In Which Simon Initiates, Carnita Sees a Ghost, and Something's Rotten in the State

As I was leaving my favorite breakfast biscuit joint this morning, Anthony, one of my deliciously gorgeous martial arts instructors, pulled up beside me in the parking lot.

Now, lately this wonderful thing has begun to happen with him. On the one hand, the fact that he always takes at least a moment to make eye contact and greet me in particular whenever I come to the dojang presents a clear message: we are beginning recognize each other as humans over and above the generic culture of the school. (It turns out, however, that it is easy to find yourself unaccountably attracted to people who you train with like that.) The opening of connections between myself and others is a beautiful thing in life that I totally live for, regardless of the circumstance.

On the other hand, I just can't help by being especially charmed and intrigued because of how amazingly attractive this guy is. A broad-shouldered handsome Italian with curly, bronzy-brown hair, a sexy voice, and a body that is beautiful and powerful as a predatory cat. I would be happy to watch him do forms all day.

I can't tell if I am imagining a more doting tone in his glance. Probably not; most women can tell these things, read these looks on men's faces. But it doesn't matter in the slightest, except as fun fantasy material. We are both happily married, and he has a couple of kids. Neither of us would go there. Nevertheless, I can't help indulging the part of me that wonders what the hell he is thinking.

So when Anthony pulled his big black work truck up next to me, I immediately recognized the vehicle and waved. He had seen me too. He got out of the truck abruptly and came to my window.

"Coming or going?" he aks with little crooked half-smile. We're beyond pleasantries, are we?

"Going. I have to go find parking at the college. It's difficult at the beginning of the semester."

"I see." That was almost all, except for his obvious disappointment that we wouldn't be having breakfast together. I wish I could have stayed.

In other adventures, two weeks ago, Simon and I had sex with a woman together for the first time. It was fun for me, but completely unexpected and at a less-than ideal time. I was exhausted and it was at least 3:00 am before this even got started. I was so tired that my memory is a bit fuzzy. I can't remember how my cunt got literally sliced open; there was a little bleeding cut on the inside that hurt and kept me from having sex for days. I can't remember when Simon would have acquired an enormous, dark hickey, either--that's not really my style, so it had to have been Gina. I'm thinking my cut must have come from her fingernails.

In retrospect, the most significant thing about the whole scene was the fact that Simon initiated it without my help or knowledge. I didn't even intuit that any electricity was passing between the two of them until it was already happening. Not only that, but he had a lot of real, hard, intense vaginal intercourse with Gina. (I never had vaginal intercourse with James.) This, coming from the guy who is always saying that he is "naturally monogamous," that he "never knows when girls are hitting on him," and that the goal of experimenting with other people is mostly to connect more with me. Ha! The stories we tell ourselves...

He assures me that this does not mean that the rules have changed, or are on the way to changing, or anything of the sort.  = / 

The thing that bothered me about the Gina episode after the fact was my realization that if the reverse occurred--if I started making out with another guy when Simon was fairly close by in hopes that we could both get it on with guy #2--then by our current rules, it is highly unlikely that I would get what I wanted out of the situation. In fact, it would likely be so obvious that this is somehow "not the same," meaning that the prospects for group sex with a man actually happening are so low--and everyone knows it!--that Simon might feel offended or jealous because he thinks I must be up to something that is against the rules. Maybe that's not exactly how it would go down, but several other likely alternatives are equally shitty. For example: Guy #2 freaks out when I suggest that we sleep with my husband, thinks horrible things about me/us, and never wants to speak to me/us again. In my opinion and experience, this is a more probable outcome than the three of us actually ending up sleeping together.

Just look at what happened the only time we've been there, with James: he freaked out, couldn't handle what he had done, regretted entangling himself, had anxious doubts about his sexuality, and is now not speaking to us at all. Although he didn't have reservations before it happened and everything was entirely consensual, having sex with us destabilized his (albeit weak) sense of self-identity...and I would really, really prefer for these adventures of ours not to result in our sexual partners feeling worse off the morning after than they were if they had never met us!

On the other hand, Gina and I have hung out amicably since we got naked together, and everything is fine. We talked about that night, and we talked more about completely unrelated topics. I have a feeling that this is more likely to continue to be the case with female group sex partners.  

The problem is that I prefer to sleep with men.

I'd like to say more about the social circumstances that create this unequal dynamic. Generally speaking, men who consider themselves to be mostly heterosexual seem to have to cling harder to and more fiercely patrol their sexual identities to feel "right" than women do. Men are less often interested in sharing even a mostly-hetero oriented sexual experience with another man, for fear of the "ick factor" (which is of course just a social construction of heterosexuality and homophobia enforcing itself through them). There are way, way more women who would be game to sleep with a man and a woman at the same time than there are men who would willingly get intimate with both. Of course this circumstance pisses me off. Regardless, it may continue to negatively affect the satisfaction I get out of my sex life for...well, my whole life.

I guess that's a major downer, huh? Am I worrying too much here? Am I setting myself up to manifest problems rather than the sensual delights I want? Perhaps. But I doubt anyone could argue with me about the core issue of how male homophobia affects the probability that "straight" men will consider group sexual interaction alongside another man. Le sigh.

Seeing James didn't help my generally addled mood last week. He is apparently attending classes at the college where I teach. He sat about thirty feet from me across the tutoring lab for over an hour and a half. I walked right by him at least five times, and he would not even so much as look at me. I was furious for a little while after that, and then I was just unspeakably sad for a long while.

As soon as I left the lab, I sent him a very short text message that received the most predictable reply possible:

Me: "Chickenshit."
James: "Who is this???"

Signing off,
Girl Whose Number He Deleted

The Journal of Scott LaDouche, Entry #1

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Introducing Guest Blogger Scott LaDouche!

I am pleased to introduce Scott LaDouche, a blossoming young writer who occasionally indulges his kinky side. With a little luck, I will be able to convince him to continue writing down all his dirty little confessions and sending them along to carnal porridge. The post following this one is the first of what I hope will become a series. Later, if we see more of Mr. LaDouche, you will be able to find his posts by clicking his tag in the navigation sidebar.

Scott and I have known each other since high school, when we briefly dated--very briefly, even for a high school affair. Making out was, for us, an entree to friendship, rather than the other way around. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks, right Scott?

Anyhow, until very recently, we had alternated between little to no contact since he left our home town and joined the Navy. A few weeks ago, I was reminded of his refreshingly raw brand of wit--some might call it a penchant for shocking the faint of heart, a habit of which I am also often accused--by a facebook comment in which he called someone or other a "PC liberal faggot junkie." Somehow this started an exchange that resulted in discovering our common interest in erotica or porn or whatever we're doing here. Scott sent me a manuscript and kindly allowed me to take and lightly edit the bits I wanted to put up on the blog.

So, without further ado, please welcome Mr. Scott LaDouche to carnal porridge.