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It's taken a few weeks, but the reality of being single is definitely setting in - and it's showing in my interactions with people. I took an international train today, and flirted with everybody...and ended up having two long conversations (neither of them with suitable romantic or sexual partners, but one of them will be a good professional contact). I'm checking people out on the street, and being checked out in return. I think it's probably some sort of onset of horniness (it's now been a month and 2 days since I last got laid), coupled with the absolute emotional horror of the last month subsiding. L's completely out of my life; I'm quite confident that the sliminess of him is something I'm better off without (even as I worry I'll never have sex as amazing again. But eh - part of that was because I trusted him. Without that trust, it won't ever matter how perfectly we fit together. Way to even screw up ex sex, L, never mind our relationship.)
I've been on one date, courtesy of OkCupid, with a guy who was obligingly attentive, great conversational chemistry...and totally not cosmopolitan enough. Different life orientation, for sure. I used to say that I believed I'd get cancer for the first time at 40, so I'd better do everything (and everyone?) I want to now. In the meantime, I'm pushing 30 (!), and I don't want to get cancer at 40 at all. But if you look at my life decisions in the past few years, they demonstrate a deep deep intolerance of lack of work/life balance or flexibility...and perhaps more lack of long term planning than I really ought to (but who in my generation is already saving for their retirement? Not most of the people I know...) So maybe I've internalised the cancer driven urgency? But fuck getting cancer, ever, family history aside. I don't want to.
Back to my sex life:
Getting laid. It would be nice to get laid at least once in September. To that end, more dating, because while my friend with benefits before L has opportunistically invited me out for coffee, I don't think I can ethically seduce him again and then leave him again the next time I find someone I'd rather be with. I don't think he's emotionally equipped for that, and he's not good enough in the sack to make it worth it.
I also don't think there's anyone obvious in my immediate environment, but that may just be a question of being open for it again - I haven't been single (or unsexed and single) since 2004 at this point. But more proactive OkCupidness as well. I think my ideas on what sort of person I would like to date have been changing with L and post L (and with setting up my own business in this past year), but it'll be interesting to see how that bears fruit in any upcoming dating. (I'm predicting a dating season to match the US's hurricane season, though hopefully with more little deaths than fatalities.)
Solo sex life: My trusty vibrator doesn't seem to be working. Shopping is in order, I believe. It might also finally be time to just buy myself a butt plug, since that is a direction I've wanted to explore, and L was somewhat obliging (though he was very excited about love beads. He'd promised to take me sextoy shopping for my birtday, but somehow never got around to it...probably for the better, given how it's ended, and given how thoroughly I've felt the need to purge him from my life.)
Tonight: I've got a new mattress topper and sheets on my bed* for the first time - it's clearly incumbent upon me to break them in properly. I was thinkin of the raw power of the verb 'fuck' earlier today. I want to fuck somebody, for sure. Curiously, for me, it's viscerally very much a penetrative penis and vagina word, even though that's intellecutally not my philosophy at all. Time to inject a bit more diversity into my sex life? (Or maybe that's again through the haze of my own current horniness - even typing this make my nipples off go I. Now. Because there's better things I could be doing with my fingers.)

*I replaced my bed for unrelated reasons, but it feels very fitting (and hygeinic) to be starting afresh in a bed that I haven't shared with him. I've also rearranged all the furniture in my room and gotten rid of (not enough of) my shit - it's all felt very cathartic, meet and just.
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Fuck livejournal, fuck fuck fuck fuck.  It just ate my enormous post.  All I wanted to record was that L hugely kissed me on the cheek on the 3rd of our three hugs goodbye tonight - totally a slippery slope to letting him kiss me on the mouth, to (my current total) lust, to somehow being back together again, to still not ever trusting a single word that comes out of his mouth, because I have a complete, confirmed, proven blindspot for when he's lying.  My gut believes everything.  It's seamless.  But if everything feels right, nothing can be trusted.
Perhaps I'll rewrite the post some other day.  This drama is far from over, alas.
(Pithy conclusion of the other post: L can't become my sextoy until I have a new shiny I actually care about.  For that, I need to stop loving him.)
(Also, delighting in how much he looked like David Cameron, the UK prime minister, in his cleanshavenness and suit today.  I would be hard pressed to find a less sexy celebrity likeness.  Cameron can kill any mood I'm in any day. Post-breakup, this is a useful thing to notice again. And his cologne tonight was hideous - too much, too blech.)
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This afternoon and evening: out with L.   L here first, that eagerness to get him inside me as soon as possible (initial hesitation, who is this man again? followed by immense certainty).  Him eating me out on my dresser, trying to fuck me despite weird physics (too great a distance to the wall).  Spending the next 3 hours (!) in bed: fucking, talking, snuggling, more fucking.  "We need to leave, but I really would like to fuck you one more time."  "Well, fuck me then already."
The discussion this afternoon about kink: L announcing/admitting that he might be a bit of a dom, that he would like to tie me up some day.  I don't know to trust this, if this is his studied consideration of what he thinks I might like (we know that facilitating other people's fantasies is his real kink, as is pushing boundaries); when put to him that I'd concluded he'd like me to dominate him (conclusion from two weeks ago), he seemed surprised.  Settled for switch hitter eventually.
Observation on his face: he's at his most beautiful when viewed from above, looking down; at his most gargoyle-like when you're looking up at him from below, angled somewhere beneath his chin, as he smiles down at you midcoitus.
Other observation: the man fits.  The man fits well, really well.  He hasn't done it properly yet, but this man will make me come vaginally, and I can't wait.  This is the first partner I've ever had who's been identically my size: it has more advantages than I expected, and if he's ever struggled to reach me anywhere, I haven't noticed.
We discussed anal sex, and my desire to become more comfortable with it - let's see where that goes.  Also discovered overlapping awareness of kink communities in this city; wonder if S knows him.
Quick highlights of the rest of the evening:
Weird attempted sex behind foodcarts post eating, post food crash. Conclusion that we need more practice, less underwear.
He made me come three times in the park at the top of the hill, in probably a 15 minute window.   With only his fingers.  This is unheard of, unprecedented.  I can't do this.  Worry that when we stop having sex, this will be unreplicable.  Hoping for even more in the meantime.
The story he's telling is one of total mesmerisation by me: "you're the one I think of when I touch myself".  (Fascinating compliment.)  Of electric energy when we're together, of wanting to abandon all else to come be with me, in me, whereever I am, no matter the time, his other obligations.  He tells it in the third person, to make me come more, harder - the level of thought required to tell this as a story makes me question its veracity, but oh how he tells it!
All the feedback I'm getting says the man is falling, hard - which is good, since I seem to be too.  The walk back along the canal, the easy flowing ceaseless discussion by moonlight (we saw stars tonight!  Especially as I leaned back against the bench at the lookout point, his head between my legs), interspersed with breaks for kissing, for wondering if we were lost yet.  Lovely to spend time with someone I'm just as comfortable talking to as fucking, more comfortable touching (fingers laced, arms linked, a leg tossed over the other) than not.
Astonished at my appetite for the man, at my desire to continue despite being rubbed sore from enthusiasm (and not enough lube.  He still requires more training in this, though it's not affecting the overall result really.)  Worried about my IUD, at least a bit.
And now?  Can't wait to see him Tuesday; fondly looking forward to waking up with him; adoring the complete concentration on me he has when with me (the phone going unanswered.)  A little concerned about who calls him at 01.25, at the breadth of his other obligations I know nothing about, but very willing to accept that at the moment for him, accept at the moment his evident complete joy and abandonment in my company.
Discovery of the day: the man is significantly less random than I had previously assumed, the flakiness an intentional strategy.  We'll see how he continues to surprise me, my understanding evolving.  I could so easily have stayed up another few hours talking to him, or better, going to sleep wrapped up with him, rather than going back to work.  There are so many discussions to have with him, so many conversations seeded, neglected while we pursue the then-main one.

Tindersticks' Oblivion, the song he associates with me, with thinking about me 'too much', with wanting to be with me.
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It looks like the adventure with the bicycle mechanic is due to repeat, and much to my surprise, I'm much more fluttery about it (and him) than I ever expected.  We met again today, partially for the same fascinating, caffeinated, rambling conversations of always; partially so I could force the discussion of where we stand.  And apparently where we stand is more furious making out, less structured discussion.  The discussion of music took place with our legs stacked loosely on each other; the discussion of us, interspersed with kissing.  I hope the people inside the cafe didn't mind us blocking their window, didn't mind that his stroking and groping involved shifting both my tank top and prissy little cardigan, didn't care that neither of us seemed particularly inclined to let go.

He brushed my bangs out of my face for me, and kissed the spot where they had been.   No one's ever done that to me before.

I think my reaction to this man is a mixture of quite serious liking (he's been an excellent and important friend in the months I've known him), coupled with even more serious lust....and it's the lust that throws me.  He's not really my type (stereotypically).  I wouldn't check him out on the street.  The first time he kissed me was approximately a month ago, and it flummoxed me completely - I figured it was an accident, an excess of enthusiasm after a very excellent day out.  When did I notice that we had completely combustible chemistry?  Only in the last month, somehow.  He used to just give good hugs, and occasionally invade my personal space in ways that made me go, 'Huh.  Is that a game we're going to play?  Because if so, I'm not going to back down - what's your point?'
Our evening in the shop left me entirely persuaded that whatever we go on to do, we'll enjoy it - this man has a distinctive personal signature to his touch, fast, experienced hands, and isn't especially gentle.  It's such an incredible turn on, as is how much he wants me.  The way he's touched me so me far (stripped me so far, eaten me out, finger fucked me, sucked and licked and nibbled and scraped and groped) leaves me achingly eager for time alone with him.  There's good social, pragmatic reasons not to alter our friendship, but damned if I care when we're alone together.

Maybe actually getting laid will get this out of my system; if so, I'd be disappointed.

(There are other men in my life: my current friend with benefits (he's lovely braincandy, but not quite my thing in bed), an ex housemate I have an enormous - and probably reciprocated - crush on...but none of them inspire me quite like my biking friend.  /His/ bones I want to jump as soon, as thoroughly as possible....which might be tomorrow evening.  I'll let you know, dear readers.  I'm hoping hard.)
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Naked on my back on an abused wooden floor, a naked man doing his very lovely best with his fingers and tongue between my legs...staring at the bicycles in various states of completion hung up along the walls.
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(As someone who can orgasm vaginally, but only under nearly impossible to replicate conditions.  And apparently not with with my current dude.)

(On a different note, my Valentine's day started with 12 hours of sleeping snuggled up to someone, and then lots of cuddly sex.  FTW.)

Sex cameo

Sep. 20th, 2009 11:58 pm
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This weekend saw: Sex Friday night.  Sex Saturday morning.  Sex Saturday night.  Sex Sunday morning.
Sex Saturday night: Out on the terrace, set among trees, in the middle of nowhere.  By candlelight and outdoor wood stove, the barbecue fading (our stomachs full, on our umpteenth local beers).  Penetration initially through  a hole slowly ripping its way in the crotch of my jeans, now bigger.  On a lawnchair.  Moving eventually to delicious oral sex for both of us (switching chairs to be further away from the fire--it was too hot), and then eventually deciding to move upstairs to the bed, for more slippery slick grappling, bodies stuck like lubricated magnets.

Fucking hot, all of it.  Hickeys on my thighs.  Bruises on my shoulders.  My nipples are sore, both of them, from so much biting and pinching, groping and sucking.
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"The best I can do is keep busy. So I am. I will play rugby and jobhunt and find new and exciting hobbies, so that when I next see C. I will have a wealth of self to bring to us."

A friend, on dealing with her beloved moving to another country.  What an exquisite way of putting it, the wealth of self.  I understand it completely, and it leads into what  is perhaps the most interesting epiphany I've had in quite a while:

Being single is good for me right now.

This insight comes from an amazing weekend with the ex-boyfriend, one that was fun and oh-so-sexy, with lots of lovely food, open fires, zooming on motorcycles, playing with kittens, and almost nonstop physical contact.  It left me feeling cherished, and quite clear on the fact that whatever our relationship evolves into, I do love him, even if I'm not quite in love with him.  (I had half planned to launch a discussion about open relationships with him, but this weekend didn't seem the right time after all.)
What we also had, though, was a discussion around the song that I've named this blog for, 'Piazza, New York Catcher', by Belle and Sebastian.  It came up on one of his playlists, and I mentioned that I'd identified with the song, with the send of adventure, with the appeal of the idea of a beautiful relationship that can't last in real life, when not on the road.  Though this predates the ex by a few years, this might be part of what was so appealing about him: he lived in another country.  When I saw him, it was always on the road, always an adventure.  And while we lived well together (with extreme comfort), we were very dull by comparison, and the mundanities and daily disappointments of our lives eventually, I'd say, killed what spark we had.
We travel so well together, holiday so well together, adventure so well together.  And then for most of my adult life, I alone have been responsible for the organization of the rest of my life: my home, my work, my friends, my hobbies and expenditures.  Trying to build that with him in the town we initially lived from January-March was a disaster.  Continuing to build that now, on my own, for me, regardless of who I'm sleeping with when or why, is what I need to do now.
I've left this weekend with a great sense of self-confidence, with excitement about the world and all it holds, with eagerness to fix the obvious problems in my life.  (My current living space is a big one; I'm also concerned about my shrinking social circle, and the lack of celebratory people in it.  I want more people with richer lives, lives that thrill them, chaotic, improbable lives full of meaning.  People not fading away into grey late twenties, domestic early thirties.)
Off go I to write a spate of emails to possible housemates, I think, as well as possible friends.

(EDIT: This didn't actually happen: my mother called, I sorted and started laundry while on the phone with her, and now it's my bedtime.  Tomorrow morning, then.  I've also since received a very aloof email from the ex--I'm going to see about maintaining my great pleasure in this weekend despite our inevitably bizarre communication.  I don't want to taint my experience of this weekend, or the way it left me feeling, with anything really.  Bedtime!)
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When you say this, and you mean, "I seem to have misplaced the condom I was wearing seconds ago--I don't have a clue where it's gone", please make sure this is clear, so that your eager partner doesn't interpret this as "I've removed the condom, please proceed with whatever delicious masturbatory plans you had."

This would help avoid said partner finding said condom scrunched in her vagina 22 hours later.  Eeewwwwwwwwww.
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So, what can I say?

Since I last wrote, I've spent a fair bit of time with one of my soon-to-leave gentleman friends, and then this past week and weekend, a lot of time with the ex.
On the gentleman: hanging out with him had gotten really, really good.  Comfortable, smooth, physically much more knowledgeable than our first encounters. It made me think that I could easily date someone who's not my ex; that there are lovely, dateable people out there who I enjoy, and who have something quite different to offer me physically than the ex.  I had an extremely nice, extremely physical, extremely relaxed weekend.
And then he got very busy, and disappeared from my life for a week, coinciding with the ex having a week during which we planned a lot of things together.
It started Monday night, when I invited him over for a drink in response to him saying he wasn't doing well.  I meant it only as a drink, though he eventually slept over.   And eventually we had (rather explosive) sex, though fraught with uncertainty on my part.  I rejected him initially, it went down quite poorly (seemed to make him feel much worse, which wasn't what I wanted), I realized that I was actually a bit annoyed with my gentleman friend for not communicating in response to planning questions, and that I had a needy, hungry lovely boy in my bed, and so set about seducing him after all....all the while troubled by the thought that the ex only really looks me up when he's not doing well.  When he's on the up cycle of his moods, he does coke with strangers, ends up in discos, and just generally has a ball whereever he is, whatever he's up to. When he's feeling fragile and depressed, he seeks me out, or tells me, and then I seek him out, because I worry.  I'm also concerned that I'm one of the only people he seeks out.
So this past week saw Monday night being quite nice, and then an evening of pizza and going to the movies on Thursday....with a break between dinner and the movie in which I was propositioned to be eaten out.  But of course, ma cherie.  I had a splendid evening, overall.
Friendly, mostly non-sexual or romantic contact Friday.
We took the train on Saturday to go visit friends of his in another city.  The birthday party is fabulous, the level of contact between us all day is lovely...and then evening, too much alcohol.  We go for a walk.   We talk about us, frankly.  He eventually tells me that what he's been telling people about us is that he's always taken the possibility of us getting back together very very seriously...but just not yet.  Maybe after February 2010, when he gets back from two months in India.  Tells me implicitly that he still rather likes me, rather enjoys me; tells me explicitly that seeing used condoms in my trash hurt him rather a lot.
We go back and have glorious, sweaty, intense sex on the futon on the living room floor, where we're sleeping that night.  He has a particularly intense orgasm bracketed by endearments, and I don't really.  (I have a gentle, I'm a bit drunk and my body's weird orgasm, which seems unfair.)  We spend the rest of the night sleeping entwined, waking up only to kiss a neck, a shoulder, and to shift arms or legs closer, tucking them further under or against.
We spend the rest of the weekend as cuddled as if we were still dating--we fall right back into that dynamic.  And I think he enjoys it--enjoys having me back with him in this city, with his friends (who have all missed me, apparently.)  I enjoy being on the road with him--we've done this so many times, we're so good at it, and he's so comfortable to be around on a train, in a harbor, lunching on a boat in the sunshine.
We get back around 19.00, and I wander off to meet my gentleman friend for dinner, an existing plan, and one the ex knew might involve this friend staying over at my place.  (The gentleman friend is homeless, prior to his departure from the UK on Weds.)  The ex goes quiet by the end of the traintrip home, perhaps a bit tired or deflated, perhaps just hungover and worried about work on Monday.  In any case, friend decides not to come over tonight, much to my great satisfaction; I message the ex and make sure he does know this, and eventually come home to find a FB message that the ex is in a horrible funk after a fabulous weekend.  I leave a message and email to the effect that if there's anything I can do to help, to please let me know.
I worry strongly that my perceived unfaithfulness is part of the problem.  Everyone wants to be loved as intensely as they love, I imagine, or at least to not have the evidence that the object of your affections is seeing other people made explicit.  If he is, he's never mentioned them to me, though I've been assuming that's he's had at least a few random hookups since we broke up in May.
But on reciprocity in affection: up until about Monday, I was doing my very very best to be broken up with this boy completely.  I was working to sever any remaining emotional bonds; working to remove any privileged status he might have.  And I thought I was quite close--I went into meeting him Monday night planning that he wasn't going to stay over, that he was now firmly a friend, and certainly no sex.  Perversely, he seems to have arrived at an opposite point in whatever process he's going through--that we are and should be more than just friends, that he does want to spend time with me.
It's nice he actually told me.  Especially the notion that he's telling me that he hopes we get back together spring 2010 has me a bit irate-was he ever planning to tell me?  Should I have been informed of this?  Why should we get back together if the first time we both got really seriously stressed at the same time, we lost all spark and passion, and in his case, apparent motivation to be with me at all?  There's going to need to be a lot more conversation around this someday.
I've informed him he's basically undateable at the moment, which he agreed with, given the number of professional projects he's focused on, as well as personal growth stuff.  He acknowledged that perhaps short term flings would be of interest, but that was all.  That's intrinsically what I'm doing with my gentlemen friends with their moving dates to North America, but I don't think the ex knows that.  And perhaps I'm enjoying these gentlemen rather too much, which the ex does know about.
He's pointed out that I'm apparently much much more fun to be around now than I have been in many months--probably in a year or more, probably due to general stress levels, both of which I'll buy.  He is too, when his mood isn't distant and weird.

And now he's off somewhere in a funk after an emotionally intense weekend, and I worry that the fact that I have other men staying over with me casually is part of the problem for him.  I feel culpable, and concerned about the status and timeliness of my project to disengage from my convoluted relationship with him. 
Also interestingly enough, I would apparently rather have a buffer of a night on my own between nights with partners--having sex with two different people without showering in between (a plausible possibility for how today might go), actually makes me squeamish.  Ditto for sharing sheets on my bed between people.
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This weekend, spent with the lovely friend who I labeled a dud in bed two weeks ago.*  This was the second time I'd seen him since then--the first marked by frantic mutual masturbation on his couch before he left to catch an early flight to somewhere else.  This weekend was better--28 hours of laziness.  No agenda.  No reason to not kiss, snuggle, interrupt discussion for physical contact, interrupt physical contact to continue an earlier conversation.  Napping together in a park.  Cooking together.  A long discussion about life, culture, the future.
And I learned things about myself:
Above all, I've been a rotten person to my ex the last few months we dated, though probably far longer.  When kissed and cuddled during a movie, I would usually ask if we could finish watching the movie, and then continue with the physical stuff...and then be disappointed when he was no longer in the mood, and blame him for not being in the mood when I was.
I made a deliberate choice not to insist on finishing things this past weekend with D, to follow where the mood led...and it was fun.  It was light and impulsive, as was the whole weekend.  And it worked for me.
I don't want to be the sort of person who prefers TV to real life, who prefers fiction to my reality...especially when my reality includes a gorgeous man who leaves me feeling tranquil and content with life trailing kisses down my neck, along my collarbone.  I'm sorry I shot my ex's overtures down for TV; I'm sorry I ever embarked so thoughtlessly on that course without taking a step back and actually looking at what I was doing.

I'm seeing D tomorrow night.  He leaves the country for the foreseeable future on the 26th, so the next week will hopefully include a great deal of time with him....and if it doesn't, that's fine too.  This fling has flung me very well so far.  He has a copy of 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' on his desk right now, which has gotten me thinking that lightness, weightlessness is a good way of categorizing this relationship.**

*I'm in the process of revising this opinion.  Sex is getting better, and this guy is beautifully patient, eager, thoughtful about friction and lubrication.
**I recognize that this is not at all how Kundera thinks about lightness.
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Or so Feist sings.  I've never believed this, but the point stands that I'm not really sure what I'm doing right now.

A brief review of the past week:
Sunday, 19 July: Ex bf stays over after an unexpectedly fun afternoon outing together.  Yummy sex.
Monday, 20 July: Ex bf stays over.  Tuesday morning is amazing.
Wednesday, 22 July: Ex bf stays over.
Thursday, 23 July: I stay at his.  Friday morning, he eats me out in the shower, and we discover that the edge of his bathtub is just the right height for me to sit on and find my head at waistheight for him.  We also try fucking against various walls/surfaces of the shower.  It is very very very nice, and I glow all morning.

Saturday, 25 July: I stay over at the house of a friend I've always found deeply attractive.  He's moving away in a few weeks, his housemates were away, we drank lovely wine and he cooked showy food, and I guess he finally found the courage to make a move.  I had basically decided it would never happen, or that despite apparent chemistry, he didn't find me as attractive as I did him.  Or perhaps that it just didn't make sense, given that he was moving, and we never had a particularly intimate relationship.  Verdict: amazing snuggler and kisser, patient and thoughtful in bed, but a bit slow, ponderous.  And disappointingly hung, though I imagine he's been made acutely aware of this at some point in his youth, and probably doesn't need any comments from me on condoms being too big.  But, given that I would want to see him again before he leaves anyway, I anticipate more snuggling and kissing to come, if we can make time.  I'm a bit unclear how much of his finally making a move was related to me, and how much to opportunity.  I'm assuming he's not secretly in love with me, as I am not with him.  This is an adult, enjoying each other thing, from my perspective.

Sunday, 26 July:  The one-weekend-stand from June stays over.  Again, a friend I'm attracted to, enjoy, etc, and again, this is probably the only weekend we'll ever see each other like this again.  We snuggled, and he tried to get into my pants at intervals throughout the night, and I shot him down because I was sleepy and worried (us seeing each other coincides with his girlfriend, also a friend of mine, having enormous depression/self esteem crashes, which is another reason I probably won't see him alone again.)  On Monday morning, we had sex on a 10 minute timer, so that I would still get to work on time.  I'm in awe of this boy's ability to make himself come exactly as the alarm goes off.  I think there's room for more speedsex in my life (sort of like speed chess, yes?)  And infinitely more room for sex with people who are good sports, and not put off by preposterous situations.  Monday morning was another day of serious unflappability.

Monday, 25 July: Ex bf stays over, lots of cuddles, almost no kissing, no sex.  Hasty rearranging of trash in trashcan on my part, to hide the condom wrapper from that morning.  Ex bf had a seriously angsty, unhappy weekend, which he did not discuss with me; he did comment that physical contact was helping loads, and possibly had helped him over it completely.

I've never before had sex with three guys between Friday and Monday.  This is new to me.  I'm also bemused by my emotional response to this--sex with two friends I like, and the ex?  There's no grand romantic passion here, barring some inappropriately warm, fuzzy feelings about the ex.  And the ex is, unfortunately, the only one of these who actually got me to orgasm.  The others weren't even close.  And I know that my orgasm is very very tricky for the layman, but if I'm having this much sex, an orgasm somewhere along the line would be nice.  On the plus side, I think I left all three thoroughly satisfied, so my sexual karma should be quite good.

A worrisome thought I've had today: if I had to pick only one, it would still be the ex.  He leaves me buzzy like no other.  I am enormously setting myself up for anguish in a few weeks or months.  This is neither clever nor wise.

So plans for this week?  To juggle the friend who's moving away, and the ex, and my period, which will probably start tomorrow.  And maybe to think more clearly through what in hell I'm doing.  I haven't even told anyone about this (barring a housemate), simply because where do I start?  I had sex this weekend with three off-limits people I have no overwhelming feelings for?  And I didn't even come?
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I met up with my ex last night, for the second time since he returned on Tuesday*, to go see a band we both adore in concert (part of his birthday present to me.)  He'd spent the previous two days visiting my favorite of his friends, and came back bursting with plans they've made to do fun things this summer, which I did with them all last summer, and which I'm not included in now.  Coupled with a very stressful day planned for Monday, I felt horrible.  I was not happy over dinner, and was not enjoying being with him--it struck me as a mistake.
The concert fixed that. There was specifically a moment near the end of the opening act, when he was off getting more beer, when I realized that whatever happens Monday, whatever mess I'm in with him, I really like who I currently am.  And I'm definitely not the person I was when I first met him--I'm mostly the same, but I've grown, changed, evolved.  And that some of the changes (like my interest in the band we were there to see) were things evolved with him, because of him.  I could have done a lot worse in my choice of partner for 2007 and 2008, and no matter what happens to me, to us, from here on out, our relationship then was really really good, and I value the effects it's had on me...because by and large, they've been really really good.  I'm a richer, wiser, more stable, more interesting and more mature person for having been in that relationship.
And then the concert itself was amazing.  The best concert I've been to in at least 2-3 years.
And then we wandered back to my place, and talked, and listened to music and drank more cold beer on a hot night, and hugged, and eventually cuddled, and then, eventually, had incredibly nice sex.  I especially liked the bit where I insisted that he make me come, and made him wait for it--he's always been very good turning me on, but not especially talented at getting me off.**  It's historically struck me as poor manners to make someone wait a very long time while you play with yourself, but I guess it has everything to do with the circumstances...and inviting them to play with you.  While dating him, I became, eventually, very very skilled at turning him on--and it was fun to use this again last night, to push him closer to the edge, to do the things that I know drive him uniquely mad.
Two other things I noticed, during sex?
1.  The energy was just not as good as with my friend two weeks ago.  Nothing approaching the same sense of wild abandon, of delight.  This was hot, but pure comfort.  And purely physical.
2.  What I was missing last night was emotional excitement about my ex.  I don't have it.  It's dead.  We're having a lot of fun hanging out, but because I'm not seeing this as either romantic or kinky, because of the baggage, because of the ongoing unsettledness of our relationship...I'm missing an emotional context, a frame for me, a narrative about why I'm there, and apparently I need this.  I need it to turn me on.  We have plans for Monday, after my stressiness, and I'll see if I can start to get us settled in our interactions with eachh other.  Even a 'firm friends who have dirty, clandestine sex while lying to the world' story would turn me on more than not having one.  One serious possible solution is to just not have sex with him, though I'd prefer to not go that route--because I do enjoy him, his body, the way he touches me.

*We had dinner the day he returned--as near as I can tell, the first thing he did when crossed the border back into the country we live in (and therefore back into national mobile coverage) was to SMS me to ask if I had dinner plans.  We had a picnic, talked about where we'd been the last month, and it was good to see him again.

**This was one of the things that I hoped living locally, rather than long distance, would fix--that we'd have time for slow, leisurely, exploratory sex (rather than hasty hungry I-haven't-seen-you-in-a-month sex), and that he'd develop the skills/patience/dexterity/knowledge to push my buttons.  This plan failed completely.
snowylinenland: (Default)
So, dear readers, though I don't think I mentioned it here, I let another boy kiss me on June 7th, literally hours before I ended up spending another night with my ex, during which really astonishing eating out/mutual masturbation/finger fucking took place.  And then my ex left on a motorcycle tour abroad, while the boy in question went back to his home (different city, same country.)
This new guy is a newish friend, dating someone I consider a good friend.  To the best of my knowledge, they have an open relationship, and I discussed the guy's attraction to me (obvious) with both of them.  He stated that he would be interested in pursuing something with me, she mentioned she'd be interested in 'pimping [him] out.'
Invited up to his city this past weekend, I went.  Not because I necessarily wanted anything in particular, but because he's cute, and sweet, and smart and funny and amuses me--and because of two other key things: he wouldn't hurt a fly, and he's not available in any real way, including emotionally.  Going to see him for a weekend was possibly the best gift to myself in a long time.  He managed to be open, honest, communicative, extremely comfortable and comforting....and massively turned on by me.  All of which, frankly, put me at ease in gorgeous ways, healing ways, even though I didn't expect beforehand that I would be comfortable with much physical activity.  Our earlier kiss had been weird for me, and the first person I'd kissed since December 2006 who wasn't the ex.
This weekend wasn't weird.  We kissed, we snuggled, we had sex, each step not being a foregone conclusion, but feeling right.  It was good to be with someone who wanted me exactly as I was; good to be with someone I like and respect a lot; good to be with someone who's as appreciative of physical contact as I am.  Good to wake up half a dozen times in the night to kiss, to stroke, to spoon and grope.  That was especially good--the ex and I haven't done that in a very long time, even if we did spend the whole night curled up together, the last night I spent with him before he left.
Other good things: the smile on this guy's face, like he couldn't believe his good luck and delight that I was standing there.  Walking around his city, holding hands and learning more about each other, from the prosaic to the life-shaping.  His body--so completely different in shape, weight, and size than my ex.  There's no possibility for mixing them up, and this was a good thing.  If anything, this guy was much much nicer armful than my ex, and this is good.   And it's fun to kiss someone roughly your own height, for a change.  Nice in bed, too.
And the way he came--the announcement he was coming; his agonized, redfaced expression; and then the actual coming, his body jerking not once or twice, but eight, nine, ten times, pouring out every possible milliliter of semen.  His orgasms were earthshattering, and I was deeply honored.  And his good humored greediness: "This is a bit cheeky, but I'd really really like it if you would give me a blowjob now."
That last request was from this morning, after he'd spent as long as possible avoiding getting out of bed, due to a hangover.  He asked, and lo and behold, he was rock hard under the blankets...really, how he'd spent a lot of the weekend, to my delight.  I refused this morning, but asked to watch him masturbate, which he didn't mind at all, especially not when helped along with tonsil-hockey kisses, my body pressed to his, and intertwined legs.  Again, so gorgeous.  His come is also the most neutral, almost tasteless come I've ever encountered.  I'm not sure why.
We spent a lot of time doing various social things this weekend, but when he'd encounter me in hallways, rediscover me at the other end of the sofa, realize my existence again--he'd stop me to hug me, stroke my foot, squeeze my shoulder, kiss my forehead.  Good on him for being him, good on him for wanting me, and I'm extremely grateful he could put me sufficiently at ease emotionally to let him have me, to let me enjoy him.  Because that, dear readers, was fun.  It was so fantastically low key, low pressure, and low intensity, while remaining fun, pure comfort.

We both concluded that while we enjoy each other, we would probably never date.  Apparently he spent the whole weekend missing his young lady (because I, alas, am not her), and he's proved to be far far more of a nerd than I'm comfortable with.  This is good to know, though.  Unfortunately, he and his s.o. didn't discuss this as thoroughly as I thought they had, and she's somewhat upset.  Not enough to break off our friendship, but enough that I don't think I'll be in this situation with him again any time soon.  And honestly, that's fine.  It might even be the best outcome, if she's ok eventually.

And predator that I am, his housemate is 100% the sort of person I date, dream of, lust after.  Very tall, bald and glasses, which gets me every time, though I couldn't begin to explain why.  Stylish, and much more socially adept than my friend.  We had a long bilingual conversation about cooking, growing your own food, political vegetarianism, European politics, being a foreigner, and live music.  Totally my type, and the type I hope to have as a long term partner someday.  I borrowed a book from him, so maybe I'll have to go back...
snowylinenland: (Default)
Rationally, I'm over him, or mostly so.  Rationally, I'm not troubled by no longer dating him, by no longer having the future I thought I would once.  Emotionally, it's apparently different....or so my subconscious seems to think.  My subconscious still misses him, still feels lonely and vulnerable and rejected (based on dreams the last few weeks.)
Written Wednesday morning as I tried to pull myself together after waking straight from a dream:

So I seem to be consciously over the boy, but my subconscious?  less so.  At least last night, I had a dream about being with him as it was when it was good--having sex and then looking for places to have more, but being frustrated by the arrival of friends.  And that does leave me longing.  Both in my dream, and now.

On the plus side, my dreams last night had to do with fighting off foreign invaders with my kitchen knives, and sleeping under a scrolling Bayeux Tapestry quilt.  Time to stop reading historical fiction set in the Middle Ages, I think.

Well then.

May. 17th, 2009 11:54 am
snowylinenland: (Default)
So I met up with the ex yesterday, and it was lovely.  We had a most excellent day of wandering around, exploring an important public institution, and then mochas at a Starbucks (the first time I've been in 2009, and probably much longer.)  We ended up coming back to my place, napping all snuggled up, and eventually had what we termed 'recreational sex.'  He made a point of asking if doing so would fuck with my head, and my answer was no, so long as he stayed in regular touch.
So, why?  Beyond having an extremely pleasant yesterday, where do I stand?
1.  I really enjoy being with him and getting the vibe off of him (100%) that he wants to be with me, is enjoying my company, is having fun. That was lost/absent in our months in the suburbs.  He even said he'd missed me the last weeks of not having much contact.
2.  I enjoy spending time with him in general--when he wants to be, he's absolutely charming company. When he doesn't, it's miserable to have to be around him.  Most of 2009 has skewed towards the misery end of the spectrum.
3.  He's been a rather important person in my life for, oh, 2.5 years now.  If this evolves back into being in a relationship in some months, I would be ok with that.  It would automatically become one that was appropriate to living locally, with the pressures we have here.  Going the other way, if this turns out to be a weaning off thing, then I think I'm ok with that--then I'll deliberately enjoy him as much as possible while I can, and then I can be content as I go my own way.
"I don't like you anymore", or "I don't enjoy spending time with you" hurt.  "I'm not sure I can see sharing my life with you" hurts much less, because our one attempt so far failed so spectacularly.  And my life is up in the air, and so is his.
What I don't want to be: a fuckbuddy.  An alternative to masturbation for him (or for me.)  He's too important emotionally for that.  My preference is that our future interactions skew towards non-sexual, with sex only when it seems like we would both really want and enjoy it.  I think I would be ok as friends with benefits--it's the friendship that matters to me.
He's gone for most of June, so we'll see what happens to us then.  I may find work elsewhere; he may meet the woman of his dreams during his travels.  This would sadden me--it would be very soon after the point when I was still the woman of his dreams.  It will be good for me to live here without him, though.
I think it's fair to say that I love him, but am not in love with him.  In the meantime, the sex yesterday was phenomenal, as was the snuggling beforehand.  Especially the snuggling--we haven't done that in so long, and it used to be one of my favorite things about the way we interacted.

Other note: I don't think there's anything about our relationship (hesitant, strange, and evolving) to suggest that we're exclusive.  We had sex with a condom.  And I will be meeting people off dating sites.

Something I really enjoyed yesterday? Seeing him interact with me.  He made his polite version of a kissyface at me pretty early in the day, snuggled against me on both the train and bus, gave me lots of hugs, grabbed my arm to walk arm in arm down the street, and beyond curling up together to nap, was so very careful and cautious at stroking my back, playing with my hair, at purring into my kneading of his shoulders and neck.  And eventually he kissed my cheek, headbutted me (a long running joke), rubbed noses with me, and eventually we kissed.  And kissed.  And kissed.  It's quite possibly been a year since we had this much fun kissing each other--he's an amazing kisser.  I knew that, theoretically, but I don't think we've kissed for pleasure since December.  But he was so careful to not offend--reaching over to effectively kiss me on the train (we both know that gesture), and then turning it into a nudge.  We'll see where this goes.
snowylinenland: (Default)
So she's almost definitely coming--she has a holiday she wants to make use of.  I've now invited her along to hang out with me and this guy, or otherwise hang out with me in general.  We'll see.  I don't think she has her own network of friends here, but she's cosmopolitan enough that she might.  If she's coming as my friend and my guest, then I feel it won't be quite as unreasonable if I ever sit her down to talk to her about not fucking my ex.
And it'll be lovely to see her--she's generally great company.  Bah to the whole situation.
So it's now an hour later than I had wanted to go to sleep.  Bedtime, take 2!
snowylinenland: (Default)
It's a strange thing to go psychotically jealous about, but basically the only person who I *know* the ex was interested in, and who seemed interested in him, has just offered to visit me here next weekend.  I am really really not ok with them hooking up.  I was half not planning to be here next weekend (it's my birthday, and a different visiting friend has made noises about planning a weekend away), but having her in town with me not around just really doesn't make me comfortable.  She's a very good friend of my brother's, and she knows the ex almost as well as she knows me (so not very much), making him almost equally fair game to email for crash space.

The ex and I briefly discussed not dating anyone else immediately, but if she were here for only a short time, and available....I don't know.  Maybe they would think it worth it.  If so, I don't think I'd be interested in talking to either of them for a very long time, if ever.  There was a different very good friend of my brother's who dated a couple of my ex boyfriends sequentially, and it freaked me the fuck out.  The only time she addressed it directly to me, she said something like "you seem to have a talent for serendipitous harmony", or something equally weird.  They were my exes by that point.  Yes, I have some taste.  But still...

I'm secretly hoping she'll reconsider her plans for, oh, a few months from now.  When I don't care as much, or care differently.  Or that she really genuinely wants to visit me, and not just the city.
snowylinenland: (Default)
1.  Lovely link!  Good writing about, you know, it.
2.  I've just noticed I can feel my ribs through my breasts.  I don't know if this related to no longer being on the pill (my breasts are smaller again, so they've effectively dropped between 1/2 and a full cup size), or if I've only just noticed.  I do remember an epiphany when I was 19 or 20, and realized that I could feel my ribs through the muscles on my back.  That one initially had me really really worried.
3.  This whole 'no more pill, ever again!' thing continues to be a source of IMMENSE personal satisfaction.  Unholy glee each night I remember I won't have to take a pill.  I wonder how long until it never occurs to me?  This is undoing 8 years of habit.
snowylinenland: (Default)
But the truly intolerable part was that I had acquiesced in this godforsaken plan; there was ultimately no one to blame for my banishment to this remote-seeming outpost but myself.

Courtesy of an article in the NY Times today.  Ouch.
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