80s music cures all ills

OK, so ignore the images on this video - it was just the only embed-able video I could find of the right song. I don't know the people in the video, and I'm not implying anything by including the video here.



I adore this song. I can't say I totally understand what it's about, but I get a strangely inspirational vibe. In that screw-everything-and-follow-your-dreams sense. Which is something I could use right now. It's getting grey out here, and I'd love to blame the sadness that I can't seem to shake on Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I think it's more than just the lack of sun that's got me down.

I just wish I could place a finger on what it is, exactly. Last weekend, I was really not myself, and needed to leave suddenly on a night I was hanging out with The Scientist and Nonboyfriend. They hadn't done anything wrong, and the night had been quite low-key, but I suddenly was just so upset that I couldn't stay in the room, or the house, or that part of town with them. I just got up and left. I haven't done that in a long time.

Things are starting to feel out of control again. Work is picking up, and as the holiday season approaches, it means I have an exponential increase in events I'm covering, videos I'm editing, promotions I'm organizing, and, oh yes, when I have a spare moment, articles I'm writing.

I can't control how often I see my friends - none of my closest friends are in the same town. Certainly, it's nowhere near as inconvenient as when I was at school across the country, but it's almost more infuriating to be an hour or two's drive from people who I so desperately want to see.

At the same time, I'm feeling so incredibly drained. I'm back to being tired all the time. There is a part of me that's just going through the motions. I'm feeling like I don't have anything left to give. Which in turn makes me feel worse, because I don't want to not be able to be there for the people I care about. That's what I mean by a loss of control.

Maybe I am a control freak. Actually, I know that I am. I'm a backseat driver, a bit of a neat-freak, and it drives me crazy when people don't use the shortcuts on computers or take a longer route to get somewhere. I get so upset when plans fall through largely because it was something out of my control.

So I need to try focusing on the positive things. The areas of my life where I am in control. And there are a few. I have some concrete plans coming up in the next few weeks about which I'm really excited. Even though they're concrete, I'm still a little scared to say them out loud - or put them in print, as it were - for fear that something will change them. So you'll hear about those events after they happen. Who knows, maybe it'll even bring about a revival of my HNTs. I know they've been absent. But part of the lack of control is accompanied by a lack of feeling sexy. Which, of course, doesn't help my mood.

It's all rather cyclical, isn't it?

"I never took the smile away from anybody's face

And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is

still a child

In a big country

Dreams stay with you

Like a lover's voice

Cross the mountainside:

Stay alive

I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered

But you can't stay here with

Every single hope you had shattered

I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert

But I love and breathe and

see the sun in wintertime.."

I should tell you...

I've talked about my Ex by several different names on here. He's been a kind of supporting (or not, as it were) character in the background of many of the experiences you've read about here. The short history - we dated for five years... All through high school, and then for our freshman year of college, for which we went to schools on opposite coasts. We went to a tiny high school where, by virtue of his being utterly likable and my throwing nearly every major party anyone in our class or below went to, we secured a tight group of friends. Many of those people both of us remained close with.

Which of course, made it that much more awkward and painful when we broke up in a BIG way at the end of our freshman year of college. He was the one who ended things - at the time I believed he left me for someone else, and I did, in fact, know who it was. In retrospect, I saw it coming. We weren't right for each other, but he figured that out LONG before I did.

And so we've spent the past three and a half years, essentially, discovering new ways to hurt each other - also known as "being friends." We both took our turns doing and saying terrible, cruel, inhumane things, that managed to affect not just one another, but our mutual friends, who grew to make concerted efforts to keep us apart when we were in the same state. Almost a year and a half, I was in rare form (or not, depending on who you ask), and confessed to him that I'd cheated on him back in high school. I'd like to say I did it to try and make myself feel better or in the interest of honesty, but really, it was my drunken, still-heartbroken last-ditch effort to make him hurt as badly as I did.

Near as I can tell, it worked. There was a single email exchange wherein we decided that we were not going to speak to one another again. We were both still angry and hurting, but it was probably one of the healthier things we'd done for each other since we'd broken up. It was three years almost to the day after he left me.

And we didn't talk. Or see one another. Or communicate in any way. Our friends were already used to avoiding the subject of each other when we were around, but even that became more pronounced. I moved on, dated a few people casually - some of whom were good to me, like Nonboyfriend, some of whom weren't, like Edward. My ex didn't cross my mind much.

And then, this summer, tragedy hit our circle of friends. Without going into private details, a terrible, unfair and unexpected thing happened to my best girlfriend, C. The Scientist and I, specifically, threw as much of ourselves into caring for and loving her as possible, and to her credit - she is astoundingly strong. I'm confident I could not have gone through what she did with such grace, maturity, perspective, and strength.

About a month ago, things culminated in an event that saw all of us who love C together at her house to support her. My ex (again, a good friend of hers) had been flaking on his friends back home, and, in all honesty, I think he was guilt-tripped into it. It was a deserved guilt-trip, though. He should have been there for C all along, but he absolutely needed to be there on this occasion.

Which found both of us back in town. In the same house. Together. I knew he was coming, and I also knew that this was neither the time nor the place to deal with any lingering issues we had. I knew why I was there, and it had nothing to do with him. Besides, I didn't have anything left to say to him.

He came early and I was the first person he saw. He quite literally froze in the doorway. He paled, and I swear I could hear him swallow from across the room. I looked at him, said "Hi," and waved. "Uhm, yeah, hey," he managed, a stiff arm and twitchy-fingered wave complimenting the awkwardness. Throughout the afternoon, he and I were pleasant with one another - I started a conversation or two with him... Just pleasantries. But I think we were both impressed at how we were able to BE so pleasant with one another. I found myself almost enjoying his company. Well, at the very least, not minding it.

As the evening wound down, C asked her friends to stay and party with her. Of course, we would have done anything for her, and this was hardly a stretch for any of us. We ended up going to a concert - C, her boyfriend, The Scientist, myself and my ex. We eventually convinced Nonboyfriend and his girlfriend to come down to town as well, because the occasion called for everyone to be there. (C, the Scientist, my ex and I all went to high school together, and the Scientist, Nonboyfriend and my ex are childhood friends, so Nonboyfriend had been incorporated into our circle early in its creation.) We all had a great time at the show, dancing, letting go of whatever we needed to.

At one point, as I was dancing, I took a step backwards and accidentally backed into someone I didn't know. I turned around to apologize, and the guy started hitting on me. Asking me to dance with him, what's my sign (seriously? people still use that?), and I tried to politely decline, telling him I was just there to be with my friends. He didn't go away. He wasn't doing much more than invading my space, but my ex caught my eye, dancing maybe 10, 15 feet away from me. He mouthed "you OK?" at me, and I kind of shrugged and made an "eh... uhm... sortof..." face. Before I could do anything more, my ex was next to me, put his hands around my waist, and pulled me to dance with him. The other dude vanished into the crowd. And I stood there, rather dumbstruck, staring at my ex. I managed to thank him, but I don't think I communicated how genuinely touched I was. I know looking out for someone in the group, protecting them from a creeper, is pretty standard friend behavior, but for my ex and I, the interaction was the friendliest, kindest we'd treated each other in years.

As the concert ended, we took several cabs to various places, some of us stopping at cars on the way, then all of us ending up back at Nonboyfriend's house. For a portion of the trip, it was just my ex and I in his car, after we'd dropped off C and her boyfriend so they could go in their own car. There were some awkward silences, but we did agree that it was, surprisingly, nice to see one another. We both seemed scared to make that assertion... like it might ruin the good we'd managed to accomplish that night.

But back at Nonboyfriend's house, my ex began playing guitar. And I realized he was playing songs that used to be ours. The rest of the group trickled back into the house, leaving just he and I on the patio. Him still playing guitar.

And then we started talking. The conversation started off slow, hesitant, cautious. But soon, it became open, and honest. He started the conversation. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and said "It killed me, to not speak to you for so long. I hated it. I tried to be angry at you, I really did. But I can't. You are such a part of who I am, and that will never change. You ARE important. You always have been." It broke my heart and healed it all at once.

We kept talking for almost an hour. There were tears shed, but I think more than anything they were a form of release. The most amazing part was that there was no anger. I think we've finally used it up. We were able to talk about what had hurt us, but also what was good. We were able to appreciate how utterly and completely and honestly in love we were with one another... once upon a time. And we were able to move forward.

He hugged me several times that night. And it was good to be back there, my head buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around me. It was sincere. It was necessary. But it wasn't inappropriate. There is no romance left. The fire that once burned so bright for him nearly consumed me... and now all that remains is warmth.

I can finally truthfully say that I no longer have any ill feelings toward him. There are still traces of the boy I fell in love with almost 10 years ago inside him. I needed to know that. I can look back on what we had fondly and without pain. I can wish him well and happiness with his girlfriend, and mean it. And I can mean it when I tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him when he's back in town.

So while I've called him many, many things over the years, and even over the course of this blog, really, the way I should refer to him is as my First Love. Because he was. And he deserves all the import that title commands. Part of who I am today is because of him, and that experience will always be a part of me.

And, finally, thank god, I no longer resent that fact.

"I should tell you

that you were

my First Love..

So it's Christmas time,

It's been three years

And someone else is knitting things for your ears

I have come to know I'll only see you

Interrupting my dreams at night

But that's all right

That's all right

I should tell you

that you were

my First Love

And it's all right

And it's all right

We were seventeen again together,

We were seventeen again together,

We were seventeen again...together."

Captain Queer strikes again!

As I had previously discussed with The Scientist, I tend to have some capacity to, uhm... queerify my potential partners. I discussed it with him in the sense that I'd just hooked up with his best girlfriend who had never hooked up with a girl before. And I tend to find myself in threesomes... frequently... with two straight men.

Not the same two straight men, mind you. This marks the third different MFM threesome I've had. This year.

God, I love my life.

Which was, incidentally, exactly what I said when I walked back into my bedroom after my two boys and I had gotten back to my house and I'd excused myself to the restroom, as I opened the door and saw them both there, completely naked.

Yes, I have a very lovely life.

The night was an entirely random one. I went to dinner with C, came home and bought Bear a plane ticket to come visit me (huzzah! less than a month!), then was wanting to go play, but no one was around. Which is when a random old friend, who I haven't spoken to in at least two years, facechatted me. And we discovered we live about 10 minutes from each other. And made the executive decision that he and I were going to get drunk together.

He got to my place quickly, and I don't think we stopped talking the entire way home. Or for the stop at the grocery store. Or the liquor store. He was adorably excited, and there was gushing on both our ends. His poor boyfriend must have thought we were cracked out or something. We were just...buzzing... together. It was a blast.

We mellowed as the rum kicked in, and I got a chance to know his boyfriend better - and even bond over some similarities we have. We're the same age, and, oh, are both into BDSM and are total subs. It was one of those kind of nights where nothing is taboo. I loved it.

Eventually, a few of his boyfriend's friends came over... they had asked his boyfriend earlier, apparently, if there was REALLY a girl over. His boyfriend said "Yes, I promise, there is a girl here." By the time the friends got there, I was just drunk enough to introduce myself by saying, "Hi. I'm the promise. AKA Sasha." I thought it was funny, anyway.

I'm not sure it was ever really discussed, but rather it was just assumed from the time the friends walked in the door, that the two of them and I would all be sleeping together.

I didn't have a problem with that. Clearly, neither did they.

I don't know if the two friends have had a threesome with one another before, but they certainly acted comfortable and smooth enough around each other to make me wonder. They worked me like they knew what they were doing. But then again, I let them work me like that. I knew exactly what they were doing.

I knew what they were doing when one of them leaned in to kiss me while we were standing alone in the kitchen. I knew what they were doing when the other came in and found us kissing. I knew what I was doing when I stole away with the other and kissed him on the patio.

And I knew what we were doing when we all decided we were going back to my house.

"God, I love my life."

They both smiled at the comment, pleased with themselves and my reaction, I think. I barely had time to process their reactions, though, before they were both on me, damn near ripping my clothes off.

I will never get tired of the feeling of having so many hands on me at once. No two people's touch is ever quite the same, and, yes, the exhibitionist in me really enjoys it. Also, I've picked up quite the appreciation for naked skin from Friend (and others, but he and I talk about it regularly), and this is just such a delicious way to feed that hunger.

There is much more to be told about the night, of course... But I did get some fantasies fulfilled, which is always excellent. (Aside: I'm going to need to make a list of fantasies I've had fulfilled and which I haven't... I think the former list is longer. Awesome.) Check for details in upcoming product reviews - I do so appreciate when guys aren't intimidated by toys. In fact, that was part of our motivation for going back to my house - I was bragging about my toy collection.

God, I love my life.

We're here, we're queer, we're fabulous, don't fuck with us!

This past weekend was Pride here in my hometown. It's always one of my favorite times of the year - I love summer here in general, largely because there are so many festivals. And Pride, of course, is like one of those festivals... taken over entirely by teh gehys. Really, it's a queer takeover of downtown. And while I do love the festival and the parade, both seemed a little tamer this year than years past. The festival, in particular, felt more like any other fair held downtown, just with more rainbows.

In any case, though, Pride this year was no bust. My favorite part is the parties, and there was no shortage there. Friday night found myself and my roommate at a women's party, where I'd gotten comped admission so I could interview New York-based lesbian hip-hop and soul duo God-des and She. They were friendly, talkative, and, oh yeah, really sexy. I was so excited to meet them, and even more excited to watch them perform. They put on a wonderful show, and the crowd really seemed to love them. My roommate and I had a great time at the party, and she seemed genuinely glad to get out of the house for a girl's night on the town. Oh, yeah, and she got hit on. And kissed. It was a good night.

Saturday I covered the state's first-ever Dyke March, interviewing attendees (and Dykes on Bikes), listening to speeches, and running into the lovely Essin' Em and her partner, Q. I always love seeing her, and I've been looking forward to meeting Q since Em is always speaking so highly of her, I was just sorry that I had to cover the event as a journo and therefore couldn't really hang out with them.

That did make this year's Pride an interesting experience. Everything except for the party on Sunday was part of something I was covering for my magazine, so I felt I had to maintain a relatively professional demeanor. That meant just one drink at the party on Friday night, and wandering around awkwardly and approaching random people at the Dyke March. I wouldn't say it exactly hindered my enjoyment of Pride this year, but it certainly changed the way I experienced it. But the money will be much appreciated when it comes in a few weeks.

Sunday was my day off from professional capacities. I made it downtown just in time to watch the entire parade and meet up with The Pilot's younger brother, who had never been to Pride before. It was fun to show him around, and we got along more easily than I thought we would have. We knew each other casually from years ago, but haven't spoken in easily over a decade. I know he, like The Pilot, can have a tendency to be a little shy (as, actually, can I), so I made an effort to be a little more outgoing than I usually am. I think he had a good time - he also joined me for a BBQ back at my and my roommates' house. Where, lo and behold, Friend also stopped by! (I say this mostly teasingly because he and I have a tendency to go several weeks without seeing one another, despite living only a few miles from each other.) The BBQ went well, although I had to leave early to go to the official Pride afterparty, where, thanks to my fabulous coworkers at the magazine, I was VIP, as was my date, The Scientist.

The afterparty was, like last year, held at a club downtown with a great rooftop bar. As VIPs, we had a cordoned-off area, complete with bottle service. A few of my coworkers were there, and they seemed so genuinely happy to see me that I was really quite flattered. They said incredibly nice things to me, and insisted that they're sure I have the full-time job I've been gunning for at the magazine. (I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief and publisher next week to discuss my salary... so it's promising, but I'm not willing to believe anything until I sign some paperwork.) The party started early in the evening, and being that the sun doesn't go down until nearly 9pm lately, sitting on the rooftop probably didn't help my sunburn, which I began work on earlier that day, standing in the sun for nearly an hour and a half watching the parade. People kept commenting about it, asking if I'd ever heard of sunscreen. I have, of course, and I usually don't burn quite this badly. Oh well. It's already tanning out in all but the worst areas. I'll survive, I think.



In any case, The Scientist and I had a nice time at the party - it was mostly laid back, and we got a chance to talk, he met my coworkers, all around good things. Of course, being that I was in a good mood, I was due for something to screw it up. Cue...

Edward.

Yes, you read correctly. Edward. Of 70+ phone calls and twice as many texts and a few emails and facebook messages. I swear he has some sort of radar for when I'm happy. Since all that insanity back in March and April, I have blocked his number, blocked him on facebook and any other social networking sites, and I hadn't heard from him until about a month ago.

It was the night I was meeting The Scientist's friends, and about halfway through the night, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me someone had broken into her house (where I also used to live). Nothing was missing, but they were still calling the police. And the only things they found rearranged were in my bedroom. And whoever it was made their entry through the basement, which was where Edward used to spend most of his time when he was at our house (which was often... As I said, he's been in my/my family's lives for 10 years.) It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Edward had sent me a facebook message about a week before (I hadn't realized that I hadn't blocked his sending messages), which was about the same time frame as when he showed up at my mother's house right before I graduated. So we don't technically have any proof that it was him, and since nothing was stolen, we couldn't do more than file a report, but I can tell you that it terrified me to be back in that house the next day. (I stopped by to assess the situation, I don't live there.) I am essentially convinced that it was him, because there's no one else I can think of who it could have been. I was hoping that when he went in my room and saw that it is very obviously not lived in (no clothes in the closet, bed covered in cat fur, nothing on the dresser), he would give up and at least believe that I really don't live there anymore.

And I didn't hear from him again until Sunday. He called me four times in the course of an hour. He was calling from someone else's phone. He left a message each time. In the third message, which was the nastiest, he actually implied that perhaps I just didn't have his number anymore, so he left it again. Of course, that also functions as evidence that that was NOT the number he was calling from. He didn't say anything directly threatening, but did swear at me some more and tell me how it's so obvious that I never gave a fuck about him. And he told me he was coming into town "pretty soon here." Which is just vague enough to be rather terrifying.

And I hate that I get so skittish when he calls. I didn't answer any of the calls, because thanks to him, I don't ever answer numbers I don't know. If it's someone who knows me, they'll leave a message and I'll call them right back. But just hearing his voice on the messages (which I've copied onto my digital voice recorder, as evidence should I need it), hearing his tone change from pained to angry to that sleazy, faux-pained manipulative tone I recognize all too well, really throws me. I was Skyping with The Pilot last night, and I eventually had to hang up because I was just so upset and I didn't want him to see me all curled up and teary-eyed and pathetic.

I'm not really sure what to do at this point. I am a little scared to do anything active, like get a restraining order. I'm worried that would provoke him further, and it's not like my holding a piece of paper in his face is going to stop him from hurting me if he wants to. My current address isn't listed anywhere, and the only people who know where I live are close friends and family, all of whom know about the situation and understand the need for secrecy. But I was reading over some resources The Pilot looked up for me online, and one of the recurring themes about how to deal with being stalked was to tell people. So, dear readers, I'm telling all of you. I've kept some of the details and events quiet over the past few months, but I felt I should update everything now. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I can rationalize that he probably isn't really dangerous, but his persistence makes me nervous. And I hate that. I hate being scared in my own city, where there are so many great things and beautiful people who I love so much.

And there's only so much anonymity I can assume. I'm a writer. I refuse to publish under a pseudonym (well, aside from here, but I mean for paying jobs), and I refuse to let my fear of Edward totally run my life. It helps that he doesn't know where I live. But I hate that he seems so fucking determined to contact me. The Scientist and The Pilot have both suggested I change my phone number, but, again, I have contacts, professional and personal, who have my current number. Changing it would involve calling all of those people and explaining the situation, and it's so fucking frustrating. And terrifying.

The night Edward called, I got sufficiently sauced (The Scientist and I took a cab back to my place), and The Scientist stayed with me, so sleep wasn't as nerve-wracking as it sometimes is. Last night, I took some Tylenol PM to knock myself out so I could sleep without freaking out and waking up at every car that drives by my window. But if this continues, I'm really not sure what to do. It's draining and I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it before it takes an even more significant toll on my life, my happiness, and my ability to trust people.

HNT: Girls bite, too...

In case you were wondering, yes, I do still hook up with girls. And, yes, girls do bite. HARD.

I was at a party with The Scientist this week where I was introduced to his friends. After the introduction of some delicious social lubricant, I got on with them just fine. Some more than others. The Scientist's best girl friend, who was tall and curvy and GORGEOUS, seemed to be particularly glad I was there.

Especially when she started kissing me, pinned me down on the couch, and eventually led me upstairs to a bedroom. The Scientist came in shortly thereafter, but she and I kept focusing on each other for some time.

The Scientist and I are thinking, perhaps, we should try and bottle whatever the magic is that happens when we're together. Because if we could sell it, we would be MILLIONAIRES.

Or, there's also the possibility that I might be Captain Queer: With the ability to turn anyone in the room just a little queer! (The Scientist's friend had never done more than kiss a girl for the attention of the boys in the room, and I'm now at two different threesomes with two straight men each. I love my life.)




HHNT!

Sunday mornings...

...are sometimes my favorite moments of a week. Last week, Sunday morning found me lying on the grass, sun dappling my skin as it shone through the tree leaves above me, my head on The Optimist's shoulder, one hand in his, and my other arm around The Scientist, who's head was resting on my chest. We weren't saying much, because nothing needed to be said. We were tracing lazy, delicate circles across one another's skin, running fingers through hair, gently kissing foreheads. After the emotionally charged night we'd just completed, it was the perfect come-down. In fact, it was very nearly perfect regardless of how the night before or any other night had been spent. It was one of those beautiful Colorado summer mornings, that powder-blue cloudless sky, sun warming us just as a gentle breeze rustled the grass and cooled our faces.

Perhaps this Sunday morning isn't as epically romantic or exceedingly perfect. But I still find myself very, very happy. I am the first one awake after coming back to my mother's from a very late night singing Karaoke and flashing back to last summer with Roomie. It's just myself and my cat, and we essentially have the house to ourselves. I've dressed myself in one of my boys' T-shirts, which hangs off my chest and just barely covers my ass, showing off just a little bit of my uncharacteristically blue underwear. Wearing this shirt, which belonged to P once, makes me realize that I have managed to end up with T-shirts (or a button-down) from every old lover, but have none from any of my current partners. I decide I need to change this. I will need to stealthily acquire shirts from my partners. And by stealthily, of course, I mean asking if I can sleep in his shirt, and then asking if I can keep it in the morning. I do love the way a boy's shirt smells like him. It's good for helping me to not feel so alone on those nights when I am, in fact alone.

But this morning, as I have the house to myself, I boot up my computer, and go straight to the playlist I created when The Optimist and I were together last. (Yes, I saved the playlist.) It's mostly pretty acoustic songs, with a mild dose of mush thrown in there. I remember making the list as he and I were lying in my bed and him (at least humoring me) that we have strikingly similar taste in music. In any case, all of it is beautiful. And it makes me happy. And so I decide to start dancing around my empty house. In my T-shirt and underwear, dancing to Matt Nathanson and Joshua Radin and Jay Brannan and Angels & Airwaves and Regina Spektor and Citizen Cope.

And I realize how exceedingly happy I am. Without complications. I am, very simply, very content. I have been so incredibly lucky as of late with several things. Some of them are material and haven't quite materialized yet, so again, I'm hesitant to jinx them. But it's so much more than that. I am realizing how incredibly lucky I am to be surrounded by so many beautiful, giving, incredible people. I honestly believe I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have so much love in my life - already more than I think most people ever get to experience. And, as I wrote about earlier this week, I feel like it's even warranted. That doesn't feel like being conceited, though. It really feels like, now that I'm so keenly aware, I want to make sure I appreciate it and let these people know how wonderful they make my life.

See? Look at how mushy I've become. It all started with last weekend, with The Scientist, and yes, meeting The Optimist. I do blame some of this optimism on him - it's definitely contagious. But all of my friends, my New Family have had a part in it. C certainly had a major role with her revelation. And it's just kept spreading. The Pilot is coming to visit next week. I've come to some conclusions about other people in my life and am able to be so much more zen about it. Not hoping to find things from partners that they simply aren't able to give me. And just being able to appreciate them for that.

And there will be some changes. All of this optimism has come with a new kind of self-awareness on what makes me happy, and what it feels like to be so happy. I will be moving away from those things that don't make me happy, spending more time around and doing those things that do make me happy. And things are just going to keep getting better.

I'll close with one of those songs The Optimist and I both realized we love. Thank you, Ms. Spektor.

HNT: The Scientist's work

The Scientist likes my tits. A lot. I know that sounds random, except that he tells me that pretty much every time he sees them. And has lately taken to making sure other people know how awesome he thinks they are.

In any case, he's even expressed a preference between the two - he prefers the left. (Go look at his sext message, you'll see him mention it.) So he thought it was only appropriate that he leave his mark there. And, of course, he wanted to be thorough.



HHNT!

The truth about my past.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

These sound like simple statements to some, I suppose. But they are something I had not fully realized until this weekend and, largely, before quite possibly the most intimate conversation I've ever had with my best girl friend, C. She came over on Wednesday for a late lunch, because I wanted to be girly and gush about my weekend. We went to get salads and margaritas (the upgraded version of the chef salads we used to eat with our fingers in high school), and I started gushing essentially immediately. It was along the same lines of my last entry, with maybe a little more blushing and giggling.

I was emphasizing to her how it makes me a little nervous how much I like The Optimist and what a strong connection I feel with him. She reminded me that it is, indeed, OK to be swept off your feet sometimes. I just haven't been open to it in a long time. So we started talking about why I was so hesitant to believe that people might like me or that I might even be worth liking.

A little background: I am quite confident about myself, when it comes to two things - my writing and my sexual prowess. (Yes, that's largely why this blog exists, haha.) But Relationships, in the traditional sense, terrify me. I capitalize the R in Relationships intentionally, because I mean those in the more standard and socially acceptable sense. Those kind terrify me because I hold myself solely responsible for the demise of the few Relationships I've had. I have always done something to fuck it up, and because of that I've always felt like I deserved to be left. I haven't felt like I deserved someone in a long time.

I have told myself that I was OK with being the secret, the secondary. And in many ways, I am. But my justification, which I still believe, is that it was unreasonable to expect any single person to be everything someone needed. That was based not so much in my inability to believe that someone could be everything I needed, but that I would never be enough for someone. After all, I screw up Relationships. Sex, I'm good at. Friendships, I can usually manage. But Relationships? Absolutely not.

Perhaps the most spectacular example, in my mind, of my botching a good thing and thereby indicative of my inability to carry out a Relationship was how things ended with Ex. We were together (on and off, but mostly on) for five years. We made the decision to stay together for the first year of college, even though we were going to school across the country from one another. When we were both home for Christmas that year, he gave me a ring. It was expressly NOT an engagement ring, but I wore it (with his permission) on my left-hand ring finger. It was white gold (he knew I don't wear much gold or yellow), sapphire and diamonds. It was beautiful.

Five months later, after flying across the country to drive home with me, he broke up with me.

I have always held myself responsible for this. I don't know that I could even supply the reasoning, but there has never been any doubt in my mind that it was my fault that he didn't love me anymore. In the course of our Relationship, he had always been the stable one. He's pragmatic to a fault, and I (even more so then) am emotional and impulsive. Clearly, it was something I had done that had driven him away. I had been a bad girlfriend, because I didn't have the Girlfriend Gene.

C knew this is how I've felt. Despite an incident that first summer where The Scientist quite literally yelled at me to stop defending Ex and believe that he hurt me and he was wrong to do so, I held myself responsible. I deserved it, after all.

But today at lunch, C and I were talking about my insecurities and my fears about Relationships and how I destroy them. And she just looked at me and said "No, you don't." I looked at her with appropriate confusion.

"You didn't destroy things with Ex. In fact, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't change anything about you or who you were. He changed, not you. It had everything to do with him, and nothing to do with you. He fucked up by giving you that ring when he wasn't sure about your Relationship. But all you did was believe what he led you to believe. He decided ON HIS OWN that you two weren't going to work. He did it on his own. It was. Not. Your. Fault. He mislead you. You're just a good person that got fucked over."

I didn't know whether to cry or start giggling. I had honestly never thought of it like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I believed what he said to me, what he told me was true. That was it. The decision, really, in the end, didn't have anything to do with me. (I don't mean to imply here that I was the perfect girlfriend throughout the relationship, because I certainly did things wrong. But in that period when we were separated, I actually was a committed, faithful and devoted girlfriend.)

It was an earth-shattering realization. No one had ever explained it to me like that. And I had been too hard on myself to see it from that angle. As the tears started welling up behind my eyes, though, it sunk in. She was right. The truth about my past isn't that I'm defective or inherently unlovable or perpetually insufficient. The truth about my past is that I got hurt when I wasn't expecting it. And when I didn't deserve it. That's it.

And I have built so many of my beliefs presently on the firm belief that I am simply insufficient and defective, that hearing C say this to me, and honestly believing her, was truly astounding. And I can already feel the ramifications. It means that I am allowed to be happy. Because it means that maybe things aren't inherently doomed. It means that I can be silly, because I don't have to worry about a responsibility to warn my partners about what a danger I am to them. It means that I don't have to automatically invalidate and be suspicious of strong feelings I might have. Because they aren't necessarily going to end in disappointment and heartache.

Perhaps this seems like an excessively sweeping revelation for something ostensibly solely regarding a Relationship that is far away and gone. But that Relationship was so important, that showing me a different perspective on that has shown me a different perspective on so many other things. It doesn't change my childhood. It doesn't change the pessimism or skepticism that growing up with my family has bred into me. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still not sure monogamy will ever be right for me. It doesn't invalidate the Relationships and relationships I've had since Ex.

But it might change the future. It does change what I think I am capable of. It changes what I think I am worthy of. It changes my no-other-options pessimism about Relationships. In many ways, it redefines who I might be able to become. To myself, and even maybe to someone else. For the first time, I actually believe that I am worthy of it. I believe that I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be so lucky to be surrounded by incredible friends and lovers. Who are honest and beautiful and brilliant and making my world and the world at large a better place simply by being in it. I believe that I might have the capacity to make people happy. I believe that I might be worthy of being loved, someday.

I believe that I do NOT deserve to have people like Edward still sending me messages and emails. I believe that I do NOT deserve to be made to feel guilty for being honest about who I am and what I do. I believe that I do NOT need to apologize for the same. I believe that I am NOT solely responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to me.

And I feel so free.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

Feels just like I'm falling for the first time...

I'm going to go ahead and title this entry as such, even though I already know Friend thinks it's cheesy, and overly mushy or whatever, but I'm rolling with it. It's not only appropriate, it happens to be the theme song of the weekend, and the boy this entry is about, well, he already knows this song makes me think of him. And I should warn you that this might be the most giggly, girly rant I've published to date. I blame the boy.

But I'm not sure what to call him. There are so many things about him that fascinate me, I can't pick one to focus on. Every time I talk to him, I learn more about him and I am increasingly amazed. I cannot say enough good things about him. And he's done so many things, and in many ways, IS so many things, that I'm having trouble picking just one thing to identify him with. But what astounds me most about him (and he knows this), is his persistent optimism. It isn't naiveté in any way, but rather the honest and true belief that things will work out, that everything happens for a reason, and, I think, that people and life are generally and genuinely good. And that belief, that personality, is in such stark contrast to my own that I am just endlessly fascinated by it. By him, really. So, dear readers, allow me to introduce you to The Optimist.

He is a dear and long-time friend of some of my own dear and long-time friends, although we had never met before this weekend. At least not in any official capacity - we realized he had come to a party at my house in high school, but I don't know that we were introduced at that time. I met him this weekend at what became, essentially, a weekend-long lovefest at Nonboyfriend's house, along with Nonboyfriend's girlfriend, myself and The Scientist.

But all that is a story for another entry. Or five. This is just an introduction to The Optimist. I should preface this that I am a little nervous about writing on here, not because I've told him about the blog (although I have), but because often, when I put things I'm excited about into print, it seems to jinx them. And I would really, really like to NOT jinx this burgeoning relationship with The Optimist. If you hadn't known, you wouldn't be able to tell that we met just four days ago. While we're counting this weekend as our first actual meeting, it seems like we've known each other much longer. I'm hesitant to speak too much for him, but I know, for my part, I am shockingly comfortable around him.

He is warm and inviting and completely disarming. The optimism is contagious, affecting even my jaded moods. He's clearly brilliant - and a good deal more intelligent than I am - but I've never once felt talked-down-to. That intelligence is well rounded and applied and reflected in his speech and diction, but he isn't so proper that profanities don't escape occasionally (yes, sometimes at really opportunely sexy moments).

And speaking of sexy... His kisses are just... there are no words. Me. I have no words for how fantastic they are. They really should be a controlled substance, because I'm pretty sure I'm already addicted. And he'll bring his hand to my jaw and pull me to him and and and *swoon.* With some guidance from The Scientist, but also largely on his own, he's already figured out where my buttons are, and he takes non-verbal direction better than possibly anyone I've ever met. My skin, my entire body, is electrified when I am near him. It's like there's some current running through me, recharged every time his lips touch mine or his hands touch my skin or or or. And he says these beautiful things to me, and I love watching his eyes change color, or when he looks at me and smiles, a little sleepy, and pulls me tighter.

But it's more than that. And that's what really has me fascinated and simultaneously terrified. Because while, yes, I want him, I want to be around him. I want to talk to him. I want to hear about his life, I want to hear his thoughts on things, I want to hear him sing along to the car radio... I just want to know more about him. He listens to me when I talk, and asks questions that prove he's listening. And I find it so natural to return the favor, because he's just fascinating. It isn't that I don't find my other partners interesting, but at present, I've known them all for years, so the relationship is already established. I already know that I'm interested in them, and I know how to listen to them because we've spent so much time together. The Optimist and I have spent perhaps 24 hours with each other (total), and I feel like he has already reached that same level that I have with other partners I've known for years.

And that is scary. Establishing that kind of connection usually takes me much longer than it has with The Optimist. And I've talked to him about most of this, and he has taken it all in stride. Listened to my fears, validated them, and then, if need be, talked about them. I don't feel quite as much like a crazy person around him. I feel like maybe my feelings are reciprocated. Mostly because he tells me they are. Oh so eloquently.

So, yeah, basically, I'm in trouble. And can't wait to get into some more.

Introducing...

The Scientist. So named because, firstly, that's what he does. He is quite brilliant at science and math and physics and all of those things that make my head hurt because they are so far beyond my comprehension. But also so named because he has used that knowledge - observation, reason, logic, response, to figure out my body quicker than quite possibly anyone else.

To be fair, he has some advance knowledge. He and I have been friends for nearly a decade, which has been filled with countless spats - some petty, some shockingly epic. But he and I have remained friends, and truly have emerged stronger for all of it. Because of how well we know each other, he already knows about my neuroses, my relationship fears and quirks. He is shockingly good at knowing when to take which tone with me. And since we started hooking up a just over a week ago, he has been notably...more careful with me, emotionally, at least. Initially, I don't think it was something that anyone else would have noticed. (The hickeys were another story.) Of course, after our weekend, we've essentially abandoned all pretenses, at least around certain friends. But he still goes out of his way to make sure that I am OK whenever I'm with him. And because he knows me and my history so well, he knows how to read me emotionally and will do his best to arrange and improve any situation he and I are in.

There is so much more to say, and I will say it in following entries. But for now, I have a guess as to what you really want. And what's been lacking from my posts lately - teh sexeh. So, The Scientist shocked me with how well he read my body from the start. He got me off, with ONLY his hands, in a matter of minutes. I don't think that has ever happened. I'm lucky if I can get myself off with a toy that fast. Again, there are more details forthcoming about all that. And he tells me I rocked his world pretty hard, too. Which is, yknow, never a bad thing to hear.

In fact, apparently I rocked his world so hard that he's been having trouble getting the memories of our encounters of late out of his head. He told me in a text that his hand was having trouble keeping up with him, as he couldn't help himself whenever images of our encounters crossed through his mind. Quite the compliment, right? Well, this afternoon he was texting me, and asked if he might narrate the particular fantasy that was running through his head. I of course said yes.

And then I was sincerely impressed. He is particularly well-rounded for a science nerd (which I say with the greatest adoration - I'm a literary nerd, and nowhere near as well-rounded as he is) in that he is also a strong writer. But even so, I was not expecting such hot sexting. And so I asked him if I could publish it here. And he said I could. I feel like it's an excellent introduction to the discussion of he and I and this weekend and how incredibly lucky I am. It's a mix of various real experiences, mixed in with a little fantasy, too. But I'm not telling what's what.

I am going to transcribe it as a single block, although obviously it ran the course of several messages. The only editing I've done is grammatical. (I can't help it, it's what I do.)

Enjoy!

--

So right now you're on top of me with your shirt off. You're lightly nibbling on that one spot on my neck. I'm running my fingers through your hair and down your back, raking my fingernails against your skin. As you bite down harder, I can feel your heart quicken.

I roll you over and start aggressively biting my way down your neck to your slightly stiffened nipples, as I knead your left breast with my hand and bite down lightly on your nipple a slight sigh escapes your lips. As I continue to nibble on your quickly stiffening nipple I slide my hand down your leg and start massaging your thigh. I kiss my way back up your neck and engage you in a gentle but passionate kiss. I start undoing the button and zipper on your pants. As I slide your pants down I pass my hand over your mound and I can feel the heat and slight moisture of your sexy slit through your underwear.

As the pace and intensity of our kiss intensifies, I slide my hand over and around your barely-covered vagina. As I slip my fingers under your waistband, I momentarily pause our kissing, then as I ever-so-slowly slide my hand down your lightly hair-covered mound, I start to lightly kiss and lick your neck down to your collarbone. As I slide past your hardened clit, I rub up and down your amazingly soft and silky slit, putting gentle pressure on your slickened hole. As I rub back and forth from your luscious honey pot to your now-sensitive clit, I begin to bite down harder on your nipple, pausing every now and then to enjoy one of your excellent kisses. As I continue to tease your expectant entrance, you dig your nails into my back - the words from your mouth becoming tense grunts mixed with longer moans of expectant pleasure. Just as I slip my finger into your wet and smooth pussy, I bite down hard on your neck, causing you to let out a hissed "oh god, fuck!" as you tense and rise up and start to attack my neck with reckless abandon.

As I rub my thumb over your clit, I start to hook my fingers and massage the rough roof of your now flooded vagina. As your breathing quickens, you gasp in pleasure as I take a quick nibble of your wonderful breasts, causing another muffled and half-gasped "fuck" to escape your lips. As I work my way lower with my mouth, you say to me, "your tongue, my clit - NOW." As I willingly follow your impassioned command, I trace circles around your clit. But I know this is no time for teasing as your hips buck against my face. As I fully engage your pleading nub, the gasps and profanity coming from your mouth become a little less coherent and the movements of your hips a little less ordered. I can smell the wonderful scent of your stuffed pussy, causing me to dip a little lower to enjoy your wonderful taste.

My free hand rubs and squeezes your breast. Hard. You run your hand through my hair, making me purr slightly into your dripping vagina. As my pace picks up to a frenzy, I can barely understand the things you are saying to me as they come through clenched lips. Your hips bounce against my eager mouth, causing my fingers to drive deep hard and fast into you. You begin to shake as I hit just the right spot. As you grab my hair you start to pull and grab at it as a wave of pleasure shoots from your finger-filled hole. You pull my hair slightly, and the pain feels good, only spurring me on further to see you to your climax. As I drive you closer and closer to your peak, the words and moans have merged into something akin to a worshipper speaking in tongues. Which causes me to realize that this is a kind of religious experience. As I laugh quietly at myself I proceed to worship at your altar. As your orgasm builds, I can feel it in my fingers and against my mouth as you writhe uncontrollably and your vaginal walls clench onto my fingers. Right as your impending orgasm is on the edge of coming I pinch your nipple, releasing a wave of pleasure over your body as your orgasm crests and washes over you. As your orgasm continues I lighten my pressure on your clit and begin to slowly remove my fingers from your deliciously wet slit.

As you come down from your orgasmic high, I remove my fingers and start to kiss my way back up your body. As I lovingly kiss your lips, I slide my arm around you and hold you close as your orgasmic glow recedes. After a short while of holding you, listening to your breathing return to normal, you roll me over, kiss me on the lips, and say, "That was wonderful...Now it's your turn."

--


So, readers, what do you think of The Scientist? I'm rather fond of him.

so many things...

There is such an incredible volume of things to write about, that I can't possibly decide where to begin.

OK. That's a lie. The practical first.

I have a new computer! I am writing this entry (and all future ones, thank you very much), on my shiny new macbook. I've already switched all my documents (and more importantly, my MUSIC) to this computer, and set up my home pages, and emails and sex-toy site bookmarks. Along with my computer came a beautiful new printer that has a card reader which should work with my old camera... But even if it doesn't, I also recently acquired a Blackberry, which has quite the decent camera. Oh, and, yknow, there's the webcam and photo editing software that come standard on my Mac. There are already HNT photos scheduled.

And as I mentioned, I'm going to start reviewing sex toys for a few companies... as soon as they get to my door. I've already talked to a few partners who are eager to test them out with me. Which is really exciting.

Speaking of partners, there are two new ones. Who, if I can write this without jinxing myself, I think are going to be important. In fact, check back tomorrow for an introduction to The Scientist.

And this weekend was one of the best I've had. It rivals my Spring Break/Birthday week in terms of sexiness and happiness and beauty. Yeah. Be prepared for several entries about all of this.

Which are set to begin posting...tomorrow.

I'm sorry. I'm admittedly a little bit of a tease. But you know you love it.

I will, however, leave you, dear readers, with a surprisingly non-hypothetical question: How many different people have to independently call you a sex goddess before believing it is NOT conceited?