All Good Things Must ...

In the past year and some odd months, I have journeyed down some pretty interesting roads and met some  interesting people. I set out to see what my dating life could be like outside the boundaries and constraints of the search for monogamy and love. In order to bind myself to this decision, I made a pact. That pact existed in the form of a blog. This blog, to be exact. This blog served as a written contract of sorts.

When I started the blog, I set out to tell of my adventures in dating. That was all I wanted to talk about. So, that is all I shared on. I blogged about my dating life. I didn't talk of my family or my friends. I didn't tell the story of how I dropped out of high school and worked my way to an ivy league school. I didn't talk about the things I love or the things that interest me. I just talked about my life as a sexually active, dating woman. That's all I had wanted to do.

It was great at times. Telling the stories that had forever been kept secret in mind freed me in a way I cannot even begin to describe. Women wrote me saying how they found comfort and freedom in my words. Men and women alike found my blog to be funny and entertaining. People found it sad at times. It was a lot like life. But, it wasn't life. It isn't life. It's a blog. It's not even a blog about my life. It's a blog about my life as a serial dater. It wasn't even about my dating life as a whole. It was one year of my dating life.

For one year, I stepped outside of the things that I had normally done. For one year, I backed away from my wants for love and companionship, because I had been driven by those things in the past. I wanted to ignore them for a short time and see what life could be like. I did. And, it was amazing. It was freeing and it was liberating. But, it was also lonely as hell.

For one year, every relationship I formed, every new bond I made was based on one small aspect of myself. People knew about the blog. If they didn't, I (or a friend) introduced them to it. People loved it and they hated it. It made some want to get close to me and I allowed that to happen. So, for that one year, I lived and blogged an experiment in life. It's not to say I wasn't really living and feeling, because I was. I was feeling all sorts of things. But, my interactions were not as organic as I would have wanted.

People that barely knew me started to draw conclusions on why I would write a blog like this. They passed judgments over drinks and talked about what they thought to be my motivation. People that I had never met thought they knew me and people that I thought I was getting to know never really met me. Relationships that I thought to be real turned out to be results of the blog. I got support and compassion from total strangers. I found solace in responses to posts. The responses were real, but they weren't enough. Someone that I care about dearly recently told me that I was portraying sex. That's all he saw me as. He had read the blog before meeting me. And, maybe he was right. But, I know I am more than that. I just chose not to share all of the aspects of myself with all of the readers of this blog. So, for those of you that don't know me (and that is pretty much everyone at this point), here's a little introduction.

I'm one of 6 kids. I grew up in a small mobile home in Houston, TX. I had some family issues and moved out of the mobile home at the ripe old age of 14. I moved in with my sister. More family issues pushed me to drop out of school and at 17 I found myself on my own, completely. I had a boyfriend that I clung to. When we broke up, I found a new boyfriend to cling to and this same story repeated for the next 8 years or so. After I dropped out of high school, I became a massage therapist. Practiced massage for 5 years and saved up some money.

After 5 years, I quit my job and went back to school. At 23 I got my GED and started to a community college. I scored really well on the GED, so the community college gave me a scholarship. While getting my AA at the community college, I worked as a sandwich girl at a local neighborhood deli. During this time I met a really nice guy and I started dating him. He's the one I was with last. He was/is a great guy.

While going to school and working at the deli, I got an internship with a Houston city council member. I worked hard and turned that internship into a job. For the next 3 years, I worked for the Council Member and dated the nice man. At the end of the Council Member's term, I applied to a very prestigious school in New England. Some things happened and the boyfriend and I parted ways. I got accepted to the school and I moved to New England.

While earning my BA in Government and Political Behavior, I remained single and celibate. I dated no one, had no companionship through my first two years of school. But, I made it just fine. During my second year of school, I received a call early one morning. The call was my mother telling me that my sister had been killed in a car accident. I went home. While home, my brother was in a bad car accident and he was severely injured. I spent an entire month with him in the hospital. Then, I went back to school.

Within my first two weeks back at school, my mother called to tell me that she had a cancerous tumor in her thyroid. And, my other brother had also been diagnosed with testicular cancer. My mother had surgery and made a full recovery and my brother is now in remission after a year of radiation. I had to take a step back and look at life.

My mother had married an alcoholic (my father) because she thought she could change him. My sister had been married three times and tried her hardest to do the right thing, then she was killed. I just didn't know what to do. But, I knew I wanted to step out of the life I had been told to live. So, I did. And I had fun with it. Nothing in my life has been traditional or routine. If I had stuck with the tradition of my neighborhood, I would have gotten married to a neighborhood boy right after or during high school, had a few of his kids and I would be living in a trailer in my parents' side lawn. If I had followed my own path, I would be a high school drop out working in a deli. I don't know how I was supposed to live. I don't know what the right thing is.

Having said all that, having told you all that, you still don't know me. Because, I am not my dating life and I am not the details of my life. These are merely ways for you to see more of my motivation. Hopefully, these few details of my life help you understand why I don't regret much of my life. And, even though this blog has stood in the way of me forming any real relationships in the past year, even though it has lead to some harsh judgments from people that do and do not know me, I wouldn't take back one word. I wouldn't change one thing. Because, the solitude that it lent gave me time to get to know myself in ways I would never have gotten to know myself.

And now, it's time to end it. I've gotten just about all I am going to get out of this experience and I am ready to move on. I don't regret it. I won't pull it down or hide it. I am not ashamed. I am just ready to move on to a new chapter. I am ready to rejoin the world and start having real relationships again. When I meet someone, I don't want there to be any glimmer in their eye. I want them to have only the same prejudice that they have for every one else they meet. Nothing special here. So, thank you to all of the people that have read and appreciated my blog. And thank you to those that have passed judgment, felt compassion or laughed along with me. I have battled with this, cried over it and now, I am sure that this is the last post of My Life As A Serial Dater. Happy dating everyone.

With Love,
Jehnifer (AKA Poly)

P.S. I feel I should note that I have (in the past year) formed one relationship that has meaning and will live on. I love you Chris.  

You're Not Welcome

I know what you all must be thinking; She got into a relationship and fell off on her writing. Not true. I am still very much single. I just fell off on the writing with no valid excuse to think of. But, a turn of events has left me unable to ignore my bloggerly duties any longer. I need to vent/get some opinions/clown this dude.

So, I feel I must share with you guys that I love men. If you haven't noticed, I like them a lot ... especially at first. Then, the like starts to fade a bit. And then, it's over. This is not one of the typical situations. This recent experience was one that was wholly different. I never liked this guy. Maybe for a brief (very brief) moment in time, like when he first viewed my profile. I deleted my dating profile a month (or more) back. But this is the story of the one who fell through the cracks. He had my number and he was just waiting to use it. This is the last post of online dating, I hope.

He texted out of the blue. I had his name in my phone, but I didn't remember who he was. He said I had given him my number on OkCupid and I suppose I had saved his name and number.  The first few texts were just what I had gotten used to/sick of in the online dating world. He asked how I was. I was fine. He asked what I was up to. I had just gotten off work. He asked for a pic to refresh his memory. I sent a reasonable pic: not too sexy and cute enough, while being a true representation of me. He said I looked beautiful and that he looked forward to meeting me.

A few days pass and I get another text from him ... "More pics?" I now knew a little more about what I was dealing with. I responded that he already knew what I look like. And he said "I just want to see you again. Your pictures make me smile." Bleh.

A few more days pass and he texts, "What are you doing this evening?" Okay. So, he's looking to hang out tonight. Sometimes I am okay with that. I don't mind a last-minute hang out in some situations. But, this was not one of them and I didn't feel like hanging out. I told him I was not going to be getting out that evening.

The next day, he texts that he wishes I would send him a picture. At this point, he starts to get annoying. Then, he asks if he can swing by my place. I respond, "No." I am not allowing a man I do not know to come meet me at MY house. I would sooner go to his place. Randoms are not allowed in my home. No chance. He texts back "Oh you one of those 'I have to meet in public' chicks?" Ok. Enough. Yes. I am also one of those "I still have my life and limbs" chicks. And, who says chicks? Anyway, I made it very clear that he would not be coming to my home. Again, he asked for a picture, noting that he wants this one to show a little more.  I guess my repeated declines had led him to believe it was a good idea to ask for more. The rejection was making him greedy? I made it clear that if he wanted to meet for coffee, we could meet, but his texts requesting pics and last-minute hook ups were just getting tiring.

Later that day, I'm at the gym and he texts ... again, "So, I meant to ask. Do you have a booty?" Are you for real? I get a little amped when I work out anyway, so there was no way I was not letting ol' dude have it. I texted back that if he had wanted to meet, he would have asked me by now. At this point he was just trolling and I was not interested in supplying him with pictures and descriptions so that he could jack off while his mom was at work. He had the nerve to respond that he was just being a man. Piss poor excuse, guys.

If you read this blog, I am going to assume you don't try to pull that 'boys will be boys shit." I assume this, because I assume you are all men. But, if (for some odd reason) you have ever acted an asshole and tried to make the "I'm just being a man" excuse, know that we know other men. We have a base and foundation of comparison. And, hopefully, we know respectful men. This guy just made himself look worse when he demonstrated that he had a lesser understanding and knowledge of how men really approach women. Maybe this is how he and all his friends try to get dates. Or, maybe his friends just act like they do shit like this when they talk to each other, sans women.

But, either way, I don't see these tactics scoring big. I went out to lunch with myself a couple days ago and I saw the female equivalent to this guy out on a date. She was talking to the man about how he gave women too much credit and we really aren't that smart. I wanted to shut my laptop, lean over my table and politely tell her to speak for her fucking self. But, I thought this to be a moot request. Inevitably, this guy had met other women. Inevitably, he already knew that she had no way to speak for all women for her shortcomings. She wasn't a 'dumb girl', she was just a stupid person.

So, to all the daters out there that just fall short, Be better. If you aren't smart, just be quiet and act shy. Don't try to hide under your gender blanket after you say or do stupid shit. Your lack of manners has nothing to do with your manhood. And if you think you are dumb because you are a woman, you're wrong. The assumption that you are the first person of your gender that your date (or possible date) has ever encountered, is misguided. They have inevitably met smart women, or men that know you have to respect everyone, always.

Turns out the man on the date was married and his wife was a professor and photographer. Ouch. Nothing is fair. As for me and the guy with the texts, you guessed it. We have a date coming up at the end of never. I will never meet him. I'm not that harsh of a critic, but he will never get a chance. Sucks for him too, because once you get a few drinks in me I'm an easy lay. If only he hadn't sent such dumb texts.

(Footnote: I am a gossip and some women in the restaurant knew the man on the date with the stupid lady. We shared notes on the date we had all witnessed.)

Love?

One of my young friends asked me once if I had ever had an orgasm. I was young, as well. So, this was not a rare conversation. I could tell by her tone that there were probably going to be questions to follow if I answered that I had. I had, so following my answer, she asked how would she know when she has one. I had expected questions, but I had no idea how to answer this one.

I think my response probably left her feeling a lot like I feel when someone tries to explain to me how they found Jesus, or how they can feel God. I tried to explain how orgasms came in waves ... How they made you tingle and kinda rolled over you while simultaneously punching you in the stomach. I tried to explain that no two were the same. But, clitoral and vaginal felt very distinctly different from one another. But, when it came to knowing, I gave the same answer I had surely been given in regards to many things. It was the same answer I would be given when I asked about being in love ... You'll know when it happens.

I may not know about many things. But, I do know that the female orgasm is no myth. It's not intangible and it's not as elusive (or illusive, in my opinion) as God or love. So, after two paragraphs regarding the orgasm, I will transition into the real topic of this post; Love.

I was on a date recently, (it was one of those dates that almost feels like an interview) and somehow, the topic of love came up. The guy asked me if I had ever been in love. I paused for a moment and then I started, "Well..." He stopped me there and in a smug, older man kind of way, he said, "You haven't. You'd know if you had." I went on to argue that there are a lot of different kinds of love and he quickly pulled the rug out from under all of my logic and argument and said, simply "There is no universal definition, but if you had been in love, you would have just said yes. It was a simple question."

Was it? Was it really that simple? Most of my single girlfriends that are around my same age have been in long relationships. But, for the most part, those relationships happened in our early and mid-twenties. We were head over heels for the guys involved at some point, but eventually, we were just dealing with, or tolerating them. I remember being infatuated with some of the guys I was with. But, I don't remember really feeling like I was in love. The infatuation had the struggle and the pursuit, but it rarely had the good warm feeling that I want to associate with being in love.

There were also some of us that had our second or third relationship in our mid to late-twenties. For some of us, this was the pragmatic relationship. It's the one you enter into because you function well together. You have things in common and you both have cars and good jobs. It just makes sense. But, again, it isn't what you might associate with being in love.

This is why I pause before answering. I don't really know. He's right. If I'm stalling, I guess I've never been in love. But, I am an agnostic. So, I tend to think of love as a very pragmatic sort of comfort that someone develops after getting to know and growing to trust another person after an extended (arbitrary) length of time. And, I think of "being in love" or "falling in love" as some sort of fantasy state. I can't say I actually believe that one falls in love and all is well.

I think we were all sold a bunch of bullshit, especially women. And even more so, the women of my mother's generation. They were taught that their self worth was wrapped up in the idea of someone falling in love with them. They were taught that there would be a rebel or a bad-boy that would only have a soft spot for them. They were taught that they were meant for one special person out there. And that his life would not be complete, that he could not settle down, until he had her love. And, I just can't buy the view of the 'love' that was propagated by Doris Day, Rock Hudson and Disney. I refuse to be the Miss Piggy chasing her Kermit. (Though, Kermit was a pretty cool guy.)

I don't believe in any of that. I don't spend days dreaming of my Prince Charming. Most of my fantasies involve visions of rough sex, where very little is said.  They are a far cry from the dreams of a troubled man will come settling down for love. I actually want something very different. My love is already stable. His choice to settle down and enjoy monogamy will have come before meeting me. I don't hope for a love that transforms another person or me.

I just hope to be ready if that pragmatic, logical partner should come around. It would suck to be offered a beautiful house and have no land on which to put it. I have to be in the right place. And, no matter how strong the love is, or how great the guy, I have to be ready. So, this is what happens to love in the mind of the 30 year old. This is what becomes of love after the twenties have come to a close. Love becomes a series of pros and cons. If the pros outweigh the cons, I will consider it. And, if I should "fall in love" along the way, all the better. 

in·ar·tic·u·late

Yep. That's me. Over the past few weeks, I have really started to realize how awful I am at communicating. I want so desperately to do it. But, as soon as I am in a situation where I have the ear of the person to which I want to relay my thoughts/feelings, I lose all eloquence and ability. I don't really know how this would be cute, if it were. But, that doesn't matter, because it's not cute. It's not cute or quirky at all.

I clam up. I say things that are indirect and never relay the message my brain and heart want to send. I end up going in circles and never, ever do I land at a conclusion that can get me any closer to the where I want to be. My words are counter-intuitive to my wants. So, instead of saying the things I want to say, I write.  Writing is my way of communicating. Trouble is, in this case, what needs to be communicated to one person is being communicated to hundreds of people. But, this is the best I can do. And, trust me, I know my best is not good enough. Baby steps.

This is the story of my most recent communication failure. I met a guy. He's funny, smart and a bit neurotic. We are sexually compatible, able to chill for hours on end and our communication is as good as it can be with me and anyone. He's open and we talk through a lot of things without talking too much. Lately, it feels like we have been talking entirely too much. This is because I can not say what I want to say. But, I am also not sure what it is I want.

A couple of posts back, I wrote that I don't know what I am doing with this guy. And I don't. So, I can't describe what we 'are.' Because I have no clue. We sleep together. We hang out like once a week or week and a half. I go to his place and spend the night usually. Recently he came and spent some time with a friend and I, and we came back to my place. This is where most of the recent talk took place ... in my room. It was painful. So, I was glad to be on my territory. Not because I wanted to have power over the situation. Because, I did not. But, because I am so terribly nervous and uncomfortable talking about relationships and feelings. It's really hard for me.

But, I did it. Sort of. I can't even begin to go into what I said. Just imagine someone wanting something/someone and having no idea how to say it. That's what it was like. I avoided eye contact, as much as possible. I fidgeted. I said "never mind" a lot. And, at my highest point, I said "I'm going to save you. You don't have to respond." As if to say, "I know you really don't want to have this conversation, so don't feel obligated to have it." I assumed he didn't want to be talking about what we are, so I thought I would save him and attempt to dig out of the conversation I thought I wanted to have. Instead, I am fairly sure I offended him. He got off of my bed and stood in my room for the rest of the conversation.

It started out with him talking about future time we would spend together. He very clearly expected us to hang out again. He was talking about things we would do to make our time together better, new ways of opening up communication and improving upon our sex. It all seemed fair enough, but the trouble was, it conflicted with something I had already sorted out in my mind: that we weren't going to talk about the future, that the future was non-existent with us. Because, we were just going day-by-day. We have no sort of commitment to each other. We have not agreed to stop seeing other people. We are not really anything.

(All) that having been said, I have feelings for him.  They are unique, because every relationship between two people is unique from the next. I have friends that I have slept with that I would not call 'lovers.' I have men that I sleep with that I would not call 'friends.' I have people that I have seen romantically that I never clicked with and just stopped talking to. And then, I have him.

The other situations are easy to navigate, because they are pretty clear pretty early on. The situation with him is frustrating, because I know we both like each other. I know we are both clicking. I know that there is a deeper connection. But, I still don't know what that means to him. We started to talk about 'us' twice now, and he said the same thing... The first time he said "Let's see where this goes." That was fine with me, because I was definitely not looking to call anyone boyfriend. Nor, was I ready to figure out how I would stop talking to the other men in my life. Being exclusive was a scary thought.

The second time we broached the subject, he said he doesn't "rush into anything." That is also fair enough. However, we have been sleeping together for almost two months. And, I have no idea of how to tell if a guy is seriously saying "let's see where it goes" or if he is saying "this is never going to happen with us, but I really like sleeping with you and being in your company for now." The other situations didn't require me to navigate this subject. To be honest, this situation was not requiring me to navigate this situation either. But, my feelings were pushing me to figure out what was going on.

The question, that had earlier plagued my thought process, of how I would disconnect from my other lovers was no longer an issue. It had just happened. I still talk to The Stranger, but he is not a lover. I would like for him to be a lover one day, but that has no impact on my real, tangible situation. I have not been dating or seeing anyone else. I don't know when it happened... I went on a few dates with other guys in the beginning. But, I haven't dated or slept with anyone but him in about a month.

So, this is what it is. I have feelings for him. He has proven to be worth dropping all the others. The feelings I have grow every time we are together. When something good happens, I want to text him and share it with him. I want to support him through the stress he is currently going through. I want him to support me through mine. I want a partnership with him. And, I am fairly sure that in two months, and two months from that, he will still be 'seeing where it goes.' I, however, (think I) can see where it's going. In the end, I will be hurt. So, I made the decision that night in my room, that I would rather not be hurt. And, I launched a preemptive strike and told him I cannot see/sleep with him anymore. When you are sitting seconds away from rejection, seconds away from pain, it's just easier to bow out. That's what I did. I told him that we could talk about it more later. But, that was just lip service. Pain at the hands of a man is something that I have not experienced in many many MANY moons. I don't plan on starting back up now.

I probably made a mistake that night. But, fear has a way of making folks do that.

Fairy Tales

So, I am watching this show about romance. It's supposed to be a romantic comedy, but it's actually just awful.  She's a Chinese American with sweat shop parents and a drug addict brother. But, she's different. She went to a good school and she has a good career. One night, she's at a mixer with a bunch of wealthy people. Then, of course, she meets a nice rich man. He doesn't know she's from a poor family. He mistakes her for a rich Chinese woman and he falls for her, because his mistake led him to give her a chance.

Okay, this is the same fairy tale story we have gotten forever, right? The rich man mistakes the poor girl for a wealthy one, falls in love, finds out who she really is, doesn't care and they live happily ever after. That's fine. It's whatever. My issue is not with the fucked up social aspects or the hypocrisy of it all. I am not going to talk about the unpalatable nature of the Cinderella story, or the fact that she actually mentions that she was named after a Chinese Cinderella.

I don't have a problem with any of that. At least, not today. Today, my issue is with the kiss. There was tongue. The kiss in this movie was the only thing believable. She pulled at the back of his hair. He grabbed her head. I was surprised. And it definitely removed me from the fairy tale setting the movie worked so hard to create.

They worked, as in all fairy tales, to keep her innocent. They worked to keep the whole relationship innocent. 'Innocent' being free and devoid of sex. But that kiss... that kiss just threw it all off for me. They had passion. And at that moment, I relived all of my passionate kisses. I could feel the lips of past lovers... or kissers. And, I remember the physical things that happen to me when I am kissed passionately.

When I am kissed passionately, my whole body heats. My face gets flush and I get a little light headed. My muscles tighten, then soften. A gravity comes over me that pulls my whole body toward my kisser. My breath speeds up and my heart races. Along with everything else heating up, my legs fall in line. Then, while our mouths are intertwined and wet with saliva, I become wet ... elsewhere. And, sex floods my mind.

Wait a second. Hold up ... Did Cinderella get wet when Prince Charming kissed her? Was she thinking about sex? Did Prince Charming put his tongue in her mouth? And if so, how did they keep sex out of the equation? It's all been good in theory. I mean, it's all a fucking lie. But, the last thing I had even dreamed was that Cinderella was wet and writhing for her Prince. I guess I knew all along that it was a sham, but her vagina?

How dare they lie to me about Cinderella's vagina? This is why I always felt so 'over-sexed' when I got wet from my very first kiss on. I felt like my sexual urges were in direct conflict with my 'innocence.' Oh well, I was fooled. I suppose if I had thought longer and harder about it, I would have realized that Prince Charming had a serious foot fetish. And, as soon as he found his Cinderella and got up close to that foot, he swept her up, married her and got to that wedding night. He probably had his hand up her dress as they were waving at us and riding off in the carriage.

An Ignorance Chosen

I have been sleeping with/I don't really know what-ing the same guy for roughly a month and a half. I don't really know what to call any of it. I can't say dating, because we don't really date. We lay on his couch and watch movies, we eat dinners that he cooks, we have amazing sex and we smoke cigarettes. I can't say we are seeing each other, because that term feels far too serious. So, for now, I will just say we are 'sleeping together.'

I know it's sad to say, but this is kind of a three year record for me. I haven't consistently slept with anyone this long. And, get ready for this ... I have, sort of, only been having sex with him. I know, I said "sort of." There was this one thing. But, it was a few weeks ago. And, it was only one night. And, I am not sure that it really counts. Anyway, none of this matters. Now, to the point.

I was at said guys house one evening. We had just had another evening of movies, we had run out of cigarettes and we were, in all likelihood, looking forward to some really beautiful sex. When I say beautiful, I mean it. It's really amazing. If you don't remember, he's this guy. So, as I said, we had run out of cigarettes. Well, he had. I don't really smoke unless I'm with him, so I don't really buy. He was going to run to the store to buy some cigarettes. I wanted to shower, so I asked if it was okay if I showered while he ran to the store. He said no. He didn't leave people in his house. I jokingly asked if he didn't trust me with his stuff, and he clarified that he trusted me, he just didn't leave people alone in his home.

I really had no problem with this. It was no issue at all. I ended up showering and he ended up skipping the trip to the store altogether. None of it really mattered. But, it did make me think. While I showered, my brain wondered what harm he could possibly see in me staying in his home alone. The only thing I could really come up with was the rummage factor. I was fairly sure he wasn't worried about me stealing his things. So, he must have been worried that I would look through and/or at his things.

Fair enough. I can respect that. I do have some things that remain sacred to me: old journals, my vibrator.  However, the thought of rummaging through someone else's things is repulsive to me. It actually gives me a bad feeling in my stomach. While I washed my parts, I wondered why the mere thought of snooping through someone's things made me so uneasy. Then, it came to me. I have played detective.

When my ex cheated on me, I went through his things. I went through his phone. I went through his apartment. And, after it was all said and done, I swore that I would never do that again. I didn't even have to swear it. It was just such an awful feeling, it stuck with me over the years. Whether it's growth or PTSD, I don't care.

I don't care what a man is hiding from me. Especially not this man. He is free to do as he chooses. I would rather not know about it, but he's free to do it. And that is the whole point. I would rather not know. I don't want to know the secrets. I don't ask about them, because I don't want to know. People are allowed their secrets with me. I don't want to know all of the details of my family member's personal lives. I am here if they need an ear, but I don't want to know what they don't want known. People keep things from each other. We all do it. It's not my job or my want to snoop around like Sherlock Holmes, trying to uncover the things that don't want to be uncovered. Thanks, but no thanks.

Part of me thinks this is why I don't have a relationship. But the fact is, even when I do have one, I won't be doing that shit. If I feel like I should leave, I'll leave. If something feels really wrong, it usually is. I don't need to find a pair of panties or a used condom. Actually, funny story, I did find a condom at his house. Didn't really find it, wasn't looking, I just stumbled upon it. And I asked NO questions. Because, I didn't want to know. I don't care where it came from. I'm just glad that we use them and if he is sleeping with other people, I am glad he's using them with the others, as well.

So, the bottom line is, I am choosing ignorance in areas that ignorance is safe. Yes, we are having sex. But, as long as we are wrapping it up, I don't have to know what he is doing with others. I certainly don't want to uncover his secrets. It's my job to police me, not the rest of the world. I just have to worry about my actions. And, it's hard enough for me to get to know people on the surface. I only need to know the things my partners tell me about themselves. The last thing I am going to do is attempt to unlock them any more quickly than they are unlocking themselves. Nothing good can ever come of forcing people to let you in faster than they want to let you in. I'm okay out here for now. What I don't know, will not hurt me out here. 

Cheating On Me

We've all had boring sex. This isn't something that only some people go through. If you are over the age of 19, sexually active and have been sexually active for longer than a year, you have had sex that bored you. We are all familiar with this subject, especially those of us that have been in monogamous relationships.

This isn't always a sign of a bad partner. Sometimes it just means one or the other of you wasn't totally into it. In relationships, this happens from time to time. People have real lives. Sometimes you are sidetracked by something that happened at work. A certain time in my cycle leaves me less than aroused. So, there are those times when one person wants it and the other person takes one for the team. And, then there are just boring lovers. It happens. 

What does not happen, what should not happen is boring masturbation. But, it did. It happened. I would like to put the blame on someone else, but ... I was the only person there. Here's the issue. I have been having great sex. I've been sleeping with a man that is just about 8 years older than me and he falls right into, what I have deemed, that perfect sex age. People talk about how young guys get harder (I find this to be a unicorn tale) and can get hard immediately after coming (I find this to be unappealing.) Once you have been with a man over 30 (especially those over 35), you realize that most men in their early 20s just haven't had the years. So, the idea of a man getting hard 10 times a night and never once bringing me to climax seems akin to sitting at the DMV while someone loofahs my vagina. Yeah, it's the best I could do. Anyway, it seems very unappealing. I don't need you to keep getting hard over and over again if you are just using me as a pin cushion. I'd just as soon you come in 5 minutes and call it a night. 

Experience has the potential to make a man a better lover. However, there will always be older men that couldn't be concerned less with pleasing a woman. And there will always be younger men that are ahead of their time. But, this isn't a post to debate if older men or younger men are better in bed. This is a post about how the man I am currently sleeping with is such an amazing lover he's got my full attention. He has made other lovers far less appealing. Unfortunately, one of those lovers that has lost their luster is me. Somehow, this man has (momentarily) fulfilled me to the point where I'm bored with masturbation. 

The trouble is, I have built this relationship with myself. I give it up to me nightly. And if I don't, I feel like I'm losing touch with me, so to speak. I have sworn allegiance to masturbation. I have written, on many occasions, that I need to masturbate regardless of whether I am having routine sex with a (or many) partner(s). Sex and masturbation are two different things and have always had two very different roles in my life. 

So, you can imagine my confusion when I slide my hand into my panties and close my eyes tight to imagine whatever my "heart" desires, and all that comes to mind are replays of past evenings. This can be great. It's like being able to close your eyes and have a full interactive show. A show that is always in the cue and ready to play. Unfortunately, I slide my fingers (or my toy) into myself, only to suffer disappointment. It's not a lover. It's not him. It's just me again. This must be how it feels to have an affair. To be hyper turned on by something new, only to return to the same person day-in and day-out. 

You might think I am thrilled with this new lover. Someone that can fulfill me to the point where masturbation loses it's necessity sounds wonderful, right? Wrong. Because, when this guy is gone, I am going to be the one left picking up the pieces in my failed relationship with me. I am the one that is going to have to explain to myself that it was a momentary distraction and I really do enjoy making love to me far more than some man. I just needed a change, some variety. I only hope, when that day comes, I can forgive me.

In the meantime, I go through the motions, getting just wet enough and pushing just far enough to ease into a willing orgasm, tuck my toy away and fall asleep. Masturbation used to be one of the hottest parts of my sexual life. It used to be something I looked forward to. I would sit in lectures and dream about going back home for a long midday session. Lately, it's just not what it used to be. Like all other things, I am sure this is a phase and, soon, I will be back to my daydreams about self-love. For now, I am going to drift back into daydreams about last night. More to come on that ...