So, Day 100. We meet at last.
I've thought every now and again about that seemingly ever-distant "LAST ENTRY". I used to be sure about what I'd write, and was looking forward to doing so. I used to want Day 100 to finally arrive not for sex, but so I could write this brilliant idea down. But, that was on like, day 60-something, so I was getting ahead of myself a bit. Day 100 felt like it would never arrive. But here it is, and here is what I used to want to say:
"When I think about this experience being over, I see myself in my minds eye, packing one last suitcase. All my other luggage would be waiting by the door. I envision a room awash with yellow late-afternoon sunlight, and me standing by a stripped bed, looking around and ready to go. Not sad, not happy, not anxious. Simply in a state of reflection, looking back on this metaphorical living space that I had occupied for the past 100-odd days. I had filled that room up with my belongings and possessions, plastered the walls with pictures. I took over that empty room, filling it with my identity, my life, my tears, and my thoughts."
But now, the last day is actually here. I no longer envision that closed-off room. Because during the last 40 days of the project, I no longer felt disconnected or like I was shutting myself off to figure shit out. I started to open up to the world again, but as a changed/still changing person. I started to let people in, and share my new self with them when they visited. That "room" became a distant and hazy vision, something I associated with long ago me, not the current me.
Slowly opening myself back up to world while still in the trenches played it's own huge part in further breakthroughs and growth I experienced. I may have made strides completely alone, earlier on in the project. But once I realized that life isn't lived that way, especially after breaking on Day 13, I modified the parameters a bit. I started to form connections with men again. But, I was still not focusing solely on them, or "where it would/could go". And I certainly was not focusing on sex, or the idea of sex happening later that night. So I was still doing the work I needed to do, without the crutch of sex, while applying my changes and revelations to my life in a much more realistic way.
So men, if I haven't done it yet: I have to thank you. No matter how shitty you are/were, or how amazing, I owe a huge thanks to you all. Night Before Guy, The Night of Guy, New Year's Eve Guy, Johnny, Portland, Dany The Drug Dealer, Billyburg Bartender. Every single one of you played a part in this journey. Yes, I may have ultimately made the decision to take it. I may have been the one who decided to continue, starting again from zero, after infamous Day 13. But really, without you men, I wouldn't have continued to dig and question and push myself as much as I wound up doing. Men, you are frustrating, stupid, funny, assholes, douchebags, hilarious, shady, infuriating, and sexy as hell. And, I love ya. Without you, my life would not be nearly as fun, interesting, painful, hot, or entertaining. I may have grown in ways that will have me exit this 100 days more of a whole, happy person than I've ever been. But without you to sprinkle on top, my life would always be left with something to be desired. Because as much as men and women battle it out to co-exist, we will never be complete without that struggle. As much as it may cause bad vibes, there's just something about even those shittiest of feelings that provides a sense of completeness to life.
So, it's over then. 100 days, anyway (okay, 118 if you want to be technical about it.) But truly, it isn't over. I don't think it will ever be. You see, it's become a part of me. I mean DUH, I'm not going to be celibate from here on out. Hello, my name is Elena and I love dick. I've missed men in that way. But at the same time, this experience has changed me so much. It's put me through growth that doesn't get shaken off or forgotten, but rather cleaned off and put my pieces back together. It's ingrained in my soul now. So it's not so much "over", as it's time to pack up and move on to the next journey. Ha, maybe that room metaphor still applies after all. Only now I picture more a campsite on a mountainous hike, not a closed-off room. I smell the air and feel the height, and it's glorious.
Oh, and for fun, I typed this list up. I was originally planning to make it the 99th post, but then I had to go and have a revelation sooo I'll just stick it in here (that's what he said.) In case you were wondering, here is a list of other things that happen in 100 days. Because it's all relative.
And yes, I literally calculated this shit:
0 condoms
1 move
1 new house
85 (give or take) orgasms
1 four-pack of AA batteries (I'm shocked this number isn't higher)
2 developing vocal projects
200 new Instagram followers
3 periods
2 cracked iPhone screens
7 cigarettes (terrible)
1 New Year's Eve
4 Netflix renewals (fascinating list addition)
1 vacation in Puerto Rico
1 (fifteen-second) relapse
6 guys worthy of writing about
--3 awesome make-out sessions
--2 okay make-out sessions
--and 1 TERRIBLE one
400 worked hours
100 dick pics (okay maybe closer to 20 BUT STILL)
35 sex propositions
11 threesome invites
1 stalker blocked
28 blog posts
9,500 blog views
4 hair trims
1 horrible sunburn
2,000 biked miles
350 ran miles
40 Jameson's on the rocks
7,512 feet of snow
52,645 new potholes to now swerve around on my bike commute
5 tubes of chapstick
1 new debit card
And most importantly:
1 brand spankin' new me. BRING IT, LIFE.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
DAY 99: Body Shop
This past Wednesday night, I had a second date with a bartender I met a few weeks ago in Williamsburg. He's cute- a San Diego boy with a west coast vibe that's been really refreshing. (I'm really, really over the morose, effeminate thing NY guys are staunchly holding on to.) At the end of our first date we had made out, and it was pretty fantastic. So naturally on this second date we made out again, and again it was awesome. But I found myself getting upset this time, specifically when his hand kept feeling up on my butt. Not because he was touching it. Not even because it's been awhile since someone really touched me (when I wasn't stoned or drunk or both.) No, and this is something I never, ever, ever talk about: this anxiety is not new. In fact, this "hating of my body" thing has been plaguing me since my early 20's, possibly longer. Those 7+ years of thinking I look horrible led to me thinking things like this (during what should be a perfectly enjoyable make out session):
-Is he touching my butt so lightly because he hates it and he's grossed out and now he's kinda stuck there because it's awkward if he stops?
-Is it too big?
-Is it not tight enough?
-Does my whole body feel unappealing and awful when he touches it?
-When he sees it without clothes, will he vomit or be vastly disappointed?
-Will he close his eyes during sex because I'm too disgusting to look at?
-Does he think my legs are too thick?
-Is my stomach sticking out at all?
-Is he feeling my hips and wishing they were bonier and narrower?
-Will he hate that my boobs are small?
-When I take my bra off, will yet another guy look crestfallen that that's all I've got?
-Will he cup them sadly, and wish there was more?
-Will yet another experience like that make me want to get implants?
-Does he look at my face and think I'm ugly?
And so on.
Yeah, that was my literal, line for line, inner monologue on Wednesday. But it's been going on like that, with various guys, for nearly a decade. Whether it's when I'm just hanging with a man, during sex, going for a run, walking down the street, or when I'm home alone- it's pretty much all the time. It never used to be this all-consuming; I've definitely noticed a spike in the past two years. Granted, I am older, and my body looks different from when I was 21. Sure. And I am on thyroid medication which a bad doctor fucked with a few years ago, causing weight gain and depression from ages 25-27. But now? What did I do this project for, if not to heal exact issues like this? Why is this taxing mental shittiness over my looks still happening?
I, maybe too naively, assumed that since this project fixed so many of my other issues, this body image thing was fixed, too. Ya know. By the transitive property. But alas, no. Over the past few weeks, as I've started dating again, I'm still thinking about it all the time. When I think about having sex now, as long as I don't have to THINK, I'm dowwwwwn. But the second I start to use my real brain, all these negative thoughts attack, and I feel exposed and vulnerable and afraid and turned off- turned off at MYSELF, because I think I look hideous. I don't know if this is just because I've gone through such an inner shift that I haven't quite settled in it yet. Right? Maybe I'm still feeling a little raw and new from emerging out of this 100 day metamorphosis. But even so.
The truth is, while it may be something that permeates my thoughts every minute of every day, and I am painfully consciously and constantly aware of it- I've never once addressed it in a way to figure it out or fix it. I've never really asked myself why I do it, or how can I stop it. I don't hide from it, I don't deny that I do it, I don't even necessarily dislike that I do it (ugh, weird.) So unlike all the other issues I FINALLY let come to the surface, face, and resolve throughout this project, why not this one? Had it become such a habit, so ingrained in my everyday life and thoughts, that I now see it merely as a routine, a part of me? Has it established such a stronghold over me, in my life and actions, that I forgot I have control over it?
I spent Thursday morning trying to figure it all out in a way I never had. I wasn't scared of this new digging and questioning quest, but I was hitting dead end after dead end. I kept coming up with nothing, no answers that made sense. Until finally, after about fifteen minutes of real, scrunched-up, closed-eyes thinking, I had it. And you know what, I never would have, had I not resolved all those other things I have in the past 100 days.
Over the years of the casual sex thing, as we know now, I grew to only value my sexual, sexy, fun, funny side. What I didn't realize was how much subconscious pressure I was putting on myself to look a certain way (i.e., perfect.) Since I only valued, and only liked, my sexual side, I would be devastated if I ever lost the thing that kept it going (= my looks/body.) The more I had casual sex, the more dependent I became on my outside appeal, and the more obsessed I became in maintaining it. If I thought I looked less than stunning, I wouldn't leave my house. I would cancel dates, hookups, even plans with friends. It became this monster that took over my brain because in my mind, it's the only thing that gave me value. I derived all my worth on looking fucking fantastic, literally, and couldn't bear to be seen or touched if I thought I looked anything less.
This is not something I ever talk about. Again, not because I'm in denial about it or because I'm ashamed of it. But because, for one thing, people don't understand if I ever do talk about it. They think I'm ridiculous and crazy and roll their eyes. It's been an extremely private and deprecating obsession, one I'm sure has kept me single over the years. Because aside from not cultivating all the other things that make me, me, I spent so much energy devoted to trying to look like what I envisioned as perfect. That tunnel vision made me blind and numb to anyone and anything else. I walked through life in a sort of haze, which made me closed off and further unable to open up, or be genuinely myself. I was so focused on this, that it took the joy out of my life 80% of the time. In those rare moments where I thought I looked good enough that I didn't have to think about it, I would actually relax. I could be in the moment and enjoy. But the other 80% of the time...miserable. I didn't realize how over time this would evolve into it's own almost unconquerable monster, and ironically, how striving for physical perfection would actually turn me to shambles.
Then there was my backwards thinking "rejection loophole" system. Being sexy and looking great might have saved me from rejection in the short term, especially with young dudes. But in the long term? Rejection, while not on a personal level in the hookup realm, is inevitable. Casual sex partners generally fizzle out, have a shelf life of maybe 3-6 months. So I would continue to have fling after fling, feeling safe because I couldn't be rejected in a way that would hurt, but also never having real love. Which I didn't realize at the time was also tearing me up inside. When I started to secretly want more, romantically, now... I didn't know how to get it. My sex appeal and body had gotten me years of (physical) "love", but great sex alone wouldn't work beyond that. No matter how awesome my blowjobs are, a meaningful, fulfilling relationship can't be sustained on them alone. I started to feel even more lost, because something that had always worked in getting me what I "wanted", was now failing me. But I no longer knew myself beyond the sexiness, and was at a complete loss on how to proceed if I didn't even know who I was beyond an awesome lay. So as a result, the negative body image problem exploded. In my failing attempts to figure out who I was beyond sex, I became even more unhealthily obsessed with looking perfect. It was the only thing I knew to work, and I foolishly thought it might. But as the early entries of this project clearly show: it didn't work at all.
So now that I see it, am I fixed? Not yet. Odds are this is only part of a much larger answer. But I do owe this project yet another debt of gratitude because without it, I never would've inspected this particularly nasty habit closer, if at all. Now that I know it's directly linked to years of my valuing being sexually desirable only, I can see it eventually stopping; I'm not chasing the casual lifestyle anymore. I have also noticed I'm approaching my diet and fitness routine in a much healthier (and much, much more sane) way. Yeah, I still look in the mirror and gag and nitpick and throw my hands up in frustration. And I'm still PETRIFIED about whoever the first guy to see me naked once this is over, is. But I am relieved, and glad, that I forced my myself to address this and figure it the answer. It was (unbeknownst to me until this week, anyway) the last thing on my checklist before I check out from this man-hiatus. And now I feel I've hit all the points on this trail and fully inspected all the elements. I'm certainly not a "finished" product, but for now, I feel ready to move on past this small yet very dense chapter. I will look back on this project and feel I climbed a mountain. I know there will be many more. But now, I'll be ready.
-Is he touching my butt so lightly because he hates it and he's grossed out and now he's kinda stuck there because it's awkward if he stops?
-Is it too big?
-Is it not tight enough?
-Does my whole body feel unappealing and awful when he touches it?
-When he sees it without clothes, will he vomit or be vastly disappointed?
-Will he close his eyes during sex because I'm too disgusting to look at?
-Does he think my legs are too thick?
-Is my stomach sticking out at all?
-Is he feeling my hips and wishing they were bonier and narrower?
-Will he hate that my boobs are small?
-When I take my bra off, will yet another guy look crestfallen that that's all I've got?
-Will he cup them sadly, and wish there was more?
-Will yet another experience like that make me want to get implants?
-Does he look at my face and think I'm ugly?
And so on.
Yeah, that was my literal, line for line, inner monologue on Wednesday. But it's been going on like that, with various guys, for nearly a decade. Whether it's when I'm just hanging with a man, during sex, going for a run, walking down the street, or when I'm home alone- it's pretty much all the time. It never used to be this all-consuming; I've definitely noticed a spike in the past two years. Granted, I am older, and my body looks different from when I was 21. Sure. And I am on thyroid medication which a bad doctor fucked with a few years ago, causing weight gain and depression from ages 25-27. But now? What did I do this project for, if not to heal exact issues like this? Why is this taxing mental shittiness over my looks still happening?
I, maybe too naively, assumed that since this project fixed so many of my other issues, this body image thing was fixed, too. Ya know. By the transitive property. But alas, no. Over the past few weeks, as I've started dating again, I'm still thinking about it all the time. When I think about having sex now, as long as I don't have to THINK, I'm dowwwwwn. But the second I start to use my real brain, all these negative thoughts attack, and I feel exposed and vulnerable and afraid and turned off- turned off at MYSELF, because I think I look hideous. I don't know if this is just because I've gone through such an inner shift that I haven't quite settled in it yet. Right? Maybe I'm still feeling a little raw and new from emerging out of this 100 day metamorphosis. But even so.
The truth is, while it may be something that permeates my thoughts every minute of every day, and I am painfully consciously and constantly aware of it- I've never once addressed it in a way to figure it out or fix it. I've never really asked myself why I do it, or how can I stop it. I don't hide from it, I don't deny that I do it, I don't even necessarily dislike that I do it (ugh, weird.) So unlike all the other issues I FINALLY let come to the surface, face, and resolve throughout this project, why not this one? Had it become such a habit, so ingrained in my everyday life and thoughts, that I now see it merely as a routine, a part of me? Has it established such a stronghold over me, in my life and actions, that I forgot I have control over it?
I spent Thursday morning trying to figure it all out in a way I never had. I wasn't scared of this new digging and questioning quest, but I was hitting dead end after dead end. I kept coming up with nothing, no answers that made sense. Until finally, after about fifteen minutes of real, scrunched-up, closed-eyes thinking, I had it. And you know what, I never would have, had I not resolved all those other things I have in the past 100 days.
Over the years of the casual sex thing, as we know now, I grew to only value my sexual, sexy, fun, funny side. What I didn't realize was how much subconscious pressure I was putting on myself to look a certain way (i.e., perfect.) Since I only valued, and only liked, my sexual side, I would be devastated if I ever lost the thing that kept it going (= my looks/body.) The more I had casual sex, the more dependent I became on my outside appeal, and the more obsessed I became in maintaining it. If I thought I looked less than stunning, I wouldn't leave my house. I would cancel dates, hookups, even plans with friends. It became this monster that took over my brain because in my mind, it's the only thing that gave me value. I derived all my worth on looking fucking fantastic, literally, and couldn't bear to be seen or touched if I thought I looked anything less.
This is not something I ever talk about. Again, not because I'm in denial about it or because I'm ashamed of it. But because, for one thing, people don't understand if I ever do talk about it. They think I'm ridiculous and crazy and roll their eyes. It's been an extremely private and deprecating obsession, one I'm sure has kept me single over the years. Because aside from not cultivating all the other things that make me, me, I spent so much energy devoted to trying to look like what I envisioned as perfect. That tunnel vision made me blind and numb to anyone and anything else. I walked through life in a sort of haze, which made me closed off and further unable to open up, or be genuinely myself. I was so focused on this, that it took the joy out of my life 80% of the time. In those rare moments where I thought I looked good enough that I didn't have to think about it, I would actually relax. I could be in the moment and enjoy. But the other 80% of the time...miserable. I didn't realize how over time this would evolve into it's own almost unconquerable monster, and ironically, how striving for physical perfection would actually turn me to shambles.
Then there was my backwards thinking "rejection loophole" system. Being sexy and looking great might have saved me from rejection in the short term, especially with young dudes. But in the long term? Rejection, while not on a personal level in the hookup realm, is inevitable. Casual sex partners generally fizzle out, have a shelf life of maybe 3-6 months. So I would continue to have fling after fling, feeling safe because I couldn't be rejected in a way that would hurt, but also never having real love. Which I didn't realize at the time was also tearing me up inside. When I started to secretly want more, romantically, now... I didn't know how to get it. My sex appeal and body had gotten me years of (physical) "love", but great sex alone wouldn't work beyond that. No matter how awesome my blowjobs are, a meaningful, fulfilling relationship can't be sustained on them alone. I started to feel even more lost, because something that had always worked in getting me what I "wanted", was now failing me. But I no longer knew myself beyond the sexiness, and was at a complete loss on how to proceed if I didn't even know who I was beyond an awesome lay. So as a result, the negative body image problem exploded. In my failing attempts to figure out who I was beyond sex, I became even more unhealthily obsessed with looking perfect. It was the only thing I knew to work, and I foolishly thought it might. But as the early entries of this project clearly show: it didn't work at all.
So now that I see it, am I fixed? Not yet. Odds are this is only part of a much larger answer. But I do owe this project yet another debt of gratitude because without it, I never would've inspected this particularly nasty habit closer, if at all. Now that I know it's directly linked to years of my valuing being sexually desirable only, I can see it eventually stopping; I'm not chasing the casual lifestyle anymore. I have also noticed I'm approaching my diet and fitness routine in a much healthier (and much, much more sane) way. Yeah, I still look in the mirror and gag and nitpick and throw my hands up in frustration. And I'm still PETRIFIED about whoever the first guy to see me naked once this is over, is. But I am relieved, and glad, that I forced my myself to address this and figure it the answer. It was (unbeknownst to me until this week, anyway) the last thing on my checklist before I check out from this man-hiatus. And now I feel I've hit all the points on this trail and fully inspected all the elements. I'm certainly not a "finished" product, but for now, I feel ready to move on past this small yet very dense chapter. I will look back on this project and feel I climbed a mountain. I know there will be many more. But now, I'll be ready.
Monday, March 24, 2014
DAY 93: A Farewell to Girlhood
You know, I've been feeling so great and glowy for the past couple weeks. Maybe it's the daily vegetable juicing and smoothie diet. Maybe it's the glimpses of a long-awaited spring that NYC has been praying for. Or maybe it was simply me feeling the positive effects this project. Whatever the reason, I was looking at everyone and everything through rose-colored, euphorically-happy glasses. And then Sunday night had to go and happen. GUYS, I ask you: what is the matter with you??? I love y'all, but shit. Whether you know me as a friend, or I'm a complete stranger, you all (okay, mostly all) operate like romantically-incapable social retards. And frankly, I no longer have the patience for it.
First, there was this text, from Johnny (whom I've written about before.) You know. The one I hit it off with unexpectedly about two months ago, and now we talk every day since then for hours? The fellow born-n-raised Brooklynite? Who drives a Lexus (blechhh) but I try not to hold it against him? Yeah. Him. I asked if he wanted to go see the new Muppet movie with me, because DUH.
His reply?
And I was all like:
It took me completely aback, not because I haven't thought about it, but damn son! Those words he chose to use, in regards to a part of my body and ultimately about me as a whole, left me completely baffled and, well, pretty angry. How blunt and cold can you be about a girl? And not just any girl! We're friends! We get along great, and it's been almost two months now that we've spent been getting to know each other for real, without sex as a distraction. So on the one hand, he'll say I'm his girl, that "we're biffles" and blah blah blah. And then, he goes and says THAT. If we'd already known each other in a physically intimate way, that'd be one thing. But we've only ever made out. We've maybe talked, just talked, about sex... three times? If that? So for him to so crudely lay that line on the table...I don't know if I want to have anything to do with him sexually now. Why? Because that's not what I want. That's not why I put in 100 days to figure my shit out. I'm more than a body part that needs to conquered. I don't want a guy who says he "puts in work", by taking me to a movie he doesn't even want to see, all for "that vagina". I want him to do it because he genuinely likes me. I want him to hang out, see a movie, whatever, because he actually wants to spend time with me. With ME. Not my hoohah. I believe, now, that I deserve at least that. I mean, come on bro. I'm all for sex, wooboy, am I ever. But I'm not for the cold, faceless, emotionally detached bullshit. If I wanted that, I'd bang a screwed-up stripper. If I wanted that, I'd turn back time about a year and do what I was doing before. So, ughhhh. There I was, feeling so positive and great and excited for "life after 100", but now...I'm at a loss.
I've noticed how much I've changed and grown, and maybe that's why this is bothering me. Because once you fully commit to self-discovery, once you are honest with yourself about who you really are and what you want, the veil falls down around certain kinda of men. Negative traits and faults in men that you were blind to before, suddenly 180 and become blindingly apparent. What my fear is, is that all men are like this. Lost, cold, detached, simply not capable of reaching heightened levels of awareness, or figuring themselves out (let alone women.) Something must have been up in the universe last night, because what followed that Johnny exchange was another conversation, with another guy.
Now, to be fair, I don't know this particular dude. I don't even know his name, only his Instagram name (it's "Lastsuspect", and yeah, I'm blowing up his spot. NOT SORRY.) We've never met, or even talked before. He is an amazing photographer I (no longer) follow, and last night he left his number on one of my photos. I was sure it was fake, because who the fuck does that with their actual cell number? So when I decided to text him, it mostly as a joke. Bear in mind, he's an IG superstar with 20k followers, etc, and incredibly talented. I admire his work, and was excited/intimidated to talk to such an artist. Basically, I was positive he was wayyyy too cool for me. And then he went and dropped THIS gem:
And I was all like:
Yeah, that disillusioned me real quick.
Soooo, let's review. You have a shit ton of followers on a photo app. You asked me where I live and what I do. All that effort on your part, I mean, whoa. Now that = I'm supposed to strip at the snap of your fingers? Why? Because you're just sooooo popular? Because you spent half of a Twitter character-maximum getting to know me? Because you typed exactly 15 words to me, 50% of them "lol", and the other 50% about as charming and interesting as "26/m/NYC/single"? That delightful interaction is supposed to have me now be smitten and starry-eyed and gratefully sex-text you? Fuck you. I don't know you. You've done NOTHING to earn seeing any part of my body. It had me so mad. All I could think was: a) I'm too old for this naked picture bullshit, unless your my man, or we're at least hooking up, b) I don't have time to waste posing in front of a mirror without clothes on, for you, a total stranger who's dick could be 3" long for all I know, and c) I have way more to offer than a hot ass. God damn it, what will it take for men to fucking recognize that? What more can I possibly do at this point? I've grown, I've gone through this challenge and evolved, I will be exiting it a changed, matured, better self. So what the hell else can I do?
Well, it's not up to me to do more at this point. I'm not mad at myself, I no longer feel like I'm lacking. I finally understand I'm not responsible for these guys being assholes. And it's not that guys aren't seeing "me" that's driving me nuts. No, now, it's: will they ever? Are they fucking capable? Listen. If you don't want to really get to know me, all of me, that's fine. But thinking I'll send sexy pictures without batting an eye? Nah. You ain't special. Forget about getting a glimpse, let alone a taste, of my vagina. I know who I am now, and what I have. If you think just because other women whore themselves out to your cocknballs, desperately seeing attention and validation, forget it. If you see me as just another hole, a cum dumpster, or a source of spank bank material, then move along. I'm not that kind of girl, I've never been that kind of girl. Besides, I already have excellent lovers in my little black book. And I mean EXCELLENT. I don't need another boy toy. I don't need another dong to play with. I need someone who at least wants to get to know me, and can appreciate that I'm not just another brainless lay. I don't think that's asking for much but apparently, IT IS.
This ties into something I said a few weeks ago, and my good friend Marika's take on it. I had said, "it's not men, it's not me, it's NYC", in regards to dating and love never working out, or even getting off the ground. Marika disagreed. She said nope, it IS men. She believes that their gender is plain ol' unable to question, dig, and discover themselves, and life, in the ways that women are. It's because at the core they're not emotional, inquisitive creatures. Their "caveman" instincts are to hunt and procreate, not to nurture and soul-search. I'm sure society contributes to the problem, since it has a tendency to prevent development of/squashing out that side of them. No matter the reason, I'm starting to think Marika is right. Granted, it's possible not ALL men are like this for the duration of their life. But I do think that solo, they are naturally incapable of self-awareness and self-discovery. If they have, or have had, strong female influences in their lives (like an amazing mom or previous girlfriend), they can get there. But they need guidance, whereas women are more naturally predisposed to doing it on their own.
Last night, and the past month of talking to guys, has started to show me how true this really is. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate guys, and I don't hold this against them. It's an important thing to recognize and to understand. But it sucks, because no matter how much a woman grows or learns about herself, no matter how enlightened and evolved she is, the majority of men will never be able to appreciate that aspect of her.
This is not great news, but to have realized it and recognized it's truth is for the best. It's never easy to be disillusioned, to have your perspective go from a girl's, to a realistic one. But it's part of growing up. At the end of the day, it's not like this douchey sect of guys came out of nowhere. It's that I finally see them. Sure, it blows that there are so many out there, that this will definitely cut down on the number guys I take the time to date/have sex with. But I suppose that's part of growing up too: seeking out quality instead of quantity, knowing who is worth investing your time in, because your time is, and you are, valuable. If that means dating less, having less boudoir adventures, I'm okay with that now. This used to be something I feared, a level of maturity I never thought I could possibly want. You can wild out, get weird, sow those oats for years, and it's fun and awesome and great. But to get that feeling of happiness, euphoria, and fulfillment from within yourself? If that's what growing up is, I'll take it.
First, there was this text, from Johnny (whom I've written about before.) You know. The one I hit it off with unexpectedly about two months ago, and now we talk every day since then for hours? The fellow born-n-raised Brooklynite? Who drives a Lexus (blechhh) but I try not to hold it against him? Yeah. Him. I asked if he wanted to go see the new Muppet movie with me, because DUH.
His reply?
And I was all like:
It took me completely aback, not because I haven't thought about it, but damn son! Those words he chose to use, in regards to a part of my body and ultimately about me as a whole, left me completely baffled and, well, pretty angry. How blunt and cold can you be about a girl? And not just any girl! We're friends! We get along great, and it's been almost two months now that we've spent been getting to know each other for real, without sex as a distraction. So on the one hand, he'll say I'm his girl, that "we're biffles" and blah blah blah. And then, he goes and says THAT. If we'd already known each other in a physically intimate way, that'd be one thing. But we've only ever made out. We've maybe talked, just talked, about sex... three times? If that? So for him to so crudely lay that line on the table...I don't know if I want to have anything to do with him sexually now. Why? Because that's not what I want. That's not why I put in 100 days to figure my shit out. I'm more than a body part that needs to conquered. I don't want a guy who says he "puts in work", by taking me to a movie he doesn't even want to see, all for "that vagina". I want him to do it because he genuinely likes me. I want him to hang out, see a movie, whatever, because he actually wants to spend time with me. With ME. Not my hoohah. I believe, now, that I deserve at least that. I mean, come on bro. I'm all for sex, wooboy, am I ever. But I'm not for the cold, faceless, emotionally detached bullshit. If I wanted that, I'd bang a screwed-up stripper. If I wanted that, I'd turn back time about a year and do what I was doing before. So, ughhhh. There I was, feeling so positive and great and excited for "life after 100", but now...I'm at a loss.
I've noticed how much I've changed and grown, and maybe that's why this is bothering me. Because once you fully commit to self-discovery, once you are honest with yourself about who you really are and what you want, the veil falls down around certain kinda of men. Negative traits and faults in men that you were blind to before, suddenly 180 and become blindingly apparent. What my fear is, is that all men are like this. Lost, cold, detached, simply not capable of reaching heightened levels of awareness, or figuring themselves out (let alone women.) Something must have been up in the universe last night, because what followed that Johnny exchange was another conversation, with another guy.
Now, to be fair, I don't know this particular dude. I don't even know his name, only his Instagram name (it's "Lastsuspect", and yeah, I'm blowing up his spot. NOT SORRY.) We've never met, or even talked before. He is an amazing photographer I (no longer) follow, and last night he left his number on one of my photos. I was sure it was fake, because who the fuck does that with their actual cell number? So when I decided to text him, it mostly as a joke. Bear in mind, he's an IG superstar with 20k followers, etc, and incredibly talented. I admire his work, and was excited/intimidated to talk to such an artist. Basically, I was positive he was wayyyy too cool for me. And then he went and dropped THIS gem:
And I was all like:
Yeah, that disillusioned me real quick.
Soooo, let's review. You have a shit ton of followers on a photo app. You asked me where I live and what I do. All that effort on your part, I mean, whoa. Now that = I'm supposed to strip at the snap of your fingers? Why? Because you're just sooooo popular? Because you spent half of a Twitter character-maximum getting to know me? Because you typed exactly 15 words to me, 50% of them "lol", and the other 50% about as charming and interesting as "26/m/NYC/single"? That delightful interaction is supposed to have me now be smitten and starry-eyed and gratefully sex-text you? Fuck you. I don't know you. You've done NOTHING to earn seeing any part of my body. It had me so mad. All I could think was: a) I'm too old for this naked picture bullshit, unless your my man, or we're at least hooking up, b) I don't have time to waste posing in front of a mirror without clothes on, for you, a total stranger who's dick could be 3" long for all I know, and c) I have way more to offer than a hot ass. God damn it, what will it take for men to fucking recognize that? What more can I possibly do at this point? I've grown, I've gone through this challenge and evolved, I will be exiting it a changed, matured, better self. So what the hell else can I do?
Well, it's not up to me to do more at this point. I'm not mad at myself, I no longer feel like I'm lacking. I finally understand I'm not responsible for these guys being assholes. And it's not that guys aren't seeing "me" that's driving me nuts. No, now, it's: will they ever? Are they fucking capable? Listen. If you don't want to really get to know me, all of me, that's fine. But thinking I'll send sexy pictures without batting an eye? Nah. You ain't special. Forget about getting a glimpse, let alone a taste, of my vagina. I know who I am now, and what I have. If you think just because other women whore themselves out to your cocknballs, desperately seeing attention and validation, forget it. If you see me as just another hole, a cum dumpster, or a source of spank bank material, then move along. I'm not that kind of girl, I've never been that kind of girl. Besides, I already have excellent lovers in my little black book. And I mean EXCELLENT. I don't need another boy toy. I don't need another dong to play with. I need someone who at least wants to get to know me, and can appreciate that I'm not just another brainless lay. I don't think that's asking for much but apparently, IT IS.
This ties into something I said a few weeks ago, and my good friend Marika's take on it. I had said, "it's not men, it's not me, it's NYC", in regards to dating and love never working out, or even getting off the ground. Marika disagreed. She said nope, it IS men. She believes that their gender is plain ol' unable to question, dig, and discover themselves, and life, in the ways that women are. It's because at the core they're not emotional, inquisitive creatures. Their "caveman" instincts are to hunt and procreate, not to nurture and soul-search. I'm sure society contributes to the problem, since it has a tendency to prevent development of/squashing out that side of them. No matter the reason, I'm starting to think Marika is right. Granted, it's possible not ALL men are like this for the duration of their life. But I do think that solo, they are naturally incapable of self-awareness and self-discovery. If they have, or have had, strong female influences in their lives (like an amazing mom or previous girlfriend), they can get there. But they need guidance, whereas women are more naturally predisposed to doing it on their own.
Last night, and the past month of talking to guys, has started to show me how true this really is. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate guys, and I don't hold this against them. It's an important thing to recognize and to understand. But it sucks, because no matter how much a woman grows or learns about herself, no matter how enlightened and evolved she is, the majority of men will never be able to appreciate that aspect of her.
This is not great news, but to have realized it and recognized it's truth is for the best. It's never easy to be disillusioned, to have your perspective go from a girl's, to a realistic one. But it's part of growing up. At the end of the day, it's not like this douchey sect of guys came out of nowhere. It's that I finally see them. Sure, it blows that there are so many out there, that this will definitely cut down on the number guys I take the time to date/have sex with. But I suppose that's part of growing up too: seeking out quality instead of quantity, knowing who is worth investing your time in, because your time is, and you are, valuable. If that means dating less, having less boudoir adventures, I'm okay with that now. This used to be something I feared, a level of maturity I never thought I could possibly want. You can wild out, get weird, sow those oats for years, and it's fun and awesome and great. But to get that feeling of happiness, euphoria, and fulfillment from within yourself? If that's what growing up is, I'll take it.
Monday, March 17, 2014
DAY 86: Blurred Lines
So, am I "looking forward to having sex again?" That seems to be the big question nowadays. And so far my answer, to both myself and everyone asking me, has been: "Ehhh. I dunno." I mean, shit. Of course I've been thinking about "doin' it". Of course when I see or meet attractive men throughout any given day, I fantasize about them. But mostly, I've been going on innocently through my life, feeling fine and dandy and not focused on sex at all. I don't think about what day I'm at, nor how badly I want a dick in my mouth. Then I'll have moments, like when I hear a Ginuwine song, or remember Joel Kinnaman, and well, it'll be a wrap. From zero-to-instantly good to go, if you know what I'm sayin'. But at the same time, in reality, I feel no real rush to get it in anytime soon. Still. The question remains: will I want it?
It's hard to say. Things have changed for me. I've changed. As a woman who has gone through a major shift, no matter how sex-driven and man-hungry I've always been, it's become almost impossible to have a simple answer. That's why "ehhhh" is really the best reply I've got. Sure, seeing as I've got about two weeks to go, it probably merits a proper answer now. But more so, I want to know because I'm curious about what my answer really is, and why it's been so tricky for me to even have an answer. I had to think: how am I feeling towards sex now, today? Because prior to my trip to Puerto Rico, I was feeling pretty negatively towards the act:
From the start of these 100 days, all the way through mid-February, the reality of sex started to mentally change for me. Before, I had always looked and experienced sex from a vaginal viewpoint only. Thinking with my "other head", so to speak. I had never understood why women constantly questioned my approach to men and sex, or why they thought I was a slut. I knew part of it had to be because most women can't separate sex from emotions. So for many of them, to wrap their heads around how I lived my lifestyle unscathed was impossible. I've often been asked what's my "formula" for separating sex from feelings; how do I do it, and happily? The only answer I ever had before was: recognize the reality of your situation(s). Don't tell yourself a "story". Don't get caught up in the fantasy of who you think / wish a guy could be. Understand who and what he really is. Understand if it's just sex and nothing more. And of course, be comfortable with yourself, and able to thoroughly enjoy the physical aspects of sex. But after a month into this project, my answer to the "how are you capable of compartmentalizing?" inquiry changed. Sadly, I'm not some superhuman female. I'm not a cold, man-eating bitch, and I'm not "better" than other women. Here was my newly-realized truth: I had been incapable of opening up emotionally. That's how I did it. That was my big fucking secret (no pun intended.) So I used sex the only way I could, the only way I was able: as a source of complete PHYSICAL pleasure. That's why I never had a problem using men to get off, or if sex was "just" sex. Because for me, it was enough.
But as the 100 days continued on, I started to be capable and brave enough to look at sex through more emotional (and fully honest) eyes. I was no longer having sex, so I was no longer able to blind myself with its physical attributes. I'd be reflecting on my past encounters, and instead of continuing to revere them as sources of pure bodily joy, I was faced with a new and brutal reality. It's not that I have regrets about my sex life, I don't. What was making me feel terrible was when I stopped thinking with my vagina, and started thinking with my head and heart, all the color-coating of my history dissolved. I was left with something very cold and very bland. Now instead of sex being (and remaining) something that fulfilled me, it was something that left me feeling devoid and devalued. No, not the guys, not the act of sex. Nope. I was the guilty party. I made me less worthy. I didn't even give myself a chance for something greater, something more. Whether that stemmed from me never feeling I WAS worth more, or because I couldn't be honest with myself that I did want more, doesn't matter. It happened. That's why even the thought alone of sex with a guy like Night Before Guy started to make me feel sad. Not because of him, not because of sex. But because I was better than a just a vag, and yet that's all I had been thinking with, and all I had been giving anyone. With all my sexual experiences, emotionally-speaking I had years of nothing to show for it. I had never before seen casual sex for what it really was, and honestly, I didn't like it nor did I want it anymore.
That was a big part of why I wasn't sure if I was looking forward to having sex again. I was realizing, to a point of nausea, that "just sex" sex is the only kind I've ever known. For so long, physical was the only kind of intimacy I felt comfortable with. So to ask me if I'm excited about having sex again was a question I almost didn't even want to answer. Because really...what was sex, really? I didn't want to return to a casual lifestyle pattern, but how do I move forward? How does one have meaningful sex?!? How do I NOT have casual sex? I was at a loss for answers.
At that point in time, I was struggling to understand if I was ever going to want sex again. Who would I be within it, when it finally did happen? But then...I went to Puerto Rico, and I met a guy named Portland. In the brief time we shared, I realized it's possible to have sexual feelings/chemistry, AND to open up to someone beyond that. And even if that connection lasts just two days, even if theres no sex involved, it can be fulfilling and beautiful. I learned that meaningful, memorable connections can be achieved by opening up not just physically, but emotionally. It sounds so simple. But for me, the only way to have gotten to this place was to find myself first, by resolving years of personal bullshit and put-downs. I had never imagined or understood the rewards you stand to gain by opening up, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and letting someone get to know you, the real you. I always saw that as weakness. I saw leading with emotions as the enemy, something only "girls" did, something that would cause me pain. It wasn't brave to let myself feel, give someone a truly painful way to reject me. But now I see it's really the opposite. To open up, allow yourself to feel, to honestly know yourself and present that self to others, takes an incredible amount of courage. And gives yourself the chance to know people in ways no amount of fucking can provide.
A lot of these self-discoveries hurt like hell, and often I found myself wanting to stop. I made myself not only continue to ask, but also answer, the hardest questions, and face harsh truths. But I'm at a point where I've found a balance, a new plane that lies above all the crap I uncovered and since resolved. What's ironic is now that I've reached this unexpected level of self-acceptance and love, I'm probably more capable of having no-strings sex than ever before. I've gotten to a place where I'm so self-sufficient and happy with myself, that I'd actually be able to healthily do all those things I only thought I was able to do in past. The separation of sex and emotions, the compartmentalizing, the not getting jealous, the loving-and-leaving. I could do all that now, comfortably, without it unknowingly eating away at my soul. But now, would I even want to? Who can say for sure? We've all got needs. And sometimes a great fuck is what it takes to get off, not meaningful sex. Not every guy I meet will be worth committing to; he'll be good for one thing, and that's fine. But do I plan on doing that regularly, jumping right back into the no-strings lifestyle once "I'm free!" from this challenge? No. To be real, I kind of wish these 100 days weren't almost over. I like not thinking about it. I like hanging out with me. I like being in a place where I really got to know myself and figure things out, without stupid sexual distractions. It's priceless, and no man can give it to you. I mean, they can "give it to you", but..the benefits are so vastly uneven in scale it almost makes sex not worth my time, not yet. So I'll be approaching "life after 100" the same way I approached it during: one day at a time, in the moment, being completely real and honest with myself. And I'll just take it from there. I know that's not really an answer, but as you've probably surmised, the "are you looking forward to having sex again" question is...complicated. My view may change tomorrow, it may not. Do I plan on counting down the minutes til midnight of April 1st, and straddling the first crotch I see? No. Will I be meticulously arranging for someone to swing by and jump on it as soon as it's day 102? Nope. Am I organizing a BBQ + mass orgy in my house for anyone who cares to join (BYOB)? No, no and no.
But I don't want to leave anyone hanging. What I am looking forward to, isn't sex. It's BETTER sex. I'm not looking forward to sex just because I'll be "allowed" to have it again soon. I'm not looking forward to sex so I can get off, nor because I've got needs. I'm not looking forward to having sex because I can finally hook up with guys I've wanted to for months. I'm looking forward to sex because I'm so much more self-assured and capable now. I'm excited at the prospect of being assertive and getting myself what I really want and deserve. I'm excited to say no when I really want to say no, and I'm excited to say yes to someone who's worth it. I'm excited to give myself choices, and choose wisely. I'm looking forward to having more real, meaningful connections, because for the first time ever I'll be open to knowing people, and able to be open with them in return. This does not mean I'll be holding out until I have a "boyfriend". This doesn't mean I'll be abstaining for the sake of abstaining. This means I'll be taking it in stride, and if I like something, I'll go with it. And the only kind of sex that can lead to is better sex. And that, my friends, is definitely worth waiting 100 days for.
It's hard to say. Things have changed for me. I've changed. As a woman who has gone through a major shift, no matter how sex-driven and man-hungry I've always been, it's become almost impossible to have a simple answer. That's why "ehhhh" is really the best reply I've got. Sure, seeing as I've got about two weeks to go, it probably merits a proper answer now. But more so, I want to know because I'm curious about what my answer really is, and why it's been so tricky for me to even have an answer. I had to think: how am I feeling towards sex now, today? Because prior to my trip to Puerto Rico, I was feeling pretty negatively towards the act:
From the start of these 100 days, all the way through mid-February, the reality of sex started to mentally change for me. Before, I had always looked and experienced sex from a vaginal viewpoint only. Thinking with my "other head", so to speak. I had never understood why women constantly questioned my approach to men and sex, or why they thought I was a slut. I knew part of it had to be because most women can't separate sex from emotions. So for many of them, to wrap their heads around how I lived my lifestyle unscathed was impossible. I've often been asked what's my "formula" for separating sex from feelings; how do I do it, and happily? The only answer I ever had before was: recognize the reality of your situation(s). Don't tell yourself a "story". Don't get caught up in the fantasy of who you think / wish a guy could be. Understand who and what he really is. Understand if it's just sex and nothing more. And of course, be comfortable with yourself, and able to thoroughly enjoy the physical aspects of sex. But after a month into this project, my answer to the "how are you capable of compartmentalizing?" inquiry changed. Sadly, I'm not some superhuman female. I'm not a cold, man-eating bitch, and I'm not "better" than other women. Here was my newly-realized truth: I had been incapable of opening up emotionally. That's how I did it. That was my big fucking secret (no pun intended.) So I used sex the only way I could, the only way I was able: as a source of complete PHYSICAL pleasure. That's why I never had a problem using men to get off, or if sex was "just" sex. Because for me, it was enough.
But as the 100 days continued on, I started to be capable and brave enough to look at sex through more emotional (and fully honest) eyes. I was no longer having sex, so I was no longer able to blind myself with its physical attributes. I'd be reflecting on my past encounters, and instead of continuing to revere them as sources of pure bodily joy, I was faced with a new and brutal reality. It's not that I have regrets about my sex life, I don't. What was making me feel terrible was when I stopped thinking with my vagina, and started thinking with my head and heart, all the color-coating of my history dissolved. I was left with something very cold and very bland. Now instead of sex being (and remaining) something that fulfilled me, it was something that left me feeling devoid and devalued. No, not the guys, not the act of sex. Nope. I was the guilty party. I made me less worthy. I didn't even give myself a chance for something greater, something more. Whether that stemmed from me never feeling I WAS worth more, or because I couldn't be honest with myself that I did want more, doesn't matter. It happened. That's why even the thought alone of sex with a guy like Night Before Guy started to make me feel sad. Not because of him, not because of sex. But because I was better than a just a vag, and yet that's all I had been thinking with, and all I had been giving anyone. With all my sexual experiences, emotionally-speaking I had years of nothing to show for it. I had never before seen casual sex for what it really was, and honestly, I didn't like it nor did I want it anymore.
That was a big part of why I wasn't sure if I was looking forward to having sex again. I was realizing, to a point of nausea, that "just sex" sex is the only kind I've ever known. For so long, physical was the only kind of intimacy I felt comfortable with. So to ask me if I'm excited about having sex again was a question I almost didn't even want to answer. Because really...what was sex, really? I didn't want to return to a casual lifestyle pattern, but how do I move forward? How does one have meaningful sex?!? How do I NOT have casual sex? I was at a loss for answers.
At that point in time, I was struggling to understand if I was ever going to want sex again. Who would I be within it, when it finally did happen? But then...I went to Puerto Rico, and I met a guy named Portland. In the brief time we shared, I realized it's possible to have sexual feelings/chemistry, AND to open up to someone beyond that. And even if that connection lasts just two days, even if theres no sex involved, it can be fulfilling and beautiful. I learned that meaningful, memorable connections can be achieved by opening up not just physically, but emotionally. It sounds so simple. But for me, the only way to have gotten to this place was to find myself first, by resolving years of personal bullshit and put-downs. I had never imagined or understood the rewards you stand to gain by opening up, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and letting someone get to know you, the real you. I always saw that as weakness. I saw leading with emotions as the enemy, something only "girls" did, something that would cause me pain. It wasn't brave to let myself feel, give someone a truly painful way to reject me. But now I see it's really the opposite. To open up, allow yourself to feel, to honestly know yourself and present that self to others, takes an incredible amount of courage. And gives yourself the chance to know people in ways no amount of fucking can provide.
A lot of these self-discoveries hurt like hell, and often I found myself wanting to stop. I made myself not only continue to ask, but also answer, the hardest questions, and face harsh truths. But I'm at a point where I've found a balance, a new plane that lies above all the crap I uncovered and since resolved. What's ironic is now that I've reached this unexpected level of self-acceptance and love, I'm probably more capable of having no-strings sex than ever before. I've gotten to a place where I'm so self-sufficient and happy with myself, that I'd actually be able to healthily do all those things I only thought I was able to do in past. The separation of sex and emotions, the compartmentalizing, the not getting jealous, the loving-and-leaving. I could do all that now, comfortably, without it unknowingly eating away at my soul. But now, would I even want to? Who can say for sure? We've all got needs. And sometimes a great fuck is what it takes to get off, not meaningful sex. Not every guy I meet will be worth committing to; he'll be good for one thing, and that's fine. But do I plan on doing that regularly, jumping right back into the no-strings lifestyle once "I'm free!" from this challenge? No. To be real, I kind of wish these 100 days weren't almost over. I like not thinking about it. I like hanging out with me. I like being in a place where I really got to know myself and figure things out, without stupid sexual distractions. It's priceless, and no man can give it to you. I mean, they can "give it to you", but..the benefits are so vastly uneven in scale it almost makes sex not worth my time, not yet. So I'll be approaching "life after 100" the same way I approached it during: one day at a time, in the moment, being completely real and honest with myself. And I'll just take it from there. I know that's not really an answer, but as you've probably surmised, the "are you looking forward to having sex again" question is...complicated. My view may change tomorrow, it may not. Do I plan on counting down the minutes til midnight of April 1st, and straddling the first crotch I see? No. Will I be meticulously arranging for someone to swing by and jump on it as soon as it's day 102? Nope. Am I organizing a BBQ + mass orgy in my house for anyone who cares to join (BYOB)? No, no and no.
But I don't want to leave anyone hanging. What I am looking forward to, isn't sex. It's BETTER sex. I'm not looking forward to sex just because I'll be "allowed" to have it again soon. I'm not looking forward to sex so I can get off, nor because I've got needs. I'm not looking forward to having sex because I can finally hook up with guys I've wanted to for months. I'm looking forward to sex because I'm so much more self-assured and capable now. I'm excited at the prospect of being assertive and getting myself what I really want and deserve. I'm excited to say no when I really want to say no, and I'm excited to say yes to someone who's worth it. I'm excited to give myself choices, and choose wisely. I'm looking forward to having more real, meaningful connections, because for the first time ever I'll be open to knowing people, and able to be open with them in return. This does not mean I'll be holding out until I have a "boyfriend". This doesn't mean I'll be abstaining for the sake of abstaining. This means I'll be taking it in stride, and if I like something, I'll go with it. And the only kind of sex that can lead to is better sex. And that, my friends, is definitely worth waiting 100 days for.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
DAY 73: Please...Just No Chick Flicks
It was late Saturday night / early Sunday morning. As I sat on the bench outside a favorite after-work dining spot, with Night Before Guy, I suddenly found myself a very different me. An hour earlier, over our eggs and matzo ball soup and bloody Mary's, I had tried to explain to him why I don't think I'll ever sleep with him again. Our work shift that night, prior to our breakfast feast, had consisted of our usual shenanigans: sneaking a kiss, him acting insanely silly and goofy, me laughing, him grabbing my butt. Standard. Sure. But something I had felt months ago, had still not changed: the boy doesn't open up to me, not beyond the silliness. And that, while amusing in small doses, gets old and can be irritating. Luckily, we have shared a sexual chemistry that could fire up small planets, so it's not exactly like it's ever been an issue. But now...I felt it was enough of one to speak up about how I really felt. So I brought up how I really don't like how we never talk, about anything, ever.
He immediately went on the defensive, and for the rest of the meal kept slipping into sullen spells. I was confused; had I seriously offended him? He responded by saying yes, he was hurt, and mad at me for saying that. That I must think he's "some dumb, unintelligent guy with nothing more to offer than acting stupid." I tried to explain this wasn't a criticism of him as a person, and that I certainly didn't think that way of him. But, I also said, that "I feel cheated, in a way. You share everything, and show all of who you really are, with girls you don't sleep with. So...why not me? I mean, we're friends right, you claim you love me, that you care about me. So why not open up to me, beyond acting silly?"
He still wasn't getting it. He kept saying things like,"I know, I know. You're an intellectual person. Is that what you want? To sit here and discuss literature and scientific hypotheses and whatever? I'm drunk as hell, I'm not even close to capable of doing that right now. I mean, if you want to talk and have interesting conversations, fine. But all I wanted to do tonight was eat and have a nice meal and spend time with you." Which made me frustrated: but what does that mean then?? You say you want to spend time with me. Okay, so basically if we're not fucking, then "spending time" consists of you acting like a retard, and me feigning laughter because... what else can I do? I know that's "like, way harsh, Tai", but, it's accurate. It's all he ever gives me, all he ever shows me. So I broke it down for for him like this, "All you ever do is freestyle rap, or make weird noises and sound effects. Is it really asking too much for us to have an actual conversation? Let me get to know you?" He registered the truth of that statement. For the first time, he seemed to be comprehending my words, instead of taking them personally. "Is that really all I ever say?" "YES," I replied. I watched as the realization crossed his face that, yeah: that was indeed the extent of what we "talk" about. He tried to justify it with the following explanations: he gets nervous around me. He was too drunk right now to hold conversation. He just wants me to like him, which makes him nervous around me, which makes him revert to silly mode. He genuinely likes to be silly around me. And I listened. But I was holding my position. If I feel like I'm being short-changed because you don't talk to me about anything substantial, then that's how I feel. If I'm bored by lack of conversation, I'm allowed to be. At this point, no amount of magic that our private parts share could make up for that.
We were dwindling down to the last bits of our food at this point. I was looking around the room, not sure if what to do or say. He could tell I just wanted to get out of there, which I kind of did. But at the same time, I wanted to stay. It's like sometimes I see something there, between the two of us, that's real. Or maybe I'm just secretly hoping I do. I want to believe there's more to him. And I know there is, because I see how he acts with other people. But for me, I never get a taste. I've tasted every part of him, except who he really is. And it was bumming me out. But I wasn't sure why.
We paid and headed outside. We wound up sitting on a bench for the next half hour or so, hashing out what had just happened. It was weird. Not just because it was pretty much daylight out, and I had been awake for nearly 20 hours. But because we had come to a sort of a crossroads. Or at least, I had. He was still trying to convince me to come over, to stay at his apartment, but I was still sitting on that bench. I was, quite honestly, torn. He was saying, "All I want to do is have sex with you, with no strings attached. Why can't we just do that? And the sex is so amazing with us; I don't understand why you would pass that up." I didn't know, myself. What was happening? Here was a boy who could fuck me better than nearly any lover I've ever had, whose dick should be molded and prayed to, whose hands and lips did incredible things to me. He had a sex drive to match mine, an insatiable appetite that was on par with my own. So what the hell WAS wrong with me? I've dumped guys before simply because they couldn't keep up with me sexually. And now here was this guy, possessing those specific traits I so desire, who wanted me, and yet...I was turning him down. Seriously. WHO AM I??? WHAT IS HAPPENING? And then he said something he had mentioned once before, on that fateful night that started these 100 days: "You want a boyfriend."
I denied it vehemently when he said it then, and I denied it again this time. He continued by restating the second sentence he had also said that fateful night, that he "can't be my boyfriend....we'll never be together." And it was making me mad and hurt. But what was making me so mad? Why was I so offended- what, by someone telling me what I want, what I can't have? Granted, it's never easy to hear someone say to you so bluntly that "we'll never be together." But that didn't upset me. I know we'll never be together; I've always known. From the second I met him, I knew we would never be a couple. My instincts are too awesome. Even after we started hooking up regularly, I still didn't delude myself into thinking it was anything more. No, I was, and am, angry and hurt because he was right: I kinda...do...want a boyfriend.
Dude. Listen. Even TYPING that sentence makes me shudder, tear up, want to puke, run away, hide, curl up in a ball. It makes me feel weak, and ashamed, to admit that I could possibly...ughhhhhh...want a boyfriend. But why?? Why is that such a horrible thing to admit? For so long, girls are told what they are supposed to want in life. I luckily didn't have that upbringing. But still. You get exposed to it eventually, in junior high and so on. And I, being an awkward teen, could never have any of "it." Boys didn't want me. I wasn't pretty. I tried at first, sure, to look how I was supposed to look, to test the waters to see if boys would like me. I couldn't, and they didn't. So I rejected all of what I was supposed to want, and did my own thing instead. I settled into a state of perpetual singledom. For YEARS, I was so proud of being single and owning it. For so long, I was sure I was immune to those petty "wants" that every other girl is consumed by. I'd evolved past that. It wasn't "me." Boyfriend?! Nahhh. Relationship? Um...pass. Marriage? Get out of my face with that crap. No, I happily did my bed-hopping thing. I felt proud to my core that I was so self-sufficient, so free-spirited, so wild-hearted, so perfectly okay with that lifestyle. I didn't want for anything. All those sitcoms and jokes, with women complaining about men who won't and can't commit, were foreign to me. The dating, the desire to find a man, the single-woman struggle: I was immune to all that. None of that was me. I was above it. And I relished in it.
But then, Sunday morning happened. I was told by Night Before Guy that I "want a boyfriend", and it made me react as defensively as he had over my comments during breakfast. I was still sitting in that bench, lost in my thoughts, and starting to realize that horrible realization. That maybe, just maybe, he was right.
It wasn't until today that I fully understood what was going on, and why those words struck a particularly painful chord within me. It's because it (it = having a loving boyfriend) was in fact a desire I had buried deep, deep down, a long, long time ago. This realization fully surfaced while I was spending time this afternoon with a dear friend, Marika. She's a fantastically beautiful woman, and, just like me, she is and has always been happy in her singledom. It's pretty much "No man? No problem." We don't get jealous, because we don't need a man. You want him? You can have him. We don't date, nor do we seek out partners. We "keep it real", so to speak- we recognize the men in our life for who and what they are. And, for the purpose they are there to serve. If it's just for sex, cool. If it's just for the short term, awesome. We do us, and we find our happiness in other ways.
Marika had recently has been going through something that's made her, like myself, realize that she DOES want a man. She DOES want love. She wants that (shameful) dream that "every" girl has. She, like me, felt ugly and undesirable growing up, and had also wound up rejecting societal standards. We both buried our "desires under dirt, covered it with cement, built a house over it, and locked it up." We both hid away our real wants and needs so deep down, we forgot they were there. So now she's met a man, and he's kicked that house down, broken the cement, and shoveled up the dirt. And as for me, Night Before Guy jump-started my uncovering. He looked at me, and saw something and said, "Hey, what's that down there?" And I started prodding, and then I was digging. And as a result, Marika and I found our hidden troves, and with them, a mirror. And we were forced to open them up, and look at ourselves in that mirror. Marika spoke those words to me, and I had to write them exactly as she said them because it so absolutely captures our experience.
Uncovering those desires, and looking in that symbolic mirror, was one of the most painful things I've ever gone through. Understand, that's years and years of suppressed desires I uncovered. Not sexual ones, but really intimate and emotional ones. It's crazy, because I'm constantly preaching how you should be you, and own it, whatever that is. And yet here I am, unable to do it myself. I can barely admit that I want something more than sex, that I want something meaningful. That I (god forbid!) want a relationship. Marika and I talked about this, how we both associate wanting a man with weakness. And to admit we do want a man makes both of us feel extreme shame. The words themselves literally feel like poison in my mind, in my fingers as I type. I'm supposed to be strong! I'm supposed to be fiery, and fiercely independent! I could barely type this confession, let alone vocalize it to anyone. But it makes sense, really. Why I was so afraid of letting someone, anyone, in. Why I fell into sexy mode, always. Why I was constantly and secretly hoping the guy I'm dating would say he wants to be with me, for real. But, never letting myself admit why I wanted him to say those words. It's so, so painful for me to face that I want this. But even more so, that I denied myself something I truly wanted, for all these years.
I know this admission of what I really want will send many a man fleeing to the hills. And that's cool yo. If the fact that a woman like me, wants something real, terrifies you- ain't no thang. Enjoy all the blowjobs you'll never get from me. Which was something else Marika pointed out: my turning down of sex with Night Before Guy. She pointed out that by me firmly holding my position and voicing my opinion, by telling him what I needed (him opening up to me), I had made some huge steps. I had:
a) finally told a guy what I need from him, and held my ground no matter how he reacted,
b) put myself first,
c) fully recognized what I'm worth, and
d) put my emotional needs before my sexual needs.
This all seemed to tie in to Marika's mantra: "I love me more. I'm worth more." Which completely applies to this situation on Sunday with Night Before Guy. I told him what I needed. When it was clear he couldn't open up to me, and that maybe he'll never be able to, I passed on sex (no matter how mind-blowing.) Even after he continued to throw his sales pitch, I stood my ground. I have always given in to sex before, even when it wasn't all that great. "I want pleasure now, and I'll deal with the pain later" is how my friend Jasmine very excellently put it. But now, I can't go back. I've faced myself. I've unearthed what I really want. And I've changed. When I first felt these shifts, earlier in the project, I was scared that I might no longer be the sexual beast we've all come to know and love. But now I know, nah, I definitely still am. Now I just want to hold it out for someone who really deserves it. And really- there's no shame in that.
He immediately went on the defensive, and for the rest of the meal kept slipping into sullen spells. I was confused; had I seriously offended him? He responded by saying yes, he was hurt, and mad at me for saying that. That I must think he's "some dumb, unintelligent guy with nothing more to offer than acting stupid." I tried to explain this wasn't a criticism of him as a person, and that I certainly didn't think that way of him. But, I also said, that "I feel cheated, in a way. You share everything, and show all of who you really are, with girls you don't sleep with. So...why not me? I mean, we're friends right, you claim you love me, that you care about me. So why not open up to me, beyond acting silly?"
He still wasn't getting it. He kept saying things like,"I know, I know. You're an intellectual person. Is that what you want? To sit here and discuss literature and scientific hypotheses and whatever? I'm drunk as hell, I'm not even close to capable of doing that right now. I mean, if you want to talk and have interesting conversations, fine. But all I wanted to do tonight was eat and have a nice meal and spend time with you." Which made me frustrated: but what does that mean then?? You say you want to spend time with me. Okay, so basically if we're not fucking, then "spending time" consists of you acting like a retard, and me feigning laughter because... what else can I do? I know that's "like, way harsh, Tai", but, it's accurate. It's all he ever gives me, all he ever shows me. So I broke it down for for him like this, "All you ever do is freestyle rap, or make weird noises and sound effects. Is it really asking too much for us to have an actual conversation? Let me get to know you?" He registered the truth of that statement. For the first time, he seemed to be comprehending my words, instead of taking them personally. "Is that really all I ever say?" "YES," I replied. I watched as the realization crossed his face that, yeah: that was indeed the extent of what we "talk" about. He tried to justify it with the following explanations: he gets nervous around me. He was too drunk right now to hold conversation. He just wants me to like him, which makes him nervous around me, which makes him revert to silly mode. He genuinely likes to be silly around me. And I listened. But I was holding my position. If I feel like I'm being short-changed because you don't talk to me about anything substantial, then that's how I feel. If I'm bored by lack of conversation, I'm allowed to be. At this point, no amount of magic that our private parts share could make up for that.
We were dwindling down to the last bits of our food at this point. I was looking around the room, not sure if what to do or say. He could tell I just wanted to get out of there, which I kind of did. But at the same time, I wanted to stay. It's like sometimes I see something there, between the two of us, that's real. Or maybe I'm just secretly hoping I do. I want to believe there's more to him. And I know there is, because I see how he acts with other people. But for me, I never get a taste. I've tasted every part of him, except who he really is. And it was bumming me out. But I wasn't sure why.
We paid and headed outside. We wound up sitting on a bench for the next half hour or so, hashing out what had just happened. It was weird. Not just because it was pretty much daylight out, and I had been awake for nearly 20 hours. But because we had come to a sort of a crossroads. Or at least, I had. He was still trying to convince me to come over, to stay at his apartment, but I was still sitting on that bench. I was, quite honestly, torn. He was saying, "All I want to do is have sex with you, with no strings attached. Why can't we just do that? And the sex is so amazing with us; I don't understand why you would pass that up." I didn't know, myself. What was happening? Here was a boy who could fuck me better than nearly any lover I've ever had, whose dick should be molded and prayed to, whose hands and lips did incredible things to me. He had a sex drive to match mine, an insatiable appetite that was on par with my own. So what the hell WAS wrong with me? I've dumped guys before simply because they couldn't keep up with me sexually. And now here was this guy, possessing those specific traits I so desire, who wanted me, and yet...I was turning him down. Seriously. WHO AM I??? WHAT IS HAPPENING? And then he said something he had mentioned once before, on that fateful night that started these 100 days: "You want a boyfriend."
I denied it vehemently when he said it then, and I denied it again this time. He continued by restating the second sentence he had also said that fateful night, that he "can't be my boyfriend....we'll never be together." And it was making me mad and hurt. But what was making me so mad? Why was I so offended- what, by someone telling me what I want, what I can't have? Granted, it's never easy to hear someone say to you so bluntly that "we'll never be together." But that didn't upset me. I know we'll never be together; I've always known. From the second I met him, I knew we would never be a couple. My instincts are too awesome. Even after we started hooking up regularly, I still didn't delude myself into thinking it was anything more. No, I was, and am, angry and hurt because he was right: I kinda...do...want a boyfriend.
Dude. Listen. Even TYPING that sentence makes me shudder, tear up, want to puke, run away, hide, curl up in a ball. It makes me feel weak, and ashamed, to admit that I could possibly...ughhhhhh...want a boyfriend. But why?? Why is that such a horrible thing to admit? For so long, girls are told what they are supposed to want in life. I luckily didn't have that upbringing. But still. You get exposed to it eventually, in junior high and so on. And I, being an awkward teen, could never have any of "it." Boys didn't want me. I wasn't pretty. I tried at first, sure, to look how I was supposed to look, to test the waters to see if boys would like me. I couldn't, and they didn't. So I rejected all of what I was supposed to want, and did my own thing instead. I settled into a state of perpetual singledom. For YEARS, I was so proud of being single and owning it. For so long, I was sure I was immune to those petty "wants" that every other girl is consumed by. I'd evolved past that. It wasn't "me." Boyfriend?! Nahhh. Relationship? Um...pass. Marriage? Get out of my face with that crap. No, I happily did my bed-hopping thing. I felt proud to my core that I was so self-sufficient, so free-spirited, so wild-hearted, so perfectly okay with that lifestyle. I didn't want for anything. All those sitcoms and jokes, with women complaining about men who won't and can't commit, were foreign to me. The dating, the desire to find a man, the single-woman struggle: I was immune to all that. None of that was me. I was above it. And I relished in it.
But then, Sunday morning happened. I was told by Night Before Guy that I "want a boyfriend", and it made me react as defensively as he had over my comments during breakfast. I was still sitting in that bench, lost in my thoughts, and starting to realize that horrible realization. That maybe, just maybe, he was right.
It wasn't until today that I fully understood what was going on, and why those words struck a particularly painful chord within me. It's because it (it = having a loving boyfriend) was in fact a desire I had buried deep, deep down, a long, long time ago. This realization fully surfaced while I was spending time this afternoon with a dear friend, Marika. She's a fantastically beautiful woman, and, just like me, she is and has always been happy in her singledom. It's pretty much "No man? No problem." We don't get jealous, because we don't need a man. You want him? You can have him. We don't date, nor do we seek out partners. We "keep it real", so to speak- we recognize the men in our life for who and what they are. And, for the purpose they are there to serve. If it's just for sex, cool. If it's just for the short term, awesome. We do us, and we find our happiness in other ways.
Marika had recently has been going through something that's made her, like myself, realize that she DOES want a man. She DOES want love. She wants that (shameful) dream that "every" girl has. She, like me, felt ugly and undesirable growing up, and had also wound up rejecting societal standards. We both buried our "desires under dirt, covered it with cement, built a house over it, and locked it up." We both hid away our real wants and needs so deep down, we forgot they were there. So now she's met a man, and he's kicked that house down, broken the cement, and shoveled up the dirt. And as for me, Night Before Guy jump-started my uncovering. He looked at me, and saw something and said, "Hey, what's that down there?" And I started prodding, and then I was digging. And as a result, Marika and I found our hidden troves, and with them, a mirror. And we were forced to open them up, and look at ourselves in that mirror. Marika spoke those words to me, and I had to write them exactly as she said them because it so absolutely captures our experience.
Uncovering those desires, and looking in that symbolic mirror, was one of the most painful things I've ever gone through. Understand, that's years and years of suppressed desires I uncovered. Not sexual ones, but really intimate and emotional ones. It's crazy, because I'm constantly preaching how you should be you, and own it, whatever that is. And yet here I am, unable to do it myself. I can barely admit that I want something more than sex, that I want something meaningful. That I (god forbid!) want a relationship. Marika and I talked about this, how we both associate wanting a man with weakness. And to admit we do want a man makes both of us feel extreme shame. The words themselves literally feel like poison in my mind, in my fingers as I type. I'm supposed to be strong! I'm supposed to be fiery, and fiercely independent! I could barely type this confession, let alone vocalize it to anyone. But it makes sense, really. Why I was so afraid of letting someone, anyone, in. Why I fell into sexy mode, always. Why I was constantly and secretly hoping the guy I'm dating would say he wants to be with me, for real. But, never letting myself admit why I wanted him to say those words. It's so, so painful for me to face that I want this. But even more so, that I denied myself something I truly wanted, for all these years.
I know this admission of what I really want will send many a man fleeing to the hills. And that's cool yo. If the fact that a woman like me, wants something real, terrifies you- ain't no thang. Enjoy all the blowjobs you'll never get from me. Which was something else Marika pointed out: my turning down of sex with Night Before Guy. She pointed out that by me firmly holding my position and voicing my opinion, by telling him what I needed (him opening up to me), I had made some huge steps. I had:
a) finally told a guy what I need from him, and held my ground no matter how he reacted,
b) put myself first,
c) fully recognized what I'm worth, and
d) put my emotional needs before my sexual needs.
This all seemed to tie in to Marika's mantra: "I love me more. I'm worth more." Which completely applies to this situation on Sunday with Night Before Guy. I told him what I needed. When it was clear he couldn't open up to me, and that maybe he'll never be able to, I passed on sex (no matter how mind-blowing.) Even after he continued to throw his sales pitch, I stood my ground. I have always given in to sex before, even when it wasn't all that great. "I want pleasure now, and I'll deal with the pain later" is how my friend Jasmine very excellently put it. But now, I can't go back. I've faced myself. I've unearthed what I really want. And I've changed. When I first felt these shifts, earlier in the project, I was scared that I might no longer be the sexual beast we've all come to know and love. But now I know, nah, I definitely still am. Now I just want to hold it out for someone who really deserves it. And really- there's no shame in that.
Monday, March 3, 2014
DAY 70: To Portland
I vacationed in Puerto Rico with my sister from February 12th - 17th. I'll dispense with the complicated sister relationship/dynamic. It took up a lot of my mental energy while I was there, but there's too much far more-relevant stuff to discuss. So I'm gonna just talk about my (man) experience there instead.
I met an amazing guy, "Portland", who happened to be the manager at the hostel we stayed at for two days. He's important to talk about because he made a very big impact on me, (though sadly, not in my vagina.) You see, before I left for PR, I had been talking to this other guy, "Johnny". I've written about him before, and that's because he had me completely rethinking Brooklyn guys, and my opinion of many things about men and relationships in general. On paper, everything about Johnny is what I DON'T go for. His name, his Brooklyn vibe, he drives a Lexus, he hasn't yet graduated college. And so on. But the chemistry we had from the get-go, and the fact that we talk for hours, every single day since we met a month ago, has blown me away. I started wondering if we're all going to wind up with someone who's from where we're from, because you can relate and click in ways you simply can't with people who are so foreign to where and how you grew up.
And then...I met Portland. He was incredibly attractive, but honestly, I thought he was gay when I first met him. He was the only one at the (very nice) hostel when we came to check in. He gave us a brief tour, and of course I was noticing his physical traits. Gorgeous blue eyes, those earring things that stretch the lobe (no idea what they're called), the unbuttoned shirt revealing a nice body. Handsome dude, albeit a pretty hipster/hippie one. But I'm from Brooklyn. I went to Purchase. I've taken the L train. This isn't new to me.
Fast forward to later that night, we - my sister, Giuseppe (Italian stud staying at the hostel) and myself - were out in Old San Juan. We were all drinking and dancing the heck out of some rumba and salsa at a live music club. Giuseppe had MAJOR eyes for my sister, so I was wingmanning the shit out it. Portland showed up with George, another hostel guest, so I opened a tab and it was drinks on me.(Sounds baller, but my 15 drink tab came out to $24.) Between dancing / talking with Portland, ordering drinks for all, and making friends with all the bartenders, I was getting pretty hammered. I wound up being chatted up by the bar manager, "Danny", who was pretty much in love with me. He was sexy (or so I thought) in that long haired, dirty, definitely-a-drug-dealer, Ecuadorean kinda way. But I was convinced I was into him. I asked about weed connects, and he offered to come by the hostel and smoke us all up. After some more dancing and shots, our group of five left, to a place George knew. It turned out to be closed, but it was a magical night. Warm, a bit breezy, all of us drunk and happy and still feeling the energy of the music. We debated where to go next, and we wound up at - bear with me here - a cemetery. In Old San Juan, there is this gorgeous all-white graveyard on the very edge of the island. Past a vast stretch of grass, it sits right outside the city's stone walls. It's on a lower level, so it is directly next to the ocean. We all cracked up when we realized THIS was the destination Giuseppe had intended. He told us to shut up, and appreciate where we were (well, that was the gist of what he said. In my inebriated state, I remember he went on for quite some time in heavily accented English.) He was right of course, it was so stunning, but you know. It WAS a cemetery, after all. But, we grew quiet and all stretched out on the wall edge, looking up at the full moon. I was zoning out, almost in a meditative state; the energy in this place was immediate and amazing. Portland, who turned out to be a writer, and super intellectual, began having an incredibly deep conversation with Giuseppe. My sister and I started laughing because of how serious it got, and how quickly. Like... metaphysics? Really? George wandered off to pee, which none of us realized til we all simultaneously asked, "What's that sound?" We were all laughing now. We decided to get up, but Portland and I stayed for a moment. I remember that. I stayed because I was so absorbed in the moment, and the vibe of that spot. And it turned out he was feeling the same thing, as we then vocalized that same thought at the same time. It was cool, doing/feeling something that was so honestly me, so from within. And then meeting someone who was riding that same energy and thinking identical thoughts about an awe-inspiring moment. He and I had connected already at the club, through talking and dancing. But in that moment, it was like time actually slowed and sparkled. I could physically and mentally feel us click.
We all walked back to a main street and grabbed a cab back to the hostel. My phone started buzzing and I saw that the drug dealer/bar manager, Danny, was calling. I gave him the address so he could come by with some of the islands finest Mary Jane. In the meantime, our little crew was kicking it in the hostel common area, sipping beers and eating. Danny came through, and he, Portland, George and myself went downstairs to smoke outside. Next thing I know, Danny is all up in my grill, trying to make small talk and making out with me. It... was... TERRIBLE. Good lord son! Aren't you Latinos notorious for being GOOD at this stuff?? BARFFFF. Weird tongue action, awful lips, gross gross gross. I wanted his long Ecuadorean locks outta my face, stat. He on the other hand definitely wanted "in", if ya know what I'm sayin', but I was negative interested:
Me: Okay, well, I'm gonna head to sleep now.
Danny: Ah. So do you have your own room?
Me: (Bam! Loophole!) Nope.
Danny: (laughs slightly) Hmmm. But maybe I could come up? Just hang out upstairs for a while?
Me: (Oh HELLLLLL no.) Aww. No, no; I'm pretty tired.
Danny: But I came all the way out here...drove here to see you...
Me: (Uhh, congratulations? This merits you my vagina? WRONG.) I know, and thanks!
He leaned in to kiss me again, but I gave him my cheek instead. I then patted him in the shoulder, and waved good bye. God, he was gross. A gross kisser. It's the worst thing ever. I can't. I'm making myself vomit writing about it.
Back upstairs, my sister and Giuseppe were walking out to the front porch/balcony. George stumbled off to bed. So Portland and I were alone in the living room, and we were pretty stoned. We were seated on adjacent couches, talking. The fans running on high felt amazing, and the warm night air coming in from the open windows smelled incredible. I heard Portland say, "And I wanted to kiss you but then you kissed that other guy..." I sat up. "Oh, my god", I said, "I kissed that guy!!! Haha oh noooo!" I laughed, then registered the other thing he said. "Wait..." I continued. "You want to kiss me?" For one thing, he had JUST seen me kiss another dude, so I was surprised he'd still want to kiss me after that. For another thing, I truly thought Portland was gay. Now I was rethinking how sexily I had danced with him earlier. Portland was leaning forward on his couch, looking at me. "Well, yeah," he said. Like it was obvious or something. "I've wanted to from the second I first saw you." "But..me?" I asked. "You....want to kiss me?" He was still leaning forward. "Of course I want to kiss you. You see anyone else here?" That was a very true statement he just made. We were definitely the only two in the room. So I leaned in to meet him, and we kissed. Holy fucking shit crap scooby doo Rosa Parks goddamn! DUDE.It's been a long, long, LONG time since I've been kissed like that. Tender, incredibly passionate, warm, perfect. Like the moment we clicked at the bar, talking about writing. Like the moment we shared by the cemetery with the wind of the ocean and the light of the moon. And now there was this. Yet a third almost... pause in time, where we felt each other in every sense of the word. It was just the two of us in the room, yes, but in that first kiss it felt like just the two of us in the world. This MAY have been the weed talking, yes, but who cares? It felt amazing. That kiss may have gone in for maybe 30 seconds, but what with time feeling like it was holding it's breath, it could have been a year. But then that moment passed, and it went from something beautiful to holy fucking HOT. Next thing I know, I climbing aboard and straddling that boy, running my hands through his curls and feeling his hands run all over my body. We just could not keep ourselves off each other. Our hands and lips and tongues were so in tune with each other. Our styles were so in sync; it was the most natural and effortlessly passionate make-out session of my life. He suggested we adjourn to his private room downstairs, and we pretty much ran there. It was maybe 6 a.m., and that pre-pre dawn light and energy was in the air. In his room, he turned a desk lamp against the wall for a nice, soft glow. We spent the next three hours in that top bunk of his tiny room. The window that stretched the height of the wall ran along the head of the bed, and the sounds and feel of San Juan blew in through the window and all over our bodies. We didn't have sex- like I said, that shit was NOT easy to NOT do- but we fooled around, and then fell asleep naked and wrapped in each other's arms. It was easily one of the most special, beautiful nights of my life.
We wound up spending the next night and morning together too, this time us being unable to stop conversing. Portland was such a fascinating guy to me. The way he looks at life, the way he views film, the things we discussed...I wish I could know him more. I actually wanted to stay longer just to spend more time with him. I wanted to take hours-long swims in his brain. Goddamn. He also had me rethink the thoughts Johnny had triggered, about Brooklyn and how maybe the best person for each of us is someone from where we're from. Yeah, meeting and knowing Portland made me realize three things:
1) As unique as it can be to connect with someone who shares your home turf, the people who are wildly different, from foreign places, have so much to teach and show you. And you them. You may not be able to share a specific joke about Midwood High School, but the potential connections to be had are just as priceless, in different ways. It's such a crucial part of the human experience, to connect with those people and grow from sharing each other's company. Even if only for a brief time.
2) I realized intimacy comes in many forms, and you don't need sex to have it. In some ways, I think the fact that we didn't have sex was actually better than having sex. Falling asleep in each other's arms like that, naked and sweaty and perfect, is what I'll remember now. The dancing, the conversations, the blue of his eyes, the thickness of his...hair! His hair. His gorgeous mind and outlook on life. Those moments were pretty goddamn special, and I'm glad I have those to cherish. Not sex.
3) I saw, measurably, how much I've grown. Old me would probably banged Mr. Bar Manager / Worst Kisser of Life. (Still not over it. What was that??? That was some bullshit.) I would've slept with him for the story, because he was there, because why not? Old me probably would've slept with Portland as well. Maybe the same night, maybe the next night. So I'm realizing more and more the value of saying no, and how much I must have grown to be okay saying it. It doesn't make me a prude, it doesn't make me any less sexual. It's making me understand my worth, and recognizing what I want, and what truly makes me happy. No amount of sex can do that as fully as saying no has.
So this weekend at work, when Night Before Guy questioned both:
- what I'll have gotten out of this 100 days, and
- why deny myself sex with him,
the answers are apparent. I'll have learned to lovingly accept myself, my whole self. I'll have learned real, true ways to connect with people. I'll have learned my worth, and why sex doesn't determine that. I'll have learned to say no, for me. I'll understand what really makes me happy, and it's okay if that happens to be something other than just another crazy sex story. I'll be able to give up mind-blowing sex with a guy who can offer me nothing else, because I don't need that anymore.
I'm almost in tears here.
To think this journey started off in my own head. I feel like I've traveled hundreds of mental miles, and then I traveled actual physical miles. I have 26 days left, and so many more miles to go. Can't wait.
I met an amazing guy, "Portland", who happened to be the manager at the hostel we stayed at for two days. He's important to talk about because he made a very big impact on me, (though sadly, not in my vagina.) You see, before I left for PR, I had been talking to this other guy, "Johnny". I've written about him before, and that's because he had me completely rethinking Brooklyn guys, and my opinion of many things about men and relationships in general. On paper, everything about Johnny is what I DON'T go for. His name, his Brooklyn vibe, he drives a Lexus, he hasn't yet graduated college. And so on. But the chemistry we had from the get-go, and the fact that we talk for hours, every single day since we met a month ago, has blown me away. I started wondering if we're all going to wind up with someone who's from where we're from, because you can relate and click in ways you simply can't with people who are so foreign to where and how you grew up.
And then...I met Portland. He was incredibly attractive, but honestly, I thought he was gay when I first met him. He was the only one at the (very nice) hostel when we came to check in. He gave us a brief tour, and of course I was noticing his physical traits. Gorgeous blue eyes, those earring things that stretch the lobe (no idea what they're called), the unbuttoned shirt revealing a nice body. Handsome dude, albeit a pretty hipster/hippie one. But I'm from Brooklyn. I went to Purchase. I've taken the L train. This isn't new to me.
Fast forward to later that night, we - my sister, Giuseppe (Italian stud staying at the hostel) and myself - were out in Old San Juan. We were all drinking and dancing the heck out of some rumba and salsa at a live music club. Giuseppe had MAJOR eyes for my sister, so I was wingmanning the shit out it. Portland showed up with George, another hostel guest, so I opened a tab and it was drinks on me.(Sounds baller, but my 15 drink tab came out to $24.) Between dancing / talking with Portland, ordering drinks for all, and making friends with all the bartenders, I was getting pretty hammered. I wound up being chatted up by the bar manager, "Danny", who was pretty much in love with me. He was sexy (or so I thought) in that long haired, dirty, definitely-a-drug-dealer, Ecuadorean kinda way. But I was convinced I was into him. I asked about weed connects, and he offered to come by the hostel and smoke us all up. After some more dancing and shots, our group of five left, to a place George knew. It turned out to be closed, but it was a magical night. Warm, a bit breezy, all of us drunk and happy and still feeling the energy of the music. We debated where to go next, and we wound up at - bear with me here - a cemetery. In Old San Juan, there is this gorgeous all-white graveyard on the very edge of the island. Past a vast stretch of grass, it sits right outside the city's stone walls. It's on a lower level, so it is directly next to the ocean. We all cracked up when we realized THIS was the destination Giuseppe had intended. He told us to shut up, and appreciate where we were (well, that was the gist of what he said. In my inebriated state, I remember he went on for quite some time in heavily accented English.) He was right of course, it was so stunning, but you know. It WAS a cemetery, after all. But, we grew quiet and all stretched out on the wall edge, looking up at the full moon. I was zoning out, almost in a meditative state; the energy in this place was immediate and amazing. Portland, who turned out to be a writer, and super intellectual, began having an incredibly deep conversation with Giuseppe. My sister and I started laughing because of how serious it got, and how quickly. Like... metaphysics? Really? George wandered off to pee, which none of us realized til we all simultaneously asked, "What's that sound?" We were all laughing now. We decided to get up, but Portland and I stayed for a moment. I remember that. I stayed because I was so absorbed in the moment, and the vibe of that spot. And it turned out he was feeling the same thing, as we then vocalized that same thought at the same time. It was cool, doing/feeling something that was so honestly me, so from within. And then meeting someone who was riding that same energy and thinking identical thoughts about an awe-inspiring moment. He and I had connected already at the club, through talking and dancing. But in that moment, it was like time actually slowed and sparkled. I could physically and mentally feel us click.
We all walked back to a main street and grabbed a cab back to the hostel. My phone started buzzing and I saw that the drug dealer/bar manager, Danny, was calling. I gave him the address so he could come by with some of the islands finest Mary Jane. In the meantime, our little crew was kicking it in the hostel common area, sipping beers and eating. Danny came through, and he, Portland, George and myself went downstairs to smoke outside. Next thing I know, Danny is all up in my grill, trying to make small talk and making out with me. It... was... TERRIBLE. Good lord son! Aren't you Latinos notorious for being GOOD at this stuff?? BARFFFF. Weird tongue action, awful lips, gross gross gross. I wanted his long Ecuadorean locks outta my face, stat. He on the other hand definitely wanted "in", if ya know what I'm sayin', but I was negative interested:
Me: Okay, well, I'm gonna head to sleep now.
Danny: Ah. So do you have your own room?
Me: (Bam! Loophole!) Nope.
Danny: (laughs slightly) Hmmm. But maybe I could come up? Just hang out upstairs for a while?
Me: (Oh HELLLLLL no.) Aww. No, no; I'm pretty tired.
Danny: But I came all the way out here...drove here to see you...
Me: (Uhh, congratulations? This merits you my vagina? WRONG.) I know, and thanks!
He leaned in to kiss me again, but I gave him my cheek instead. I then patted him in the shoulder, and waved good bye. God, he was gross. A gross kisser. It's the worst thing ever. I can't. I'm making myself vomit writing about it.
Back upstairs, my sister and Giuseppe were walking out to the front porch/balcony. George stumbled off to bed. So Portland and I were alone in the living room, and we were pretty stoned. We were seated on adjacent couches, talking. The fans running on high felt amazing, and the warm night air coming in from the open windows smelled incredible. I heard Portland say, "And I wanted to kiss you but then you kissed that other guy..." I sat up. "Oh, my god", I said, "I kissed that guy!!! Haha oh noooo!" I laughed, then registered the other thing he said. "Wait..." I continued. "You want to kiss me?" For one thing, he had JUST seen me kiss another dude, so I was surprised he'd still want to kiss me after that. For another thing, I truly thought Portland was gay. Now I was rethinking how sexily I had danced with him earlier. Portland was leaning forward on his couch, looking at me. "Well, yeah," he said. Like it was obvious or something. "I've wanted to from the second I first saw you." "But..me?" I asked. "You....want to kiss me?" He was still leaning forward. "Of course I want to kiss you. You see anyone else here?" That was a very true statement he just made. We were definitely the only two in the room. So I leaned in to meet him, and we kissed. Holy fucking shit crap scooby doo Rosa Parks goddamn! DUDE.It's been a long, long, LONG time since I've been kissed like that. Tender, incredibly passionate, warm, perfect. Like the moment we clicked at the bar, talking about writing. Like the moment we shared by the cemetery with the wind of the ocean and the light of the moon. And now there was this. Yet a third almost... pause in time, where we felt each other in every sense of the word. It was just the two of us in the room, yes, but in that first kiss it felt like just the two of us in the world. This MAY have been the weed talking, yes, but who cares? It felt amazing. That kiss may have gone in for maybe 30 seconds, but what with time feeling like it was holding it's breath, it could have been a year. But then that moment passed, and it went from something beautiful to holy fucking HOT. Next thing I know, I climbing aboard and straddling that boy, running my hands through his curls and feeling his hands run all over my body. We just could not keep ourselves off each other. Our hands and lips and tongues were so in tune with each other. Our styles were so in sync; it was the most natural and effortlessly passionate make-out session of my life. He suggested we adjourn to his private room downstairs, and we pretty much ran there. It was maybe 6 a.m., and that pre-pre dawn light and energy was in the air. In his room, he turned a desk lamp against the wall for a nice, soft glow. We spent the next three hours in that top bunk of his tiny room. The window that stretched the height of the wall ran along the head of the bed, and the sounds and feel of San Juan blew in through the window and all over our bodies. We didn't have sex- like I said, that shit was NOT easy to NOT do- but we fooled around, and then fell asleep naked and wrapped in each other's arms. It was easily one of the most special, beautiful nights of my life.
We wound up spending the next night and morning together too, this time us being unable to stop conversing. Portland was such a fascinating guy to me. The way he looks at life, the way he views film, the things we discussed...I wish I could know him more. I actually wanted to stay longer just to spend more time with him. I wanted to take hours-long swims in his brain. Goddamn. He also had me rethink the thoughts Johnny had triggered, about Brooklyn and how maybe the best person for each of us is someone from where we're from. Yeah, meeting and knowing Portland made me realize three things:
1) As unique as it can be to connect with someone who shares your home turf, the people who are wildly different, from foreign places, have so much to teach and show you. And you them. You may not be able to share a specific joke about Midwood High School, but the potential connections to be had are just as priceless, in different ways. It's such a crucial part of the human experience, to connect with those people and grow from sharing each other's company. Even if only for a brief time.
2) I realized intimacy comes in many forms, and you don't need sex to have it. In some ways, I think the fact that we didn't have sex was actually better than having sex. Falling asleep in each other's arms like that, naked and sweaty and perfect, is what I'll remember now. The dancing, the conversations, the blue of his eyes, the thickness of his...hair! His hair. His gorgeous mind and outlook on life. Those moments were pretty goddamn special, and I'm glad I have those to cherish. Not sex.
3) I saw, measurably, how much I've grown. Old me would probably banged Mr. Bar Manager / Worst Kisser of Life. (Still not over it. What was that??? That was some bullshit.) I would've slept with him for the story, because he was there, because why not? Old me probably would've slept with Portland as well. Maybe the same night, maybe the next night. So I'm realizing more and more the value of saying no, and how much I must have grown to be okay saying it. It doesn't make me a prude, it doesn't make me any less sexual. It's making me understand my worth, and recognizing what I want, and what truly makes me happy. No amount of sex can do that as fully as saying no has.
So this weekend at work, when Night Before Guy questioned both:
- what I'll have gotten out of this 100 days, and
- why deny myself sex with him,
the answers are apparent. I'll have learned to lovingly accept myself, my whole self. I'll have learned real, true ways to connect with people. I'll have learned my worth, and why sex doesn't determine that. I'll have learned to say no, for me. I'll understand what really makes me happy, and it's okay if that happens to be something other than just another crazy sex story. I'll be able to give up mind-blowing sex with a guy who can offer me nothing else, because I don't need that anymore.
I'm almost in tears here.
To think this journey started off in my own head. I feel like I've traveled hundreds of mental miles, and then I traveled actual physical miles. I have 26 days left, and so many more miles to go. Can't wait.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
DAY 50: Planting The Flag at the Half-Way Point
Well, it's day 50. Half-way up Everest. It's cool to look back down from this point on the mountain and see the obstacles I've overcome, the distance climbed, and the changes it's brought to myself. More and more, I feel myself both letting go of and yet connecting with myself. It's a funny feeling, to be simultaneously both breaking down and rebuilding. I'm reflecting on old fears that have been faced and fixed, and recognizing new ones at the same time. At the beginning, I was (and still am) a little nervous about me not having "enough" to fill up 100 days. After going through so many breakthroughs, so early in the game, I was scared I'd have nothing else to explore, question, fix, or talk about. Kinda the same fear I have when I think about people getting to know me- that I'm like a fountain that soon runs dry. I'm realizing more and more where that fear came from, and gaining the ability to move past it. I'm realizing how silly it was to ever think I could have a limit to myself. The keys, for me, are to keep living more, always be questioning more, and not to not be afraid to do either one honestly. I was unable to do this before, because I was too scared to face myself and embrace my flaws. So while those are priceless tools, they had to be earned. And at the very least, they will definitely help me as I move forward with myself, and with my relationships.
It's part of the reason why I am letting myself talk to and meet new men. Not because I'm trying to form anything, not from any underlying motivation. It's because I have to face those fears in real situations, beyond my brain and words on paper. I bring up new men, because about three weeks ago, I met a guy at work. Normally this induces an eye-roll of a response. Not just from everyone who hears it, but from myself, saying it to myself. Because let's be honest, I work in a bar. And it's a bar that generally attracts a young clientele (22-23 range.) And there's my not-so-glowing track record with guy customers I've met, hooked up with, and/or dated. I don't know man, I mean, I'm not 23 anymore. So for the past couple of years, I've no longer viewed my job as a potential place to meet fun, attractive guys. I'll talk to them and whatever, but I'm no longer going home with any of them. This latest, though, "Johnny", happened sort of by accident. We only started talking because his friend was hitting on the other hostess, and we were both left standing there, kinda like, "Heyyy...?" It turned out to be not awkward at all. He was hilarious and super talkative, both qualities I like. So when he asked for my number, I gave it to him. And when he texted me the next morning, I replied.
I don't normally save these rando's numbers in my phone, and I do usually ignore them. For some reason, I replied to Johnny. I didn't think anything of it. I just figured, well, I had liked talking to him the night before, so why not? And for the first time in a long time, that was the real and only reason I kept talking to him. Not because I knew he wanted me (still not sure if he does), not because we flirted like crazy (we didn't, still haven't), and not because I was physically drawn to him (I don't think we even hugged good-bye; pretty sure we shook hands...if that.) It was a really unexpected, and new kind of, click. And we've talked every single day since then. It's been fun, banter, and snapshots back-and-forth of our days, but despite the sweet simplicity of it all I found it stirring up a lot of thoughts.
For one thing, it took me about a week to mention this project to him. With every other guy I've met since December 12th, I've told them about it right away. It's become a way to get out of talking to guys I'm not really interested in, sure. But more importantly, it's become a way to let me practice being upfront and honest and myself, something I lost in years of being Sexual Elena only. With Johnny, I was so surprised at how much I enjoyed talking to him in the days following when we met, that I put off mentioning anything with the number 100 in it. For the first time in a long time, I was nervous about how a guy would react. That maybe he'd stop talking to me. So what? Why the worry? Because even though he's become sort of a buddy, I'm also interested in him as more than a pal. It took me several days to get the balls, but finally, I told him. And- he was totally cool about it. It's not like it changed much between us, if anything. He wasn't ever coming on to me in a purely physical way, or insinuating he wanted to bang, or anything else.
Which, coincidentally, was another thing that left me racking my brain for answers: our lack of blatantly sexual convos. It had made me feel kind of insecure after a few days in. Like...was I being friend-zoned? I guess for so long, I derived a guy's interest from if, and only if, he was sexually/physically attracted to me. If a guy didn't want to sleep with me, I assumed he didn't like me. Not that that would make me feel badly, just was a "realistic" conclusion for myself, about how he felt. I forgot what it's like to be friends (first.) I forgot how to have patience. I forgot what life is like beyond instant gratification. I forgot what it's like to mean something to someone, because you've both taken time to really know each other, without forcing it, or knowing that ultimately all it's leading to is to sex. I forgot what it's like to genuinely enjoy a man, have a conversation with a man, without a hidden agenda or ass-tappin' crutch. No wonder I had the track record I had. With Johnny, I've had to remind myself daily not to be concerned about our conversations being just real, and just friendly. Not to get caught up in the fact that Johnny wasn't being overtly sexual at ALL with me. It doesn't mean he's not interested. And again, what does it matter if he's not anyway? At the very least, I've met someone awesome who could turn out to be a really great friend. And at the end of the day, that should always be the point of relationships. Meeting someone you not only connect with, but who you can grow from, and who can grow from you. Johnny is open with me in that way, and it's refreshing (okay, can't lie- and a little bit frustrating.)
All those years of leading with my sexual foot has proved a hard habit to break. With Johnny, it was really difficult to not flirt, not drop every dirty joke that comes to mind, not be good ol' sexually-driven Elena. And just be me- not second guess myself, or rely on sex to fill in the blanks, so to speak. I confided in my friend Rodney about this difficulty of not "falling down the sex-well" with this new guy. How I find myself thinking about Johnny in a more-than-friends way, and it's not easy to keep that from spilling over into our conversations. How I seek out that sexual stuff in a man I'm interested in, because it's how I gage if he's interested back. Rodney advised me to just stick with it, keep talking to him, and don't even think about the sex stuff. And, hard as that was, especially since the "not knowing" was causing insecurities within myself, I focused. And those worries and difficulties have gone away. I've relaxed and am letting us keep getting to know each other, in a real way.
I remember something Rodney had pointed out after I broke on the 13th day. He compared me to a Ferrari, but one that keeps letting everyone ride. And that diminishes the value of an amazing, prized vehicle. What makes a Ferrari so special is that only a very select, elite few get behind the wheel. And unlike the item of the inanimate analogy, that power of deciding who "gets behind my wheel" lies within me. I didn't understand fully what he meant by all that until a few days ago. This is going to sound crazy, so bear with me: I never saw "no" as an option. Even when I really didn't want a guy, I'd usually sleep with him anyway. And when / if I did say no, I felt apologetic in doing so. Because, for a long time, I was convinced that a) I loved sex, b) saying yes = it's me who is doing the choosing = power, and c) I'm doing what I want = also power, and liberation. But now I'm getting that I wasn't REALLY choosing. I mean, I was, but still, I was choosing it because it was there. A lot, I mean seriously, a lot of old flames have contacted me lately and I know something in me has truly shifted. I'm finally letting to of that urge to talk back to / sleep with all of them. Old me would've jumped on it, and them, in a heartbeat. For the story, for the great fuck, for the whatever. And that would have made me convinced I had power, because I was doing something I felt I wanted to do, and I had no shame in any of it. I was desired, and I was fulfilling my own desires. I guess it is power in it's own way, but really, saying "no" is the real power, the real liberation, the real choosing. It's so much easier to say yes. It's a lot harder to say no, because that requires you to know and feel your value, and be able to really recognize what and who is worthy of it. It's not that I'm any less sexual now, but I'm not being driven by just plain old anything or anyone, anymore. I realizing what I really want and deserve. Unfortunately, a lot of gorgeous cocks attached to lost souls and dysfunctional men are going to fall by the wayside. I used to have such an idea in my head that saying no made me less desirable. That saying no made me less sexual. That saying no would mean I'd be missing out on something, everything. But I think that came from me not paying attention to myself, and only focusing on getting laid. Now that I'm realizing there's so much more to me, and to life, rejecting just another well-endowed douchebag doesn't seem like much of a loss. But not living, or not being fully in the moment with myself without fear, sure does.
It's part of the reason why I am letting myself talk to and meet new men. Not because I'm trying to form anything, not from any underlying motivation. It's because I have to face those fears in real situations, beyond my brain and words on paper. I bring up new men, because about three weeks ago, I met a guy at work. Normally this induces an eye-roll of a response. Not just from everyone who hears it, but from myself, saying it to myself. Because let's be honest, I work in a bar. And it's a bar that generally attracts a young clientele (22-23 range.) And there's my not-so-glowing track record with guy customers I've met, hooked up with, and/or dated. I don't know man, I mean, I'm not 23 anymore. So for the past couple of years, I've no longer viewed my job as a potential place to meet fun, attractive guys. I'll talk to them and whatever, but I'm no longer going home with any of them. This latest, though, "Johnny", happened sort of by accident. We only started talking because his friend was hitting on the other hostess, and we were both left standing there, kinda like, "Heyyy...?" It turned out to be not awkward at all. He was hilarious and super talkative, both qualities I like. So when he asked for my number, I gave it to him. And when he texted me the next morning, I replied.
I don't normally save these rando's numbers in my phone, and I do usually ignore them. For some reason, I replied to Johnny. I didn't think anything of it. I just figured, well, I had liked talking to him the night before, so why not? And for the first time in a long time, that was the real and only reason I kept talking to him. Not because I knew he wanted me (still not sure if he does), not because we flirted like crazy (we didn't, still haven't), and not because I was physically drawn to him (I don't think we even hugged good-bye; pretty sure we shook hands...if that.) It was a really unexpected, and new kind of, click. And we've talked every single day since then. It's been fun, banter, and snapshots back-and-forth of our days, but despite the sweet simplicity of it all I found it stirring up a lot of thoughts.
For one thing, it took me about a week to mention this project to him. With every other guy I've met since December 12th, I've told them about it right away. It's become a way to get out of talking to guys I'm not really interested in, sure. But more importantly, it's become a way to let me practice being upfront and honest and myself, something I lost in years of being Sexual Elena only. With Johnny, I was so surprised at how much I enjoyed talking to him in the days following when we met, that I put off mentioning anything with the number 100 in it. For the first time in a long time, I was nervous about how a guy would react. That maybe he'd stop talking to me. So what? Why the worry? Because even though he's become sort of a buddy, I'm also interested in him as more than a pal. It took me several days to get the balls, but finally, I told him. And- he was totally cool about it. It's not like it changed much between us, if anything. He wasn't ever coming on to me in a purely physical way, or insinuating he wanted to bang, or anything else.
Which, coincidentally, was another thing that left me racking my brain for answers: our lack of blatantly sexual convos. It had made me feel kind of insecure after a few days in. Like...was I being friend-zoned? I guess for so long, I derived a guy's interest from if, and only if, he was sexually/physically attracted to me. If a guy didn't want to sleep with me, I assumed he didn't like me. Not that that would make me feel badly, just was a "realistic" conclusion for myself, about how he felt. I forgot what it's like to be friends (first.) I forgot how to have patience. I forgot what life is like beyond instant gratification. I forgot what it's like to mean something to someone, because you've both taken time to really know each other, without forcing it, or knowing that ultimately all it's leading to is to sex. I forgot what it's like to genuinely enjoy a man, have a conversation with a man, without a hidden agenda or ass-tappin' crutch. No wonder I had the track record I had. With Johnny, I've had to remind myself daily not to be concerned about our conversations being just real, and just friendly. Not to get caught up in the fact that Johnny wasn't being overtly sexual at ALL with me. It doesn't mean he's not interested. And again, what does it matter if he's not anyway? At the very least, I've met someone awesome who could turn out to be a really great friend. And at the end of the day, that should always be the point of relationships. Meeting someone you not only connect with, but who you can grow from, and who can grow from you. Johnny is open with me in that way, and it's refreshing (okay, can't lie- and a little bit frustrating.)
All those years of leading with my sexual foot has proved a hard habit to break. With Johnny, it was really difficult to not flirt, not drop every dirty joke that comes to mind, not be good ol' sexually-driven Elena. And just be me- not second guess myself, or rely on sex to fill in the blanks, so to speak. I confided in my friend Rodney about this difficulty of not "falling down the sex-well" with this new guy. How I find myself thinking about Johnny in a more-than-friends way, and it's not easy to keep that from spilling over into our conversations. How I seek out that sexual stuff in a man I'm interested in, because it's how I gage if he's interested back. Rodney advised me to just stick with it, keep talking to him, and don't even think about the sex stuff. And, hard as that was, especially since the "not knowing" was causing insecurities within myself, I focused. And those worries and difficulties have gone away. I've relaxed and am letting us keep getting to know each other, in a real way.
I remember something Rodney had pointed out after I broke on the 13th day. He compared me to a Ferrari, but one that keeps letting everyone ride. And that diminishes the value of an amazing, prized vehicle. What makes a Ferrari so special is that only a very select, elite few get behind the wheel. And unlike the item of the inanimate analogy, that power of deciding who "gets behind my wheel" lies within me. I didn't understand fully what he meant by all that until a few days ago. This is going to sound crazy, so bear with me: I never saw "no" as an option. Even when I really didn't want a guy, I'd usually sleep with him anyway. And when / if I did say no, I felt apologetic in doing so. Because, for a long time, I was convinced that a) I loved sex, b) saying yes = it's me who is doing the choosing = power, and c) I'm doing what I want = also power, and liberation. But now I'm getting that I wasn't REALLY choosing. I mean, I was, but still, I was choosing it because it was there. A lot, I mean seriously, a lot of old flames have contacted me lately and I know something in me has truly shifted. I'm finally letting to of that urge to talk back to / sleep with all of them. Old me would've jumped on it, and them, in a heartbeat. For the story, for the great fuck, for the whatever. And that would have made me convinced I had power, because I was doing something I felt I wanted to do, and I had no shame in any of it. I was desired, and I was fulfilling my own desires. I guess it is power in it's own way, but really, saying "no" is the real power, the real liberation, the real choosing. It's so much easier to say yes. It's a lot harder to say no, because that requires you to know and feel your value, and be able to really recognize what and who is worthy of it. It's not that I'm any less sexual now, but I'm not being driven by just plain old anything or anyone, anymore. I realizing what I really want and deserve. Unfortunately, a lot of gorgeous cocks attached to lost souls and dysfunctional men are going to fall by the wayside. I used to have such an idea in my head that saying no made me less desirable. That saying no made me less sexual. That saying no would mean I'd be missing out on something, everything. But I think that came from me not paying attention to myself, and only focusing on getting laid. Now that I'm realizing there's so much more to me, and to life, rejecting just another well-endowed douchebag doesn't seem like much of a loss. But not living, or not being fully in the moment with myself without fear, sure does.
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