What does it mean to be Polyamorous? (What does it mean for you?)
Polyamory is more than just a choice made out of desperation for me; it actually represents a lot about how I view the world in a more general way. I chose it quite intentionally after much consideration over many years, both because it seemed to reflect the way I experience love better than monogamy (and all the cultural constructs that surround more standard relationship dynamics) and, perhaps even more importantly, because it gives me a chance to be the change that I want to see in the world, as the famous saying goes. Here's the gist of the philosophy I ascribe to that informs my choice to self-identify as polyamorous:
I believe that love, by its nature, is bountiful and abundant. The truest experience of loving resists the "banking" model, which relies on scarcity as its fundamental operating principle. While there may only be so many natural resources in the world, for example, that we can "use up," love is not an exhaustible resource. I, like many other poly people, actually regularly experience the way loving creates more available energy for guess what? More love. And if love (and all the ways of expressing it) can multiply in this way, then we can save the fucking world and transcend a lot of this bullshit we bring upon ourselves. Polyamory is only on way that I strive to enact this principle in my day-to-day life.
Love is not jealous, and love does not seek to possess its object. We may experience jealousy over people whom we love, but we must never mistake this for love itself, just as we should never interpret homicidal rage as its own justification for killing. Jealousy is a base emotion that we would do best to work on eliminating if we want to achieve true emotional maturity and the ability to transcend the fears and insecurities and power-mongering behaviors that rule so many aspects of our interactions with one another.
People need all kinds of things from their human interactions. (Well, at least some of us do!) We are more free to individuate as humans and become more fully ourselves when we are not expected to fulfill all of any one person's interpersonal needs. Likewise, when we do not allow anyone else to force us to fulfill all of his/her/zir needs, we are liberated from the narrowing influence that so many monogamous relationships enforce upon their participants. Thus, in an ideal polyamorous world, we could all flourish and grow and change as our spirits dictate while also getting our needs for intimacy and community met.
And finally, I believe that the basic purpose of life is fulfillment and pleasure. Just take one look at most American marriages and you can probably see why I think that anything, dear god anything, other than that particular misery seems like a better way to achieve the purpose of life. So why not set to work with the infinitely creative task of figuring out, more precisely, how to love well outside that tired old framework? I guarantee that my love life feels much more like play than most people's, and even the work that I get done within my relationships is more creative and fulfilling. I look around me and see so many sad, broken people trying to validate their lives through life-long monogamous partnerships that eventually become more about difficulty and resentment than about love. I just want to shake them and scream, "There is another way! All that misery is a trick! This is not 'the way things are' unless you want it to be so!"
How old were you when you made the decision to become Polyamorous?
I had been toying with the idea since very early in my sexual development, and I had several failed trials in my twenties, but I finally committed to it when I was 26. It has been about a year now.
How is a Polyamorous relationship different than an open relationship?
This seems like a purely semantic distinction to me most of the time, but the basic difference in whether people choose to identify one way or the other seems to lie in how seriously they take it. As you can tell, I take my polyamorous self-identity fairly seriously. I am rigorous about living by a certain set of principles that guide all of my interactions with others. People who call their relationships simply "open," however, seem to think of it as more of an anomaly, or unrelated to their core beliefs. Perhaps they are simply more casual about it.
It seems to me that at any time, someone in a so-called open relationship can flee the scene and go back to monogamy. I do not see this as an option for myself, nor do I want it to be. Some people who call themselves polyamorous, however, would argue that it is only possible to be poly if one is in a serious primary partnership. By these people's definition, I would not even qualify to call myself poly because I am currently a single person with several intimate friends. Obviously, I disagree with these people.
So, as you can see, there is a lot of fuzziness surrounding these definitions, and in some ways, I believe that this uncertainty is appropriate because language is a slippery rascal.
What new insights have you gained becoming Polyamorous?
See question 1.
Why was polyamory a good thing for you?
See question 1. Basically, it makes more sense to me because I (usually) get all the intimacy I need in a setup that feels beautifully anti-authoritarian and highly evolved. The aesthetics of a life without chains appeals much more to my taste than that of a life characterized by other ideals like "duty" or "self-sacrifice."
What were your initial thoughts of being Polyamorous, before you became Polyamorous?
I had a lot of confused thoughts about it, but these were mostly attributable to the fact that I was not yet ready to fully say "fuck you" to a lot of the nasty voices in my head that try to enforce my culture's value system on me. These are the same voices that say things like, "You aren't a valid woman unless you can find a man to complete you! You aren't attractive/skinny/interesting/creative enough! You're weird and unnatural for not wanting children! You'll never be truly successful until you can buy a lot of stuff!" And so on. Once I realized how much of my life was controlled by all these messages, I felt I had no choice but to slice the little demons to bits and start over. Polyamory was one of the things that I discovered soon afterwards as a way to express my resistance.
I hung on for a long time, though, trying to convince myself that there must be a Very Good Reason why most people believe what they believe about love and relationships, but the longer this went on, the more I had to acknowledge how false it felt. I had to finally recognize something to the effect of that old cliché: just because everyone else is jumping off a certain bridge doesn't mean that I should. And in fact, my conscience would not let me do so. I don't know who or what I have to thank for the strength of that conscience, but I am grateful.
After becoming PA, Did you tell your parents?
I have told my mother, and she is still very uncomfortable with it, but the conversation is starting to open up. I don't think I need to bother trying to explain it to my father yet; I love him and want to share my life with him, but he is a very simple and throughly brainwashed guy. Eventually, I may feel like I need to tell him.
If yes, what were their reactions and how did they feel about this?
See above.
How do you feel society views Polyamorous people?
I may have a distorted view in some ways because 1.) I live in a town where there are plenty of weirdos, and 2.) I have a strong and confident personality, and people with less solid opinions don't tend to argue with me. I have actually had many people become very interested in finding out more when I've told them I was poly, and several couples I've spoken to about my lovestyle have ended up making the transition themselves.
Nevertheless, we are a poorly understood and feared sexual minority. I think that many people view us as deluded idealists who just want a way to justify our inability to fit in and/or our addiction to sex. I don't feel at all threatened by that analysis, but I realize that people's assumptions can and probably will affect my life negatively. I am sure, for instance, that if too many of the wrong people around my workplace found out about me, I could easily lose my job. (I am a community college teacher.) No such thing would happen to someone who is openly gay, for instance. I doubt it would even happen to someone who was discovered in a cheating-type affair with a student.
Is the community bigger than one might think?
Yes, perhaps, depending on what one thinks. There are also plenty of people who may not yet know that they are on a path to eventually pursue polyamory...like, for instance, many of my lovers. =)
Have there been/have you noticed/ what are (if any) consequences of a Polyamorous relationship. In other words, do you feel you have sacrificed anything becoming Polyamorous?
I have given up the ability to use simple terms that people can easily compute to describe my relationships. I have given up a fundamental ability to "pass" as normal. Luckily, those were never things I was terribly interested in.
Another thing I've sacrificed is a wide dating pool. Most people aren't interested in getting very involved with someone who won't even feign the intent of promising them monogamy, and it is totally unethical for me to pretend that things are otherwise in order to snag a monogamous person I may be crushing on. So, I get rejected a lot, and I have to make the executive decision not to pursue others whom I know don't "get it," even if they are otherwise totally delicious and interesting. Fortunately, I am pretty skilled at coping with rejection in healthy ways.
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VS. Monogamy
Are there different focus areas of the relationship when being polyamorous?
Highly developed communication skills are absolutely vital for the success of poly relationships. These take a lot of practice to master. I am by no means at a place of mastery, and even if I were, the people I meet are all at different levels in their development of these skills. Effective communication requires a lot more than words and gestures; it also demands that we learn to understand our own emotions in ways that society does not teach us or even encourage us to.
We also have to maintain a willingness to make mistakes and forgive ourselves and one another for the inevitable occurrence of crossing each other's boundaries in ways that bring up uncomfortable feelings. After all, we are in uncharted territory and we're making it all up as we go along. Monogamous relationships, in my experience, tend to come along with ready-made scripts, but the parameters of poly relationships are always changing and adjusting to the needs of the people involved in them.
In terms of maintaining an intimate relationship with each other, how would you compare the intimacy of monogamy vs the intimacy of polyamory?
Forced intimacy isn't as intimate. Therefore, the intimacy I've experienced in poly relationships, where choice and intention are paramount, has generally been of a much higher quality than most things I experienced in monogamous relationships. My connections to my partners have attained depths that were difficult to achieve when I felt the context of monogamous restriction rising up around me. My choice to be with whichever partner I am sharing my time and space with often feels more significant or meaningful these days, rather than some necessary "next step" in an inexorable process that is constantly striving towards pair-bonding.
Is there a “Standard” structure in polyamorous relationships (Primary and secondary partners?)
Hell no. "Standards" are the tools of the enemy, the status quo. The only standard any of us need to hold ourselves to is active care and compassion for ourselves and those we love, and we should love everyone.
As far as primary and secondary and tertiary and yadda yadda yadda goes, people can knock themselves out with naming things however they feel comfortable. They're just names. Relationships will always transcend whatever you decide to call them.
Concerning Existing Relationships
In your relationship who’s decision was it to become polyamorous? How did it come about, and what was your SO’s reactions?
This assumes that I have a "primary." I don't. I used to, and I initiated it then, but we are no longer together and I am still polyamorous.
At the time, my partner was confused and uncomfortable with the revelation that I am poly. We tried to make it work for a while, but it became clear that it was taking too much of the wrong kind of effort. He eventually realized that he wanted monogamy, so we split. I am happy that he figured out what he really wanted and realized that he wasn't going to get it with me. He was very brave to seize what he knew he needed. We are still friends.
How was the relationship after the transition? (How has it improved, or did it become more stressful… did you find a new attitude towards your partner?)
There were ways in which everything improved for me because I was finally living and loving in a way that made sense to me, but I mentioned the complications in the above question. Furthermore, we had been experiencing problems that were not solvable by any other means than going our separate ways. These problems were both related to and separate from our poly transition.
Are there any jealousy issues while a partner had spent time (sexually and emotionally) with his other partner?
I don't struggle with jealousy nearly as much as many other people seem to, especially when my partners are talented/skilled at the art of staying focused on the present moment (i.e. interacting with me) when we are together. I am very lucky to have one current lover who is a shining example of this characteristic. He has other partners as well as a busy, active life that keeps us from seeing each other very often, but when we are together, time seems to slow down for us. We have an incredible depth of connection despite its infrequency. I would find it very difficult to muster up anything like jealousy towards his other partners; I mostly feel very happy for them, as I feel for myself, for having the opportunity to share intimate space with this amazing person.
The only time I ever got jealous over my recent ex-(primary) partner was when our roommate took beautiful photos of him with his other partner. I was actually only jealous that our roommate had never been so inspired to capture us on film in this way. Nevertheless, after I got over my minor upset, I proudly hung the photos in our living room.
The only other times I can think of are very specific and isolated instances. A few months back, I had one partner whom I was falling pretty hard for, but he also turned out to be monogamous in the end. Basically, even though he had two women in his life whom he liked and who liked him (or in my case, loved him), liked one another, AND were perfectly happy to share him, he still decided to choose. I was not chosen.
I was only jealous for a minute. That feeling was quickly replaced by sadness and grief that was as simple and clear as with any other sort of loss. The bitter irony is that she didn't choose him back. Now I'm doubly sad for my loss and for his.
Once I almost got jealous at the idea of my roommates hooking up with one another, but I'm not even sexually involved with either one of them. I just had a childish thought that if they shared some secret love affair and both lied to me about it, I would feel very sad and left out.
Does any of that even count as jealousy? I'm not sure. I feel so disconnected from that emotion that I can hardly remember what it is like. I didn't act on any of these things, and in fact, I am very committed to the principle that I will never act on any jealous feelings beyond talking about them, and more generally, that I will never blame another person for the way that I feel.
What do you as couples do to find a happy medium for everybody involved?
Talk, talk, talk, and meet one another's other loves. Care for everyone. Don't neglect anyone. Pay attention. And SHOW UP!--physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.
What have you learned about yourself, and what internal conflicts have you (and your s/o) overcame (trust, jealousy, communication, honesty) as a result of being Polyamorous?
See all of above.
Are there rules or guidelines for being in Polyamorous relationship?
Yes, and guidelines are a better term. Any more detailed guidelines fit into a few general principles: Seek consent. Do what you say you will do. Tell the truth, and live the truth. Own your own emotions. Communicate frequently. Take care of yourself. Give a shit.
Do these rules get stressed, or is it a flexible lifestyle?
We're all making it up as we go. Some people really like rules. Rules make some people feel safe. Others don't need so much to feel safe. Everyone has to decide on their own with their partners.
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Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
In Which Carnita Attempts Writing Fiction for the First Time in Years
The Web
I have loved him hopelessly ever since the moment he said to me, I will only leave this place with you tonight if we are going to fuck.
I felt then one of the last weak twinges of indignation about the raw facts of sexual difference. Loving him has since cleansed me of it, blasted it right out of me. Before and right then and after then, every hard little truth he let fall onto my head, like a peach plopping thunk into a bushel basket, would make my neck stiffen slightly with the struggle to make the load balance, but each time it got easier and I would regain my composure and feel strong and beautiful in my ability to keep walking. Keep walking. Keep meeting his gaze with dignity and dogged love. And it was very heavy, and I loved him more every time.
I would sometimes imagine myself as a single point in a glistening web of women that waved all around him. Each delicate juncture of filament had a name, a fond memory or two, and a number of shining orgasmic non-moments attached to it.
I imagined that I could walk up and touch every one of them, each little point of convergence yielding to the gentle pressure of my outstretched finger, that I could see with blinding clarity the shape of the woman there. She was still somewhere, going about her business, firing her clay pots or bringing food to a customer's table or dreaming about wild horses. She was a part of many other webs, but I loved her because she shared this particular one with me. Coming to know each one of the women helped me understand my own place, or my relational value, which can only ever be defined by difference.
This is what it means to be a woman: to have an essence as light as an empty Dixie cup, without weight or mass, decipherable only by the shape of the spaces between us.
He had forgotten some of their names, their memories left behind in other cities and past lives, so I would try to read the rippling motions for a sign that would indicate what to call her. If I couldn't make anything out, if the years had made this particular she recede too far for his memory to catch again, I would make up a name for her.
I'd say, Tell me about her.
He would think for a minute, his forehead wrinkling with the effort, and come up with a picture in his head: She was tall and sortof gawky, with no extra flesh anywhere, pelvic bones and knees sticking out all over the place. Fucking her was like falling into a pile of raw lumber. She made sounds in her throat like a choking cat. Her cunt always smelled faintly of biscuits, which made me hungry.
She sounds like a Miranda...
And I would be overwhelmed with love for her. The next time we fucked, I would whisper, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda into the space above his head where I saw her, leaning and watching us blankly, her nakedness made up of all joints and concave angles. Each time I conjured one of them, she would appear closer to us, until I was able, in the last days of the relationship, to tangle my fingers up in her hair and look deeply into her eyes right at the moment when I came.
At the moments of orgasm, we all dissolved into each other, into him, and became the same empty, unwavering center-point.
Now that he is out of my reach, I find myself wishing that all men made it so easy. I wish that every one carried around them such a vivid projection of their histories of love that they had no choice in the matter, that it would be as obvious as their external genitalia, that all I had to do was flick a light switch and see every Janie, Cassandra, Erin, Layna, and Valerie standing right in front of me.
But men no longer understand how to carry themselves on the outside. It seems that most of them retreat inwards in search of a place that is supposed to be an empty womb but never will be. Men are, on the whole, quite lost inside their own bodies.
That is why I have not loved another man since him.
I have loved him hopelessly ever since the moment he said to me, I will only leave this place with you tonight if we are going to fuck.
I felt then one of the last weak twinges of indignation about the raw facts of sexual difference. Loving him has since cleansed me of it, blasted it right out of me. Before and right then and after then, every hard little truth he let fall onto my head, like a peach plopping thunk into a bushel basket, would make my neck stiffen slightly with the struggle to make the load balance, but each time it got easier and I would regain my composure and feel strong and beautiful in my ability to keep walking. Keep walking. Keep meeting his gaze with dignity and dogged love. And it was very heavy, and I loved him more every time.
I would sometimes imagine myself as a single point in a glistening web of women that waved all around him. Each delicate juncture of filament had a name, a fond memory or two, and a number of shining orgasmic non-moments attached to it.
I imagined that I could walk up and touch every one of them, each little point of convergence yielding to the gentle pressure of my outstretched finger, that I could see with blinding clarity the shape of the woman there. She was still somewhere, going about her business, firing her clay pots or bringing food to a customer's table or dreaming about wild horses. She was a part of many other webs, but I loved her because she shared this particular one with me. Coming to know each one of the women helped me understand my own place, or my relational value, which can only ever be defined by difference.
This is what it means to be a woman: to have an essence as light as an empty Dixie cup, without weight or mass, decipherable only by the shape of the spaces between us.
He had forgotten some of their names, their memories left behind in other cities and past lives, so I would try to read the rippling motions for a sign that would indicate what to call her. If I couldn't make anything out, if the years had made this particular she recede too far for his memory to catch again, I would make up a name for her.
I'd say, Tell me about her.
He would think for a minute, his forehead wrinkling with the effort, and come up with a picture in his head: She was tall and sortof gawky, with no extra flesh anywhere, pelvic bones and knees sticking out all over the place. Fucking her was like falling into a pile of raw lumber. She made sounds in her throat like a choking cat. Her cunt always smelled faintly of biscuits, which made me hungry.
She sounds like a Miranda...
And I would be overwhelmed with love for her. The next time we fucked, I would whisper, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda into the space above his head where I saw her, leaning and watching us blankly, her nakedness made up of all joints and concave angles. Each time I conjured one of them, she would appear closer to us, until I was able, in the last days of the relationship, to tangle my fingers up in her hair and look deeply into her eyes right at the moment when I came.
At the moments of orgasm, we all dissolved into each other, into him, and became the same empty, unwavering center-point.
Now that he is out of my reach, I find myself wishing that all men made it so easy. I wish that every one carried around them such a vivid projection of their histories of love that they had no choice in the matter, that it would be as obvious as their external genitalia, that all I had to do was flick a light switch and see every Janie, Cassandra, Erin, Layna, and Valerie standing right in front of me.
But men no longer understand how to carry themselves on the outside. It seems that most of them retreat inwards in search of a place that is supposed to be an empty womb but never will be. Men are, on the whole, quite lost inside their own bodies.
That is why I have not loved another man since him.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
In Which Carnita Muses to Self: "Holy Cradle-Robbing Good Times, You Slutty Little Cougar-in-Training!"
Actually, I really hate the term "cougar" and the demeaning connotations it carries. (Of course, why would I be surprised at the range and breadth of possible insults that one could decide, in a pinch, to level against any sexually empowered woman? There is a ready-made label for any kind of woman or girl who is in charge of and/or enjoys her sexuality.) Some day, I fully plan on becoming one of these middle-aged hotties whom twentysomethings long to fuck. It sounds like a wonderful life of the sweetest community service I can imagine.
I just didn't expect that I would be getting in the game so early! So there's Peter, who is five years younger but astoundingly mature, and just last night I added to my collection a sweet young thing whom we'll call Colin. He is technically only three years younger, but he is clearly in a pretty different developmental place than I. We had a lovely conversation for hours into the night before I climbed on top of him in my car...but I kept having the sensation of playing a teacherish role in the situation.
But really, is there anything necessarily wrong with enjoying myself with a sweet, flipping gorgeous (and fully consenting-age) boy whom I like and who likes me? I guess when I put it as simply as that, the idea of an ethical quandary of some sort sounds silly and dramatic. If anything, I am much more capable than many younger women of protecting his heart, treating him like a valid human, and giving him mind-blowing sex. Furthermore, we both might have something to learn from crossing the age/experience gap. So I'm doing all his future partners a favor, and he is gifting me with the experience of navigating the ethics of loving a tender, delicate creature.
For example, how can I help him feel empowered despite his insecurities and avoid accidentally exploiting his less articulated sense of self-identity? Basically, how do I keep myself from unintentionally influencing him more than I should? To what extent is it acceptable to teach him the things that I believe really will help him to become a more empowered and individuated and whole person? These are the sorts of questions that I am asking myself.
I am reminded of a Dan Savage quote regarding ethics of the age gap. It said something to the effect that when fooling around with young'uns, the most important guiding rule is that you must do your utmost to leave them better than you found them. It's sortof a "leave no trace" approach to love, which has the double advantage of downplaying the effects of natural power dynamics and accounting for the need to care very intently for the younger partner's well-being. (What was this called in ancient Greece? Pederasty?)
I think that this mindful sort of approach seems completely sensible, so I'm going to go ahead and allow myself to look forward to my next tumble with this ohmygod beautiful creature I made out with last night. I just have to keep in mind, more than with a man who is an equal peer, that it is my goddess-given duty to pleasure him beyond his wildest dreams. Mrrrrow. Colin, baby, you're in deeeeeeeep trouble.
I just didn't expect that I would be getting in the game so early! So there's Peter, who is five years younger but astoundingly mature, and just last night I added to my collection a sweet young thing whom we'll call Colin. He is technically only three years younger, but he is clearly in a pretty different developmental place than I. We had a lovely conversation for hours into the night before I climbed on top of him in my car...but I kept having the sensation of playing a teacherish role in the situation.
But really, is there anything necessarily wrong with enjoying myself with a sweet, flipping gorgeous (and fully consenting-age) boy whom I like and who likes me? I guess when I put it as simply as that, the idea of an ethical quandary of some sort sounds silly and dramatic. If anything, I am much more capable than many younger women of protecting his heart, treating him like a valid human, and giving him mind-blowing sex. Furthermore, we both might have something to learn from crossing the age/experience gap. So I'm doing all his future partners a favor, and he is gifting me with the experience of navigating the ethics of loving a tender, delicate creature.
For example, how can I help him feel empowered despite his insecurities and avoid accidentally exploiting his less articulated sense of self-identity? Basically, how do I keep myself from unintentionally influencing him more than I should? To what extent is it acceptable to teach him the things that I believe really will help him to become a more empowered and individuated and whole person? These are the sorts of questions that I am asking myself.
I am reminded of a Dan Savage quote regarding ethics of the age gap. It said something to the effect that when fooling around with young'uns, the most important guiding rule is that you must do your utmost to leave them better than you found them. It's sortof a "leave no trace" approach to love, which has the double advantage of downplaying the effects of natural power dynamics and accounting for the need to care very intently for the younger partner's well-being. (What was this called in ancient Greece? Pederasty?)
I think that this mindful sort of approach seems completely sensible, so I'm going to go ahead and allow myself to look forward to my next tumble with this ohmygod beautiful creature I made out with last night. I just have to keep in mind, more than with a man who is an equal peer, that it is my goddess-given duty to pleasure him beyond his wildest dreams. Mrrrrow. Colin, baby, you're in deeeeeeeep trouble.
Monday, October 17, 2011
In Which Carnita Reflects Upon a Distressing Week of Ugly Patterns and Asks the Universe What It All Means
I am having trouble figuring out where to start with this one, so I'll just go. Organization be damned.
How about starting with a few things that are going well? Here are some:
I've crested a hill at work that I've been struggling to get over and that has kept me from writing much. This is a happy circumstance.
Things are still progressing nicely and at a sane pace with Peter; he and I have been swapping e-mails since I visited him, we have talked on the phone several times, and we have plans to see each other in my town--and in my bed with its new micro-suede comforter--this weekend.
I am thoroughly enjoying my apprenticeship with Gwen the jeweler, and a pretty significant-seeming friendship seems to be developing there, as well.
I fall more in love with my roommates all the time, and we are getting along swimmingly, as far as I can tell. Valerie is getting herself set up in our basement, and I am excited that she is excited. Harvey is as delicious as ever, and we keep ending up laying in beds together or giving each other massages. My only worry is that the depth and nature of my feelings for Harvey rather outpace the practical demands of our living situation, but we'll put that in brackets for now, over somewhere to the far left of the main plot line. The basic gist is nothing negative at all and therefore should not be too troublesome at this juncture: just that I notice that he is the only man in my life who makes me light up in a certain way, that when he is near I feel like he is just about the most fascinating and beautiful person in the world, that I crave his company, that I want to do things for him and take care of him whenever I can, and that I catch myself staring at him and wanting very much to touch him just about anytime he is around. His presence is perhaps more, um, physically and emotionally stirring than it used to be, but not unnervingly so. I find myself getting very anxious sometimes about the imminent possibility that he will find a partner who will sweep him away from me, and when I imagine this hypothetical woman, I feel violent towards her. I don't think that all of these things necessarily add up to some coherent whole that must be addressed in any particular way, but the take-away fact of the matter is that I love him hopelessly.
The three of us have decided to endeavor to quit smoking together. Harvey is way ahead of Valerie and me, but we have a soonish quit date in mind. I hope that we succeed.
I am arriving back at the desire to study martial arts again after only a month's official hiatus. I am still deciding whether to go back to the school this month or the next one.
Things about which I am ambivalent, or things that have created in me a mix of negative reactions and the sense of positive growth are as follows:
Gwen and I have been struggling to understand and get to know one another. We had something almost like an argument a few nights ago, but we resolved it and came to a better sort of relationship contract. It would be hard to describe it without going off on an enormous tangent. The friendship issues don't seem to interfere with our master/apprentice relationship in the studio.
I have to make a decision pretty soon about whether I will journey to Vietnam to teach English next summer. I also don't want to get too far into that backstory, but I can summarize by saying this: I don't particularly want to leave my life in my wonderful little mountain town at all, but my debt situation is such a pressing concern that the long-term trade-off of making enough money to eliminate my biggest financial problems may be enough to get me on that plane.
And finally, things that have been straightup nasty:
The friend of mine who has been around in my life for longer than anyone else--since we were twelve or thirteen--gave me a big, dramatic "fuck off" a few nights ago. Actually, her words were, "Blow it out your hipster ass," and then later, "Go slit your throat." She still has no coherent explanation for this sudden outburst of hatred except to claim that I am an "arrogant bitch." You can see why it is difficult to have a rational conversation with this woman, and why the story of our "friendship" has involved a lot of one-sided ick in which I abide by all my usual rules of engagement, but somehow, she is free to say and do whatever the fuck she wants. I grew out of the relationship long ago, but the shit hitting the fan all of a sudden and so dramatically was a little disquieting. (Peter's counsel about the matter seemed sound: it is easy in our culture to allow ourselves to imagine that abuse and love can coexist. They cannot. Stop imagining that they do, and you are one step closer to a sort of freedom.)
Two weeks or so ago, Caleb yelled at me over the phone for over an hour (about a comment I made that was somewhat inflammatory but for which I had apologized profusely) until I could sufficiently calm his insecurities into a seated position. We parted on an okay note, and he apologized. I did too, because I was sincerely sorry that we had fought over something that should have been more easily resolvable. This week, however, he dished out his issues to me for several hours and very much appreciated the swift kick in the ass that he got. We still have not seen each other, and I am not at all worried about it. I will fuck him no more forever. (Maybe.)
Two nights ago, a guy who works at a local club (who had captured my interest, but not the sexual sort, at an earlier time) came to my house after a show and got very irritated that I did not want to make out with him. He then felt the need to totally lay into me with a detailed criticism of the type of girl I am...saying, in not so many words, that I was a cock tease. I felt terrible about how I responded to the situation, that I had basically clammed up and failed to speak up for myself because I was tired and got triggered by how much repetition of the theme of nasty criticism that the universe seemed to see fit to bring into my life all week. I told him to leave, and it all felt just awful. I called him today and apologized, only for the fact that I had shut down so suddenly and possibly that I had not made my intentions sufficiently clear, but he was still completely firm in his resolve to stand on an untenable position. It felt only a little less awful, and only a bit more clear. Now I have an outstanding awkward situation with the person who sits at the door of one of my favorite bars. Yeesh.
For our last installment of ickies this week, I bring you the OKCupid Super Douche Without a Photo whose nasty comments fell perfectly out of the sky on the day after this thing with Bouncer Dude. (Suspicious? I am.) Our correspondence went like this:
Me (days before, after he shows up on my visitor list): Hmmm....I'm intrigued.
Him: I'm not. You seem like the typical [name of my town] cock-tease who is seeking an alpha who won't complain about your hairy pussy and armpits. We look at it occasionally for a larf of course. Give [name of other high match on OKC] another try, unless he's still on the 17 year old girl kick.
Me (not my finest moment): Poor thing. You actually have to LIVE with yourself. I hope the view from inside your ass, where your head seems to be stuck, is better than the one in the mirror. And if you're some douchebag who already knows me and doesn't have the nerve to say this to my face...well....I'm just so sorry for you. Poor baby.
[If I had it to do over again, I would have probably replied with something simple and clever and not so fucking reprehensibly compromising to my entire value system, like, "Oh pishposh, you must say that to all the girls."]
Him: Oh, the elite doth pity me! How it burns! The 30s roll ever on. You're not getting any younger and the men you want aren't getting any more attached. But no, it's everyone else. Couldn't be you.
Me: Elite? Would that it were so. Alas. You're right about one thing, though: it is actually me who draws that boundary. I am not at all interested in the sort of folks of my generation who are prone to get attached, and I have no desire to be attached. Needy, clingy, emotionally unstable, jealous incompetents who want monogamy, want to live with me or have children, and worst of all, suck in bed. No thanks. I'll take single with friendly joytoys status over that shit any day. I bet you'd be fun for an angry tumble if it weren't for how almost certain I am that you must either 1. be ugly, 2. be someone I already know, and/or 3. have intense mommy/ex-girlfriend issues. Otherwise, keep stoking that fire, baby. ;)
....So. There have been other little instances in the past few weeks of my seeming inability to get a hold of myself and get the fuck out of the USS Idiot Bitch even as the P.A. is screaming, "The ship is sinking! Abort! Abandon the vessel!" Nevertheless, a tiny part of me must admit that I sometimes believe the horribly cynical things I fired off in that last message.
I am exhausted with all these people and with the person that these situations keep turning me into. I think I'll do best, for the time being, to stick to what I know I love and loves me back. I hope that this little rumble doesn't indicate a more general trend of fucking shit up that awaits me. I am aware of it now, and I realize that I need to practice mindfulness in a much more intentional way, seeing as my actions seem to keep having so many unintentional results. I know that I am never as powerless as I may feel, but damn, I really feel weak and small right now. It's time to nestle into my cocoon and start becoming a motherfucking butterfly, bitches.
How about starting with a few things that are going well? Here are some:
I've crested a hill at work that I've been struggling to get over and that has kept me from writing much. This is a happy circumstance.
Things are still progressing nicely and at a sane pace with Peter; he and I have been swapping e-mails since I visited him, we have talked on the phone several times, and we have plans to see each other in my town--and in my bed with its new micro-suede comforter--this weekend.
I am thoroughly enjoying my apprenticeship with Gwen the jeweler, and a pretty significant-seeming friendship seems to be developing there, as well.
I fall more in love with my roommates all the time, and we are getting along swimmingly, as far as I can tell. Valerie is getting herself set up in our basement, and I am excited that she is excited. Harvey is as delicious as ever, and we keep ending up laying in beds together or giving each other massages. My only worry is that the depth and nature of my feelings for Harvey rather outpace the practical demands of our living situation, but we'll put that in brackets for now, over somewhere to the far left of the main plot line. The basic gist is nothing negative at all and therefore should not be too troublesome at this juncture: just that I notice that he is the only man in my life who makes me light up in a certain way, that when he is near I feel like he is just about the most fascinating and beautiful person in the world, that I crave his company, that I want to do things for him and take care of him whenever I can, and that I catch myself staring at him and wanting very much to touch him just about anytime he is around. His presence is perhaps more, um, physically and emotionally stirring than it used to be, but not unnervingly so. I find myself getting very anxious sometimes about the imminent possibility that he will find a partner who will sweep him away from me, and when I imagine this hypothetical woman, I feel violent towards her. I don't think that all of these things necessarily add up to some coherent whole that must be addressed in any particular way, but the take-away fact of the matter is that I love him hopelessly.
The three of us have decided to endeavor to quit smoking together. Harvey is way ahead of Valerie and me, but we have a soonish quit date in mind. I hope that we succeed.
I am arriving back at the desire to study martial arts again after only a month's official hiatus. I am still deciding whether to go back to the school this month or the next one.
Things about which I am ambivalent, or things that have created in me a mix of negative reactions and the sense of positive growth are as follows:
Gwen and I have been struggling to understand and get to know one another. We had something almost like an argument a few nights ago, but we resolved it and came to a better sort of relationship contract. It would be hard to describe it without going off on an enormous tangent. The friendship issues don't seem to interfere with our master/apprentice relationship in the studio.
I have to make a decision pretty soon about whether I will journey to Vietnam to teach English next summer. I also don't want to get too far into that backstory, but I can summarize by saying this: I don't particularly want to leave my life in my wonderful little mountain town at all, but my debt situation is such a pressing concern that the long-term trade-off of making enough money to eliminate my biggest financial problems may be enough to get me on that plane.
And finally, things that have been straightup nasty:
The friend of mine who has been around in my life for longer than anyone else--since we were twelve or thirteen--gave me a big, dramatic "fuck off" a few nights ago. Actually, her words were, "Blow it out your hipster ass," and then later, "Go slit your throat." She still has no coherent explanation for this sudden outburst of hatred except to claim that I am an "arrogant bitch." You can see why it is difficult to have a rational conversation with this woman, and why the story of our "friendship" has involved a lot of one-sided ick in which I abide by all my usual rules of engagement, but somehow, she is free to say and do whatever the fuck she wants. I grew out of the relationship long ago, but the shit hitting the fan all of a sudden and so dramatically was a little disquieting. (Peter's counsel about the matter seemed sound: it is easy in our culture to allow ourselves to imagine that abuse and love can coexist. They cannot. Stop imagining that they do, and you are one step closer to a sort of freedom.)
Two weeks or so ago, Caleb yelled at me over the phone for over an hour (about a comment I made that was somewhat inflammatory but for which I had apologized profusely) until I could sufficiently calm his insecurities into a seated position. We parted on an okay note, and he apologized. I did too, because I was sincerely sorry that we had fought over something that should have been more easily resolvable. This week, however, he dished out his issues to me for several hours and very much appreciated the swift kick in the ass that he got. We still have not seen each other, and I am not at all worried about it. I will fuck him no more forever. (Maybe.)
Two nights ago, a guy who works at a local club (who had captured my interest, but not the sexual sort, at an earlier time) came to my house after a show and got very irritated that I did not want to make out with him. He then felt the need to totally lay into me with a detailed criticism of the type of girl I am...saying, in not so many words, that I was a cock tease. I felt terrible about how I responded to the situation, that I had basically clammed up and failed to speak up for myself because I was tired and got triggered by how much repetition of the theme of nasty criticism that the universe seemed to see fit to bring into my life all week. I told him to leave, and it all felt just awful. I called him today and apologized, only for the fact that I had shut down so suddenly and possibly that I had not made my intentions sufficiently clear, but he was still completely firm in his resolve to stand on an untenable position. It felt only a little less awful, and only a bit more clear. Now I have an outstanding awkward situation with the person who sits at the door of one of my favorite bars. Yeesh.
For our last installment of ickies this week, I bring you the OKCupid Super Douche Without a Photo whose nasty comments fell perfectly out of the sky on the day after this thing with Bouncer Dude. (Suspicious? I am.) Our correspondence went like this:
Me (days before, after he shows up on my visitor list): Hmmm....I'm intrigued.
Him: I'm not. You seem like the typical [name of my town] cock-tease who is seeking an alpha who won't complain about your hairy pussy and armpits. We look at it occasionally for a larf of course. Give [name of other high match on OKC] another try, unless he's still on the 17 year old girl kick.
Me (not my finest moment): Poor thing. You actually have to LIVE with yourself. I hope the view from inside your ass, where your head seems to be stuck, is better than the one in the mirror. And if you're some douchebag who already knows me and doesn't have the nerve to say this to my face...well....I'm just so sorry for you. Poor baby.
[If I had it to do over again, I would have probably replied with something simple and clever and not so fucking reprehensibly compromising to my entire value system, like, "Oh pishposh, you must say that to all the girls."]
Him: Oh, the elite doth pity me! How it burns! The 30s roll ever on. You're not getting any younger and the men you want aren't getting any more attached. But no, it's everyone else. Couldn't be you.
Me: Elite? Would that it were so. Alas. You're right about one thing, though: it is actually me who draws that boundary. I am not at all interested in the sort of folks of my generation who are prone to get attached, and I have no desire to be attached. Needy, clingy, emotionally unstable, jealous incompetents who want monogamy, want to live with me or have children, and worst of all, suck in bed. No thanks. I'll take single with friendly joytoys status over that shit any day. I bet you'd be fun for an angry tumble if it weren't for how almost certain I am that you must either 1. be ugly, 2. be someone I already know, and/or 3. have intense mommy/ex-girlfriend issues. Otherwise, keep stoking that fire, baby. ;)
....So. There have been other little instances in the past few weeks of my seeming inability to get a hold of myself and get the fuck out of the USS Idiot Bitch even as the P.A. is screaming, "The ship is sinking! Abort! Abandon the vessel!" Nevertheless, a tiny part of me must admit that I sometimes believe the horribly cynical things I fired off in that last message.
I am exhausted with all these people and with the person that these situations keep turning me into. I think I'll do best, for the time being, to stick to what I know I love and loves me back. I hope that this little rumble doesn't indicate a more general trend of fucking shit up that awaits me. I am aware of it now, and I realize that I need to practice mindfulness in a much more intentional way, seeing as my actions seem to keep having so many unintentional results. I know that I am never as powerless as I may feel, but damn, I really feel weak and small right now. It's time to nestle into my cocoon and start becoming a motherfucking butterfly, bitches.
Monday, October 10, 2011
In Which Carnita Visits the Commune and Writes the Usual Letter That Will Not Be Sent
I am listening to organ fugues and solo cello concertos by Bach. Mmmm...
In a "why I like you" letter to Peter that I will most likely keep to my little self, I wrote yesterday (after returning from my visit to the intentional community where he lives):
[...] In no particular order, and in the knowledge that this is all very young, a few of the things that I adore about you and relating with you so far:
> The contagious effect of your comfort in your own skin--your way of shamelessly seizing, moment-to-moment, the experiences that you desire and value.
> The ease with which you seek and gain trust that is clearly deserved. Existing next to you, I feel naked. And let me tell you, the air outside of all that shame we are taught is crisp and inviting. You carry that air with you. If for some reason you decided tomorrow that sharing space with me isn't what you want or need, I would nonetheless feel incredibly grateful for your influence at this time of accelerated growth and metamorphosis in my life. Your intentions are something I know I can trust, regardless of the outcome of the relationship. I welcome that sort of energy because it helps to crowd out more chaotic varieties. I know that I cannot "protect" myself completely from needy, not-entirely-sane, or spiritually sick people because my life's purpose has much to do with helping them. But interacting with you has been a potent reminder that I need people in my life whose companionship represents trusting bonds with like-minded peers [....]
> Your highly individualized and refined balance of masculine and feminine essence. Without letting to much judgment enter the discourse (cuz Lawd knows I am an ally for trans liberation and whatnot), sometimes I have to wonder if some of my genderqueer and trans friends sell themselves short by missing out on the deeply spiritual significance of gender beyond body politics, questions of "presentation" and "passing" and "privilege," and the preoccupation with social identity. All of these things are important and present some radically liberating perspectives on the construction of gender; nevertheless, all of these discourses have in common that they never transcend the ego as the site of liberation. In this way, truth will always remain a question of social, cultural, and psychological relationships. I believe that if some of these friends of mine were to endeavor to imagine a realm beyond identity politics that speaks to a deeper truth about the ineffable relationship between embodiment as biologically sexed and socially gendered creatures with the dynamic interplay of energies in the cosmos (and the sub-atomic and cellular and and and)...well, I believe that if they would do this, they might find themselves living in greater abundance and balance and self-love. I experience you as a person who has that shit down.
While sexuality certainly isn't the only sphere in which this balance and dynamic interplay counts, it just as certainly does present a dramatic living metaphor, no matter the gender or sex of those involved. And this brings me to my point: sex with you feels almost genderless. My queer friends want a genderless society, but I wonder if any of them have experienced fucking a spiritual androgyne. (I have! And wow!) Perhaps if they did, they could calm down a bit, relax some tension in their poor shoulders that are perpetually harassed by anger, and stop bristling like cornered raccoons every time someone gets their preferred pronoun wrong. [...]
> Of course, ohmygawd, your lovely body. I imagine that you'll indulge me an animal metaphor here: your beauty strikes me as an equine sort. Running my fingers over the soft turgidity of your perfectly chiseled hipbones, your skin sortof shudders, almost imperceptibly, the way a horse's skin seems to crawl out from under a fly's legs. Unlike the befuddled fly, however, this subtle shiver just makes me want to have you in my mouth even more. If I'm ever upset and you need me to chill the fuck out, just unzip your pants and push my head under the table...
Speaking of which, the idea of you ordering me around is really fucking hot. How would you like to try being handed absolute power for a day? Do you think you could handle it? I certainly believe in you. My whole problem with experimenting with dominance games and role play in the past is probably pretty typical for strong women who desire to submit: it takes someone pretty special to make me believe it at all. You, on the other hand, could be an authority I can get behind...or on top of, or under, as the case may be. Any preposition in combination with any verb you desire, really, as long as it involves the imperative mood. (See, grammar can be sexy...)
That basically explains a lot of it. I had a fantastic time hanging out in the woods with Peter this weekend. We had dinner with people from his communal house, hopped in a sauna, had lots and lots of beautiful sex in a tiny cob cabin, took a little hike up into a gorgeous woodland holler, had more beautiful sex, talked a lot, and said hasta luego.
More later if I have time. Life is lovely and busy and wild right now!
In a "why I like you" letter to Peter that I will most likely keep to my little self, I wrote yesterday (after returning from my visit to the intentional community where he lives):
[...] In no particular order, and in the knowledge that this is all very young, a few of the things that I adore about you and relating with you so far:
> The contagious effect of your comfort in your own skin--your way of shamelessly seizing, moment-to-moment, the experiences that you desire and value.
> The ease with which you seek and gain trust that is clearly deserved. Existing next to you, I feel naked. And let me tell you, the air outside of all that shame we are taught is crisp and inviting. You carry that air with you. If for some reason you decided tomorrow that sharing space with me isn't what you want or need, I would nonetheless feel incredibly grateful for your influence at this time of accelerated growth and metamorphosis in my life. Your intentions are something I know I can trust, regardless of the outcome of the relationship. I welcome that sort of energy because it helps to crowd out more chaotic varieties. I know that I cannot "protect" myself completely from needy, not-entirely-sane, or spiritually sick people because my life's purpose has much to do with helping them. But interacting with you has been a potent reminder that I need people in my life whose companionship represents trusting bonds with like-minded peers [....]
> Your highly individualized and refined balance of masculine and feminine essence. Without letting to much judgment enter the discourse (cuz Lawd knows I am an ally for trans liberation and whatnot), sometimes I have to wonder if some of my genderqueer and trans friends sell themselves short by missing out on the deeply spiritual significance of gender beyond body politics, questions of "presentation" and "passing" and "privilege," and the preoccupation with social identity. All of these things are important and present some radically liberating perspectives on the construction of gender; nevertheless, all of these discourses have in common that they never transcend the ego as the site of liberation. In this way, truth will always remain a question of social, cultural, and psychological relationships. I believe that if some of these friends of mine were to endeavor to imagine a realm beyond identity politics that speaks to a deeper truth about the ineffable relationship between embodiment as biologically sexed and socially gendered creatures with the dynamic interplay of energies in the cosmos (and the sub-atomic and cellular and and and)...well, I believe that if they would do this, they might find themselves living in greater abundance and balance and self-love. I experience you as a person who has that shit down.
While sexuality certainly isn't the only sphere in which this balance and dynamic interplay counts, it just as certainly does present a dramatic living metaphor, no matter the gender or sex of those involved. And this brings me to my point: sex with you feels almost genderless. My queer friends want a genderless society, but I wonder if any of them have experienced fucking a spiritual androgyne. (I have! And wow!) Perhaps if they did, they could calm down a bit, relax some tension in their poor shoulders that are perpetually harassed by anger, and stop bristling like cornered raccoons every time someone gets their preferred pronoun wrong. [...]
> Of course, ohmygawd, your lovely body. I imagine that you'll indulge me an animal metaphor here: your beauty strikes me as an equine sort. Running my fingers over the soft turgidity of your perfectly chiseled hipbones, your skin sortof shudders, almost imperceptibly, the way a horse's skin seems to crawl out from under a fly's legs. Unlike the befuddled fly, however, this subtle shiver just makes me want to have you in my mouth even more. If I'm ever upset and you need me to chill the fuck out, just unzip your pants and push my head under the table...
Speaking of which, the idea of you ordering me around is really fucking hot. How would you like to try being handed absolute power for a day? Do you think you could handle it? I certainly believe in you. My whole problem with experimenting with dominance games and role play in the past is probably pretty typical for strong women who desire to submit: it takes someone pretty special to make me believe it at all. You, on the other hand, could be an authority I can get behind...or on top of, or under, as the case may be. Any preposition in combination with any verb you desire, really, as long as it involves the imperative mood. (See, grammar can be sexy...)
That basically explains a lot of it. I had a fantastic time hanging out in the woods with Peter this weekend. We had dinner with people from his communal house, hopped in a sauna, had lots and lots of beautiful sex in a tiny cob cabin, took a little hike up into a gorgeous woodland holler, had more beautiful sex, talked a lot, and said hasta luego.
More later if I have time. Life is lovely and busy and wild right now!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
In Which Peter the Huggable Hippie Reveals a Very Naughty Side
Okay, reader, I know I said that I was on hiatus from romance and/or sex indefinitely. I suppose that what I meant was that I don't want to get involved in activities that feel threatening to my burgeoning sense of autonomy. Yeah. That's what I meant. You got that, right?
...Because this unexpected development with Peter is a Very Good Thing, and he is in no danger of becoming my boyfriend (or trying to). And since he is a seasoned poly guy who has chosen this way of life as the result of possessing an excess of love--seriously, I've met very few people who so constantly ooze with love and light--I can 'fall for him' in whatever way seems natural without worrying, as with Lachlan, that I will have to give him up for some reason that feels artificial to me. I know, too, that we are far too different to end up in anything resembling partnership, but will instead have to be able to admire one another from a fair distance. I mean, the guy lives on a rustic commune that is nearly an hour away, he hosts workshops on intimacy and non-violent communication, and he plays a fucking Native American flute, for Chrissake. He's rather a new-agey hippie, in other words.
So yeah, the extreme limitations of our similarities makes us incompatible as anything other than fond and respectful, but occasional, lovers. In other words, the interaction has the potential to be a nearly perfectly safe scene for me to go ahead and enjoy some good lovin' whenever the opportunity presents itself.
But of course I am not only interested because the parameters seem strategically sound. No, no, no. I have a smile on my face and a stirring in my belly to validate the rest: how good I feel around him, how easily he makes me laugh, how fucking attentive and generous and amazingly hot he is in bed...
Since I am in the mood to write and I'm drinking coffee and chocolate for inspiration, I'll try to back up and explain more about Peter and the beginning of this story. (When I delve into detail apparently has more to do with when I feel like explaining something than it does with what events are most important.) I realized that there is also a chance that I mentioned him earlier by a different name but have forgotten about it. If so, I apologize, and I'll post an edit. His name will remain Peter for now, though.
Peter and I first met when he Couchsurfed with us this past spring. At that time, he was the first polyamorous person we got to speak to at any length about our experiences. In a sincere and generous attempt to help us, he made himself available for many hours over the course of two days to listen to and counsel us the best he knew how, down to busting out the process-based communication games he uses in his workshops. It didn't work out well, in my opinion, primarily because Simon kept resisting the process. Regardless, I got a lot out of our long talks, and I felt a lasting sense of connection to Peter despite the fact that he is exactly the sort of person whom my friends tend to spend a good bit of time making fun of.
A week or so ago, he e-mailed me and filled me in on what he's been up to: living at the commune (which he denies is a commune), working in a nursery, planning projects, etc. He concluded by saying that he would be visiting Asheville soon, and would I perhaps be willing to host him again? Hell yes I would. Thus plans were made.
I went to pick him up downtown, we had lunch, and he took off on his own again for a bit. In the meantime, I met up with Chan for coffee, and noting that he seemed bored with being alone, I welcomed him to run with my pack for the evening. Peter and I met up later in the evening, had a couple of beers at my house with Valerie and Chan, and laughed our asses off for hours as we planned our fictional "B.-Dada-S.M." business. As a result, my diaphragm aches. Chan continued to seem either bored or just completely uncomprehending. We kept wondering what the hell could be going through his head, and he just kept following along...
After leaving my house, Peter, Chan, and I had dinner before heading to my favorite riverside/train track-side bar to sit by a fire. It was the coldest it's been all year since winter, so fire was seeming crucial. During this whole three hour process or so, Peter and I are absolutely buried in conversation of all sorts, from goofy to profound and from conspiratorial to inspired. We also revisited the topics of sex and attraction many times over the course of the day, and we ended up learning much about what turns the other person on. This came in handy later, reader. We finally shook Chan after having a beer by the bonfire, and when we got home, we both fell in bed beside Valerie. She seemed dead asleep, but she wasn't, as we would discover...
We nestled into a perfectly interlocking position under the covers and tried to nod off as Valerie fake-slept beside us. I didn't expect anything to happen...but our fingers started making tiny, slow circles on each other's shoulders and backs, until tiny circles became long, slow lines traced from the smalls of backs, across the trembling skin over ribs, and up to the hollow places in chests until finally, our lips met very, very gingerly and cautiously and softly.
After lots more careful, silent exploration. We had gotten overconfident about Valerie's soporific status, and in one fluid motion that nevertheless made the bed tremble, Peter gathered me up and planted me over his hips. Eventually, Valerie got up in a huff and tromped off to the couch so that she could get some sleep. We felt terrible about running her out of bed, but it is my bed and we weren't exactly expecting to end up in this position and we were just about to move to the couch...nonetheless, she had beaten us to it. She wasn't even angry this morning, dear lady of my heart!
So after we said "Aww, that sucks, we're so bad" a few times, we set back to work devouring each other, except this time without such restriction. Peter immediately pulled from his proverbial pocket something I had casually mentioned to him earlier: that I liked physically powerful men who can pick me up and manipulate my body, that I was interested in dominance play that involved somewhat genuine struggle, but that no lover of mine had yet boned up to the challenge and taken me in the way I have wished, asked to be taken...
And so he TOOK me. Holy shit. We were almost literally fighting. It was something between wrestling and dancing and fucking, anyway. I was choked and bitten and restrained and forced and pinned and flipped and thrown in so many ways I've only dreamed about before, then kissed so deeply and held so tenderly that I could hardly believe I was with the same person from one moment to the next. All this brilliant masculine display of sexual prowess and intuition came from a 22-year old peacenik whose hips are narrower than a ruler! Furthermore, neither of us went down on the other, and there was no penetration, but I can't remember having been so fucking turned on in my life.
(Aside: If sex keeps getting better and better like this for the next ten or fifteen years, then I think at some point I may just blow my lid and die of explosive pleasure. I can't figure out whether it has more to do with the increased quality of my sexual partners or my maturing sexuality. Definitely some of both, but it is very difficult to tell how much of the phenomenon is attributable to each factor.)
Afterwards, he suggested that next time we amp up the role-playing aspect of the game, go deeper, and explore more of what this beautiful thing can be about. I told him that I was a little nervous because I have no experience with anything close to BDSM, but as it turns out, neither does he. (Wow. Really?) If I want to explore more, I believe that he may be the perfect partner for the job: shameless, scrupulously considerate, playful, and powerfully embodied. Oh yeah, and interested in me as more than an object. That's cool too I guess. Ha!
We frolicked and cuddled in bed some more this morning--gleefully, like kids playing tag--and then I dropped him off at his next destination feeling like a very lucky girl indeed.
I am hoping he might invite me up to his mountain soon. I'm eager and excited to see him again...but as I said, it feels perfectly seamless and normal to transition back into my default life. I think I may be getting better at this whole game...
...Because this unexpected development with Peter is a Very Good Thing, and he is in no danger of becoming my boyfriend (or trying to). And since he is a seasoned poly guy who has chosen this way of life as the result of possessing an excess of love--seriously, I've met very few people who so constantly ooze with love and light--I can 'fall for him' in whatever way seems natural without worrying, as with Lachlan, that I will have to give him up for some reason that feels artificial to me. I know, too, that we are far too different to end up in anything resembling partnership, but will instead have to be able to admire one another from a fair distance. I mean, the guy lives on a rustic commune that is nearly an hour away, he hosts workshops on intimacy and non-violent communication, and he plays a fucking Native American flute, for Chrissake. He's rather a new-agey hippie, in other words.
So yeah, the extreme limitations of our similarities makes us incompatible as anything other than fond and respectful, but occasional, lovers. In other words, the interaction has the potential to be a nearly perfectly safe scene for me to go ahead and enjoy some good lovin' whenever the opportunity presents itself.
But of course I am not only interested because the parameters seem strategically sound. No, no, no. I have a smile on my face and a stirring in my belly to validate the rest: how good I feel around him, how easily he makes me laugh, how fucking attentive and generous and amazingly hot he is in bed...
Since I am in the mood to write and I'm drinking coffee and chocolate for inspiration, I'll try to back up and explain more about Peter and the beginning of this story. (When I delve into detail apparently has more to do with when I feel like explaining something than it does with what events are most important.) I realized that there is also a chance that I mentioned him earlier by a different name but have forgotten about it. If so, I apologize, and I'll post an edit. His name will remain Peter for now, though.
Peter and I first met when he Couchsurfed with us this past spring. At that time, he was the first polyamorous person we got to speak to at any length about our experiences. In a sincere and generous attempt to help us, he made himself available for many hours over the course of two days to listen to and counsel us the best he knew how, down to busting out the process-based communication games he uses in his workshops. It didn't work out well, in my opinion, primarily because Simon kept resisting the process. Regardless, I got a lot out of our long talks, and I felt a lasting sense of connection to Peter despite the fact that he is exactly the sort of person whom my friends tend to spend a good bit of time making fun of.
A week or so ago, he e-mailed me and filled me in on what he's been up to: living at the commune (which he denies is a commune), working in a nursery, planning projects, etc. He concluded by saying that he would be visiting Asheville soon, and would I perhaps be willing to host him again? Hell yes I would. Thus plans were made.
I went to pick him up downtown, we had lunch, and he took off on his own again for a bit. In the meantime, I met up with Chan for coffee, and noting that he seemed bored with being alone, I welcomed him to run with my pack for the evening. Peter and I met up later in the evening, had a couple of beers at my house with Valerie and Chan, and laughed our asses off for hours as we planned our fictional "B.-Dada-S.M." business. As a result, my diaphragm aches. Chan continued to seem either bored or just completely uncomprehending. We kept wondering what the hell could be going through his head, and he just kept following along...
After leaving my house, Peter, Chan, and I had dinner before heading to my favorite riverside/train track-side bar to sit by a fire. It was the coldest it's been all year since winter, so fire was seeming crucial. During this whole three hour process or so, Peter and I are absolutely buried in conversation of all sorts, from goofy to profound and from conspiratorial to inspired. We also revisited the topics of sex and attraction many times over the course of the day, and we ended up learning much about what turns the other person on. This came in handy later, reader. We finally shook Chan after having a beer by the bonfire, and when we got home, we both fell in bed beside Valerie. She seemed dead asleep, but she wasn't, as we would discover...
We nestled into a perfectly interlocking position under the covers and tried to nod off as Valerie fake-slept beside us. I didn't expect anything to happen...but our fingers started making tiny, slow circles on each other's shoulders and backs, until tiny circles became long, slow lines traced from the smalls of backs, across the trembling skin over ribs, and up to the hollow places in chests until finally, our lips met very, very gingerly and cautiously and softly.
After lots more careful, silent exploration. We had gotten overconfident about Valerie's soporific status, and in one fluid motion that nevertheless made the bed tremble, Peter gathered me up and planted me over his hips. Eventually, Valerie got up in a huff and tromped off to the couch so that she could get some sleep. We felt terrible about running her out of bed, but it is my bed and we weren't exactly expecting to end up in this position and we were just about to move to the couch...nonetheless, she had beaten us to it. She wasn't even angry this morning, dear lady of my heart!
So after we said "Aww, that sucks, we're so bad" a few times, we set back to work devouring each other, except this time without such restriction. Peter immediately pulled from his proverbial pocket something I had casually mentioned to him earlier: that I liked physically powerful men who can pick me up and manipulate my body, that I was interested in dominance play that involved somewhat genuine struggle, but that no lover of mine had yet boned up to the challenge and taken me in the way I have wished, asked to be taken...
And so he TOOK me. Holy shit. We were almost literally fighting. It was something between wrestling and dancing and fucking, anyway. I was choked and bitten and restrained and forced and pinned and flipped and thrown in so many ways I've only dreamed about before, then kissed so deeply and held so tenderly that I could hardly believe I was with the same person from one moment to the next. All this brilliant masculine display of sexual prowess and intuition came from a 22-year old peacenik whose hips are narrower than a ruler! Furthermore, neither of us went down on the other, and there was no penetration, but I can't remember having been so fucking turned on in my life.
(Aside: If sex keeps getting better and better like this for the next ten or fifteen years, then I think at some point I may just blow my lid and die of explosive pleasure. I can't figure out whether it has more to do with the increased quality of my sexual partners or my maturing sexuality. Definitely some of both, but it is very difficult to tell how much of the phenomenon is attributable to each factor.)
Afterwards, he suggested that next time we amp up the role-playing aspect of the game, go deeper, and explore more of what this beautiful thing can be about. I told him that I was a little nervous because I have no experience with anything close to BDSM, but as it turns out, neither does he. (Wow. Really?) If I want to explore more, I believe that he may be the perfect partner for the job: shameless, scrupulously considerate, playful, and powerfully embodied. Oh yeah, and interested in me as more than an object. That's cool too I guess. Ha!
We frolicked and cuddled in bed some more this morning--gleefully, like kids playing tag--and then I dropped him off at his next destination feeling like a very lucky girl indeed.
I am hoping he might invite me up to his mountain soon. I'm eager and excited to see him again...but as I said, it feels perfectly seamless and normal to transition back into my default life. I think I may be getting better at this whole game...
Saturday, October 1, 2011
In Which Carnita's Mojo Mysteriously Returns out of the Rubble of Surprisingly Deep Heartbreak
I was not expecting, reader, to be so heartbroken when Lachlan ended things a couple of weeks ago. I think I will be grieving for a while yet, and I certainly don't have eyes or anyone else. I've settled comfortably into the idea of a long period without romance or sex. It would take a lot to impress me after Lachlan anyway, and I am enjoying the clarity of this personal renaissance.
Ironically yet unsurprisingly, this is the precise moment when suddenly I find myself flocked with suitors, all of whom are quite nice and attractive, but none of whom I want in the way that I suspect they may want me. I literally can't even remember who all of them are. Let's see...there's Dante, the sexy, smart one I met and kissed at a party and who lives out of town; Marcus, the adorable bike mechanic; Ronnie, the independently wealthy and terrifically slutty fun boy who is sweet and kind to me; Chan, the soft-spoken, respectful, and intelligent Southeast Asian guy; Jackson, the big, strapping farm boy who is startlingly insightful and very dedicated to his academics; Shannon, the boy I used to make out with in college and who would apparently like a re-match; Will, the bookish DJ who is an absolute aficionado of African pop music and documentary film; Dane, the attractive older (married) colleague of mine whose company I enjoy very much and who appears to have developed an unnerving passion for me; Caleb, who started making efforts to pull me back into his life as soon as I had decided to give up; several others of whom I am totally uncertain but suspect that they have been making eyes; and countless other strangers who have clearly indicated their attraction or interest in various ways.
What. The. Fuck?! Where did they all come from? I find myself in a concerted struggle to keep them all at arm's length. I want to get to know them, sure, but they want more than that...and why are there so many of them?! I am the same person. I didn't change my hair or the way I dress...? WTF.
Harvey, dear love of my life who until recently never, ever commented on my appearance or even hugged me before leaving the house, even condescended to comment on the phenomenon:
H: (Puts down book, stares at me thoughtfully) Carn, you're looking good these days.
Me: Yeah? But I didn't change anything...
H: Maybe it's a hormone thing...because there isn't another male in the house. Maybe it's because you're happier. I don't know, but you're seeming more attractive, at least to me.
Me: (Uncomfortable, awkward) Thanks, I guess?
H: I'm telling you, something is different about you. It's noticeable.
...And my sweet funny poly friend Peter, who is visiting today from his hippie commune out in the woods, had this to say about the matter: "There is nothing more attractive than a woman who doesn't need anything from you--who does her own thing and won't be sidetracked by any man. That kind of woman makes a man think, 'Wow, she's so independent. That's sexy. Let's see what we can do to remedy this situation.'" Ha!
One fantastic outcome of the last few weeks of my absence from this blog has been both the re-emergence of my creativity and a few very exciting opportunities to exercise it. My new friend Gwen has offered me an apprenticeship type of arrangement, and I have already begun to work with her in her jewelry studio. Next week, I will start working with her on the far sexier trade: blacksmithing! I am so excited by the image of myself standing over a flaming forge...
I have put a pause on my martial arts practice in order to energetically and financially recover from the last few months' events. I feel a little guilty, like I am copping out in a way, but I truly feel like there are several ways in which I can't afford that activity right now.
Too Long; Didn't Read Version (known as TL;DR to Redditors):
I'm swamped with people who want to date me or fuck me or otherwise possess a piece of me, but I don't want to date any of them because I'm still heartbroken over Lachlan and I want to focus on myself. Otherwise, lots of new, exciting things are going on in my life, and I'm looking forward to exploring new creative outlets.
Ironically yet unsurprisingly, this is the precise moment when suddenly I find myself flocked with suitors, all of whom are quite nice and attractive, but none of whom I want in the way that I suspect they may want me. I literally can't even remember who all of them are. Let's see...there's Dante, the sexy, smart one I met and kissed at a party and who lives out of town; Marcus, the adorable bike mechanic; Ronnie, the independently wealthy and terrifically slutty fun boy who is sweet and kind to me; Chan, the soft-spoken, respectful, and intelligent Southeast Asian guy; Jackson, the big, strapping farm boy who is startlingly insightful and very dedicated to his academics; Shannon, the boy I used to make out with in college and who would apparently like a re-match; Will, the bookish DJ who is an absolute aficionado of African pop music and documentary film; Dane, the attractive older (married) colleague of mine whose company I enjoy very much and who appears to have developed an unnerving passion for me; Caleb, who started making efforts to pull me back into his life as soon as I had decided to give up; several others of whom I am totally uncertain but suspect that they have been making eyes; and countless other strangers who have clearly indicated their attraction or interest in various ways.
What. The. Fuck?! Where did they all come from? I find myself in a concerted struggle to keep them all at arm's length. I want to get to know them, sure, but they want more than that...and why are there so many of them?! I am the same person. I didn't change my hair or the way I dress...? WTF.
Harvey, dear love of my life who until recently never, ever commented on my appearance or even hugged me before leaving the house, even condescended to comment on the phenomenon:
H: (Puts down book, stares at me thoughtfully) Carn, you're looking good these days.
Me: Yeah? But I didn't change anything...
H: Maybe it's a hormone thing...because there isn't another male in the house. Maybe it's because you're happier. I don't know, but you're seeming more attractive, at least to me.
Me: (Uncomfortable, awkward) Thanks, I guess?
H: I'm telling you, something is different about you. It's noticeable.
...And my sweet funny poly friend Peter, who is visiting today from his hippie commune out in the woods, had this to say about the matter: "There is nothing more attractive than a woman who doesn't need anything from you--who does her own thing and won't be sidetracked by any man. That kind of woman makes a man think, 'Wow, she's so independent. That's sexy. Let's see what we can do to remedy this situation.'" Ha!
One fantastic outcome of the last few weeks of my absence from this blog has been both the re-emergence of my creativity and a few very exciting opportunities to exercise it. My new friend Gwen has offered me an apprenticeship type of arrangement, and I have already begun to work with her in her jewelry studio. Next week, I will start working with her on the far sexier trade: blacksmithing! I am so excited by the image of myself standing over a flaming forge...
I have put a pause on my martial arts practice in order to energetically and financially recover from the last few months' events. I feel a little guilty, like I am copping out in a way, but I truly feel like there are several ways in which I can't afford that activity right now.
Too Long; Didn't Read Version (known as TL;DR to Redditors):
I'm swamped with people who want to date me or fuck me or otherwise possess a piece of me, but I don't want to date any of them because I'm still heartbroken over Lachlan and I want to focus on myself. Otherwise, lots of new, exciting things are going on in my life, and I'm looking forward to exploring new creative outlets.
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