One of my favorite webcomics, Danielle Corsetto's "Girls With Slingshots", today called my attention to this lovely little story:
A Silsbee High School cheerleader took her school to court when they kicked her off the squad for refusing to cheer her own rapist.
The week of May 5, 2011 the Supreme Court refused to hear the case and is requiring her family [to] pay the school $45,000 in legal fees.
I have a long list of things that piss me off and an explosive temper on the best of days. When I read this, though, I screamed "Fucking WHAT???" so loudly that my neighbor's movers outside heard me and were laughing. Not that I cared -- I was too busy raging.
Let me be clear: I enjoy writing about dominance, or power games, once in a while. I think it's hot to write a story or two about reluctance. But the minute one party says "no", it's over. There are very few people on earth I hate more than the cowards who would rape (or have raped) a woman. Maybe it's my white-knight nature coming to the forefront, but I think most rapists should be gelded by having their balls torn off. Preferably by the hands of the woman they'd raped.
(Yes, I know men are sometimes raped by women as well. But it's much, much rarer, and we're not talking about that right now).
And then the Supreme Court has the gall to add insult to injury by calling the girl's lawsuit against the school "frivolous" and ordering her family to pay the school more than $45,000 in repaid legal fees. That's not even counting the money the FAMILY no doubt spent in a vain pursuit of justice.
I do think the United States is a great place to live, most of the time. But every now and again I'm reminded that, just like humanity in general, we've got a long, long way to go before true enlightenment.
If you'd care to donate to help this girl and her family out, the link is http://www.helpthecheerleader.com/ .
-- PB
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
How young is too young?
So I was browsing around on Youtube yesterday and came upon some vids by Jacqueline Mannering, a London-based guitarist who plays a lot of shred stuff. Now, I do like a good shred solo now and again, so I checked out some of her vids. My first thought was "Damn, she's talented; look out, guitarists, this girl's going to eat your lunch", followed closely by "Damn, she's a cutie! Look at that face, look at that goth chic thing she's got going on...yeah, she's a hottie, all right!"
Then I looked at some of her other vids and I realized that she was only fifteen when they were posted. First I panicked. "Ouch," I thought. "I'm getting the hots for a fifteen-year-old. What the hell's the matter with me? Am I getting to dirty-old-man territory before I even hit my forties? Are people going to throw stones at me for being a horrible pervert?"
I did some more hunting, and elsewhere on her Facebook fan page I found out she was born in July 1992, so that makes her eighteen now. Crisis averted, sort of (we won't discuss whether it's still uncool, or worse, ridiculous, for me to be getting the hots for a girl who's still nearly twenty years my junior). But it did get me thinking -- how young is too young?
I've talked to women who had their first sexual experience at fourteen, and thought it was fantastic. I've talked to others who were in their mid-twenties before they had sex, and thought it was still too soon. Some cultures ritually deflower virgins at a certain age, whether they've got the sexual and emotional maturity to deal with it or not. Others arrange marriages before the girl's even had her first period. Others keep women's faces covered at all times when they're in public, regardless of age. It makes me think we've got some pretty fucked-up standards out there as far as sexual maturity goes. Every culture's different.
There aren't many things that I think have NO place at all in human sexuality. Taking a page from Spider Robinson, I'm firmly against anything that involves former food or former people. The other thing I can't and won't condone is sex with pre-sexual people. That, to me, has always meant "sex with people who feel they aren't ready for sex", whether they're fifteen or fifty. The problem comes when you start trying to define "pre-sexual". Then you start going back to the "how young is too young?" question. Is the kid who got seduced by his high school English teacher too young? Is the girl who goes to her neighbor and asks him to teach her about sex too young? What if she's fourteen? But then again, what if she's ten? It's a slippery slope I don't much care to explore, so I hide behind the "pre-sexual" tag.
The problem is that everyone's different, of course. You can look at people who're clearly sexually mature, but emotionally there's no way at all they could handle sex (think Carrie from Stephen King's debut novel). Yet on the other end of the spectrum you've got people who've grown up much faster than anybody expected, and are dealing with adult emotions and feelings (think Natalie Portman's character Matilda in the film "Leon: The Professional"). Is it wrong to deny them a little exploration if they feel they're ready for it? If they can have adult discussions about what they're thinking and feeling and have real, solid, concrete reasons for wanting to explore the mysteries of sex? Or should we just slap a big "Not until you're sixteen" label on them all, hoping that by that time everybody will be able to handle what they want so badly? And who decides on the label? Twentysomethings or teenagers who still remember vividly how they felt when they discovered sex, or middle-agers who have twenty years' experience to look back and temper the fire they were feeling then?
Yeah, I know there are no easy answers. I just can't stop thinking about things like this. I think it's unfair that we don't have any real concrete way of knowing when somebody's ready, really ready, to have sex, ready to make their own decisions. And I don't agree that generally the first time is absolutely crucial and can scar you for life if it's not done properly; like any bad experience, people can get past just about anything. But....on the other hand, I think about rapists who lie in wait for children in parks. I think about men who prey on young girls who are just looking for some approval from someone, anyone, and will do anything to feel loved. I think about people who really ARE pedophiles and don't care about who they hurt as long as they get what they want. And that kind of garbage horrifies me on several levels, and then I start thinking a "Not till you're sixteen" label isn't so bad.
How old were you when you first had sex? Would you have done it years before if you'd had the chance? Or do you think you should have waited till you were older? If you had the chance to go back and do it again, would you change things?
How young do YOU think is too young?
-- PB
Then I looked at some of her other vids and I realized that she was only fifteen when they were posted. First I panicked. "Ouch," I thought. "I'm getting the hots for a fifteen-year-old. What the hell's the matter with me? Am I getting to dirty-old-man territory before I even hit my forties? Are people going to throw stones at me for being a horrible pervert?"
I did some more hunting, and elsewhere on her Facebook fan page I found out she was born in July 1992, so that makes her eighteen now. Crisis averted, sort of (we won't discuss whether it's still uncool, or worse, ridiculous, for me to be getting the hots for a girl who's still nearly twenty years my junior). But it did get me thinking -- how young is too young?
I've talked to women who had their first sexual experience at fourteen, and thought it was fantastic. I've talked to others who were in their mid-twenties before they had sex, and thought it was still too soon. Some cultures ritually deflower virgins at a certain age, whether they've got the sexual and emotional maturity to deal with it or not. Others arrange marriages before the girl's even had her first period. Others keep women's faces covered at all times when they're in public, regardless of age. It makes me think we've got some pretty fucked-up standards out there as far as sexual maturity goes. Every culture's different.
There aren't many things that I think have NO place at all in human sexuality. Taking a page from Spider Robinson, I'm firmly against anything that involves former food or former people. The other thing I can't and won't condone is sex with pre-sexual people. That, to me, has always meant "sex with people who feel they aren't ready for sex", whether they're fifteen or fifty. The problem comes when you start trying to define "pre-sexual". Then you start going back to the "how young is too young?" question. Is the kid who got seduced by his high school English teacher too young? Is the girl who goes to her neighbor and asks him to teach her about sex too young? What if she's fourteen? But then again, what if she's ten? It's a slippery slope I don't much care to explore, so I hide behind the "pre-sexual" tag.
The problem is that everyone's different, of course. You can look at people who're clearly sexually mature, but emotionally there's no way at all they could handle sex (think Carrie from Stephen King's debut novel). Yet on the other end of the spectrum you've got people who've grown up much faster than anybody expected, and are dealing with adult emotions and feelings (think Natalie Portman's character Matilda in the film "Leon: The Professional"). Is it wrong to deny them a little exploration if they feel they're ready for it? If they can have adult discussions about what they're thinking and feeling and have real, solid, concrete reasons for wanting to explore the mysteries of sex? Or should we just slap a big "Not until you're sixteen" label on them all, hoping that by that time everybody will be able to handle what they want so badly? And who decides on the label? Twentysomethings or teenagers who still remember vividly how they felt when they discovered sex, or middle-agers who have twenty years' experience to look back and temper the fire they were feeling then?
Yeah, I know there are no easy answers. I just can't stop thinking about things like this. I think it's unfair that we don't have any real concrete way of knowing when somebody's ready, really ready, to have sex, ready to make their own decisions. And I don't agree that generally the first time is absolutely crucial and can scar you for life if it's not done properly; like any bad experience, people can get past just about anything. But....on the other hand, I think about rapists who lie in wait for children in parks. I think about men who prey on young girls who are just looking for some approval from someone, anyone, and will do anything to feel loved. I think about people who really ARE pedophiles and don't care about who they hurt as long as they get what they want. And that kind of garbage horrifies me on several levels, and then I start thinking a "Not till you're sixteen" label isn't so bad.
How old were you when you first had sex? Would you have done it years before if you'd had the chance? Or do you think you should have waited till you were older? If you had the chance to go back and do it again, would you change things?
How young do YOU think is too young?
-- PB
Thursday, September 30, 2010
I wonder......
I wonder....
...what you're thinking right now. Whether your mind is drifting in the same gutter that mine is, thinking of the same sorts of delightfully decadent scenes. Whether your brain continues returning over and over again to that night we spent, replaying it in excruciating detail, teasing and exciting, embarrassing and delighting. Or whether you're thinking nothing of the sort, musing idly about grocery lists and laundry to be done and the bill you got from the mechanic. I wonder how I can find out. I wonder if I send these thoughts out, if you'll receive them. I wonder if you'll find your breath coming hard and fast as you get inexplicably turned on, or if the signal will go unreceived, winging its way ever outward through the sparkles of distant worlds and uncaring stars.
I wonder....
...what you're wearing. Whether you've got on business casual, or the "executive" look that's so hot on a woman, or whether you're just clad in ratty jeans and a T-shirt for booming down the highway in a convertible. I wonder whether it slashes along your body in razor-sharp lines, attempting to conceal curves that are a crime to hide, or whether it does what I long so much to do, cupping and caressing those same curves with a lover's touch. I wonder how what you're wearing would impede me when I begin inevitably removing it from your body. Is it flimsy and easily torn free? Is it expensive, preventing fits of wild passion? Or did you anticipate me as you so often do, wearing something that gives me easy access for fingers and tongue and cock?
I wonder....
...what it is you see in me. What it is about me that has you circling around me like a moth to the flame, playing with fire, singing your wings. Why you seem to think I'm different from everyone else to come along your path. Whether I really am different from everyone else to come along your path, or whether I just want the same thing, deep down. Whether I have the balls to open up to you the same way you've opened yourself to me. Whether you'd be shocked by what you found there if I did, or if you'd see in me the dark reflection of the hungers you're afraid to admit to yourself.
I wonder....
...how many times you came that night. You never said, but I thought it was at least three. That first one I could barely detect; there was just a sharp intake of breath and you bit your lower lip. Your body tensed up and then relaxed, and I thought "That's a good start". Then you were riding the curve, riding me upward again. I felt you clench me, urgently, so urgently, gripping me so hard I thought I'd lose it too, but then you collapsed on me and fell still, and I was able to back away from the brink. That third time, though...that was a wonder. Vases cracked and windows crazed with the force of your scream, and with you shoving yourself back at me like that, there was no way I could keep from coming too. My answering roar mingled with your still-crescendoing shriek, merging and then drifting away again, another kind of lovemaking. Three at least, but maybe there were more?
I wonder....
...who you're spending time with today, and I hate them a little bit for getting to do what I can't. Stroll with you in the sunlight, brush your hair away from behind your ear, listen to the bubbling stream of your conversation as it flows effortlessly from topic to topic. I wonder if they have the same nasty thoughts about you that I do. I wonder if they've ever acted on them. I wonder if you liked it when they did, if you embraced them eagerly, if your hips came up and pressed against them as they slid home into that hungry cunt, or if you straight-armed them and kept them off with a sharp retort. I wonder if you liked it so much that you're about to have them again. I wonder if it's hate, or jealousy, or delight on your behalf that has me so hard just thinking about it.
I wonder...
...when I'll see you again. Whether we'll be able to break free of the obligations we have for another stolen moment in time, or somehow manage the luxury of a day or two uninterrupted. Whether we'll have to make it fast, a quickie in some dark corner, heated sighs and urgent mergings that are too too quickly lost, or whether we might get a bit of actual time to explore and tease and caress, to grip each other tightly, to take hold and keep from sliding off the skin of the world. Whether we can ignore the many demands on our attention for a sphere of quiet, a bubble of time when nothing matters but giving pleasure to each other between cool crisp sheets in a faraway room miles above any other distractions. Or whether it'll once again be longing looks, smoky glances, gentle touch of hand to cheek, but nothing more.
I wonder...
...all this and so much more.
-- PB
...what you're thinking right now. Whether your mind is drifting in the same gutter that mine is, thinking of the same sorts of delightfully decadent scenes. Whether your brain continues returning over and over again to that night we spent, replaying it in excruciating detail, teasing and exciting, embarrassing and delighting. Or whether you're thinking nothing of the sort, musing idly about grocery lists and laundry to be done and the bill you got from the mechanic. I wonder how I can find out. I wonder if I send these thoughts out, if you'll receive them. I wonder if you'll find your breath coming hard and fast as you get inexplicably turned on, or if the signal will go unreceived, winging its way ever outward through the sparkles of distant worlds and uncaring stars.
I wonder....
...what you're wearing. Whether you've got on business casual, or the "executive" look that's so hot on a woman, or whether you're just clad in ratty jeans and a T-shirt for booming down the highway in a convertible. I wonder whether it slashes along your body in razor-sharp lines, attempting to conceal curves that are a crime to hide, or whether it does what I long so much to do, cupping and caressing those same curves with a lover's touch. I wonder how what you're wearing would impede me when I begin inevitably removing it from your body. Is it flimsy and easily torn free? Is it expensive, preventing fits of wild passion? Or did you anticipate me as you so often do, wearing something that gives me easy access for fingers and tongue and cock?
I wonder....
...what it is you see in me. What it is about me that has you circling around me like a moth to the flame, playing with fire, singing your wings. Why you seem to think I'm different from everyone else to come along your path. Whether I really am different from everyone else to come along your path, or whether I just want the same thing, deep down. Whether I have the balls to open up to you the same way you've opened yourself to me. Whether you'd be shocked by what you found there if I did, or if you'd see in me the dark reflection of the hungers you're afraid to admit to yourself.
I wonder....
...how many times you came that night. You never said, but I thought it was at least three. That first one I could barely detect; there was just a sharp intake of breath and you bit your lower lip. Your body tensed up and then relaxed, and I thought "That's a good start". Then you were riding the curve, riding me upward again. I felt you clench me, urgently, so urgently, gripping me so hard I thought I'd lose it too, but then you collapsed on me and fell still, and I was able to back away from the brink. That third time, though...that was a wonder. Vases cracked and windows crazed with the force of your scream, and with you shoving yourself back at me like that, there was no way I could keep from coming too. My answering roar mingled with your still-crescendoing shriek, merging and then drifting away again, another kind of lovemaking. Three at least, but maybe there were more?
I wonder....
...who you're spending time with today, and I hate them a little bit for getting to do what I can't. Stroll with you in the sunlight, brush your hair away from behind your ear, listen to the bubbling stream of your conversation as it flows effortlessly from topic to topic. I wonder if they have the same nasty thoughts about you that I do. I wonder if they've ever acted on them. I wonder if you liked it when they did, if you embraced them eagerly, if your hips came up and pressed against them as they slid home into that hungry cunt, or if you straight-armed them and kept them off with a sharp retort. I wonder if you liked it so much that you're about to have them again. I wonder if it's hate, or jealousy, or delight on your behalf that has me so hard just thinking about it.
I wonder...
...when I'll see you again. Whether we'll be able to break free of the obligations we have for another stolen moment in time, or somehow manage the luxury of a day or two uninterrupted. Whether we'll have to make it fast, a quickie in some dark corner, heated sighs and urgent mergings that are too too quickly lost, or whether we might get a bit of actual time to explore and tease and caress, to grip each other tightly, to take hold and keep from sliding off the skin of the world. Whether we can ignore the many demands on our attention for a sphere of quiet, a bubble of time when nothing matters but giving pleasure to each other between cool crisp sheets in a faraway room miles above any other distractions. Or whether it'll once again be longing looks, smoky glances, gentle touch of hand to cheek, but nothing more.
I wonder...
...all this and so much more.
-- PB
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Congratulations, California
I'm really a bit surprised this morning that the sex blogging world isn't more excited about this. If you don't know already, yesterday California district court Judge Vaughn Walker overturned the ridiculous and discriminatory California Proposition 8, on the basis that it was....well, ridiculous and discriminatory.
Okay, okay, so maybe he didn't say "ridiculous". But he did say discriminatory -- here, why don't I just let the Judge speak for himself. Here's what he wrote in his opinion:
"Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."
I remember watching the November 2008 elections avidly, talking with friends via instant message and phone, watching the balance of the election tip slowly in the direction of hope and change, feeling proud that our country was taking a step to reclaiming the freedoms we'd had so curtailed during the years of the Bush administration. I remember thinking it was a good time to be an American, and that maybe things were going to work out pretty well after all.
And then California went and disappointed the hell out of me by passing Proposition 8, maybe not by a landslide, but by a comfortable margin.
I was utterly shocked. If there was any state in the 50 that embraced diversity, that stood as a shining example of the "melting pot" mentality, that didn't bat an eyelash at weirdness and the unconventional, California had to be it. Wasn't that right? They couldn't really be serious, could they? There was a lost sack of "get rid of this miserable excuse for a law" ballots somewhere and it just hadn't been brought in yet, right?
Apparently not. I have rarely been so dismayed and upset as I was when the Californians stood up as a state for discrimination and fear. I might have expected something like that from Bible Belt states like Alabama or Mississippi or Texas, but California? C'mon, people, you should know better.
Now under the terms of full disclosure I should remark that I've been as straight as an arrow most of my life (swinging a bit more towards the "bi" area in recent years...but I digress). The law doesn't affect me one whit, but I don't give a damn about that. I am a firm believer that the more we single people out as being different -- for their religion, for their skin color, for their sexual practices, for their personal proclivities of ANY kind -- the farther away we get from true unity.
We are well into the twenty-first century here. It's long past time that we got rid of antiquated notions, such as that of marriage being "only between a man and a woman". There was once a notion that cigarettes were good for pregnant women, too -- remember the slogan "Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet"? -- but that shit went by the wayside pretty quickly when the lung cancer rates started shooting up, didn't it?
Astonishingly, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appears to be mellowing out a bit; even though he was one of the defendants named in the lawsuit, he released a statement that he "respects" the decision and "would not support an amendment to the constitution that would overturn" it. He also remarked that "[f]or the hundreds of thousands of Californians in gay and lesbian households who are managing their day-to-day lives, this decision affirms the full legal protections and safeguards I believe everyone deserves." Bravo, Ah-nuld! Even if you have previously vetoed two bills in favor of gay marriage, this is at least a step in the right direction.
There's an endless cycle of appeals and counter-appeals and legal briefs and rulings ahead for Proposition 8. It's no doubt going to wind up at the Supreme Court, and given the Court's generally conservative nature, it may be re-overturned there....but at least for today, I can dream for a bit about true equality.
But it's only a small step. Same-sex couples are only legally able to marry in six lousy states: Massachusetts, Iowa, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire and Washington DC. Why don't you get with the program, the rest of you, eh?
True love doesn't know from boundaries. It's color blind. It disregards orientation. It breaks through religious and cultural and political barriers. It finds a way....and while the gay and lesbian couples in California have been "finding a way" while Prop 8 was on the books, finding alternatives in civil union ceremonies or clandestine marriages that are nevertheless unrecognized by the state, I'm delighted to see a blow struck on the side of right this time. If you're an adult and making your own decisions, you should have the right to have sex with -- and marry -- whoever you damned well please. That is my firm belief.
-- PB
Okay, okay, so maybe he didn't say "ridiculous". But he did say discriminatory -- here, why don't I just let the Judge speak for himself. Here's what he wrote in his opinion:
"Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."
I remember watching the November 2008 elections avidly, talking with friends via instant message and phone, watching the balance of the election tip slowly in the direction of hope and change, feeling proud that our country was taking a step to reclaiming the freedoms we'd had so curtailed during the years of the Bush administration. I remember thinking it was a good time to be an American, and that maybe things were going to work out pretty well after all.
And then California went and disappointed the hell out of me by passing Proposition 8, maybe not by a landslide, but by a comfortable margin.
I was utterly shocked. If there was any state in the 50 that embraced diversity, that stood as a shining example of the "melting pot" mentality, that didn't bat an eyelash at weirdness and the unconventional, California had to be it. Wasn't that right? They couldn't really be serious, could they? There was a lost sack of "get rid of this miserable excuse for a law" ballots somewhere and it just hadn't been brought in yet, right?
Apparently not. I have rarely been so dismayed and upset as I was when the Californians stood up as a state for discrimination and fear. I might have expected something like that from Bible Belt states like Alabama or Mississippi or Texas, but California? C'mon, people, you should know better.
Now under the terms of full disclosure I should remark that I've been as straight as an arrow most of my life (swinging a bit more towards the "bi" area in recent years...but I digress). The law doesn't affect me one whit, but I don't give a damn about that. I am a firm believer that the more we single people out as being different -- for their religion, for their skin color, for their sexual practices, for their personal proclivities of ANY kind -- the farther away we get from true unity.
We are well into the twenty-first century here. It's long past time that we got rid of antiquated notions, such as that of marriage being "only between a man and a woman". There was once a notion that cigarettes were good for pregnant women, too -- remember the slogan "Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet"? -- but that shit went by the wayside pretty quickly when the lung cancer rates started shooting up, didn't it?
Astonishingly, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appears to be mellowing out a bit; even though he was one of the defendants named in the lawsuit, he released a statement that he "respects" the decision and "would not support an amendment to the constitution that would overturn" it. He also remarked that "[f]or the hundreds of thousands of Californians in gay and lesbian households who are managing their day-to-day lives, this decision affirms the full legal protections and safeguards I believe everyone deserves." Bravo, Ah-nuld! Even if you have previously vetoed two bills in favor of gay marriage, this is at least a step in the right direction.
There's an endless cycle of appeals and counter-appeals and legal briefs and rulings ahead for Proposition 8. It's no doubt going to wind up at the Supreme Court, and given the Court's generally conservative nature, it may be re-overturned there....but at least for today, I can dream for a bit about true equality.
But it's only a small step. Same-sex couples are only legally able to marry in six lousy states: Massachusetts, Iowa, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire and Washington DC. Why don't you get with the program, the rest of you, eh?
True love doesn't know from boundaries. It's color blind. It disregards orientation. It breaks through religious and cultural and political barriers. It finds a way....and while the gay and lesbian couples in California have been "finding a way" while Prop 8 was on the books, finding alternatives in civil union ceremonies or clandestine marriages that are nevertheless unrecognized by the state, I'm delighted to see a blow struck on the side of right this time. If you're an adult and making your own decisions, you should have the right to have sex with -- and marry -- whoever you damned well please. That is my firm belief.
-- PB
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Panserhistory, part 4: Faith
Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?
So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.
Part 4: Faith
Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.
Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.
Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.
I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.
When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.
One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.
A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?
In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.
Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.
The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.
The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.
And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.
That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.
And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.
We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.
We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.
But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.
One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.
In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.
In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.
And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).
-- PB
So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.
Part 4: Faith
Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.
Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.
Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.
I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.
When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.
One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.
A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?
In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.
Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.
The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.
The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.
And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.
That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.
And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.
We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.
We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.
But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.
One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.
In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.
In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.
And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).
-- PB
Sunday, December 27, 2009
100th Anniversary
I had intended to write up a quick fantasy about an airport encounter but just realized this is my 100th post since starting this journal in late August. I began this almost on a whim, as an outlet for my perverted thoughts and fantasies, and as a form of release for the relentless, insatiable drive inside me that has me thinking about sex fifty times a day. I also hoped that by writing about my thoughts and fantasies I'd find some ways to deal with the problems of my relationship. I had been reading plenty of other sex-related journals for weeks or months, and had always wanted to interact a bit more with those whose work I enjoyed reading, but without a proper identity it seemed a waste of time.
Thus, the creation of Insatiabear: A Panserbjørne's Musings. I created a new email account, set up a journal, wrote a couple of introductory posts, and began leaving comments on the journals I was already reading. I would add a few new journals to my watchlist every couple of days, and spout off about whatever was turning me on that particular day. I was gratified to have a few people start reading me regularly, leaving comments and even sending emails sometimes. Surprisingly, the response has been universally positive; I think I have yet to receive any negative comments in any medium.
Today, some four months later, I'm still enjoying the hell out of doing this. I can't say it's given me any real solutions to the problems in my relationship, but it's definitely allowed me to meet some amazingly talented and incredibly hot people through this odd little subculture of the Interwebs. I've greatly enjoyed getting to know some of you through your own writings, and I look forward to continuing that in the months (years?) to come.
So instead of an airport fantasy today, I'd like to toss out a very heartfelt thank you to all of you folks who like my scribblings, who encourage me with comments and emails and even the occasional naughty pictures. Thank you for being there, thank you for reading me, and thanks for the words of encouragement and criticism (yes, I do welcome that as well, if you have any comments in that direction). Thank you, my friends.
(And don't worry -- I'll write up that airport fantasy soon enough, as well as plenty of others that are percolating in my head. I'm the Insatiabear, you know. I never stop thinking about this stuff).
-- PB
Thus, the creation of Insatiabear: A Panserbjørne's Musings. I created a new email account, set up a journal, wrote a couple of introductory posts, and began leaving comments on the journals I was already reading. I would add a few new journals to my watchlist every couple of days, and spout off about whatever was turning me on that particular day. I was gratified to have a few people start reading me regularly, leaving comments and even sending emails sometimes. Surprisingly, the response has been universally positive; I think I have yet to receive any negative comments in any medium.
Today, some four months later, I'm still enjoying the hell out of doing this. I can't say it's given me any real solutions to the problems in my relationship, but it's definitely allowed me to meet some amazingly talented and incredibly hot people through this odd little subculture of the Interwebs. I've greatly enjoyed getting to know some of you through your own writings, and I look forward to continuing that in the months (years?) to come.
So instead of an airport fantasy today, I'd like to toss out a very heartfelt thank you to all of you folks who like my scribblings, who encourage me with comments and emails and even the occasional naughty pictures. Thank you for being there, thank you for reading me, and thanks for the words of encouragement and criticism (yes, I do welcome that as well, if you have any comments in that direction). Thank you, my friends.
(And don't worry -- I'll write up that airport fantasy soon enough, as well as plenty of others that are percolating in my head. I'm the Insatiabear, you know. I never stop thinking about this stuff).
-- PB
Friday, December 4, 2009
Christmas Warmth
I do love Christmas music (almost seventy albums' worth of the stuff) and it's most of what I play in December. The timeless tunes, interpreted so many different ways. Traditional vocal and orchestra; spacey synth arrangements; rock guitar instrumentals; rock opera; pop flavored; ethereal new age; remixed electro/techno renditions; dancehall/reggae; acoustic piano or guitar; blues or jazz. Not to mention the classic crooners like Crosby and Sinatra.
Invariably during the Christmas season, though, I'll be out shopping somewhere and I'll see a Santa somewhere with his Christmas elves. And my perverted mind will drift off (as it does) to images of a hot blonde dressed in a sexy elf outfit with Santa hat on top, wiggling her finger at me and saying, "I need MY stocking to be stuffed, Santa." This is a longtime favorite and it gets frequent mileage during the holiday season. I also have fond memories of a Christmas Eve where my partner-at-the-time and I sat up watching a fire, snuggling close, sipping hot chocolate, and then sipping from each other, making love in front of the dancing flames.
How about you? Got any Christmas-related fantasies or sexy Christmas memories?
-- PB
Invariably during the Christmas season, though, I'll be out shopping somewhere and I'll see a Santa somewhere with his Christmas elves. And my perverted mind will drift off (as it does) to images of a hot blonde dressed in a sexy elf outfit with Santa hat on top, wiggling her finger at me and saying, "I need MY stocking to be stuffed, Santa." This is a longtime favorite and it gets frequent mileage during the holiday season. I also have fond memories of a Christmas Eve where my partner-at-the-time and I sat up watching a fire, snuggling close, sipping hot chocolate, and then sipping from each other, making love in front of the dancing flames.
How about you? Got any Christmas-related fantasies or sexy Christmas memories?
-- PB
Monday, November 16, 2009
Microfantasy Monday Week #54: "Games"
Tanya smiled to herself, anticipating his arrival in a few minutes.
Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.
Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.
But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."
The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.
But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?
(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.)
-- PB
Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.
Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.
But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."
The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.
But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?
(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.)
-- PB
Friday, November 6, 2009
How do *you* define "cougar"?
I've read a couple of stories or comics recently that had me blinking in surprise. In all three of them (no, I won't provide links, because I honestly don't remember where they were -- this has been kicking around my head for days), the phrase "cougar" was used to refer to a woman who was "30 or older" and "usually considered to be past her sexual prime".
I reacted in two ways to this. Firstly, I went "You're considered to be a cougar now if you're over THIRTY? Isn't that kind of young for the appellation?" I mean, I'd always thought that the phrase "cougar" referred to mature women in their late forties and fifties.These stories, though, were implying that you were a cougar if you were thirty or older. That seemed ridiculous -- just artificially low to me.
Then I looked at it further, at the idea that cougars are "past their sexual prime", and at that I had plenty to say, but "Bollocks!" was the first I came up with. For one thing, wasn't the statistic for years that men reach their sexual peak at 18, while women don't do so until they turn 36? Used to see that pair of statistics around every corner, for years. For another thing, how many of the women in the sex-journalling world are in their thirties, or their forties and fifties? A scan of my watchlist turns up several in your thirties, plus a few more in your forties, and yes, a few in your fifties. And all of you have hearty and healthy appetites -- in fact, some of you have damn near incredible appetites. "Past their sexual prime", pfah. What a load of crap.
Anyway, this got me wondering -- what do YOU think a "cougar" is? Late forties? Fifties? Is it age-related only? Or do you buy this garbage about thirty being the cutoff point? Have cougars really passed their sexual peak, or do you agree that's crap as well? Or is it just that "cougars" go exclusively after men who are younger than they, and so you exhibit cougar behaviors even at thirty if you're chasing men who're in their twenties? I'm lost here.
For my part, I think I must be getting up there in my dotage as well, because a lot of the college students I see in my town look to me like they're twelve years old. Sure, some of 'em have nice hard bodies, but I hear snippets of their conversation and the banalities they talk about, and my interest in them shrinks to less than zero. There's got to be a brain there if I'm going to give a damn, no matter how hot you are, and the plain fact is that older women have had more life experiences and are more mature just by virtue of that.
Disclaimer: Don't for a second think that I'm singling out the younger ladies in the crowd for unfair finger-pointing. I can think of any number of you that are in your twenties, or younger -- Amy , Coquitten , Amorous Rocker and (I think) Ang come immediately to mind -- but you're smart too, and that's why you've got my attention, not just because of your pert young flesh. Although I won't lie, that does catch my interest as well. :)
So if I'm a cougar-watcher for loving women that are thirty and up, well, then, I guess you'd better cuff me, Officer. Oh, what's that, officer? You're over thirty too? Then why the cuffs? Oh. ..........Ohhh!!! Well, lead the way, then........
Rrrrrowr. Gotta love them cougars. And all the rest of you hotties as well. Regardless of age.
-- PB
I reacted in two ways to this. Firstly, I went "You're considered to be a cougar now if you're over THIRTY? Isn't that kind of young for the appellation?" I mean, I'd always thought that the phrase "cougar" referred to mature women in their late forties and fifties.These stories, though, were implying that you were a cougar if you were thirty or older. That seemed ridiculous -- just artificially low to me.
Then I looked at it further, at the idea that cougars are "past their sexual prime", and at that I had plenty to say, but "Bollocks!" was the first I came up with. For one thing, wasn't the statistic for years that men reach their sexual peak at 18, while women don't do so until they turn 36? Used to see that pair of statistics around every corner, for years. For another thing, how many of the women in the sex-journalling world are in their thirties, or their forties and fifties? A scan of my watchlist turns up several in your thirties, plus a few more in your forties, and yes, a few in your fifties. And all of you have hearty and healthy appetites -- in fact, some of you have damn near incredible appetites. "Past their sexual prime", pfah. What a load of crap.
Anyway, this got me wondering -- what do YOU think a "cougar" is? Late forties? Fifties? Is it age-related only? Or do you buy this garbage about thirty being the cutoff point? Have cougars really passed their sexual peak, or do you agree that's crap as well? Or is it just that "cougars" go exclusively after men who are younger than they, and so you exhibit cougar behaviors even at thirty if you're chasing men who're in their twenties? I'm lost here.
For my part, I think I must be getting up there in my dotage as well, because a lot of the college students I see in my town look to me like they're twelve years old. Sure, some of 'em have nice hard bodies, but I hear snippets of their conversation and the banalities they talk about, and my interest in them shrinks to less than zero. There's got to be a brain there if I'm going to give a damn, no matter how hot you are, and the plain fact is that older women have had more life experiences and are more mature just by virtue of that.
Disclaimer: Don't for a second think that I'm singling out the younger ladies in the crowd for unfair finger-pointing. I can think of any number of you that are in your twenties, or younger -- Amy , Coquitten , Amorous Rocker and (I think) Ang come immediately to mind -- but you're smart too, and that's why you've got my attention, not just because of your pert young flesh. Although I won't lie, that does catch my interest as well. :)
So if I'm a cougar-watcher for loving women that are thirty and up, well, then, I guess you'd better cuff me, Officer. Oh, what's that, officer? You're over thirty too? Then why the cuffs? Oh. ..........Ohhh!!! Well, lead the way, then........
Rrrrrowr. Gotta love them cougars. And all the rest of you hotties as well. Regardless of age.
-- PB
Friday, September 25, 2009
Saddened
One thing I have noticed over and over and over as I browse around the world of sex journals is that there are an awful lot of unhappy or unfulfilled people. In unhappy marriages, unhappy relationships, unhappy life situations. Their husbands won't talk to them, or their wives won't have sex with them anymore, or they're horribly depressed or confused about the raging drives inside them.
This saddens me. I'm a cynic, but I would like to believe that people are smarter than this. I have to wonder how much of this is due to upbringing and my culture's repressed views on sexuality in general (most of the journals I've added so far are written by people based in the United States, where sex is sold on every street corner but rarely taught or explained properly). Is it a cultural thing? Or are there just as many sad and confused people in (say) China or Ecuador and Russia? I have seen journal after journal talk about how they got married after only one or two partners and then discovered that they weren't sexually compatible with the one they married. I've seen so many people talk about how their sex drive is so radically different from their partner's. Hell, I'm even one of them. My own relationship is struggling because I have trouble getting her to talk to me about anything in general, much less our sex life.
Communication has to be a factor in all relationships. Over and over I read about problems that could be solved by communicating, but over and over I read that the writer has tried time and time again to communicate with their partner and they just aren't listening, or aren't receptive, or don't seem to have any interest in working out the problems. Relationships have to be two-way for them to work, people. If you can't talk to your partner or they won't talk to you, there's lots of other trouble afoot besides whatever may be wrong with your sex life. And that saddens me too, knowing that there are so many disintegrating relationships out there.
Yes, I realize that people grow and change, expand and contract, slide sideways or forwards or away from what they were months or years ago. Good partners don't mind that, or can expand and contract and slide along with you. But I know there's a point of no return, beyond which you have to say "enough is enough". Some people change to the point where you barely recognize them anymore, and the person that you fell in love with is no longer the person you wake up next to every day. And then it's all over but the tears and recriminations. What's worse is when you want to love them still -- when you don't want to give up what you had with them -- when you try to apply bandages and spackle and duct tape to hold together the structure that's creaking and toppling. Sometimes a clean break is better. But what if you break off and then discover it was the worst mistake of your life? That you were never happier than when you were with them, even during the sad times?
One of the reasons I started this journal was to explore and question. I read journals from people who are cheating without their partner's knowledge. This one is tired of talking to him because for years he hasn't listened to a word she's said. This one is so starved for attention of any kind that he furtively posts on adult sites, meeting for rendezvouses that he admits leave him sexually fulfilled but emotionally empty. This one has been to counseling more times than she can count but her partner won't reach out to bridge the gaps or won't admit there are issues; so she meets her lover in secret weekly and is never happier.
Others cheat with full knowledge of their partner. Which raises the question, is it really cheating if you have permission? Here's a couple in a completely open relationship, who hold nothing back, not even their sweaty trysts with the multiple other lovers they share; yet they still come back to each other time and time again, stronger and renewed. Here's a husband whose wife has given him permission to go find sex somewhere other than with her because she loves him, but doesn't care about sex anymore. Here's a wife whose hubby gets off on the idea of her with other men and likes to watch them, but has no interest in outside sex at all. She's all he needs.
Differences, differences. The world spins, and people interact, and everyone's different. How can you possibly know when you're getting involved with someone if that same magic and excitement is going to still be there years down the road? Are we constructed to find a life partner and stick with them forever? Or is it in human nature to be happier with successions of relationships, changing needs and circumstances? Or are "open" relationships, with one primary partner and several other secondary satellites, really models that work?
I don't have any answers. I don't even have any idea where these philosophical rumblings came from, but hell, this is my space and I'll muse if I want to. Nyah.
-- PB
This saddens me. I'm a cynic, but I would like to believe that people are smarter than this. I have to wonder how much of this is due to upbringing and my culture's repressed views on sexuality in general (most of the journals I've added so far are written by people based in the United States, where sex is sold on every street corner but rarely taught or explained properly). Is it a cultural thing? Or are there just as many sad and confused people in (say) China or Ecuador and Russia? I have seen journal after journal talk about how they got married after only one or two partners and then discovered that they weren't sexually compatible with the one they married. I've seen so many people talk about how their sex drive is so radically different from their partner's. Hell, I'm even one of them. My own relationship is struggling because I have trouble getting her to talk to me about anything in general, much less our sex life.
Communication has to be a factor in all relationships. Over and over I read about problems that could be solved by communicating, but over and over I read that the writer has tried time and time again to communicate with their partner and they just aren't listening, or aren't receptive, or don't seem to have any interest in working out the problems. Relationships have to be two-way for them to work, people. If you can't talk to your partner or they won't talk to you, there's lots of other trouble afoot besides whatever may be wrong with your sex life. And that saddens me too, knowing that there are so many disintegrating relationships out there.
Yes, I realize that people grow and change, expand and contract, slide sideways or forwards or away from what they were months or years ago. Good partners don't mind that, or can expand and contract and slide along with you. But I know there's a point of no return, beyond which you have to say "enough is enough". Some people change to the point where you barely recognize them anymore, and the person that you fell in love with is no longer the person you wake up next to every day. And then it's all over but the tears and recriminations. What's worse is when you want to love them still -- when you don't want to give up what you had with them -- when you try to apply bandages and spackle and duct tape to hold together the structure that's creaking and toppling. Sometimes a clean break is better. But what if you break off and then discover it was the worst mistake of your life? That you were never happier than when you were with them, even during the sad times?
One of the reasons I started this journal was to explore and question. I read journals from people who are cheating without their partner's knowledge. This one is tired of talking to him because for years he hasn't listened to a word she's said. This one is so starved for attention of any kind that he furtively posts on adult sites, meeting for rendezvouses that he admits leave him sexually fulfilled but emotionally empty. This one has been to counseling more times than she can count but her partner won't reach out to bridge the gaps or won't admit there are issues; so she meets her lover in secret weekly and is never happier.
Others cheat with full knowledge of their partner. Which raises the question, is it really cheating if you have permission? Here's a couple in a completely open relationship, who hold nothing back, not even their sweaty trysts with the multiple other lovers they share; yet they still come back to each other time and time again, stronger and renewed. Here's a husband whose wife has given him permission to go find sex somewhere other than with her because she loves him, but doesn't care about sex anymore. Here's a wife whose hubby gets off on the idea of her with other men and likes to watch them, but has no interest in outside sex at all. She's all he needs.
Differences, differences. The world spins, and people interact, and everyone's different. How can you possibly know when you're getting involved with someone if that same magic and excitement is going to still be there years down the road? Are we constructed to find a life partner and stick with them forever? Or is it in human nature to be happier with successions of relationships, changing needs and circumstances? Or are "open" relationships, with one primary partner and several other secondary satellites, really models that work?
I don't have any answers. I don't even have any idea where these philosophical rumblings came from, but hell, this is my space and I'll muse if I want to. Nyah.
-- PB
Monday, September 14, 2009
Isn't it a great time to be a sex maniac?
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