Tag Archives: sex

Sexting with My Ex

21 May

In February, my partner of 2 1/2 years and I broke up. However, since we were still under a lease together, the two months that followed were possibly the most draining of our relationship. Living in the grey area was one of the hardest most confusing things I have ever done. I don’t know if it made the separation easier or harder now that all is said and done. I don’t know if I will ever know, but time gives clarity and I am still waiting and hoping for answers.

I have heard that one of the hardest things one can do is letting go of someone they still love. I didn’t know how hard until that February evening when Michigan told me he was no longer happy in Arizona and he was planning to move back home in April. I wanted to hate him, to be angry, but all I felt was blinding pain coursing through my veins. It had been so long since the last time I felt that way, I had almost forgot how entirely debilitating it could be. I am a stronger person now than I was the last time my heart was torn asunder, but no one is strong enough to withstand that kind of assault unaffected.

I know I acted the craziest I had acted since he knew me and I didn’t care. All walls were down and I was not above yelling at him one minute and begging him to stay the next. I drank a lot and cried even more and I made him watch it all. I would say I am sorry, but I am not. He was the man I loved and he was leaving me. He was not above it all, I knew it was tearing him apart to do it too. Love is a funny thing, even when you know it is not enough, it still feels like everything.

I felt like he had never really tried to make my home our home. Like I wasn’t enough to make him happy. Like all the things he had told me were lies that were now set alight. Of course some of those thoughts were overdramatized, but I think some of them had merit as well. He felt isolated and insecure which only amplified other issues we had. Of course it all makes logical sense now, but in the moment nerves were raw, exposed.

Our last few days were a roller coaster. Our last night was a passionate embrace. Our last morning was a waterfall of sorrow.

In the moment, I felt like that was the end of the story. In my heart of hearts I knew the healthy thing was to accept the failure of our hard won relationship and move on. At first I tried. We would text, but I would be vague and distant. I dated other people, tried to open my heart to options yet to be in my imagination.

Then, I let things slip. It was too hard to pretend I could fall out of love that quickly and move on to the next one. Especially knowing his feelings remained intact. We talked about more intimate things; we talked more often. We talked to end the day, and then we talked to feel something again.

LP one day observed that Michigan and I had returned to the state before things became difficult. Before he moved in, before our sex drives were incompatible, before we stopped communicating. I have no choice to agree, but I also know that things are different here at the end than they were at the beginning. We are different, and most importantly we aren’t together. In a way, I got what I had been asking for, freedom. The irony is that I no longer want it. It has been a month since I have seen him. I haven’t slept with anyone else despite the handful of dates I have been on. Maybe for some this is normal, for me this is incredible. This leads me to believe that what I actually wanted wasn’t what I was asking for.

I still keep analyzing all the things I could have done differently, but I wonder if it would have changed anything in the end. Sometimes what we want is impossible, and accepting that feels equally insurmountable. Sometimes fate just has other plans and we have to keep an open mind to see where we end up.

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Little Boys Playing Big Boy Games and Losing

6 Nov

As a woman I have never felt so disrespected in my life. This week has been a shit storm of disgusting, hateful, derogatory comments about sex, genitalia, and the use of women for the enjoyment of men….no, boys. I expect it to some extent, they are learning, but to this extreme, it has eaten at my heart and soul. No one, men, man or teen has the right or privilege to talk that way, no one. Yet I have been subjected to sit, listen, and put up with a string of commentation about my gender. Forced to keep my mouth shut because if I allowed the words I wished to say out of my mouth I would no longer be a desirable employee.

I lost it tonight on a young man who has the audacity to come into my program and discuss his male prowess in getting females into bed. If a woman, if any person, is giving you the gift of spending a night or even a moment with them, then the very LEAST you can do is give them the respect that action deserves. If you can’t even do that, you don’t deserve that gift from that person or any other. Your sexual partners are not locker room banter or a way to prove to your buddies that you are the god you think yourself to be. You are not a god, you are scum and should not for one second think otherwise.

No one is an object, whether they have slept with only you or with a hundred others. Notches on your belt don’t make you a more worthy person and they don’t make you worthy of love and affection. What DOES make you worthy of that precious event is when you are able to see it for what is is, and respect and worship the one allowing you into their most intimate spaces.

There are not enough showers to wash away the grime I feel coating every inch of my body. These are young boys and they shouldn’t already be so disenchanted with the world to treat it this way. The most unnerving thought I have is that they must have learned it somewhere. What role models do they have that they already believe the words coming out of their mouths and appropriate and acceptable? What state is our world in when from the very start, these boys are taught disrespect and fowl language are acceptable ways to address their counterparts?

To make it even worse, I have only discussed one small part of the bigger picture. Yes, their language about sex is concerning, but so is the language they use about sexual orientation and race. It is hateful language and I could preach for days about how wrong and misguided they are, but they aren’t going to change because it is coming from a 20-something white girl who in their mind doesn’t understand their generation or their communities.

I started by saying I was disgusted, but in reality maybe I am just sad.

Cohabitation

31 Mar

For someone who has never lived with their significant other, it is a difficult transition at 27 years old to readjust. I mean that is almost three decades of patterns to shove someone into. Add in the OCD factor and commitment issues…the WTF moment was bound to come. It took 8 days, but the melt down came like cheese on a grilled sandwich…maybe a nice caprese. The first, was quick, however, compared to the one after that and then the one after that, and let’s not forget the one after that.

It has been two months now and there is a strange balance coming into view. Not always an easy one, but one that doesn’t have me wanting to cry myself to sleep every night wondering if I made the right choice. The situation is peculiar. Going from seeing each other for a few days every month or so to every single day ever. Cohabiting is hard, and we had the unfortunate situation in which it was a quick fix to a problem that would have destroyed us otherwise.

It has taken me so long to write this post, finally, after starting it several times, because words have been failing me. There are so many emotions roiling in my brain and I didn’t know how to phrase my tribulations without making it sound like a horror movie. I will say that the more I try to predict the next page, the less accurate I turn out to be, and I think that is what I was trying to do in earlier drafts, predict the future. I am by no means a fortune teller and I think I am finally coming to terms with that.

I love Michigan. That is first and foremost what I remind myself on a daily basis. Love, however, is adaptable, it changes with time and circumstance. Saying those words is easy, I have always known that which is why I avoided them so much during my lifetime. Meaning them, acting on them, despite every flaw, is a daily effort, a choice one must make again and again. Putting “I love you” to work takes strength, a strength I hoped I had, toyed with, but am still working to fully grasp. Living with someone is giving up some of your control, some of your will to an outside force that may or may not always be exactly what you want. Love is hard man.

There are problems I expected, planned for. Then there were the surprises that took me for a loop. I used to really honestly believe I was easy to be with, maybe not to live with, but I though I was an exceptional partner. No longer do I believe that. I respect him for putting up with my crazy, even if some of the things he attributes to my craziness are totally in the normal realm for me. I get angry and then get more angry he doesn’t understand why. We both suck at talking about the hard stuff and that is going to need some serious work. Sex for instance, sex has been such an issue, and that is definitely something that has never caused problems with us before. I have questioned who I am as a person because we weren’t doing it like rabbits. Why? I don’t know, well I have guesses, but that is probably something I should discuss with a therapist of some sort.

When all is said and done, I love coming home to him, even if the dishes are still a little dirty after he does them. I love falling asleep next to him, even if his sex drive doesn’t quite keep up with mine. I love sitting on the couch together, even if he will sit there while I unpack out whole house. I love going out on the town with him, even if he is addicted to his phone and doesn’t always turn it off in public. There are things I can’t live without, and things I am willing to live with. Balance and compromise. With some small break downs in the mix to teach me where my limits are and make me work on my communication skills.

Now that that is done, maybe I can actually get back on track with posting, I really suck at this goal this year guys.

Sexuality…what’s in a label?

13 Nov

The conversation of sexuality is s hot button topic, at least where I come from. I grew up in the Protestant church where intimate sexual experiences were sacred and intended for a marriage between a man and a woman. When I was a teenager and beginning to feel the tingling sensations between my legs when a cute boy walked by, I bought in, practiced self-restraint, made vows to stay a virgin until that ring was on my finger. Of course, I never dated in high school. I said it was because I didn’t know what real love was and didn’t want to run the gambit of failed relationships before my heart could handle it, but lets be honest, I was the shy, awkward girl who no one wanted to date anyway.

College was a different story. I went to a smallish Christian school north of Boston. Freshman year I became the bright, bubbly, outspoken, and at times obnoxious girl I never had been but always knew I could be. My vow of celibacy, however, remained intact, even after I met Mr. Wrong towards the end of my first semester. Mr. Wrong, despite many shortcomings in our relationship, taught me the meaning of love. My heart felt alive and I wanted to sing from the mountaintops and all that jazz. We toyed with the boundaries of intimacy and pushed against the lines we said we wouldn’t cross. Seven months later on the fourth of July, my desire for a closer bond with my companion ousted my vows of purity and we had perfectly boring and awkward sex. [On a side note, I’m convinced two virgins doing this together for the first time is both extremely smart and extremely dumb. Smart in that both of you feel the same amount of awkward. Dumb in that neither of you know what the hell you are doing.]

Since this sexual awakening, I have been through the whole realm of emotions around it. While I was with him, I was convinced I was going to marry him, which made the act, if not justified, excusable. We felt a closer connection and so what if we went a little ahead of schedule. After the break up, the shame I had been taught to feel kicked in. I beat myself up about it for a couple months, until I kicked myself in the hiney and decided it was time to stop moping. I started rebelling against all of it, starting with my guy friends. I don’t know why, but sleeping with guys I had no romantic feelings for, but knew I could trust was a stepping stone I was ok with jumping on, literally. Liquor helped, but that is a whole other story.

I was numb from the relationship still at this point and men were toys. I felt some guilt, but the more it happened, the less I felt. It was a coping strategy and an unhealthy on at that. My male friends didn’t mind so much, but it became a game to them too. It wasn’t until my first one night stand that I started to see how out of control I was getting. I wish I could say that was my wake up call, but it wasn’t that easy. A few more mistakes later and then a morning after where I had to drive a guy home I had picked up in Cambridge [to this day I still do not remember his name and he is dubbed “Clay Aiken” because that is who my roomy swears he looked like] it finally hit me.

I always say I live my life without regrets, but by that point there were a couple things I wished I could take back. Sex had become a toy, a way to feel connected to someone without actually putting in any effort. It became meaningless and easily exchangeable for love. I was not and still am not at the point where I believe sex has to be a sacred act saved for the bonds of marriage, I’m not even positive I want to get married, but sex is also more than what I had turned it into and I wanted to get back some of that magic that made it so special on the fourth of July so long ago. I have come to understand sex in a way I was not raised to understand it, but there is some validation in the things I was taught. As a society we have minimized its importance and meaning, made it something to be thrown around and abused. Even now, I am still culpable in this, and continue to get drunk and horny and make bad choices. It’s a learning curve.

I have veered off my initial subject, however. I wanted you to understand my sexual journey, and that is all the pertinent information, but it did not end there. In the church, we were also taught that man and woman were made for one another. Sex was not only designated specifically for marriage, but specifically for man and woman to experience with one another, and one another alone. In my sexual awakening, as I like to call it, despite how cheesy it sounds, I not only pushed the boundaries of sex outside of love, but sex outside of the designated genders as well. A drunken kiss at a bar with a girl led to full on same-sex make out sessions. My first sexual encounter with a girl was with my roommate and her boyfriend, maybe it felt better having a buffer. Since then, it hasn’t been an issue. I have the unique ability to not really feel shame about my actions these days. I am a pro at just going with the flow. And sometimes the flow leads me into a woman’s pants.

Straight, gay, bi-sexual, bi-curious…labels, for what? Sexual preference? “Hi, my name is ‘Lesbian’, what’s yours?” Does it matter? What if some of us are just sexual? I envision myself, if I ever get there, married to a man in a brownstone apartment in Boston, but right now, I like to have sex, and sometimes I like to have sex with girls. I don’t feel the need to shout this from the mountaintops. “Coming out” has never crossed my mind because I don’t feel there is anywhere for me to come out of. Sex is sex…but I could legitimately date a girl and feel the same way. My parents may never know, but they don’t even know that I smoke, or when I’m dating a new guy. There are things they would not understand about my life because they are of a different generation, a different school of thought, and our relationship does not suffer because there are things I choose not to fight about. I choose not to have a label. I don’t need the bonds of camaraderie that come with sharing in a community of a certain sexual preference. I don’t feel the need to push my values on any other person by the automatic straight/gay debate that is necessary for some people. I am who I am, and I am happy with who that is. I do not feel oppressed or forced into any mold. My friends accept me for who I am and don’t care what gender I bring home from the bar. The ones who do judge me are not my friends and I feel no need to associate with them.

So what is in a label? Why do we feel the need to tack on extras to our name and validate our choices? Are we that uncomfortable just being who we are?

PS I liked this post a lot on a similar subject