Virtue

It is one of the superstitions of the human mind to have imagined that virginity could be a virtue. -Voltaire

Virtue is a word used to describe moral excellence or a trait or quality that is morally excellent.  Purity is a virtue.  Virginity means you are pure and thus you are virtuous. Without your virginity, you are not pure, you are not virtuous. Throughout time and within different cultures, the emphasis on a woman's virtue has cycled in and out of importance.  But, rarely has a man's virtue ever been called into question through his possession or loss of his virginity.  Men are seen to be virtuous for other reasons, not having to do with their chastity.  When challenging a man's virtue, his courage and honor would be called into question, not a small layer of skin in the depths of his genitals.

There are many different definitions and ideas on when a woman's virginity ceases to exist; when she is penetrated vaginally, when she is penetrated anally, with fingers, with a penis, with an instrument.  Is a woman robbed of all virtue if she is raped?  Does giving head, but not having intercourse mean one is still a virgin?  Can virginity be restored through prayer?  Can a virgin be 'born-again?'  And why does it matter?

Virginity is seen as a virtue that is to be taken by a man.  It's something to be preserved until one meets the right man that will penetrate and break the flesh threshold.  The first time for a woman is never described as something that brings pleasure.  It's awkward and uncomfortable.  It's painful, but a woman should be happy that it is something she can share, something that she has saved for a well-deserving man.

I know very few women that are still with or even still talk to the man they lost their virginity to.  The passing of the sacrificial hymen isn't an agreement.  It doesn't come with any requirements or promises of loyalty.  It really means nothing.

After I 'lost my virginity,' I didn't know how to feel.  The phrasing itself left me with a feeling that I should feel a loss.  Should I be mourning my childhood, my purity?  It was fun.  I felt sexy.  I liked the boy with which I shared my first sexual experience.  We were good friends and it was fun.  It was wholesome.  It was his first time too.  I didn't feel like anything was missing.  I felt enriched, like I knew something others didn't.  I had sex.  I was sexual.  I was proud.

But, one night, it caught up with me.  I remembered the external influence.  I remembered the things I had learned as a kid and adolescent.  I heard the voices preaching the importance of purity and virtue.  I remembered that I had 'lost' something.  I lost my virginity.  It didn't matter that it was a very positive, loving experience.  I felt bad that I didn't feel bad.  I wasn't a kid anymore.  I had to be more mature now.  I wasn't a virgin anymore.  And in that moment, lost in the expectations of others, I forgot that I had made a good decision.  I forgot that I was in love and that I was still a kid.  I forgot that I had a pure heart and that I was a good person and I shed tears of mourning for something intangible, something that had never brought me joy.  I mourned a small mucous membrane that had probably been broken by a tampon or by my fingers long before my first boyfriend ever entered me.

I understand it better now.  When I think about my first time, I smile and I feel happy.  It was a beginning to a healthy wonderful part of my life. But, at the time, I had no one to turn to to share my shame.  My sister and mother had never made me feel bad for having sex.  No one was ashamed. No one put pressures on me.  I was 17 and I had taken a natural step in life.  My friends and family thought it was nothing to bat an eyelash at, but somewhere deep inside, I knew that society was frowning on my decision.  It may have been a natural progression, but feeling loss and shame were also natural, right?  It was, after all, inherent in the phrase.  It was lost.  I wasn't enriched.  I was missing something.

Now, I know this was bullshit and I frequently stop myself when I am about to say "I lost my virginity." It's not lost.  I know exactly when I decided to have sex for the first time.  I am not missing anything.  I am not without.  Nothing was taken from me.  I still talk to the man that gave me sex for the first time.  He gave me my first orgasm and he gave me love and respect.  Unfortunately, it took a little longer for me to give myself the love and respect that came so easily from him. It took more maturity for me to realize that virtue is a social construct that can't be defined by an act or a small layer of mucous.  My virtue and purity can't be taken and will never be lost.

Decisions, Decisions

I'm sort of at an impasse.  See, I have these eggs.  And I have some baskets.  But, only one of the baskets is strong and sturdy.  I could technically divide my eggs up and put one in each basket, but I don't really want my friends seeing the other baskets.  The other baskets have holes.  And I have this one basket that is about an hour and a half away and so I can't really rely on that basket.  Oh and I have this other basket that might be married. Dilemma ... is it okay to, TEMPORARILY, put all of my eggs in this one strong sturdy basket.  One that is close by, not married and extremely gorgeous.

The issue is, I am tired of dating all these knuckleheads.  I had a horrible experience the other night.  It doesn't even need to be discussed.  It was just bad.  And it was on the heels of a great experience.  So, I don't know what to do.  I think I am done with meeting new guys for a bit.  I don't really want to stop talking to the guys from back home, and I will probably never stop talking to Sean, but as far as sharing myself with other men, I don't really want to do it for a bit.

My sex drive can't be denied.  It's huge, but there's always masturbation and I have found one man that satisfies a lot of those needs. However, that having been said, this is not about him.  It's about me.  These guys are wasting my time.  Seriously, I spent all of Monday tired and mad that I had been up the night before having awkward conversation and then attempting to be slightly polite.  Trouble was, I was just tired and fed up.  I just told ol' dude that I was not interested and went home.  

The aspect of the strong, sturdy man is probably a bit premature.  He and I have only had one night together and other than that, we just do a lot of internet chatting.  But, either way, he's spoiled me a bit and seeing what is out there and what is possible is making me realize that I am wasting time with these other guys

The Powerful One - Part 2

So, I did it.  Who am I to deny a man the truth?  I kissed him.  He was a good kisser, he smelled good and his temperature was just fine.  At first, we joked about keeping it professional and there was no touching.  We just kissed.  Then, I couldn't resist and I put my hand lightly on his arm and fought the urge to venture lower.

The more we kissed without touching, the more my mind wanted to pull back and just kiss him for hours. My body wanted other things.   And after making out for an extended amount of time, my body and mind got what they wanted.  He was so strong.  His hands were big and powerful.  This is one reason why he gets the name The Powerful One.

There was no fast progression from talking to sex.  There wasn't even a fast progression from making out to intercourse.  He took his time.  We kissed, we touched.  It was truly beautiful.  He kissed my entire body and when he did enter me, it was passionate and deliberate.  He was 6'4" of solid muscle and his skin was beautiful.  Every part of his body was perfect.

We made love all night.  We came together the first time.  Afterward, we talked and laughed for a bit, then he was ready again.  Each time we made love, it got a little rougher.  He was exercising great restraint, but as he wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled my down onto him, his grip got a bit more firm, while his kiss stayed soft and warm.  I came twice.  We talked more and I was sure that two was all I was getting.  I turned the lights off and we settled in for sleep.  As we joked more and flirted, he would pull me up against him.  I traced the lines of his arm as they stood out from the backdrop of my white walls.

I asked for his hand to see how big it was against mine.  I had noticed they were large, but once against mine, I realized he might have the biggest hands I have ever touched.  They were beautiful, as well. With our hands pressed against each other, he asked if I was satisfied.  I told him I was and joked that I liked being manhandled by him.  He pulled me close and said he hadn't even started manhandling me yet.  As he kissed my neck, I told him he was 'a powerful human being.'

At this, he pulled back.  He thought it a strange choice of words.  He said he would have understood strong man, but 'powerful human being' was too much.  I defended my statement.  Then we got off onto a conversation about what makes one powerful.  He thought you had to have and actively exercise power over others to be powerful, where I argued that potential power makes one powerful.

I rolled over and smiled.  I was just happy to be laying in bed with a gorgeous man that challenged my word choices.  As I was drifting off and feeling thankful, he pressed up against me hard and said "you had to use the word 'powerful' didn't you?"  I slid down on the bed and filled my mouth with him.  He was harder and more wanting than he had been all night.  It was as if we hadn't just had sex twice.

He pulled me up to his mouth, then turned me face down.  He wrapped his arm around my throat and pulled me against him as he entered me.  He verged on hurting me, but knew just when to pull back.  As his grip around my throat tightened, he kissed my neck and whispered in my ear.  I was too intoxicated by him to remember what he said.  I just remember the intensity of simultaneous force and restraint.  He turned me over again and kissed me as he tightened his grip on my thighs and deepened his drive.  We came together one last time.

He laid down on top of me and we held each other.  Post-orgasm, I would tighten and loosen around him and he would push into me.  We fell asleep and I woke to him pulling out of me and slipping off of me.  I held onto him and he said he was too heavy.  I hadn't even noticed the weight of his body as I slept.  I just didn't want to not have him inside me.  We fell asleep on our respective sides of the bed and in the morning, he rushed to get dressed, claiming to have class.  So, I walked him out.

I knew I wouldn't see him again.  Later in the day, he sent the "I had a good time with you, we will do it again" text.  But, I didn't hold my breath.  His smell faded from my pillows and I still hadn't heard from him.  Then, tonight, my phone rang and it was him.  Only three days had passed, but he apologized for not calling sooner.  He said he'd been busy.  It was good to hear from him, but I am not going to get my hopes for an encore up.  We will just see what happens.

The Powerful One

Good God.  We have a winner, folks.  No offense to the ones that have come before, but this man was amazing.  Plus, it's still fresh on my mind and we all know how I feel for the first few days after great sex.  I always think I am in love.  Then it fades considerably. I know what you're thinking. You're right. Its not love.   We'll see.  

I met him online and he texted me a few times.  We talked on the phone once and as I usually do, I wrote him off at first.  He was very good looking in his picture, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to meet him or not.  I've been feeling a bit jaded lately and not really into meeting new guys.  I got overly involved emotionally with Todd and he stopped responding to my texts again, so I was a little down.

However, this past weekend, I decided to step out of that negative attitude and jump back out there.  I texted The Powerful One and asked him what he was up to.  Told him I was bored and he asked what he could do to help with that.  I suggested he drive up and visit me.  He lives about 45 minutes from me.  He agreed to make the drive.

I was a bit apprehensive about meeting him.  We were just going to be sitting in my room talking, possibly watch a movie.  If we didn't have anything in common or couldn't find a common ground for conversation, we would be spending the next few hours awkwardly feigning interest.  I was bored and willing to risk it, so I took a bath and shaved my legs, trimmed my hair and got dressed.  I just put on a jumper, a button down and some lotion.  He called and said he was nearby, so I slipped on some flip flops and went out to meet him.

He pulled up and I slipped into his car to help him find a parking space.  Wow. Can we say out of my league?  Good lord. I couldn't see much of him, as he was sitting in a dark car, but I could see that he had the most beautiful smile I had seen in a long time.  We parked nearby and walked back to my house together.  I was cold and he made jokes about me wearing shorts and flip flops in New England in October.  The flirtation started.

We got into my house and I could now see that he was about 6'4", had broad shoulders and beautiful skin.   I pulled a chair out for him and took a seat on the edge of my bed.  We talked for about an hour.  It wasn't uncomfortable.  We just talked about ourselves and got to know each other a bit.  He was cute and witty.  He wasn't particularly charming.  There was more genuine appeal than charm.  But when he smirked or smiled, I felt my cheeks go flush.

I spent the time we sat talking wondering if once we were done, he would go home or stay the night.  We talked for about an hour, then I found myself clearing my clean laundry off the bed.  I was doing it as a nervous kind of habit.  I move a lot when I'm nervous.  When I got the clothes moved off the bed, he asked, "Did you move those to clear me a spot?"  I immediately blushed.  Even though the thought of him staying and us having crazy sex had crossed/occupied my mind, I didn't expect him to make that comment when he made it.  So, I blushed and hid my face and said, "No." He made a comment about the bright lights and I turned it around on him, suggesting that he had offered himself a place on my bed and now he wanted me to turn the lights down.  Once my embarrassment settled, I offered him the space I had cleared and put on The Family Guy.  I know, it's not exactly romantic or mood setting, but the electricity was alive and well in my room and now in my bed.  I thought it best to do as much to curb the heat as possible.  I was about 5 seconds from mounting him as it was.

As soon as we settled on the bed, over the blankets, I told him he should take his shoes off and relax.  He did and as he leaned back he asked me what I thought of him.  My mind raced.  What do I say? I wanted to be honest, but I couldn't say the total truth.  The truth was that he was a 12 on my scale to 10.  He was by far one of the most if not the most attractive man to grace my bed.  He was huge.  His shoulders were broad and I had taken note of the way his jeans rested on his solid legs.  He was strength embodied.  His smile and his face were next to perfect.  He was beautiful without having a baby face.  He still had on his jacket, but I could see his arms were well cut.  I had checked out his ass within the first 5 minutes of coming into my room.  He was, in my eyes, physical perfection.  So, I looked at him, smiled and simply said, "You are spot on."

We talked about attraction, likes and dislikes for a bit and then he asked me if I'm big on kissing and what I take as a good kiss.  I remembered kissing a man earlier in the year and how the smell of the man and the heat of his mouth had been such a turnoff.  He didn't stink, but he was just repulsive to me.  His natural smell reminded me of motor oil and his mouth was so hot when he kissed me, that I was instantly turned off. I shared this with The Powerful One (you'll know why I named him that in a bit.)  I got up to get a small blanket and while I was up he said, "Okay, we have to test it.  I have to know if I have a hot mouth."  I smiled and he said, "You have to do this for me.  You have to kiss me."

To Be Continued ...

Sunday Nights

Sexual Peak

There is much debate over whether or not a sexual prime exists in men and women.  I decided to google it, for obvious reasons.  I masturbate every day.  I have always loved sex, but I am currently at my most lustful.  I turned 30 a month ago, so naturally I have been writing this increased hunger off to a sexual prime.

I have always thought there was some hormonal increase that happens to women in her 30s.  You get an increase of hormones and an increase in libido.  Turns out, this isn't so.  I have no more hormones now than I did at 18.  I have always had a little additional testosterone floating around my system, but there isn't some burst of hormones that hits in ones 30s or 40s.  Women and men both get the biggest hormone burst around 18.

So, why am I regularly skipping dinner to stay in and have "me" time?  Something has happened.  I wasn't always like this.  As I've said, I have always loved sex.  I lost my virginity at 17 and had my first orgasm soon thereafter.  Barring times of debilitating illness or lack of privacy/opportunity, I have not gone more than a few days without cumming, since.

However, now I masturbate almost every day, sometimes, more than once a day.  If I had a steady partner, I would be requesting sex at least twice a day.  When I had a boyfriend, if we had sex 3 times a day, I was happy and satisfied.  It's unbelievable.  My urges are amazing even me.  I have even considered the fact that I might be addicted to sex.  I signed up for the Sex Addicts Anonymous cyber meetings.  Turns out, I don't really fit the bill.  Aside from skipping the occasional meal, I don't really let anything else go by the wayside.  I am still selective about with whom and where I have sex.  I do, however, consider a private or semi private restroom to be an appropriate place.  I don't think about sex all day, but I am easily turned on.  I have been talking to a new guy for a few days and the wit, banter and hints to sex have me shifting in my seat quite regularly.

If I'm not in a sexual prime, then I can only write this increase off to an increase in confidence.  I remember that when I was young, I was ashamed to masturbate.  I thought my sexual urges made me gross or strange.  After I got older and more open, I found out all of my female friends that were willing to talk about it were rubbin' one out, at least once a week.

In my mid twenties, a partner asked if he could watch me pleasure myself and I realized that masturbation was not only normal, but it was sexy.  I know it sounds strange.  Of course it's sexy.  But, when you are irrationally ashamed of something, it's hard to see it for what it is.  These new realizations made masturbation even more enjoyable.  The more I masturbated, the more I realized what I liked.  The more I realized what I liked, the easier it was to orgasm with a partner.   My acceptance of masturbation led to better sex with my partners.

So, higher confidence led to freedom in exploring myself, which led to better sex with my partners, which led to better fantasies for more masturbation and it just spiraled from there.  I think this is what a healthy attitude toward sex looks like.  Yet, I still find myself questioning how I could love sex so much. Deep in the back of mine, I am still fighting the idea that sex is something men love and something women are willing to do to satisfy a man.  A part of me thinks I am odd for loving sex so much.  But, I am starting to realize that I am just a normal woman with lust.  I might have a bigger appetite than some and my appetite might be smaller than that of other women, but it's not strange in any way.

It is what it is.  I love sex.  I don't do it looking for love or with any hidden motives.  I believe it is an act of love. Not just love shared with other people, but a love for me, as well.  I encourage women to safely explore their urges.  You don't have to wait for some fictional sexual peak when your lust becomes acceptable.  It's acceptable now.  Embrace it.

For Lulu

I love my readers.  I really do.  Whether they are emailing me saying they disagree with my ways, or commenting that they appreciate the things I say.  I love them and most days I wake up excited to write for them. I like to be challenged and I like to be supported.  The growth that has come from the balance they bring is unreal.  Recently, some of my favorite readers have been asking for advice.  

The truth is, I don't really have any advice to give, outside of be honest.  Be honest all the time.  Don't over share and don't say things that will hurt people's feelings, but be honest.  Deciding to be honest and just be me has made all the difference in the world.  I think most of my unhappiness and insecurity came from worrying about the 'secrets' I had... The things I held back for fear of being unlovable.  Once I let them all out, I realized that all of me is lovable.  The only thing that wasn't was the dishonest side of me.  

So, just be you.  Don't try to hide who you are and how you feel.  We aren't crazy because we are women. We aren't irrational or over emotional.  We aren't conniving.  We aren't backstabbers or jealous wenches.  We are loyal.  We are brave.  We are mothers and best friends.  We are generally pretty fucking cool.  We are sexual and we are loving.  We can be strong or vulnerable.  We can have moments of unimaginable strength and glory and moments of crying on the floor, but we are beautiful at all times.  The only thing I would like to say in regards to women and my friends as a whole is that we need to stop hiding ourselves.  We need to stop trying to one up each other or appear stronger than one another.  We need to realize that there is no fault in weakness. There is no fault in sadness.  Own it when you feel it.  Support your fellow women when they feel it.  And realize that you are at your full worth whether you feel you are a super hero or a sinking ship. 

Don't spend your life hiding parts of you.  Own the things you don't like and work to change them.  Don't make excuses, because no one is perfect.  Just be happy and be good to other people.  I really think this is what made me really love myself.  In honor of loving myself.  I am going to take the final step in loving me.  My name is Jehnifer.  I don't need to be anonymous anymore, because I am proud to share my moments of weakness and my moments of strength with you guys.  I will keep my lovers and friends anonymous, but this is me.  I'm 30, I'm a student and I am in love with me.  

Thanks, Lulu. <3