Dating


(Check it out. This is actually an Oreo.)

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here before, but I’m going to Dark Odyssey’s Winter Fire in a few weeks.  Squee. I could not be more excited.  For those who aren’t familiar with it, Dark Odyssey is “a wholly unique experience which brings together sexuality, spirituality, education, and play in a fun, supportive, non-judgmental, diverse environment where fantasy becomes reality.”  Basically, it’s a three-day sex-conference with workshops during the day and play at night.

The whole event is so well-organized that there’s a private web-page for those who are attending to post little profiles, FetLife style, to introduce themselves.  I finally got around to doing this the other day and listed myself as bisexual.  This gave me pause, and I’ve been thinking about it since.

I don’t really identify as bi.  As I mentioned, I’ve been to bed with women before; the problem isn’t that I’m not attracted to them, or that I wouldn’t consider a relationship with a woman.  The problem is political; if I identify as anything, I identify increasingly as queer because of my sexual politics.  But Robbie and I went to hear Sarah Sloane speak about polyamory earlier this year, and her quick-and-dirty take on listing yourself as “bi” v. “queer” was that, “If you’re trying to attract mostly men, put bi; if you want to date mostly women, put queer.”  I’m mostly trying to attract men, but it pisses me off that in putting “bi”, the sexist ones will think I’m going to fuck girls for their benefit.  I suppose the last thing I should think about is what the jerks I am not going to date might think . . . but that still leaves me with the question of what I actually think.


Perhaps “feel” is a better word than “think”.  Robbie and I met a woman he’s been interested in during this last visit, and I expected myself, from pictures and emails and descriptions, to be incredibly drawn to her as well.  (If you’re reading this, hi hon!)  But I wasn’t.  I just didn’t feel sexual tension there on first meet.  For awhile, I was thinking, “well, it’s just because  you really don’t feel that pull to women”.  But that’s not true either.

Today, I was thinking that I just feel drawn to some people.  It sounds like that cliche–“Oh, it’s the person, not the gender, that I love.”  But that’s not true either.  I’m not talking love.  I’m talking raw desire.  Most men I meet I have pretty much zero desire to touch, much less fuck.  So when Robbie used to tell me that he could tell that I “loved cock”, I was befuddled.  Mostly when I contemplate a new cock–and the person attached to it–my overriding thought is, “Is it going to be ugly or smell bad?”  Because I hate finding out that someone is mangled and stinky when he’s six inches from my mouth.

But every so often when contemplating that new cock and its owner, my overriding thought is, “I WANT.”  I want to tear the person apart, shove him into the nearest piece of furniture, get my hands up inside his shirt, and feel him pin my arms as payback for my enthusiasm.  This is a relatively rare feeling for me–rare in proportion to the actual numbers of men in the universe, frequent enough that I’ve managed to get laid more than the average number of times for an American woman (last time I checked the stats).  And it’s an even rarer feeling when it comes to women.  But when I find it, it’s magic.

So whatever the label is for people who get electrically turned on by some individuals in ways they can’t always predict but always enjoy–that’s what I am.

Clever photographs by Kevin Van Aelst, via Feature Shoot.


I am not sure what’s wrong with men.  (I accidentally typed “me” instead of “men”, but I’m 99% sure that I’m okay and they’re not.)  I went to a munch earlier this week and met a friendly, submissive-switch guy.  We hit it off well enough to chat for most of the evening about kinky things and mull over the possibility of playing together.  I have to be honest; as I’ve written about before, my interest often stops at the mulling stage, and I’ve learned not to be distressed that others actually want to act on their impulses.

What distressed me a leeetle was that when the guy went to leave, he asked me for a ride to his car, which was, by his choice, parked nearly a mile away from the bar hosting the munch.  It was bitterly cold, so I did the nice thing and drove him, although I would liked to have lingered longer.  When we got to his car, I figured there might be a peck on the cheek or something.  (I’d told him about Robbie.)  Instead, he turns to me and says, “Well, a kiss seems a little inappropriate, so how about I masturbate and you watch?”

Yeah.  No.  No thanks.

I informed him that the kiss was about 10000000% more appropriate than jizz would be, and so he gave me a very nice, sweet kiss.  Chalk up one for me in the “articulating my wants and desires” column.

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I’ve started a few other writing projects in other places, which is distracting.  Every morning I get up to work on of the 15 short essay-lettes I have planned, and every day I end up staring at the computer screen jumping around from thing to thing to thing.  So, lots to say here, and hopefully I can pick up the pace a bit.

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I had a huge lunch today at a famous restaurant and it really wasn’t that good.  (Don’t go to this famous restaurant whose name you don’t know, if you’re ever near it.)  I’m feeling ginormous post-holiday and I really, really want to get in better shape.  It’s a new year cliche, but I’m really hoping I can make some changes there.  I will never have legs like this woman–although I did once get to fuck a woman who had legs like this–but it’s not really a contest.  Feeling better in my own body is where it’s at.

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Blah blah blah me.  Okay, well, that’s pretty much a post.

Cool pics by Franklin Obregon.  And if you really want to know, I steal most of my stuff from Sex in Art (as in this case), or ponyXpress, or the like.