My boyfriend has been off on a work trip for the past few days, and will finally be driving home to me today. As I prepare the house for his joyous return, I am struck by some hard truths from my past, the then and now of it all, and the realization of just how important intent is to a situation. And of course, how lucky I am to have this incredible man in my life!
As I strip the bed in preparation for new fresh sheets, I know I am doing this out of love. There is something so magical about coming home to fresh sheets, and with our two shedding dogs this is a luxury we are rarely afforded. But as I do this, a memory flashes, of a time and a relationship where fresh sheets meant betrayal, secrecy, and infidelity. The man of my past told me that I was lucky that he respected me so much that he would change the sheets for my arrival. And it became somewhat of a game, to see if I was getting fresh sheets on my visit or not. I mean, not a fun game, more of a horror style game where things jump out at you, and trap you, but still a game.
When the sheets stopped getting changed every visit I knew I had won. My place was set, and my bed was rarely made again. It was a victory, and one that I was empowered by. The intent of changing sheets for the love of my life, is one of pride, and tenderness. Maybe he doesn’t care about fresh sheets, but it’s the thought that matters. I care enough to try. But there is this nagging little voice, that wonders if he is ever suspicious of my motivations. If he ever wonders why I do it, because perhaps in one of his previous relationships he was sheet changer, or had sheets changed for him due to nefarious reasons.
These are the thoughts I try to shut out. I openly share with him my past, and hope that one day, I can leave all the trauma behind me. But unfortunately it takes times, and often posts like this, or the one I wrote on Medium recently about Safe Words. Writing out the differences between then and now. Slowly unpacking intent versus love, and separating the two lives from each other. I am happy, with a relationship built on love, and respect. We have trust in each other and real honesty. And the truth is, I will race to tell him why I changed the sheets, just to be sure and clear of my intent and purpose. I work diligently to make sure he never has to worry, because I know what a relationship of worry and suspicion looks like. I know what it feels like, and no one deserves that…EVER!
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When I was writing my last medium article about Being the Other Partner , I wrote a paragraph on being the other woman myself. I thought I was being honest, but when I went back to edit the piece, I realized that I had in fact written something that was so harsh and critical that it skewed the whole thing. And I began to cry, realizing just how often I have been doing this. In an effort to be accountable and take a long hard look at myself, I have crossed the line of honesty, into a much darker place, whereby I feel like the villain. I did remove the paragraph after I pulled myself together, and what I created I am proud of, well, as proud as I ever let myself be of my writing. Sometimes I think it’s easier to celebrate that I did a thing, versus actually believing that my words have any impact or meaning. Frick, look, I’ve done it again.
For those wondering, well, I wrote that I had a huge relationship regret, that I should have known better, and been smarter and that I feel terrible that I was basically a mistress. I came down hard on myself for not just saying no, and well, the truth is, there is not a whole lot more to the story. Then I created this whole big thing in my head, that truthfully, just wasn’t that doom and gloom. I know the difference, and I have had true hardships and relationship disasters, but my brain, well, it just really wanted me to feel bad about something that I didn’t need to feel bad about. I had a FWB that was always filled with consent, on both sides, and there is no guilt. But, maybe I wanted to feel guilt? I honestly don’t know.
Why, am I my biggest critic these days? I mean, it’s not like I am lacking in the professional rejection department, with my fastest responses record yet for pitching my last book. All no’s so far, if anyone was getting hopeful. So rejection is there. And my body, well, you all know how well, or not well that whole department is going. If not, read pretty much anything from last year and you’ll be caught up. Maybe it’s because I have so much rejection surrounding me, that I’ve somehow become comfortable with it?
You know that person who is always negative, and that is their feedback loop? Negativity breeds more negativity and thus they pretty much create more of it? Living a turbulent and difficult life because that’s what they know and perhaps even feel that they deserve… but I know better. And in person, aside from being a little closer to tears from time to time, I really am happy. In fact, my life has never been better. And yet, what I write, is focused on the dark side.
More and more, I feel like I have to journal, let it out, before I can get down to work. Or do something fun like a sexy photo shoot for Patreon, or just be creative. For the first time in probably 15 years, I broke down sobbing, wishing I could get a hug from my mom. Our relationship is beyond complicated, and I don’t want to open up to her when I’m feeling this vulnerable, but the thought was there. Then I cried some more, took a hot bath, and then was able to get some work done on my next book. The hurdles to get there though, ooph that took a lot out of me.
Maybe it’s the time of year. Losing daylight, feeling the pressures of the impending holiday season, and of course an ever perilous family dynamic, with the loneliness of knowing it’s the first Christmas without my grandfather. These are all real, rational things to take up a little extra space in my brain. But I earnestly wish they would all just fuck off for a little bit, so I can just sit in my happy, and creative bubble. I want to be filled with joy, laughter, and all the amazing things that I know are around me. Life is pretty magical. Why then, do the written words betray me? Why are they tricking me into writing the doom and gloom prior to the happy, and love filled place I actually am in? I truly have so much gratitude for where I am at, now I just need to convince those typing fingers of mine to start relaying the same message!
In light of the change in direction of my blog, I think it’s prudent to begin this one with a little note, or disclaimer if you will. Sex, and making a baby go hand in hand, and thus, I will be doing what I do best, which is overshare, or to put it a little kinder, be real and raw. This post is a perfect example of that, and thus, me being true to myself, and putting the things out into the world that I want to, for better or for worse. I remain sex positive, while embracing all the experiences that brought me to this point in my life. So, with this little explanation firmly in place, I will continue to share my journey.
In my last post I am pretty sure I used the words “best sex of my life”, or maybe it was the post before that, or maybe I keep writing it because it’s true. Bu the more I have been thinking about it, the more weight that statement seems to have for me, and my relationship. Yes, we absolutely fit each other damn near perfectly, and have incredible intimacy in and out of the bedroom. So, of course I can brag that we are made for each other. But, it’s actually far deeper than that. I trust him with my body, and he trusts me with his. And that is the element that sets what we have apart from anything I have experienced before.
I was previously with a man, who believed that he knew my body better than I did. Further, he believed that he knew what I wanted, because he knew what every woman wanted. This is tough to write, but with him, I gave up trying to argue or tell him what I wanted or needed, simply because he wouldn’t listen. Here’s an example, and admittedly, it’s difficult to just pick one as there are many!
I can orgasm from breast play, and because of that, I enjoy having my breasts touched and sucked in a certain way so I can have extra orgasms. I explained this to the person in question, and he excitedly wanted to see it in action. So I coached him through it, we had a lot of fun, and then for inexplicable reasons, the next time we had sex, he reverted back to a move that did nothing for me. In fact, it brought me a little discomfort. I stopped him, told him I didn’t like that, and that it did nothing for me. His response? A bold, other woman have liked it! Followed by him stopping the sex in defiance, acting basically like I had ruined everything.
OK, fine, maybe I went about it to harshly, because admittedly, I am terrible at asking for what I want. I would much rather people discover my body, and then we get to experience things together without words, and focus more on body language, and all the fun stuff in intimacy.
So, the next time, I did just that, guiding his hands, and mouth in such a way that we both could see things were working. Then boom, in the middle of things, he did the thing I had asked him not to do (which in case you are wondering is a hard tweak of my nipples). It was if he couldn’t help himself. I was gutted. This back and forth went on for months, of me stopping and moving his hands away, and him doing what he wanted because he liked it. Finally, I asked him to stop touching my breasts altogether. And the odd thing was, he was fine with this. If he couldn’t touch me the way he wanted to, he was OK with having none of it.
This is one of only many, many examples of me asking for things, which again, is something I feel very uncomfortable doing, and then being ignored, in fact told that my feelings were just wrong. I think, looking back, that is one the driving forces behind me being OK with non-monogamous exploration. I saw it as a chance to get some sexual needs met. I figured, if we were dating another couple it would be away to have a fresh start with people, and get to explore each other’s bodies, and I could finally be heard. Unfortunately, the reality was often such a frenzied buildup of sexual tension that group sex, or sex with other people was more of a release. Followed by a long wait to see them again, with the sexual tension building up, rinse and repeat. We never could quite get a stride going, whereby intimacy with people outside of us could grow, and I could get that side of my needs met. Even though I tried, so many times!
Now, enter in the man of my dreams, with every single cliché I hate and love at the same time. We listen to each other, and really want to please the other. The connection is mind blowing! And while we haven’t been together for decades, or even years, I can honestly say, he his the first person I have felt electricity with this far into things. Usually that wains, once the butterflies wear off, but with him, I still find myself catching my breath, or falling deeper in love.
The foundation for how we talk about sex, and our intimate needs is firmly in place. We’ve both made plenty of mistakes in past relationships, and instead of holding onto those grudges, we openly embrace the possibilities that we can create together (Ooph that phrase has a lot of extra meaning at this juncture). And also, we satisfy each other. No matter what, we are enough for each other. And that is the key, my key. That mystical thing that I was looking for all these years, and never quite found, until the day I realized to my delight that he might have been flirting with me. And when we slept together that first time, I knew that he was by far, the best I had ever had.
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One of the things I pride myself on is being able to write in an authentic way, be it good, bad, or just weird. The thing about this book writing part though, is it’s even tougher, and has brought me to tears more often than I ever thought possible. Yesterday, I actually wrote myself a little motivational cue card in hopes that reading it would help, with my book writing lamenting.
For those who don’t know, I am writing a memoir of sorts, of my experiences in non-monogamy. There are a lot of words written, and it is so close to being done, however, there this internal struggle with being real about how I experienced things outside of monogamy, and not wanting to be all doom and gloom. That decade was hard. It was filled with challenges, and there are days that I lament the fact that I felt so alone exploring it. There are so many wonderful people that I met, and such incredibly hot moments, but looking back, it took a lot out of me.
I was not experiencing things in the manor that made me feel safe, cherished, or even loved. And that is difficult for me to rectify. With that in mind, I don’t want my book to read like a horror story (OK that is being really dramatic and it’s not even close). Instead I want it to be an adventure story, that cherishes all the incredible things that happened, but, I just can’t tell that story, because it is not authentic.
To balance things out, I have started a few posts on Medium that aim to share what my takeaway is on the complexities of love and what each relationship norm or not norm can bring to the table, in Love Explored (Which you can purchase a membership via Medium directly, to explore so many amazing writers!). Writing this helps ground me, to be able to look towards the possibilities and the lessons I wish I got to experience first hand, far more often than I did. That decade of my life, forever changed me, and I’m so glad it made me a more loving and accepting person, rather than the biter and angry individual it very easily could have.
I’m trying to be brave, authentic, and articulate in how I remember my life. I hope that’s what my finished product shows. I really, earnestly do. But, I suppose that will be in the eyes of the reader to discover, when it is finally finished. It’s the big push to work through these hard emotions, and I thank each and everyone of you who have offered encouragement, listened to me babble things out, and who have joined me for drinks or bought me beer. Soon….
Remember as a kid, when crushes were all the rage? You’d fall in love on the playground, chase the person around a tree for 10 minutes, be smitten all through the morning, and boom… broken heart by lunchtime? The next few days you’d play safely in your friend group, and then… when you least expected it, someone would catch your eye and you would be crushing all over again! The thing about having school aged crushes is that there were very few consequences. The “dating” pool seemed endless, not that you even knew that was a thing back then, because scarcity was not a term you were familiar with. The heartbreak could be overcome with a quick cry, a little outburst, or even just a game of tag to get that heart racing and provide the necessary distractions. Le sigh… we are adults here, or at least I am trying to be, and as the title suggest, adult crushes are much more complicated.
In my demographic of people, the norm seems to be that crushes as adults are frivolous, and often taboo subjects to even mention. The married crews would never talk about an office crush, and the unmarried or non-monogamous seem to have left the world crush to childhood. Once you reach a certain age, you either date someone, or move on. And with the exception of celebrities (or those equally out of our range) a crush is seemingly taboo. Grown adults don’t have crushes, or at least we only talk about the one sided things once we reach relationship status.
Well, I am here to tell you, I have no other term for what I am going through right now. I am absolutely smitten over a guy who is emotionally unavailable and has been honest in telling me so. He in no way is leading me on. But is that stopping me from pursuing him in earnest? Not a chance. I like him, he makes me feel absolutely amazing, and in short, I am dealing with an adult crush.
Here’s the complication. I know this is a crush. I know, the possibility of getting my heart broken is almost certain. And I know, that it won’t be healed by just running around the block, or playing with my friends. Crush or not, the stakes are higher as an adult. I can’t just brush these feelings aside, because to me, they are absolutely real. Albeit one sided, hence the term… crush!
The thing is, I loved having crushes as a kid. My yearbooks are filled with my “secret” code of the boys I fell for. Ok… fine… I’ll tell you. I would put Chapstick on and kiss the boys I liked. Invisible kisses to my lovestruck heart. But here’s the thing, as an adult, talking about crushes with my friends doesn’t work. I miss the days that I could go on and on about a boy, and have my friends say “go for it” or the ones who would talk sense into me that he was out of my league or dating someone else. Now, when I talk about “boys” it seems to have more gravitas. Seemingly I should have some inherent wisdom not to crush on someone unavailable. And that I should just move on, and date someone who is ready, willing, and able. And while that sounds like solid advice perhaps you missed the part where my heart is taking the lead?
This isn’t some happy go lucky crush that was the highlight of my non-monogamous days. Reason being, the risks back then were low. It didn’t matter if the person liked me back, because I had someone I was in love with at home. I could take or leave the pleasure, in fact, I could just enjoy the butterflies, because that was always my favorite part. So, having a monogamous crush? Yeah, this really bites. It’s complicated, it often hurts, and I feel lonely much of the time. And then boom, the second I read a message from him, I forget everything, giggle like an idiot, and push (probably) way too hard for him to hang out with me. But, just as a little girl on the school yard many moons ago, there is just no telling me or my heart what to do. I am crushing, even though it is so complicated.
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