The End of the Experiment

Tonight my Ex and I, who were attempting a Polyamorous relationship, broke up. She broke up with me, but it was mutual in that I, too, knew it was for the best. No, it isn’t what I want.

Here is what I have taken away from my time with Poly:

  • It’s fucking hard.

Okay. So, yeah. It’s really hard. Why is that? The biggest part for me was in communication, which is supposed to be the core component in poly relationships. Communicate. Be open. Be honest. Form trusting relationships. Now, think about all of your current and past relationships and also your relationships with friends and family. In the heat of the moment, how many of those people can honestly and accurately discuss their emotions and be clear about their needs and their boundaries? Yep….. None of mine, either. And, importantly, neither can I.

Poly basically exists in a world of ideals and is practiced by those who cannot get there.

Would I do it again? Yes.

I’ve known for years that it is unreasonable to expect any one person to be your everything. It won’t happen. Maybe they will meet all your needs except sex, or except good conversation, or except your love of foreign films. Some of those are pretty important things. Are you willing to live without them?

Poly relationships can be negotiated and formed into any configuration that its members agree upon. They could be asexual, or only sexual. It takes a huge commitment to communication to maintain a relationship like that and maintain different ones with others at the same time.

Honestly, I had panic attacks every few days in trying to make things work with my ex. I’m so very proud to say that I came out of each one stronger and more focused. I handled them in a way that I feel great about. Even though the relationship ended and I’m really struggling with that, I know that opening up with her helped me to understand how much emotion I had been stuffing away and not dealing with. The pain in attempting this relationship with her again has made my life better. I feel things more vibrantly again.  And regarding polyamory, I don’t know if I am or need to be poly. I do know that it has changed my expectations and that all of my future relationships will at least be emotionally open ones.

We didn’t close the door forever. She has lots she is exploring, and that apparently needs to be done with out me. I have exploring to do as well, but also healing.  And aloneness. Fuck you, aloneness!! Fuck you right in the ear.

I guess I’m back to sitting here, alone, for a while.

💚

Stone

It Isn’t Crossdressing if It is a Costume?

Nope, I am not fooling anyone. Tonight I tried on the panties I bought for my outfit. Let me start by highlighting some of the differences between male bodies and female bodies. Balls, yes. And a dick. Okay. Sure. No surprises there. I think there is more that is different, though. Or, maybe it is that men aren’t used to underwear that looks best and only really fits when it is riding up your crack. They definitely fit, though. And they are cute. Not sure if I’m cute in them. I’m really self conscious about my body in general, and the Viking gut hanging over the pretty bow is a bizarre sight. The corset will take care of that?? Maybeeeeeeeeeeee………   Less than two weeks. How much can I lose in that time and not end up in the hospital?

So, since I was getting used to panties, why not try on the stockings! These I love!! I’m going to have to either shave my legs or trim them severely, but I really like the stockings. How do I hold them up? A garter belt. LOVE this even more. How the hell do I connect them? That took some time to figure out. And it is a lesson in flexibility to connect the back straps. Ladies, you have my respect.

Shoes are on order and will be here Friday. I’ll need every bit of the week left to learn to walk in them. My girl and I picked out some makeup. Simple. Lipstick, a foundation, and I’ll borrow masquera. My goal is simple beauty. Nothing dramatic. Nervous as hell about that part. The only makeup I’ve worn was when I was acting in theater productions. That was 20 years ago.

I really can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am. I have some serious coin in my outfit. I saw a Gandalf costume yesterday, and I thought, “God damnit I would love to be Gandalf!!”  Too late now. I’m entertained that my costume is pretty much the opposite of a wizard outfit. I bet you Gandalf wore panties, a garter, and stockings underneath. Also, I haven’t figured out how to get from the house to the car to the party yet. Yeahhhhhhh, I’m gonna have to breathe for a bit to calm down now.

EDIT 10/21/2015

I just found out the bow goes in back. Omg!

Authenticity and The Road

Authenticity, when used in the context of self help and new-age spiritual descriptors, is one of those words that I hate to love because of the plethora of overzealous, pretentious fucks that spew its virtues while masturbating all over themselves. That was fun to write. And I should really explain where I am coming from.

Striving for an authentic life is a genuinely noble ideal. What better pursuit than to strip away life’s frivolities and inconsequentials and exist in a plane of personal truths? To make conscious one’s choices and reactions to external forces? That there is some prime shit to work on. I love the idea.

I’ve seen many people try to live this way. It is interesting to watch, actually. Most of the time they fall in love with their words and think they shit nifties. Authenticity for beginners is learning to think for oneself and not be a slave to expectations. It is recognizing that you always did X because that is what your parents wanted and raised you to do, but you desperately want to do Y. You have that choice. Your parents are outside forces, and you are now allowing your internal compass to guide you. Sure, not listening to them means that you will never afford a Maserati, but you are happier this way, right? Who needs a Maserati? It’s just a  bourgeois possession that happens to be sinuous in style, rich with heritage, and thrilling to control.  And oh so visceral.

Fuck. I really, really want a Maserati.

Looking honestly at reality, how is one supposed to cast off external forces and come to their core when it is those external forces that help us to define ourselves? We live in the world and have no recourse but to exist there, in this place, ultimately outside of choice.

So we come to relation, which may be the single word that helps us to understand what the ideal authentic life is. See, we all understand and interpret the world in our own way. It is how we relate to the world that allows us to judge what is external and internal, what is good and what is not, and how we believe we should live. We see what our parents do, and use that experience to judge what is right for us. We watch our friends struggle, and wish we could be cool like them, so we judge their actions to be valuable. Your version of authenticity will be different from mine because we didn’t live the same life with the same emotions and desires and visions.

Now, I’ve known a few that approach their lives earnestly and soberly. They are truly impressive people. I see them step back from the pressure to make a decision and to exist in the space between while they feel out their options. I hear them talk about their relationships with both options. There is a humility about them, and in that humility I see their strength. I see how they allow themselves to feel their hurts so very deeply and to allow their highs to soar without losing their love of the ground. I see it as a difficult life. They are the most authentic people I know. I wish I were more like them, and they are certainly heroes to me.

I used to want to be great. It’s funny to contemplate now because I never really put in the effort to be great at anything. I was silly. And I was putting my sense of self worth in the hands of others to judge as great.  I now recognize that as foolish and without balance. I don’t think either extreme is good for us and our souls. Balance is a powerful thing. Could finding balance be the true way to an authentic life?

An Apology, Kind of.

Reflecting on my date and most recent post, I feel tempted to edit it and apologize for some of what I said. One of the best things about my writing is that it is honest and in the moment. I struggle with patience and I act hastily, so I end up posting before things have seasoned.  In an effort to honor the good parts, I decided that I will let the post stand as is and write more on that here.

My goal in starting this blog was to write in a way that helps me heal wounds, to discover lost pieces of myself, and also to write funny shit when the mood strikes. In a way that I didn’t expect, my most recent post did help me very much. When I re-read it the morning after there were things that stood out to me as current challenges.

About despising men: a most sobering  revelation is that every characteristic that is despise about men could easily be applied to a woman. The truth is that women are capable of all of the same faults and evils. What’s the difference? Well, I don’t ever hear a group of women standing around talking about how they take advantage of others. I’m sure it happens at national bitches club conventions and other similar venues. Do women ever feel like they have earned badges of honor for the most partners they have bagged? It doesn’t really matter. Either way, people who regularly employ lying, manipulation, cheating, etc, are people with serious issues that I need to stay clear of. I’ll stop man bashing. I promise.

About how people understand empaths: Many don’t get it at all. That makes things difficult. Empaths feel things that are not their feelings. They allow allow those energies into their auras and it is basically a form of pollution. Some of those energies that mix in are good, but all are foreign. Supposedly it is possible to train oneself to either block others feelings or to allow them to move through more easily, affecting an empath less strongly or perhaps not at all. I’ve not had much success with either. When I block, I feel part(s) of me shut down. When I try to focus on acknowledging and allowing the energies to pass, they overwhelm me and my focus goes away. This recent experience did encourage me to renew my efforts with learning to care for this side of myself better. Anyways, when I wrote that I went straight to the shower and literally scrubbed my skin to get rid of his energy, that means that it wove so deeply into mine own that I felt it was physically me. It didn’t, and won’t, change who I am. But I felt that energy on and around me for about 20 hours. That was with me doing energy work to clean myself. Going to a family dinner at a restaurant can affect me very strongly, too.  It isn’t just creepers.

About boundaries: In the book that I am reading on polyamory, the subject of intimacy in relationships is discussed when explaining boundaries. The book talks about how intimacy is something that we all get to decide with whom we share. Those that know me well see how much I love intimacy. I love sharing those deep feelings and discoveries, I don’t recall ever saying “TMI”, yet so often I get hurt when I do expose those deep places. So one of the concrete lessons that I am taking away from this date is that it is okay for people to have to earn intimacy with me. It’s a pretty flexible rule, but an empowering one. Hopefully I can remember to hold that concept close as I go on more dates and meet new people.

About expectations: Expectations in dating and relationships can be good or bad and it all depends on the context and the actual expectation. In the context of my date, was is reasonable to expect to be heard when I spoke. When someone asks you questions and roundly dismisses your answers, that person is not beneficial in your life. This is one of the expectations that I intend keep. I’ll be on the lookout for other expectations that help me to grow and further solidify my sense of self worth, and I’ll be looking to remove expectations that don’t serve my joy and ability to enjoy spontaneity.

I think this about does it for processing that date. I’m tired of thinking about it. What a mess. Thanks for reading, as always. And for those of you that provide feedback, be it a text or comment or response on Facebook, thank you so very much. I read and value all of them. Love!

Everything I Despise About Men: A First Date

Well, I had my first gay date. After it ended I powered home, threw my clothes in the wash, jumped straight in the shower and scrubbed my whole body, almost rubbing my face raw.

Here is the good news: this did not change my desire to be with men. Phew. The couple of times that he touched me, I wanted more.

It’s taken me a long time to discern the difference between my emotions and intuition, but I do pretty well with it now. I will preface this next part by saying that I was very excited to go on this date. I met him on OKCupid. He says lots of good things in his profile. He is kinda cute, and this is what should have sent me packing:
“Man, I’ve got a feeling we’ll have a fun time regardless of activity. So let’s get together after work .. Maybe we can brainstorm activities, no need to commit to tea just yet. 😁 I’m not feeling beer either (too much partying this week), but maybe soda and pool at a bar? Bowling? Night hiking or biking with headlamps? What kind of friends shall we be?”

This was his second text. I am such an optimist, and when I decide that I want to do something, I’m pretty hard to stop. I wanted to go on this date. There is definitely a bit of ram in me. But why the fuck couldn’t I have the self awareness to read that text, the second one I had gotten, and delete it right away, not looking back. The problem with his message is that it could be taken as enthusiastic and excited. My intuition told me otherwise. I’m actually curious to know if anyone else is weirded out by any part of his text.

In terms of what the date was, it was mellow. We met up at his place, talked for a bit, and then went for a walk. After that we talked some more. Okay, that’s good. Now, here is what it was like taking to him. Imagine Woody Allen. Now imagine Woody Allen hopped up on steroids and meth. Got it? Super fast-paced. judgemental, and completely frantic communication, with plenty of self doubt and insecurity in the subtext. This empath here was freaking the fuck out and so very foolishly determined to see it through.

He had zero clue what an empath is, but went off spewing that universe/attraction bullshit. Great, a phony spiritual drifter. He actually told me that he has had 17 dates in the 14 days that he has been in town. He said is was in relationships now with two of them. He fucked several, at least. Good god this guy is a train wreck. And still I wanted to see it through. He told me his marriage was loveless, but that he loved her and she loved him even more. He said he had a girlfriend at work for over five years, but that he never dipped his pen in the company ink.

He is a liar. A manipulator. A charlatan. He is arrogant. He is the disconnected from the world around him. He cares more for his goals than other people’s feelings. He is the embodiment of all that I despise about men. Well, at least his dog was awesome.

When talking to a friend afterwards, I was asked the logical question, “So if you knew it was bad, why did you stay?” I had to see it through? I didn’t want to be embarrassed for leaving at the beginning of my first date with a man? I didn’t want to be perceived as running away? I had told friends about this and wanted to be able to tell them stories? I wanted to believe that it would get better, and that he would reveal some moment of humanity? Yes, all these things.

I think I need to figure out some criteria for knowing if they are good for me. I have a hard time with figuring that out quickly. For now I will just try to remember that if my date doesn’t stop talking to enjoy the beauty around them, it won’t work.

In the mean time, I will forge ahead and just take longer showers for a while.

What I Want and Why Anyone Should Care

The tornado continues!! Rest assured, lovely readers, that just because I am not posting daily doesn’t mean my shit isn’t spinning and that I don’t have crazy stories to tell. Shall we dig in? Yes, I think we shall!

Halloween is just a couple of weeks away. In talking about the upcoming kinky Halloween party that our community is having, T was telling me all about her costume. I loved how excited she was. When considering what I would go as, I felt lost. I’ve never been s big fan of costumes. Sometimes it is the logistics of comfort, and then other times I think it is more about obligation than fun. This time I want to do it right and have fun, and I had no clue what to go as. So T and I talked a lot about it, she jokingly suggested I go as a fairy, and we went to a costume shop to peruse. I didn’t like any of them, and as we  passed the lab coat for Dr. Howie Feltersnatch, I realized that did NOT want to dress up as a man. Yeah, the coat was funny, in a pathetic and gutteral sort of way, but I didn’t want any part of that or the cops or shitty Indian costumes. I wanted to go as a fairy!

So I asked T to take me where she got her wings. She looked at me, wondering if I was sure, and then said okay. So we went. It was a women’s lingerie store. I hadn’t expected that.

Upstairs, where the wings are located, we ran into the owner, a friend of T. They enjoyed a short conversation followed by the wholly expected question, “So, how can I help?” I froze. T gleefully explained that I was looking for wings for a costume. Ok, thank god it’s out there and I didn’t have to say it first!  She was delightful, and set out to help me choose. I found a set of red and black wings, glitter covered of course. She pulled them out for me to try on and it was then that decided that I definitely, absolutely wanted to be a fairy. But what about the rest of the costume?

“I think you need a tutu!”

Words that I never, ever thought I would hear directed towards me. After explanation and more words to assuage my fears, they got me to walk down the stairs, wings still attached, to check out the tutus.  I want you to picture this. Really. Lingerie store. Two beautiful women leading around a Viking sized man in a t-shirt and jeans with read and black glitter wings. Picture it again. It’s okay to laugh. I am now.

She pulled down one that was in stock and offered to have me try it on. I’m game at this point, but I have no clue what I’m doing. I think that, just to help me feel better, she directs me to the changing room. She put them on me over my jeans. I was instantly, but thankfully not visibly, turned on. Holy fucking hell that was a shock!  So now I’m turned on and really invested in this. And I do not want to be a joke, and I definitely want to put the effort and money needed in to look beautiful. We delved into the rest of the costume. Ruffle panties, a garter belt (!!!) and thigh highs??

Yes, I bought the wings and ordered the tutu, and T and I left to figure more of it out. The biggest problem in my mind was the top. What was I to wear? A t-shirt? Puh-lease. A vest? Maybe……  A corset? OMG. We were back in the same store, less than five minutes after we left, to get me fitted for a corset. I loved it. Still turned on. I honestly think that part of the turn-on was the humiliation. But it was fun! Expensive and very, very fun.

I’ve even decided to get makeup. Just a bit.  It’s amazing how much I am now embracing my feminity. I’m allowing my voice to return to its higher tessitura. And I’m even allowing my body to get into it. When I was with friends mid-week I allowed myself to get a bit flamboyant again. Tomorrow I am shaving my beard. Thank god T is going to help me, otherwise I would be a train wreck fairy and not the beautiful one I crave to be. I’m still in shock about all this. It is happening! And T really impressed me. She is such a beautiful person, she was filled with joy at seeing me open up and accept more of myself.

Pretty great story, huh? I promise I will post a picture of the completed costume after Halloween.

In reflecting on all of this, it occurs to me that not knowing what I want enabled me to be open and to get help to figure it out. I think that is a good lesson: If you don’t know what you want, try to be open to possibilities you didn’t expect and allow yourself to check in on how you feel about it all. It worked great for me and I had a super positive experience. I’m sure it doesn’t always turn out this incredibly well, but I hope that if I keep allowing myself to honestly react and that if I honor those feelings and learn from them, I will figure it out.

I’m going to be be a fucking fairy! Holyshitohmygoditshappening!!!

Fear and Acceptance

Some of my other blog posts have touched on the idea of fear as a catalyst in my life. I mostly went on to talk about things that fear lead to or did to me. Those are great topics and acknowledging them has already positively affected my life. They have opened doors that seemed to be locked shut. That’s good stuff. I need to go to the root, though. That root is fear.

Let’s start with the word pervert. I’ve always been mortified of being called a pervert. Now I intensely hate when people put definitions in the context of a piece of writing, but I don’t think I can get around it. The most conclusive definition that I have found is:

Pervert – (noun) a person whose sexual behavior is regarded as abnormal or unacceptable.

The 1990’s were my high school and college years. I remember kids calling each other perverts when anything sexual, let alone anything extreme, came up. It was the go to insult when someone said they loved blowjobs or when someone stared at tits: “Eww! Stop looking at my tits, you perv!” Now, I really dislike causing people discomfort. It hurts me. So the last thing I wanted was to upset someone by looking at them or fantasizing about them. That makes things tough for a horny young man.

So when I got to college and had more time to think and more resources, I went searching for a definition that I could use to rebuke anyone that called me a pervert. I found one and latched on to it: “A pervert is someone who thinks that sex is dirty.” Aha! For all the fucked up things that turn me on, this definition kept me safe. I have never thought that sex is dirty. So I used that to shut people down when they called myself or anyone around me a pervert. It gave me some power.

But the truth is that as long as I have been a sexual person I have been turned on by things that some people somewhere consider abnormal and unacceptable. Some of it I still struggle with because, although it turns me on, I don’t understand why. So this means that I am indeed, and by the accepted definition, a pervert. I am an ethical, kind, loving, compassionate pervert. There are some really twisted things that make me so turned on I almost lose my mind, but none of it hurts me or others. None of it is forced upon anyone. And I know for a fact that I’m not the only one who likes it. So, as sluts have done before me, I should claim the word “pervert” for myself and not allow people to pervert shame me. I am a pervert. I am not alone. You probably like something sexual that people consider(ed) perverted. I guess we are all a bit like that. Maybe you like women’s shoes or are one of the millions of men who like to have their nipples played with but become the butt of jokes in movies. Maybe you’re a woman that longs to be tied up. Why do we judge so harshly when many if not most of us have some kink or latent desire that isn’t missionary position?

Fear led me to repress my sexual identity. An entire part of my being was stuffed away into an old chest with all the most-fun sex toys and locked away. That fear was all about being ostracized, being slandered and insulted or even injured, and it was about shame.

Shame is the worst of our cultural ills. Shame is insidious because it starts when we are too young to know even what it is. From our very beginning we watch our parents and siblings and friends interact, and it is those interactions that we use to base our understanding of our cultural world. Every time that someone we care about judges harshly or acts strikingly, we take that in. And where shame really grabs hold is when what we perceive as acceptable differs from what we do and know of ourselves. My family made disparaging comments about gay people or gay acts so I felt shame about that side of myself and buried it to avoid confrontation. Problem solved!

Of course, we process that through our individual filters which is why we don’t all have the same levels of fear and shame, nor the same values. It’s that whole “unique individual” thing. Although unique isn’t a good word anymore. We know that we are more similar than anything and hold on to the idea of unique to help us feel special.

It is that general normality that we all share that leads us to fear ostracism. No one wants to be forced out of a group, we want to feel included and accepted. So when people do feel ostracized they tend to find others that feel the same and start their own counter culture. Cue the theme song from Cheers. Now it is us against them and we feel some power again, at least if it is only to say “Fuck off!” to society and everything that we resent about it. We will make our own, and probably be outlandish and outspoken in the process. Let’s take that confrontation and meet it head on! And now let’s punish those that wrong our group with horrible words so we can feel better! Think I’m wrong? Check out the plethora of Kim Davis shit on LGBT websites and Facebook pages. Both sides hate. There is no healing when you’re stuck in a hate cycle.

As I have dug into my feelings I’ve realized that my most paralyzingly fear is being hurt. I think this is what ultimately shut me down. Yes, I fear words and ill looks. I fear the loss of love that sometimes accompanies them. I really fear being physically hurt. Matthew Shepard was killed when I was in college. He wasn’t the first. When I researched gay bashings while writing this I found a list of “significant” events on Wikipedia. This long list all started when I was three and escalated from there. And I do have recollections of seeing some of these stories on the news. I grew up in a world where it sounded probable that being gay would get me beat up or worse.

Just recently I’ve been writing with a bisexual man, a friend of a friend. He shared some of his experiences and I shared what I’m processing. He’s given me good things to think about. I thought I was working towards self love as a way to heal this shit, he reminded me that it is really acceptance that should be my first goal. Self love is a lofty ideal. Acceptance is grounded. I do love being grounded. So that’s where I’m going. Acknowledge and accept.

This pervert thanks you for reading.

Six Whiskeys

I’m going to try to write this without sounding like a self-righteous fuck. Here goes.

My brother and I spent much time together during my cousin’s wedding this weekend. Both of us felt awkward there and being together, talking about experiences and values that we share, helped us to cope. We are both introverts, which doesn’t help. What really brought out that feeling of awkwardness was the separation we felt from other groups of people; the chasm. I don’t know if the idea of the chasm is a real “thing” that has been described in psychology publications, but I have willed it into existence if it wasn’t there before. Booyah. Ever had that experience where you are with a group of people and feel that you don’t belong? Your life experiences, values, sexual preferences, cultural expectations (used in the micro-culture or even tribal sense), and especially your beliefs can create in you a strong sense of being that you recognize to be incompatible with others.

Both my brother and I value conscious living and healthy lifestyle. He is much more strict about it, but the value is shared. We both value personal and spiritual growth, depth in communication, personal connections, and we have belief systems that are incongruent with Christianity. We also have done psychedelic drugs in ceremonies. And we don’t really drink. It’s not our thing.

So here we are at this Christian wedding. Fairly well-to-do society around us. We are talking about peyote and ayahuasca. They are talking about their retirement or business. We are talking about spiritual teachers and authors that resonate with us, they are making the rounds saying very casual and shallow greetings to the guests. We repeatedly have folks come up to us and leave very quickly. They ask where we are from but don’t want to know more than a point on a map. That answer was enough.

They certainly can drink, too. At the rehearsal dinner and at the reception the line for booze was the place to be. When in Rome, we got in line.

So what’s the deal with this chasm. It obviously isn’t real. We put it there. To give ourselves perspective? To protect our beliefs? To judge ourselves better? Does it go both ways?

Yes.

And I can tell you with utmost certainty this one truth: after six whiskeys we are all the same. Salud!

Not Another Nice Guy Rant

Have you read those rants before? Here’s the gist: Why do all the girls choose assholes over the nice guys?

The rants are usually the same. They spout off about how no one pays any attention to them because they are so nice. They are supportive of their friends and watch them suffer. The rants talk about how people are attracted to mates that will hurt them. And the subtext is always that the nice guy is a fucking Saint and sexy people should want to be with them instead of with dicks and/or bitches.

Yeah, not doing that bullshit here.

This is present in my mind because my ex and I are trying out Polyamory. It is the practical solution for us with our sexual and emotional needs. I have been aware of polyamory for years now but wasn’t interested in trying it out. She’s been poly for a few months. We are even reading a book on it together. And let me tell you, even just a few days in, polyamory is fucking hard. It requires a depth in communication and personal awareness of ones emotions that is uncommon, to say the least. Nice guys won’t last long in this setting.

The truth is that I was one of those nice guys, but I got that rant out of me 20 years ago and know well how it plays out. The problem with nice guys is that they are passive. Nice guys don’t understand that they aren’t taking care of themselves when they let their partner do whatever they want, when they ignore or push aside their feelings and desires, when they unquestioningly give and give and never acknowledge their needs. No one wants to date a person like that, and there is nothing sexy about passivity. Unless you like dead fish.

Of late, and hastened by our efforts with polyamory, I have been consciously trying to not be a nice guy, but to to practice kindness instead. A keen difference is that the kindness needs to extend to myself as well as to others. It is hard for this nice guy to do. My gut reaction is always to empathize with others first and see their point. This is why I sometimes think that empaths are foolish. We put other people’s feelings before our own. I’m proud to say that I’ve been making great strides at that, all within the context of talking with my ex. It has been so messy. Doing this for myself has been causing panic attacks because of the overwhelming emotions that I’m allowing to come up and how afraid I am of my needs not being met and that things will fall apart again.

To her great credit, every time I have brought issues to her attention, she listens. We have a discussion about it. She’ll jab me a time or two about over analyzing. I’ll say she’s not being fair with quips like that, and she’ll come back with a pain-in-the-ass remark that makes me roll my eyes while laughing. I don’t always know that the issues get resolved, but I know she listens and either validates or at least is receptive to it. My relationship with her, including all the troubles, has been the best relationship of my life. Even still, I was willing to let it end last time to take better care of myself. It’s only been a few weeks for our renewed efforts so far, and both of us are coming back into it with a stronger and healthier vision for ourselves and what we need. I think this makes it much more difficult than it was before, and better.

We just had a 5AM chat.  What always strikes me during these deep conversations is the importance of making sure that the other person actually understands what I am saying (that’s all the time, not just st 5AM). I put so much thought into the words I use that I preume the message will be crystal clear. Yeah, I know I’m an idiot. That never works. People read and filter words with their own mindset. It is absolutely possible, maybe seven probable, for the message to be misconrstrued and for them to never let you know they thought you meant something totally different or were placing expectations on them.

In the English language and culture, the responsibility of making sure that the other person understands is on the speaker. It’s a good language for command, which is why all of the pilots and air traffic controllers in the world speak English as opposed to any other language. Teachers are expected to use as many modalities and different ways to explain things as necessary to get their students to understand. People complain about lazy students, but part of the problem is the very language we use and the cultural expectations based within it. Students aren’t the ones speaking, so it isn’t their responsibility to make sure they understand. Some other cultures’ languages are completely the opposite and require the listener to make sure that they understand the speaker. I think it is fascinating.

T, when you read this, remember that it’s okay for us to go back and forth when talking about our issues to make sure that we both fully understand each other. It’s valuable and I don’t resent the process in any way. I hope you find the value in it, too.

Perspective is a Function of Perspective

Last Friday night I was just a couple of feet away from a real, genuine, living penis. Actually two of them.  Don’t ask how. I’m not bearing that much yet. I’m not convinced that this blog needs to go there. Maybe I’m wrong?*

It was fascinating. Truly. One was uncut and the other circumcised. One smaller and one larger. It’s one thing to fantasize about them, it’s another to see them in the flesh. Not gonna lie, I stared as much as I could. I’m still looking intensely at men and women in general. Figuring all this physical attraction stuff out. It’s crazy hard. Uncharted territory and all that. Well, not wholly uncharted if I’m being honest wth myself.

I remember now that there were gay boys in school that I idolized. They were so aware and accepting. I’m sure that came with a price. I remember being in a hot tub in college with my bi friend. He said how much he would love to suck me off. I froze, caught fully between the desire for it and fear of others finding out and ostracizing me. I remember another friend who, I presume, was going through then what I am going through now. He was one that I loved and didn’t have the courage to tell him or myself. I remember when it got out that he had his anal cherry popped and the horrible things people said about him. Thank god people didn’t say that about me, and yet, now I wish things were different.

I don’t regret my relationships with women. I’m thankful for that. And they are so beautiful and alluring. Even the callous ones.

There is other big shit going on in my life that is not as deep in my core as what I share here, but heavy none the less. All of this mixed together makes me feel that the tornado analogy I previously employed was appropriate. I’ve been pleading for perspective. I wanted to see where I was, where I had been, and where I was going, and I feel so lost. Spinning. Reaching out, almost in terror, for any king of solidity. I know I’m in the thick of it.

Today I think I had an epiphany. If I was responsible I would write it down and let it settle in, but the most reckless part of me is here and posting without proper time for reflection (R is either proud of me or shaking her head right now… You know I love you).

The perspective I’ve been craving is an old crutch. I’ve been craving a linear perspective. I’ve been craving my old self. It’s like I’m stuck in a mourning period and don’t want to let go. Today I see that I have more perspective now, spinning in this vortex of debris and shit and confliction than I ever did before. I see more highs and lows and I’m actually looking in directions that I never considered. My general vibration has raised since allowing so much to see light. I guess that I should feel happy about it. I’m not there yet. The freshness of the hurt and loss is too great. The wounds are still open.

It occurs to me that this might be the most authentic place to live. A place of exposure and openness. If I can find acceptance amongst it all, I would bet money that it is.
*You tell me. The point of this blog is to share and explore the deepest parts of myself for the purpose of growth. Delving into sexual orientation with smatterings of imagery is one thing. My gut says to lay it all out there, in spite of the fact that I know that people I interact with regularly may be reading this and may be uncomfortable with what I share. Can I omit the rest of my sexuality and still be true here? At what point does this become gratuitous or self indulgent?