I’ve been thinking a lot about attraction, sexuality, and what tends to drive mine, lately. Since putting out an ad and having sex with someone for very different reasons than I’ve generally had sex before, I’ve come to articulate some really interesting aspects of what drives my fucking that formerly only showed themselves as atmospheric and intangible.
After my excursion last week, and noticing a lack of lingering hot thoughts that I normally associate with having a sexcapade, I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m becoming disenchanted with cock. Sex really is like pizza. Most of it is mediocre.
Mostly, though, I think that’s in contrast to my lifelong connection and presumed understanding about cocks, and the desire to have one myself. But I’m definitely broadening my perception on the subject.
I’ve thought, generally, of cocks as being these powerful, life gorged, almost irresistibly beguiling things, and I’ve felt equally powerful mastering them throughout my life.
To envelop a cock into my body, manipulate it and be the one that instigates its pleasure has historically been the motivating factor in my sex life, including my fantasies. I’ve done that in relationships, one night stands, casual encounters, escorting, teasing, writing erotic things where I know guys who are attracted to me will see them, and on and on.
It’s only been the last few years that I’ve started even trying to think about my own orgasm when I masturbate, or focus on what I’m doing rather than a fantasy. Nearly always, I fantasized about being the cock, and when I came the cock came. Most of the time I was fucking myself.
Being so enamored with this glorious member has afforded me a rather sensational sexual ability, and I greatly enjoy that as do my sexual partners. One downside, though, has been the obsession and possessiveness that’s been encouraged along with it. In sexualizing my pain I used that sex to control the cocks, and the people attached to them, in my life and relationships. To seemingly take back the power I felt I’d lost.
I’ve had an inflated, or rather, incomplete view of what I manifest when I fuck a man, and that entails deep egoic things that I will likely be struggling with until the day I die. My sense of adventure and kink collide face on with the emotional aspects of why I partner with someone and I think I’m just kind of stuck with that.
With a lot of work, I’m reconciled as simply being a person who’s uninterested in a mutually open, serious relationship. I want to be, and have been, with someone who doesn’t mind if I occasionally sleep with others, who is truly uninterested in pursing other people besides me, and there is nothing wrong with that. Especially with me having, like, 17 personalities and looking different all the time. 😛
What IS wrong with that, is that in the process of looking for it, yet feeling crushingly ashamed and guilty, I’ve generally gone for lazy, unmotivated, and inexperienced people. Emotionally, I’ve found, I’ve equated those traits with a decreased likelihood that my partner would pursue another person if they already have THE AWESOMENESS that is me in bed. It’s been a way to effectually get what I wanted without having to admit I wanted it.
It’s worked. However, the perceived safety in being with a lazy lover also brings an intense lack of respect and satisfaction with it. That’s eventually corroded my attraction until I end the relationship – bitter, disappointed, and angry, usually.
I’ve seen past and embraced physical aspects of many people I’ve known and loved, and I’ve known and loved them quite dearly and still do. I’ve gained amazing experience and connection by being open and accepting to that. However, physical attractiveness is important to me. Without it my attraction is eventually corroded, until I end the relationship – bitter, disappointed, and angry, usually.
I mean seriously, I don’t want some fucking body builder beefy dude, it’s not like I can’t handle or even adore some hair and some flab. But I’ve paid my dues neglecting myself in my youth, and overcoming it. If a person thinks so little of themselves at this stage in life that they eat like shit, dress like a bum and don’t bother moving around periodically, what can they really have to offer me in the long run, says my sex drive.
So, after going through this a few times, and moving closer to the point in my life where I’d like to settle down with someone, I’ve also reconciled that I want a person who prioritizes being fit and groomed. I’ve looked past these things numerous times and after the honeymoon it’s glaring. I work hard to continue to become and stay healthy, I work hard at being an accomplished lover and human being, and I want someone who extends the same courtesy – before I’ve come along to nag them about it.
I know I want these things – later. What I want right now is great sex once in a while with few strings and the freedom to continue learning about myself. I’m enjoying my time to myself and I’d like to have processed through the habit of picturing my ex 50lbs lighter, off beer and eating like me when I talk about this shit before I drag someone else into the labyrinth of my romantic life.
When I’ve talked about these things lately, a common question that’s arisen has been “Have you thought about sleeping with a women?”. And I really haven’t thought about it. The few encounters I’ve had with women were for show, mostly, and I’ve never felt the kind of emotional connections I do with men with women.
But, why haven’t I? I’m an overty sexual person. I see sex in the weirdest fucking places, I have dreams about fucking baby pigs in the mouth (with my cock, of course) for shits sake, can I really not want to fuck women? “I’m not attracted to women like that” and “I like cock” are generally my answers. But even when produced with the notion of a strapon, it just hasn’t been something I can really wrap my head around. Why?
I remember once, I was with my lover toward the end of our relationship, and I said “Good boy”, like I often did when we were fucking and he sunk deep into it and was really enjoying me (he would “Good girl” me too, btw) and he responded with “Tonight, I’m not your boy. Tonight I’m your MAN”.
My reaction was to be surprised and impressed, but not turned on. In fact, I had to work myself to being surprised and impressed at his assertion from initially thinking what he said was downright silly. I’m your MAN? What a ridiculous thing to say.
I didn’t think much of it then, but as I worked through the pain of separation and the awfulness that ensues in my guts during times like those, I began to sit with the acute dislike I have for the masculine in myself, and men in general. A lot of that stems from my manliness being one of the main coping mechanisms I developed as a child, when my abusive, substandard mother left.
It took a long time to learn that women weren’t all selfish whores, to cultivate lasting friendships with (a few of) them, and to generally soften my intense judgments about them. I’ve felt bad about that, and unsure about my ability to be callous, direct and using in my sex life, even with people who are into that kind of thing. And I noticed eventually, in a way I hadn’t delved into before, how feminine, emotionally, all the males I’d ever been with were.
How the hell is it that I’m so compelled and inspired by All That Is Cock, I’m an assertive, masculine woman, and I have a masculine stance on how I utilize females in my fantasies – yet I want femme guys?
I think it’s because I’ve only focused on one side of the equation. I’ve focused on the power I’ve derived from my view of cock, and in doing so I’ve taken it away from their proper owners. When I say I’ve got big balls, it’s a compliment. When a male says “I’m a MAN” or identifies with being a man, it’s laughable and unattractive. Why?
Because I’ve been completely unwilling to see the flip side. The side of the cock that’s vulnerable. Needy, and sort of silly and floppy and pathetic and constantly searching searching searching for validation and something to spit its fluid into. The side that’s limited and one-dimensional. The side that can’t reproduce, the side that requires that sexual encounters be choreographed in an arc based on how long an erection can last. The side of me that’s been like a bottomless, sad pit that I’ve flung every lover I’ve had into because I couldn’t fucking face looking at it.
I’ve craved that needy, pitiful little one-dimensional cock. I’ve exploited that need and I’ve devoured it and I’ve savored it and at the same time I’ve fucking hated seeing it and I’ve hated that I wanted it and I’ve REALLY hated when I’ve felt compelled and controlled by it – Which is why I’ve gone batshit fucking loonballs when I’ve been in deep sexual relationships, addicted to the validation of someones cock.
Being manly was supposed to make me better, and the men in my life were supposed to be better than me, if not infallible. The all-solving rock I’ve expected the man in me to be. The all-solving Mr. Wizard I thought for so long my step dad was (whom I barely speak to, now). But most often I chose people who right out the gate had odds against them that I would ever see them that way to protect my ego.
So it’s clear. I need to get ok with men being just as weak and pathetic as women are. Really ok with it. The only place men are excluded from weakness and the shit spewing, whining, bitchy infant inside is in my fantasy world, and that’s why I always end up disappointed in them. Men are not supposed to be better than me, and the tiny person inside me who wants to be protected by them really believes that’s supposed to be the way it is.
I need to get clear, again, in yet another new way, that conquering them, or anyone, doesn’t make me more powerful. I need to get clear that my masculinity is an asset, but it doesn’t make me any stronger or more viable when I’m torn in half over it.
I realized, while thinking about this, that I’ve only ever viewed strapons in the sense of utterly dominating another person. Not forcing, but, it’s only ever come up seriously when a man I was dating wanted me to use one on him. Strapons with women always seemed to be some kind of shallow play.
I find doggie style to be the main domination position that comes to mind when the situation calls for that, so when I’ve thought of lesbians fucking each other with strapons, I thought of that. It’s an awesome bonding position when you’re already bonded, but in more casual sex it’s pretty distant. When I was younger I figured that was the position a guy asks for when he wanted to fantasize about his ex or some porn star.
I had literally never considered that a woman using a strapon on me, or vice versa, might be in missionary, where our eyes could be locked, and where a more connective experience could be had.
After giving that a nice, long thought, I’m wondering if sleeping with a woman is really so far fetched as I’ve led myself to believe.
My next show illustrates the theme of divorcing yourself from you, be it masculinity or your inner squawking baby or anything really. It talks about this, even though I’m just now, like right now, understanding where those ideas came from. I started working on this show a year ago. It’s almost like it was a premonition.
If Obsidian was any indication, which was also a premonition 3 years in the making, this next one is going to be amazing for me. I seem to have stopped wanting that obsessive, stalking, creepy, emotionally manipulative type once exorcising him in that show. Thrilling times, indeed.
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