All Eggs in No Baskets...

I've been having some fantastic dreams lately, mostly involving my first female love and fantasies that never materialized but seem incredibly tangible and true. It's not rare for me to have intense sexual dreams where I can almost climax in my sleep; I usually wake up and don't remember them, but something later in the day or the week will cause me to recall it with fierce clarity. The colors and the smells and the scenery from my false reality will come flooding into my conciousness, and I catch my breath and smile...a quiet, appreciative smirk.

Dreams like these remind me of the realities I've encountered: the beautiful, the risky, the adventurous, the painful, the discontented, the exhilarating, the sad. The older I get, the less interested and willing I am to engage in illicit affairs. I've dug to the roots of my willingness and need for such private validation, being someone's secret makes you feel special and set apart. A belonging that creates a bubble around your partner and yourself, a private secret world. Unless you have had an affair with someone you admire and respect, I really cannot describe the rush you get from being their "Chosen One". It's such a supreme validation, yet, in its own way, it's also the ultimate insult. You're good enough to fuck, to visit with and date privately, but not good enough to risk it all, out loud, to be chosen for the world to see, all eggs in one basket. As it is, you're their other basket (or possibly one of several); at some point, they had put all their eggs in the wife basket, but now, they're feeling neglected or adventurous (or you've grabbed their facination and boosted their ego), and they're willing to divide their basket, little by little, cautiously at first. Something that I find facinating about this exercise is how frequently men are betrayed by their mistresses, in the public eye, yet, they choose to risk it all and trust you when you tell them you will keep their secrets as you embark on this very private adventure together.

I'm facinated by all of the (recent) buzz and sensation surrounding illicit affairs and the great lengths that seemingly reasonable, rational men have gone to in order to juggle all the versions of themselves and their lives and the intense compartmentalization that must take place for it all to co-exist so seamlessly for any length of time. What I find most humorous, that amidst all of this, they call us, females, the dramatic ones. Seems to me that they thrive on that drama like fuel for their psychological engines. I will always prefer to be the one on the outside looking in, the third party, but not again from the inside looking out. Each experience, though, each person's reality treats you to a new spectacle, a new mirror to hold up to yourself and a viewpoint you might never have stumbled on if you were always the one in control.

In the words of a seasoned philanderer I know, "Valentine's is the day most all cheaters get busted. They get busted because it's the only day they are required to show love to all their women, and when there are several, they are guaranteed to get themselves in trouble."

Just a little enticement on this Valentine's Day...

Temple Worship

I love the thought of the body as a temple. A while back I was talking to a friend of mine about her marital sex life and if/how/why it worked. She said it like this, "Because Sundays are spent with him worshipping at the temple of my body." Ahhhh....this makes sense because it takes time and build-up and actual effort and focus in a relaxed environment to have those delicious, repeated rolling orgasms, especially after having been with the same person for ages. Yes, we can engage sexually most of the time, but knowing you have all the time you desire and can nap afterwards makes it that much easier to focus on your minute-by-minute physical pleasure.

Additionally, I thought I'd throw in some C.S. Lewis food for thought on this day of worship (from Mere Christianity).

"If anyone thinks that Christians regard unchastity as the supreme vice, he is quite wrong. The sins of the flesh are bad, but they are the least bad of all the sins. All the worst pleasures are purely spiritual: the pleasure of putting other people in the wrong, of bossing and patronising and spoiling sport, and back-biting, the pleasures of power, of hatred. For there are two things inside me, competing with the human self, which I must try to become. They are the Animal self, and the Diabolical self. The Diabolical self is the worse of the two. That is why a cold, self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than a prostitute. But, of course, it is better to be neither."

Enjoy your Sunday, with all your selves...

Narcissism

I'm going to embrace the belief that blogging is rooted in complete narcissism. I mean, honestly, who REALLY wants to read all the shit that you've deemed important going on in your life at any given time?

This is why I choose to write about sex--that's much more interesting, for everyone. And even if they don't care, they're still interested.

I saw a cartoon in Playboy not too long ago; a woman and man are mingling at a party, and she is looking at him saying, "Oh no no, I prefer to keep my sex life and dating life separate." I busted out laughing because I actually do this. Not that it's good, but it's simpler.

Recently, I was attempting to date a man from out of town and as the pseudo-relationship was crashing and burning, we got into a conversation about sex and dating because his insecurities were eating him alive. He asked if I had been dating other people, and I said yes, and I volunteered that I'd also slept with others, too. But I was quick to point out that both activities involved different individuals. He was horrified and angry, and I had to laugh because it sounds as funny writing it as it did saying it then. But, it's true. I'm dating a few people that I actually LIKE and wouldn't want to complicate it with sex just yet, whereas I can have sex with someone who I used to like, but have no future, and it's all just safely compartmentalized. I don't know what's funnier: his outrage or the reality.

Sex Work--preface

"Now I can accept that having been a stripper means I may always be an easy
target for ridicule. Act cheap, reap the cheap shot, right?
[But in my evolution] I'm less distracted by outsider derision and insider
propaganda: the slut-baiting, the proselytizing, the rationalizations.
I'm learning to examine the chaos of my past yet remain in the present.
I'm learning to repress less and discriminate more.
Through this account-settling and inventory-taking, I may be "better".
Less angry. Less defensive.
I'm more realistic about what can't be wished, or litigated, away--the burn
rate, the danger, the market demand for novelty, youth and beauty.
And I'm more concerned with my quality of life than my shelf life.
I'm definitely more balanced.
But I'm nowhere near finished.
And I'm nowhere near Zen.
Honey."

- excerpted from Strip City by Lily Burana

Getting Started...

After years of watching "Sex and the City" and now "Secret Diary of a London Call Girl", reading about sex, sex workers, strippers, dating debacles and human sexual interactions, I've finally gotten to my inspiration point and found my niche. Year after year, my best friend gives me a journal and says, "Please write everything down; someday I'm going to publish it. I would never believe the shit that happens to you...except that I know you, and I know it's true."

And so...that's how I'll begin this log of stories.

A little about me: I'm 30-ish, have a wonderful life, am eccentric and lively. I have a very conservative day job, and I generally keep my work life very separate from my private life. I had a serious boyfriend (almost 20 years my senior) for four years, and he helped shape much of my attitudes about relationships and sex, and certainly not for the better. He was darkly handsome, charismatic and had the most spectacular cock. After we split, I started serial dating, mainly through online outlets, and it's from those experiences that most of my stories originate and bring us to the present.

And so my stories begin...

- JN