I ain’t saying you CAN’T blow it out though…

That I’m trying to be the sex police, I feel I should clarify my position regarding yesterday’s post.

What people do in their bedrooms is their own damn business.  I have friends that range from the extreme of not doing oral (and yes loves, THAT is extreme) to…well, I’ll direct you to Knob-Slobbing Feminism (which is NOT solely about knob-slobbing, but she is a self-professed kinkster and dear friend).  Whatever floats their boat and keeps them happy, I implore them to stay true to self and sail on.

Further, if a partner hits me with some futuristic I’m all this:

and none of this:

101 dalmations,side-eye

It’s not about not wanting the good time.  It’s not about not enjoying and appreciating (the hell out of) the good time.  I guess to a certain extent, what I said could have been construed as not endorsing a person to have any regard for their partner.  Or maybe I sounded petulant. “The hell he thinks he is…coming in here to give me orgasms.”  Neither is the case.  Great sex is muy importante.  And as with any good partnership, there will be times where their enjoyment takes precedence over your own.  Seriously,

HOWEVER, we’ve all had that partner(s) who have seen one too many flicks.  Or maybe they are missing a little something within, rendering them oblivious to the fact that they are worth more than the sum total of their genitalia (or whatever other fancy cliché you deem appropriate).  I’m sure every woman can think of an experience where their entire reproductive system was treated like an enemy combatant in the name of back blowing; more for the sake of ego than any shared experience.

Feel free to share your thoughts.  I actually await them.  Yo, I SEE the tallies.  I know yall are reading.  So holla at a sister. Let me know what you think!  Even if you think I suck, tell me that so I can get better.  Just please note I may or may not say unflattering things about your mother, but that’s just the hurt talkin.

The Sex That Ain’t Sexy

Sex is some good stuff.  There are countless reasons and ways to have sex.  It’s pretty much like chicken.  Sure it can be bad, but you have to go out of your way to mess it up.  I’m slow to dismiss a fella as wack in the sack, simply because I’m not picking up what he’s putting down.  Sometimes, things are a matter of style and preference.  What’s toe curling to one person, is puzzling to the next. For example, I don’t want “it done to me.”  I also don’t want to “do it to” anyone else.

Allow me to explain.

I believe that when I have met an individual with whom I have embarked upon a mutual agreement to share naked time, I don’t want him to turn into a one man show of turning me out.  Conversely, this is not Magic City meets the Bunny Ranch.*  I feel a lot of us get so caught up in being remembered as spectacular, ground breaking lovers, we forget why we’re there in the first place.  I’m all into the sharing of energies and being present in the moment.  I can’t be concerned with whether or not you’re going to mark me down in history as the premier fellatio artist of the new millennium.  Plowing me into the next room through the headboard AND the wall in the name of “blowing my back out” is also quite unnecessary.

Quality is certainly Job One in my camp.  I gets down for my crown, and I expect my dude to do the same for his. The porn star fixation is lost on me.  I find it to be contrived, insincere and frankly, insecure.  Homie, if I’m already sharing sexual space with you, it means I like you and want you to have a good time too.  If the neighbors knowing your name is more important to you, be my guest.  Just understand that I’m not the girl for you.  As far as blowing my back out – let’s don’t and say we did,* and focus on having a good time.

*I mean, unless we agreed upon…nevermind.

Tapping out

These past couple of months have been, in a word, interesting.  And this last month? Mercy.  I was kind of dealing with something that I thought was supremely messed up, but I had made my peace with things actually turning out for the best.  Just because something makes you sad, doesn’t mean it isn’t for the greater good, right?  And so now, I’m again, breaking policy and vomiting emotions all over this blog.

Well, it was a fairly large “something,” and in many ways, I had to deal with it on my own.  I wasn’t exactly sure how to react, so I pushed it on the side and dealt with other things.  In life, there are always “other things” to deal with; particularly when a large “something” is looming.  I wasn’t actively avoiding the issue, I just wasn’t sure what to do to it.  Because there was a large part of me that was relieved.  There are people and things that can become spirit vampires, and are only able to draw your time and energy from you with little return.  It’s not necessarily any shade against them; simply a case of everything (or one) not being for everybody (or me).

The conundrum lies in the fact that for as long as I’ve been an adult, I considered this person at the very least, a kindred spirit.  There were even times where the notion of “soul mate” was thrown around.  When the individual was rude or anti-social, I always managed to trace it back to something that I had done.  There was really not anything that this person could say or do that I could not find it in my heart to forgive.*  Even now, while I’m butt hurt, I still do forgive.

But don’t get it twisted.

The funny thing about love is, we talk about it as thought it is this abstract, self-sustaining thing that can never be extinguished.  It just is.  The truth that I have learned is that given enough time, when a person disregards you enough, takes your feelings for granted one time too many, and does a Mexican hat dance on the balls of your heart, that love shit can fly out the window.  When a person knows you better than most, it’s not unreasonable to expect them to handle you better than most.  I had to examine my own heart, and ask why this person had an endless supply of chances with me.  The math didn’t add up.  And after crying my heart out for over an hour, I decided that this person had struck the death blow on our relationship.  Not just romantic.  We can’t be lovers, friends, workmates, roommates, coworkers, Facebook friends, line dance partners, square dance partners or even like the same color.  I can’t love unconditionally, yet be loved with stipulations.  I won’t paint myself the victim here, and I’m sure if asked, this individual could come up with a laundry list of reasons why I fall short.  And to that I say, who cares?  I can’t fix what I don’t know to be broken.

So to that person, if you’re reading this, I hope you find your happy. I hope that when you do, you’ve let go of all your past  hurts and hold on to that happiness.  I hope you see your children, and their children, and their children.  But I also hope that you forget you knew me.  I hope you forget everything about me.   This can’t be  salvaged.  I’m not going to try.  I don’t want you to either.

You win.

*If there’s nothing a person can do to change your feelings for them, you would do well to examine those feelings a little deeper.  Co-dependence fits into love’s dress robes quite nicely.