I found this in my cloud the other day. It was written a fair few months ago now, and I don’t know why it wasn’t a post then. But it’s basically still true, so, meh.

~*~

I refer to this friend too often not to give her a name, so, the friend from On Dirty Minds will now be BB.

BB and I had a conversation a while back, regarding relationship needs, what we could emotionally handle vs short term wants.

I have a post planned that will get more into this and into the whole ‘casual dating is the devil’ thing that a lot of people seem to have a problem with. I’m not talking about that here.

I’m talking about wanting to have sex outside of friend groups, outside of connected people, someone who I could have sex with without strings attached, get my horniness sorted out, and move on with my life.

At the same time, I understood that would be a temporary fix to the problem. I wanted someone who I could turn to when I was having a bad day, when shit was going down, and say, look, not trying to make your life more complicated, but I could really just use someone to cuddle with right now. We don’t even have to talk, I just want company.

Because this city is really fucking lonely.

BB didn’t find this odd, necessarily, but applauded my little arctic fox self for coming down from my snowy isolated hill and admitting this. Admitting that I might want something ‘more’. What that more would resemble, I’m still not entirely sure.

So tonight, when I’m so sore I can barely move the lower half of my body, stressed about work, stressed about basically everything, and want something to hold on to, what do I do?

A part of my brain says that I just need a body, someone there beside me. Another part says that anything physical won’t help.

I don’t know what’s the need and what’s the want. Is it a need for physical distraction? The thought of having to open up emotionally to someone makes my skin crawl, and makes me even more exhausted, but maybe it would be nice?

It’s something I suppose I need to sort out. Eventually.

But for now, I have heating pouches, a stuffed dog, a memory foam mattress, and Xbox.

So, I guess that works for now.


On A Drinking Game

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Written at the end of a very long day. Meant to be all in fun. Would write a female version, but I don’t have any experience with female profiles on Tinder. If someone wants to write that and link it to me, I’ll probably repost it if I think it’s funny.


Use Responsibly!

TINDER DRINKING GAME


Take 1 drink each time you see:

A professional headshot ala American Psycho
The picture doesn’t include the guy
The picture includes the guy but the guy is out of frame so you have to go to the profile
The picture includes a girl that could be an SO
The picture has poorly edited out other people
The picture basically has neon lights screaming DOUCHEBAG
The picture has you wondering where the bodies are buried

Take drinks each time:

The profile advertises the guy as some version of “dominant, *nudge nudge wink wink*
The profile openly advertises for a sub/slave (+1 if the guy has a gf and they are vanilla)*
The profile has any pseudo philosophical quote, i.e. You can’t destroy energy, only transfer it
The profile advertises the height of the guy as it relates to dick size
A girl popped up, & that’s not what you’re digging right now.

Take drinks each time:

The profile advertises height as though they didn’t want to/it’s a chore
The profile says the girl has to message first
The profile “can’t believe they are on Tinder again”
You got through almost all/all of the pictures onto to see one that fell under the first category and/or once you read the profile

Blearily take a sip while continuing to swipe when:

You got so lost in swiping you’re pretty sure you passed a soulmate 5+ ago, and can’t do anything about it and it’s too much effort to care.

*Added because there is a website for this – Fetlife. Although people get angry on there too because its supposedly Kinky Facebook and Not Kinky Tinder. Because nobody can win, I guess. 

 

On Iron Man vs Hulk

sex-dice

He was the hottest guy in a five mile radius of my friend group, with a giant stockpile of charisma to boot.

 

I was seeking anything remotely like machismo to pull me out of a seemingly never ending rut.


I was warned he was the biggest player of the players, the biggest man-whore of the man-whores, and don’t touch or you’ll get burned.

And I looked at that and said, But, actually? Sounds perfect.

We met at a flat party, and discussed video games, and I tried to suppress my nerdom in an attempt to impress, but actually ended up in a half an hour conversation about button masher games. He then invited me to join the group going to see the next Marvel movie together and we freaked out at all the same moments, while our other friends watched and rolled their eyes at the ongoing battle that ensued the entire movie.

I will forever and always be team Iron Man.
He thinks Hulk will always be able to kick Iron Man’s ass.

 

Had we ever actually slept together, our idea of foreplay would have been discussing the scene in the first Avengers movie where Iron Man throws the nuclear weapon out into space, and then Hulk saves Iron Man’s life. We would have been stripping each other while arguing about which moment was more badass, fuck each other’s brains out, and during the after sex cigarette resume a similar argument as a pump up for round two.

But, alas, we never did sleep together. Not that we didn’t want to.

I was out with a group of girls, he was out with a group of guys, we ended up at the same club. We saw each other, he got me a drink, and we ended up dancing together. He kissed me, and boy was a damn good kisser. We continued dancing, he kissed me again.
It would be the last time he ever did so.

He invited me for coffee the next day, and I was excited, if a bit confused.
What would this mean? Where did we stand?
We chat about nothing for a while before he finally got around to the subject.
He had a girlfriend, which I knew.
He had an open relationship with the girlfriend, which I knew.
He was not allowed to fuck other people he cared about, which I did not know.

Ah. Uh. Heh.

I want to delve into the different types of relationships (polyamory, open, monogamy) in a different post, but I have been fairly open about being polyamorous for about 4 years now. Basically, since I heard the word, did some research, and had that glorious moment of Oh shit everything in my romantic life finally makes an iota of sense. 
And I don’t (or at the very least, try my best not to) pass any judgements on other people’s various poly/open/mono setups. I understand that what works for me may not work for you or the next person or the next person. 

But back to Hulk boy.
Basically, it flew in the face of everything I had been told about him. And my brain just went to:
So a one night stand is okay, but I’m not okay?
Are you telling me you care about me? That I matter more to you than that? 

This question was never entirely cleared up, but I do believe that, yes, I did. He would come over immediately on my days off work, he would sometimes try to hold my hand when he’d had a bit to drink, he would give me a look sometimes, that I know meant something, though what, I can’t say. And I have to admit I liked him too. I was annoyed I was being strung along, sure. But, I have to admit that there was a part of me that liked being liked by him, especially when everyone had said he was incapable of such emotion.

Which is why it really sucked when I found out he’d told his girlfriend’s best friend that I was a sure thing.”
Don’t talk about any woman, any person like that. I have not, will not, and will never be anyone’s sure thing. Not in the least because as a human being, I am capable of changing my mind at any given moment.

So I froze him out. I threw a halloween party and didn’t invite him. He found out, he asked why I was mad. I told him. We had lunch, he apologized profusely. He refused to eat his vegetables. I added them to my soup.
We were saying goodbye, and he gave me a look like a little lost puppy.

“Are we friends now?” He asked, so sweetly it would’ve melted any lingering annoyance I might’ve felt.
“Of course we are,” And we hugged.

He was a summer…I don’t know what you’d call it. He’s someone I remember with a smile on my face. I remember flirty conversations and playing Kings in my living room with a wonderful group of people. I remember him coming to have lunch with me at work and showing me pictures of his vacation. I remember laughter and light and fun. I remember poker games and pizza. And I’m sad we weren’t anything more, that we never had ridiculous nerd debate infused sex. But, at the same time, maybe it’s okay Hulk boy is just Hulk boy, and not anything more. Maybe it’s okay some people will remain just as they are in your memory, light moments of fun, never to be tainted, and no longer possibilities. They’re people you can think about, and honestly and truthfully still call a friend. 

On Writing A Sex Scene

4

So in my post on New Year’s Day I mentioned that I wanted to write a book. In truth, I have been working on this already, and parts have been shared with different people.


The book changes POV, and part of the story involves the changing relationship/dynamic between two of the main characters. As simply as possible, they go from outright shouting matches to what is essentially stress relief/hate fucking. It’s not the main part of the story, but it’s in there. It boils down to using sex as a coping mechanism, and it not necessarily mattering who the other person is, but seeking human contact in the closest warm body you can stand touching you. Is it pretty? No. Does it happen? Sure.

Two people have read these parts relating to their relationship through in their entirety. Others have read chunks here and there. And it’s been quite interesting getting the feedback, because the guys that read it send me back much different interpretations than the girls.

I.e., the guys don’t understand the girl character’s agency.
Or, really, that she has agency. They’ve stated that they believe she’s being used.

I had a discussion about this with one of my very close guy friends – and he said it may have been a matter of experience. Have those reading it experienced sex in this way, even second hand? Is it beyond the purview of their experience and, therefore, it makes little to no sense why a character would behave in that way or make those assumptions or do x then y to get to z?

I don’t believe this is a 50-50 split. I don’t think every girl will immediately get it and every guy will immediately not. It’s simply that I’ve never experienced such a clear gender divide in interpreting writing before.


It’s not that this doesn’t happen. Look at the stigma around romance novels/women’s literature, erotica vs. porn, sci-fi, and some graphic novels.

How do we overcome this? Do we overcome this? It’s experience, and preferences, and choices, and life. There are conversations to be had about the differences between Literary Fiction and Women’s Fiction, but how we interpret the book itself? That’s a person to person case.

And this is not to say that the scene in question does not still need editing. It does. Or that I’m not grateful for the feedback. I am.

But when do you, as a writer, say, I’m listening to those comments more than yours? I can’t address your feedback and this feedback and not make it look like I was of a sound mind when this was being created?

Or maybe I’ll just stare at the computer screen until my eyeballs bleed, because writer’s block is just so, so real.

On Something New

Don’t make me open my eyes

Because I’m so close to breaking

And the world is fading

As you weave complex patterns on my skin.

You want my attention

But there’s so much sensation

And I just want it all the blend in.

My face is a demon mask and I hope you don’t mind

No wait, slightly up, to the right

Ah crap, you just had it!

Oh fuck now he’s got it….

Oh, Jesus, now he wants round 3.
__________

I understand I’ve gone a bit AWOL for the past few weeks, and for that, I apologise. It’s not that I’ve had nothing to say, it’s quite the opposite. There have been a bit too many stories, and I’ve needed a bit of time to digest. Between a few new people entering my life, the reminder of someone from the past, a ‘vacation’, and my birthday, it’s been a bit much. What is appropriate to say? What should wait until the dust all settles? What do I want to say in the heat of the moment, and what is actually justified?


Hence a silly little happy, poem-y thing while I sort my head out. I am dedicating myself, in this next year, to write more. I want to take my writing to a new level. I want to publish a book. I want to grow this blog and see where it goes. I want to take my freelancing career…somewhere. I don’t know where.

So I hope you will bear with me, as I try to sort this out. Figure out what works, and what doesn’t. If you have thoughts, want to contribute, want to tell me I suck, shoot me a message.

I hope everyone had a great holiday season, and hope you had a great new year celebration, whether you were out somewhere fabulous, or were, like me, in a blanket burrito on the couch.

On Leicester Square

2015-10-14-tgag_614_feminist

Headphones in ears, giant fuckoff bag beside me, and a book open in my lap – all the telltale signs of leave me the hell alone. And yet, I could feel hipster fuckboy’s eyes on me for two stops before he crossed over to sit next to me. It should be noted that my entire end of this conversation was said almost completely deadpan.

“What are you reading?” He asked brightly.

I held up the book. It was Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s We Should All Be Feminists.

“Oh, so you’re a feminist?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t until last year. I thought they were just all feminazis who hated men, but then my ex got me on it. I know it’s about equality now.” His smile still in place, nodding at his own innate genius for figuring out that 2 + 2 = 4.

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, like, we’re all equal right? Just makes sense.”

I nod, and turn back to the book.

Yes, well done for understanding that women are, indeed, equal to you, and those fighting for said equality are not the same as actual Nazis. Excuse me while I swoon over your unwashed beard and immediately drop my pants here on the train. Who said a little vibration ever hurt anyone?

“I didn’t think I should come over here, but, there was just, something about you.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Something about me?”

“Yeah, you just have that vibe about you.”

“What vibe?”

“I don’t know, but that vibe.”

I know what he’s talking about. It’s the ‘you’re different from the others’, vibe. The, ‘you’re not like other girls’, vibe. The, ‘you’re a challenge and therefore I must prove my manhood and make you want me’, vibe.

It’s the vibe that says I’m calling you on your bullshit and you don’t want me to, you’re not used to it, or you want to convince me to stop, that you’re different, you’re different than the other fuckboys.

“Maybe you’re a party girl?”

He takes stock of the eyebrows creeping up into my hairline and tries again.

“So, you’re a student?”

“Sure.”

“Can you help me?”

He doesn’t know what stop he needs to get out at. It’s with a sinking feeling in my gut I realise we’re getting out at the same station.

“So you’re like, far out of town?”

“Why do you say that?” 

“All the students have to live far away to afford to live here, so you’re far away?”

Yes I will definitely tell you where exactly to bury the body.

“What are you studying?”

“Politics.”

“Ah wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m just visiting here for a couple days.”

“Cool.”

“Can you guess my country?”

“Probably not.”

“Oh, come on. It’s shaped like Africa!”

Fkdajfkladsjf;lkasdjfladsf

“What?”

“It’s in Europe and shaped like Africa!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You study politics and you can’t guess that country?”

>.>

“No.”

I don’t remember the country, but it sure as fuck is not shaped like an entire continent. Side note, you reckon that was a good imperialist sentiment? Sure, we can take it over. Our country is a mini version of it. We’re *supposed* to expand there, just like God intended….

“So what are you doing now?”

“Meeting friends.”

“We should hang out.”

“No.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have a date.”

“Ah really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come?”

“What? No.”

“Please?”
“You want to come to come along with me to my date?”

“Just tell him I’m gay.”

Can we take another moment to consider just how many groups of people he’s insulted at this point?

“No.”

“It would be so fun.”

“No.”

We’re approaching the stop. I grab my bag and sprint out the door. He’s left with a bemused expression on his face, twirling in a circle trying to find the right exit.

I left him to his confusion. For all I know, he’s still wandering around down there.

On Bitter Disappointment and Disappointed Bitterness

overqualified

The first time the ‘just close your eyes and think of Europe’ line applied was also the first time a guy ever went down on me.

This had been a long time coming.

Not because of any particular attraction I felt towards this person, but because we’d been explicitly told not to do it.

Another girl he’d been hooking up was a friend of mine, and one night she called me while messaging him – telling me if anything happened between us she could no longer be my friend, while telling him she would not be comfortable with him hooking up with me specifically, but of course their relationship was just casual and of course he could hook up with other girls and of course she was a ‘cool girl’ who could handle it all.

There’s something always fascinating in the forbidden, isn’t there? That desire to touch which can not be touch, to feel which can not be felt. Your imagination builds it up so much in your head, making it into something that will be fantastical and wonderful.

More often than not, it’s mediocre, at best.

It’s part of why I’ve never understood abstinence only education programs, or programs like D.A.R.E., which, besides being proven more often than not that they don’t work, only make the thing seem more deliciously fascinating.

So one night, when I had friends over, hanging out, beer, pizza, good times, and he came up behind me, I did not say ‘No,’ I said, “We shouldn’t.” I dared him to continue.

And in my tipsy haze, in my sex starved body, he felt warm and smooth.

We didn’t get very far before we passed out. It was late, he was high, and I still had a voice in the back of my head saying, “This is a really bad idea.”

In the morning, he was young and clumsy. He was rough in the wrong places, trying to take control of a situation like he normally would, expecting me to swoon, and I refused. I refused to fake my enjoyment when all I wanted was him out of my room.

Guys, I have already stated that girls will fake orgasms. Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.
If we aren’t moving, if we are enjoying ourselves, you will know.
If we tell you “Keep doing that,” “Don’t stop,” “No, just there,” Or any variation thereof, why would you change what you are doing? Unless you are in a play situation of orgasm denial – why deny us when we are giving you clear cut instructions? If we’re going down on you and you say “Just like that,” “Yeah, faster,” or “Not that hard,” when we’re sucking on your balls, do you want us to go harder and/or bite the damn thing off? No.
(Yes I know that there’s a difference in the harm involved there, but the concept is the same.)

So by the third time I was asking for the incessant drilling of fingers in my pussy to be backed down to a tolerable level/the angle to be changed, when I’d been denied twice already, I gave up. I gave up on instructions. I gave up, and I got irritated.
Very irritated.

We both liked biting, and but I had stated that I did not want any marks on my body. He had no such qualms.
I started slow, nips here and there, finding the correct spots. And moans and groans led me further and further.
I understand that this was not the most mature way to handle the situation, but I was rather unhappy. Unhappy that this had built up so high, that I’d been hearing about the amazing, take control skills of this guy for months, how fantastic he was in bed, and how it had been ohso amazing. Unhappy that he’d been flirting so much with me, telling me things he wanted to do, and that none of it was even remotely close to living up to reality.

I was annoyed that this was the first time I’d let anyone sleep in my own bed, stay in my room, invade my personal space, and it was so profoundly disappointing.

So when his tongue started to lick at me like a hyperactive puppy I stared at my ceiling and held out for as long as I felt reasonable – before using his neck like a cat scratch post.

I can’t say that either of us were particularly satisfied that morning, until he came back because he forgot some of his stuff. My flatmate opened the door, I heard them muttering, and buried myself deeper into a blanket cocoon.

“Uh, what the hell happened last night?” If I’m remembering correctly, she didn’t even bother knocking.

“What did he say?”

“He said he felt like he was returning to the scene of the crime,” She tried to suppress a laugh, “Did you mean to maul him?”

Eh. Kinda.

“He didn’t seem to mind at the time,” I shrugged.

I will say, that we stayed friendly after that. We fell out of touch due to distance and just simply to not having that much in common. And I’ve since found better ways to channel my slightly sadistic frustrations.

TL;DR – Don’t eat the apple. There’s probably a worm in it.

On Dirty Minds

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My friend just sent me a message.

“Hey babe are you a fitted sheet?
Because you’re complicated and hard to manage but I definitely want you on this mattress.
And I don’t mind having to wrestle for it ;)”
-“Ahhh. Omg. I love it.”
“That last bit I made up especially for you!”

There’s an old stereotype that men think about sex every 7-8 seconds.
That would be 8,000 times a day.

Why do we continually think that men are more sexual beings than women? Because

  1. They’re not.
  2. They’re not.
  3. They’re really not.(But, 50 Shades is some bad shit, David)

I’m so grateful to shows like Grace and Frankie which have unapologetically put women’s sexual desires front and center – saying to the world yeah, our libido doesn’t die. We may have to make adjustments based on health and age, but, yeah, this is real and we can be open and honest about it.

My friend and I – same one from above – are both cis women, who, while we fail spectacularly in the ‘getting a guy to actually go home with us’ department, do pretty well in coming up with creative lines that might get them there (I use ‘might’ loosely.) To the point that we recently spent an afternoon coming up with (mostly nerd inspired) pick up lines.

Gems included.

“Daredevil’s not the only one who can perform well with a blindfold on.”

“…Yeah I don’t know if I can handle that Iron Fist.”

“Can I introduce you to Jessica Jones? She’s smart, sassy, super strong, and can really take a pounding.”

(In context of conversation of turn ons….)
“Seriously, can you turn off this faucet?”
“Washington’s not the only swamp that needs draining.”
“I thought you’d be running like a well oiled machine by now.”

My point, beyond revealing just how much we are not going to get laid in the near future, is to say that girls talk about sex all the damn time.
This has nothing to do with pleasing cis, hetero guys, making you want to like us, that you and you alone are making us explode with never before seen cock greed, or that we’re these weird hybrid alien creatures of hormone induced lust.

We are human beings and therefore capable of desire.

Cool? Cool.

 

 

On Bottoming

Why dinosaurs became extinct: 'Okay, I'm on top...now what?'

He was a rebound. He did not know this.

He was cute, one of the few cute guys in our friend group. He did know this.

He was hooking up with somewhere between 2-5 other girls when we were seeing each other (non-exclusively). I don’t know if he knew that I knew this.

He was tall, shaggy hair, and had a more dominant demeanor. He had such a thick accent, which helped.

This didn’t really translate to the sex.

See the problem was that neither of us liked to be on top.

There was one night, after we saw a show, he came up behind me, his arm pinned to my chest, he started to kiss down my neck, pulling my hair to the side.
“That gave me some ideas,” He whispered, and it sent shivers down my spine.

I asked him if he could do that again, the next time, or at least try that same demeanor, and…
Nothing.

God bless him, he would try. I tried, not as much, but would try. But we both just weren’t into it.

A few months in, and I knew he liked me, and I fully admit that I would’ve been more into it, had this not been a big problem.

And I fully admit I was a bit of an asshole about it.

His roommate had recently been broken up with, and he said she’d seen it coming, and so could he.
“The guy started cancelling plans, started drifting away,” It wasn’t a pointed comment, but I was in the beginning stages of doing the exact same thing.

He turned into a monogamist after that. With someone who stated that the sex with him was fan-fucking-tastic.

I understand people who are all about that virgin-til-married life. It’s a scary world out there. To each their own.

But seriously guys, you gotta figure out compatibility. Because that is some real shit that can make or break you.