The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.

(belated)HNT: The Texan

I wasn't going to post an HNT this week, but after my flight got delayed by three hours in Spain, making it just long enough to force me to miss my flight back home, I find myself alone in a hotel room with reliable, free internet for the first time in months.

And reflecting on a most ridiculous last night in Spain. The Texan insisted I come out with him and, literally, everyone else in the program. Usually this is entirely not my style, but since I didn't know when I'd be seeing The Texan again and we always have a good time together and, well, it WAS my last night in Spain, I went. We started off with a botellon in a random plaza with everyone... Of course The Texan and I were pretty much attached at the hip the whole night. He started tearing up, as he's the only one from his school in the program, which will inevitably make it more difficult (although not impossible) to keep in touch with people. He stepped aside, I followed him to check on him, offer my shoulder for crying. (Which is kind of a funny thing to see as he's got a solid 7-9 inches on me, but we make it work.) The conversation quickly turned to his and my friendship, and I promised him he'd be tired of hearing from me before I'd ever let our friendship fade. He looked at me, tears still in his eyes, and thanked me. Told me that he'd never had a friend who accepted him so unconditionally. I told him anyone who would try to tell him he needed to be something he isn't doesn't deserve him.

And then he pulled me to him and kissed me. It was sweet, friendly, and very much full of love.

The night progressed in that general fashion, both of us continuing to drink, and by the second disco we hit up, dancing exclusively with one another. There was much more making out. I got to make out to some of my favorite songs to dance to - which is always fun, especially because I'm a sap and I like romantic songs... Of course, there's only so innocent such things can be. So, without further adieu, I present The Texan's handiwork:


Not that it's the worst hickey I've ever gotten, but it is a fun little reminder of the night. And the chills I'd get when he was biting me. God I've missed that.

I'm SO ready to be home. Are you ready for me?

HHNT! (Friday, OK, OK.)

Reflections II

Just a short post this evening. There might be one more of these reflection posts in the works... and this one has little to do with sexuality, but I suppose that's what you get when I get rambly and preoccupied with moving back across the ocean.

In other news, I hope everyone is having or had a fantastic Thanksgiving spent with the people you wanted to spend it with and being grateful for all that all of us are lucky enough to have. So here, some things I will miss (and yes, was lucky to enjoy while I was here).

Things I will miss:
The Texan
Professors who swear, drink, and laugh with their students
Gorgeous international men
Gorgeous international women
My favorite Mexicans (at my favorite restaurant here)
Students willing to set aside cliques and make new friends
Hot foreign accents
Legal equality and social acceptance for many queer identities (admittedly not all)
Speaking Spanish daily
Meeting new people daily
Paella, Tortilla Española, y Sangria
Easy access to the rest of Europe
Living in a home where my Señora cares when I come home
Crush
My best girlfriend here
Ireland
Automatically being worldly and different because I'm not European
Worldly, different, European points of view

Things I will NOT miss:
Catty cliques that are apparently an international phenomenon
Not eating a meal between 9am and 10pm
Crappy internet connections
Two-midterm semesters
Different grading standards (while still officially working with an American GPA system)
Speaking Spanish everyday
Being closeted to most of the people around me
Three words: Dollar to Euro.
Settling for digital conversations with real friends
Not having a cell phone
Sharing a bedroom
Automatically being different because I'm not European

on love and friendship

...and where and when the two intersect.

I should give some background here. I have a (by some standards terrible) habit of dating, fucking, and/or falling in love with my friends. Not all of them, mind you, but friends who I haven't at least kissed are absolutely in the minority. Everyone I've seriously dated or really fallen for has been a friend first. Well, I guess Ex is sort of the exception, as he and I met when we were first starting high school. It did take us almost a semester of pretending we liked each other just as friends, though, before we started dating. P is without question one of my best friends, and I've never been able to separate how much of that is fueled or complicated by the fact that we're in love with each other. Friend is someone I've known for more than half my life, as is Essin' Em, and both M and nonboyfriend I've known for many years just as friends before anything physical ever happened. The women I've slept with (Essin' Em being the exception), I generally haven't known as long, but I'll go ahead and chalk that up to not embracing my queerness anywhere near as early as I embraced the part of me attracted to men.

There is undoubtedly something subconscious about this habit, I think. I'm sure it has something to do with how comfortable I am with my friends, and the fact that when I become friends with someone, I tend to remain so indefinitely... I would usually include the caveat "barring any major transgressions," but more than one of these friends/FwBs and I have had serious falling-outs and continue to speak and, in some cases, have sex. (Obviously, we've worked through our issues, for better or worse.) Not everyone I've had sex with has been an old friend, but almost all of those I've had sex with more than once or twice have been. It's easier to date/fuck friends. You don't have to worry about the awkward getting-to-know-you stage, because it's already out of the way. I'm generally very open about sexuality with my friends (I'm sure you're shocked), so it isn't taboo to essentially take it to the next level.

There are, of course, some downfalls to this tendency. Most people would say that sleeping with your friends has the potential to ruin the friendship, and theorhetically I agree. But by and large I haven't experienced that. That's not to say that I'm somehow superior to these people who "can't manage" that kind of relationship, but maybe it does say something about the nature of my friendships. Maybe I only establish significant friendships with people I could have feelings for. I don't know. Maybe I confuse the more platonic, friend-based love, for romantic, sexual or physical love. That's a very real possibility. And one I've been starting to question. I can't decide if it's a problem or not. My insticts tell me that if I haven't had a moral problem with it thus far (and neither have the friends involved... this isn't a one-sided equation), then I shouldn't start now. But then I wonder if I'm somehow limiting myself, or protecting myself, by only being with these people I know so well and who know me.

Certainly, I'm less likely to get hurt this way. If we already have some substantial trust established, then it's that much easier to be vulnerable with said partner. But is that really what relationships are about? And what's more, are these even truly romantic relationships? Or have these all simply been friends with benefits situations? And is there anything wrong with that?

This is all sparked by a turn of events over the past few weeks. About two weeks ago, I went to northern Spain on a class field trip to ride horses and hike. It was a great time, especially since I so love riding. As I mentioned in my HNT post from that week, I was going without Crush or anyone else to snuggle up with and keep me warm. I was, however, going with Crush's roommate, who we'll from here on out refer to as The Texan. The Texan and I have a few classes together, and have been bonding as of late. We hang out a lot, and (again, as a consequence of my super-openness about sexuality), he recently came out to me as bisexual. I was excited to have a fellow in the program (which might sound weird, but it's nice to know you're not the only one) and then kind of flabergasted when he told me that he's not out to ANYONE ELSE. On a side-note, he's by no means the first person who's come out to me before anyone else... I'd love to say it's because I'm so open or accepting or something, but I don't know. I do take it pretty seriously, though, and when I'm asked to keep the information quiet, I do so. (Again, the advantages of blogging anonymously. Yay!) Anyway... he and I have been spending quite a bit of time together since he came out to me, and he's been a really amazing friend. We've become ridiculously close in a short amount of time.

So the second night of this class trip in northern Spain, the Texan and I went out to a bar together. He poured out his heart to me about his (non-exclusive) boyfriend back home, we talked about it, he started asking me about my love life. So I talked to him about Crush. (Who is, again, The Texan's roommate here in Spain.) Basically, The Texan let me down easy. Telling me Crush does really like hanging out with me, so on and so forth, but that he doesn't think it goes any farther. And I was surprisingly OK with that. I pushed the issue a little farther, though, and asked about if I just wanted to make out with Crush - pointing out that I wasn't looking for a relationship or anything serious. "Oh, well, yeah, that you could totally do!" The Texan responded emphatically. I thought it was relatively funny at the time, and we went on drinking.

Upon further examination, I decided something, though. (And this was, actually, largely facilitated by The Texan.) I don't want to be someone's backup. I don't want to be just good enough. I want to be worth having. I AM worth having. And I'm tired of settling for people who are settling for me. I don't have to.

So that has kind of changed my perception on Crush. He actually hasn't done anything wrong, and I'm not in the least angry with him. I intend to keep hanging out with him and enjoying his company. I just don't expect anything more. And I think that's a good thing.

Then last week, the night before I left for Denmark, The Texan texted me and asked if I'd come out with him for a few drinks. We always have a blast together, and tend to be similarly lush when it comes to consumption of alcohol, so of course I accepted. Granted, it was a Wednesday night, so the bars were less than hopping. But it was actually a fantastic opportunity to really talk. We went bar-hopping, and spent most of the time talking about our various pasts (the advantage of making new friends is that there's never a shortage of stories to tell), and talking a lot about sexuality. I asked him if it was hard being closeted, he answered with suprising honesty. There was more bar hopping.

And then, I couldn't tell you how, we were kissing. Really kissing. His hands on my chin, pulling me to him, my arms around his shoulders. It was the frenzied (admittedly drunken) passionate kind of kiss that I haven't experienced in quite some time. And, to quote Jay Brannan "his kiss matched mine so perfectly..." After leading my by hand to what was our fourth bar of the night, we took a cab home - which he insisted on taking with me to my place even though it would make it twice as expensive for him. I tried to convince him otherwise, and he looked at me like I was crazy for thinking he'd leave without knowing I was home safely. It was unnecessary, but a nice gesture nonetheless. There was a kiss goodbye in the cab, and then we each went our separate ways.

So here's the catch. I felt incredibly guilty the next morning. The details of the end of the evening are a little fuzzy (hence why they weren't more detailed in my recounting) but the things I remember are quite clear. I don't think the kissing arose from anything particularly romantic, and have a sneaking suspicion it was one of those "let's be those obnoxious people in the bar who seem really happy making out with each other." To the best of my recollection, it was a simple friendly makeout session. I've had countless. So I can't quite figure out why this time is making me feel so guilty.

Well, that's not entirely true. I think I feel like I took advantage of him. And while I don't know whose idea it was to start making out, and I know he was obviously not complaining too much, as he was kissing back, I feel like I have all this information about him, and he's trusted me with it, and what do I do? I jump him. (Well, not exactly. But you all know what I mean.)

I need your help here. I've talked to him about the night and we're both avoiding it and I don't want to make it awkward for either of us. (Our conversation wasn't in the least uncomfortable, though.) So, provided that talking to him about it isn't an option... what do I do about this guilt? Is it warranted in the first place?

*lesigh.*