Fetish, Fantasy or just Preference?

First things first. Everyone needs to listen to this link; it's just 3 minutes and explains the differences between Fantasy and Fetish. (and, no, I don't like Oprah, I just love Dr. Laura Berman)

www.oprah.com/oprahradio/Fantasy-vs-Fetish-Audio

What I'm going to dissect, though, is far more of the gray areas in between. I hate to even call it a Fantasy or a Fetish, I'd rather call them Preferences. Most of what I have encountered/experienced/studied, is more of a Preference: not something required to get aroused or reach orgasm, but something desired to make sex hotter some of the time/most of the time/occasionally/ideally.

Everyone talks about "Fetishes" but mostly incorrectly. Foot fetishes, hand fetishes, choking, biting, beating, spanking, flogging, golden showers, anal play/penitration, cock rings, piercings, stockings, heels, lingerie, white cotton socks and panties, cross-dressing, sex outdoors, sex in public, sex in uniform, and the other ten thousand turn-ons people have are mostly just Fantasies or Preferences. The real difference between a Fetish and a Fantasy is whether or not the person MUST have the object or scenario in order to actually reach orgasm. At that point, the point of necessary, it becomes a Fetish that can isolate and impersonate your partner. Sex becomes about the need, not about the interpersonal experience. And while there is ALWAYS going to be something in your partner's Preference/Fantasy category that makes you squirm (if they trust you enough to tell you), it can be an awesome opportunity for intimacy if you allow yourself.

Lately, I know of a few people that have taken Preference and feared it into Fetish, only to realize that they are afraid of what it could become, not what it actually is. For example, a reader described her partner's Preference for being dressed as a woman when they have sex. He's not gay or closeted; he's simply very aroused by the nurturing, welcoming, feminine penchants of womanhood. Now, he doesn't need to be dressed up in order for sex with her to be marvelous, he would just like to incorporate it every so often, and if she's uncomfortable with it, then he'll gladly take care of his own needs when she's not around. She would prefer that this Preference of his simply not exist, but even more so, she'd prefer that he feel serious shame about this desire, too. The biggest problem has been that she's gotten to where she's almost afraid to talk about it with him because she hopes that by ignoring it, maybe it will go away, fade into the past and not be part of their future together. Maybe he'll just forget that he was ever turned on by that in the first place! Bollocks. By not addressing it, openly, in the daylight and with acceptance (even while afraid and uncomfortable), she's slowly shutting the door on the trust they've built; she's showing her partner that it's not safe to talk to her about his deepest desires and fantasies. She's showing him that she doesn't trust his boundaries, his ability to make it safe, keep it personal, keep it honest. And that's why there's a shame spiral... If you cannot safely talk about absolutely anything with your partner AND trust their reaction and willingness to hear you, then that's probably a good place to begin the work.

As we've discussed before, opening up about your Fantasies is all about trust. Everyone can talk about the "socially acceptable" Preferences, it's when you get into the sticky and the dark that you stir up your own opportunities for growth in your discomfort, together with your partner and on your own. Not that everyone is going to pop open the wine and delve into the darkness right away, but when you do, or when your partner trusts you enough to open up, I encourage you to resist the urge to gasp or snort or make that disgusted, horrified expression and instead, just listen and ask honest questions. Don't shame your partner for their desires, embrace them for trusting you, and if their desires cause you fear or spark your insecurities, just be aware that that's coming from inside you, not inside them. And...most importantly, just because they are talking about what turns them on, that doesn't necessarily mean that they're going to jump off the deep end or open some giant Pandora's box of wild and crazy shit. If their desires start eating you up inside, seek third-party help if you want to maintain the relationship. The worst thing you can do is try to change your partner (or shove them back into the "perfect mate" mold you had previously bound and gagged them in). You can only change yourself and manage your reactions; please don't punish your partner for triggering your own insecurities.

Take a deep breath. Connection is why we're here; achingly trusting, open, possibility-for-judgement-and-likelihood-of-pain, real breathing-bleeding connection is what gives life meaning. It's our only real reason for existence, it IS the meaning of life, but it cannot occur without sincerity and trust and that takes extreme courage. I encourage you to grab your balls and open up to possibility...no one regrets taking the leap of faith, they just regret having waited so long to jump.

I'm curious to hear about your conversations and what bubbles up...

With a bite and a smack,

JN

(As always, send me your questions at: north.jillian@gmail.com with "JN Blog" in the title, and I'll reply personally and/or incorporate your questions into the anonymous discussions.)

"But...what if my Dark Chocolate is your Vanilla?" (Prelude)

First of all, Dear Readers, thank you so very much for all your feedback. I welcome it, relish it and take it to heart. If only you are entertained, I am happy, but it's all the more fulfilling when I can address things you are experiencing and actually care about.

The nice thing about being the sexually open and adventurous single friend is that all my friends--married, LTRs, live-ins, gay--come to me to talk about their sexual concerns and curiousities, so I can honestly say, you are not alone, no matter how outlandish or allegedly dull you think your sex issues are. Many others are dealing (or not dealing) with the same issues.

Recently, I have been hearing some, "Oh, but my sex life is pretty boring...being married and all" or "I've only had a couple partners, so I'm not that interesting..." I want to be extra clear, while the haphazard and sometimes random sex that I can detail for your entertainment is certainly entertaining, it's not the majority of what's going on out there. What's going on are your real lives: sleeping in the same bed and (hopefully) having sex with the same person night after night and wondering if other people are having any of the same kinds of conversations or issues you are. I am here to assure you, they absolutely are. Unfortunately, many of them are not talking about them, though, some are just hoping they go away if ignored... These connections with your partner, if you allow them, can be incredible opportunities for you both to stretch and grow yourselves, both individually and together. Sadly, though, when not properly addressed, they can be extremely isolating and just perpetuate the shame spirals, driving you further apart.

Recently, two issues have been coming up more and more: cheating and fetishes. For now, I'm going to address fetishes, but both are loaded and intense topics that I could write on over and over again. Cheating is a very gray topic that we'll save for (I'm sure) many posts down the road. Feel free to start sending me questions now...

As for fetishes, therein lies my title and alluding to your so-called "boring" sex lives. While I may have had the sporadic dark chocolate moments (which make for great storytelling), most of my sex life falls somewhere between vanilla and a whipped pistachio (for color). Some of you have partners that are pushing your comfort zones into the dark chocolate each and every time, and this is where so much of the fear comes from.

In my previous post, I touched on the revelation of true intimacy which stems from a man opening up about his sexual shame, and it's from this shame that fetishes and unique desires have bubbled up to become the various-sized monsters they are.

(onto Fetishes: Chapter One)

The Art of Closing the Deal

I'm in sales. Obviously. And regardless of what or where you sell, the reason we are in sales is because of how it feels to win the deal. The extreme giddy high we get as we leave the customer with our contracts signed and order ready is our EVERYTHING. The possibility that we could get a nibble of that high is what gets us out of bed. You can sell a great product or complete shit, but all that matters is that you believe in it enough to convince a stranger. It's the Pilgrim's Progress of negotiation: you begin with their perception, power through the reality, holding onto your patience, all while gaining their trust. Once we gain their trust, the rest of the deal falls into place. It is absolutely a delicate dance of teasing, foreplay and a steady hand. With that consistent and steady stimulation, we encourage them to let go, relinquish control and let us takeover from here. We then coax them into the close with a lusty urgency. A little push, a little pull and a rush towards the finish. We sales people are in it for the win. The magnificent, euphoric, engulfing, orgasmic rush of the win.

I feel the same way about blow jobs.

(I'm sure I could/will feel the same way about cunnilingus, but I'm not quite as skilled at that yet.)

Giving impeccable head is all about getting the win: the excruciatingly explosive, hard-reset, you-don't-give-a-fuck-if-the-world-combusts-this-instant-type of orgasm. Luring them, urging them, drawing out every drop of energy as they hurdle up the hill, towards the finish line, pummeling towards the point of no return. Going down on someone as only a kind of intermission, or worse, duty, reminds me of chores and subsequent procrastination. Don't even bother. Seriously. Don't. It's not sexy.

Due to the unfortunate anatomical circumstances of my last long-term partner, he did not particularly enjoy my face below his waist for prolonged periods of time. This is like telling a pastry chef she is suddenly violently allergic to sugar! Oh, he'd let me get in a few strokes, maybe a lick or two, but no long-term stroke-lick-suck rhythm. This is the tragic result of sexual shame, and I find so many men just get their's all over me.

It is terribly unfortunate and downright sad that men have been told by any female or partner that their desires are wrong or dirty, and as such, have shoved them in their proverbial locked box under the bed, only to pop out when their amiable loving partner least expects it. Poor girl is usually so terrified that both partners run away screaming. It only takes one frightened response for men to believe that what they want in bed will scare off the good girls (read: potential mates). So, they then consciously or unconsciously, learn to save that stuff for the fuckable rather than the dateable. More often than not, men believe they must sacrifice their most raunchy desires in order to keep the peace with their precious Madonna. I get more calls/emails/texts from women who are completely shocked by what their husband/partner is now "suddenly" into and what should they "do" about it? I assure you, ladies, this is not something new, but at the most base level, it is a very deep gesture of trust. When a man opens his sexual shame pantry, he is choosing to expose himself to your potential rejection. Please, "do" tread lightly. If they trust you with this, they trust you with their guts.

But I digress...back to the lost art, and appreciation of, fellatio.

So, in addition to the internal issues interfering with fulfilling men's desires, there are always external issues. You cannot properly suck a dick if there is not a proper dick to be sucked (see previous post). And today, I am just so happy that I finally got to make mad sloppy face love to a proper man dick. Thank GOD. I can go without intercourse, if I must, but I am formally opposing not properly using the big juicy mouth God gave me anymore. The next day, I practically bounced out of bed, savoring the events from the night before. I longingly licked and lovingly sucked every last thick drop of juice from that yummy cock. I lightly grazed my fingernails across his balls, up the insides of his thighs, up and down the shaft...lingering, sweet pauses to enjoy every throb of desire swelling in my mouth. There is no better satisfaction than making a man come so hard, so fervently by your own doing. Proper fellatio, for me, is infinitely more wholly satisfying than ordinary intercourse. I get to do the work, the negotiation: navigating their fears and perception, the slow buildup past reality, pushing through my patience, then eagerly rushing towards the finish for the win. An authentic win-win situation.

All in a day's work...

JN

"Sex is like snow...

"...you never know how many inches you're gonna get or how long it will last."

In light of this being the holidays and all, I would like to express my gratitude for something that often goes unappreciated: the average penis.

Recently, I found myself naked, excited, on my back and begging for it, only to reach out for what appeared to be, quite possibly, a thumb...? Surely not. I leaned up to address my very aroused partner and where a throbbing and somewhat normal-sized member should have been, there was...an acorn shaped stump of a penis!

Now, as we all know, I've seen every kind of penis from every country--giant, tiny, yellow, purple, crooked, uncut, etc., but this experience thrust me back into a brief and drunken encounter in college. A friend and I had hooked up with these two guys during a football game; they were in town as alumni of the opposing team. We took them back to her place and proceeded to divide and conquer. Although I was drunk, I know a penis when I see it, and I'm quite sure that what I saw was the finger of an infant. Surprisingly, this virile young man proceeded to have no fewer than four intense fluid-filled orgasms over the next 30-40 minutes, all the while telling me about the girlfriend he was in love with but not quite sure if he was ready to marry. I assured him that if they enjoyed sex with each other (especially she with him), he should absolutely marry this woman. I knew that no other woman in her right, devirginized mind would ever give him a second thought.

In the years since this encounter, I have gone back and forth as to whether or not he should even be counted in my "number" since, technically, I think I was fingered, not fucked. But, if it comes down to technicality, then I guess it should count. What's even funnier, was that the next morning after the boys left, my friend emerged from her room and expressed her great disappointment in her lover's equipment. "I'm not any kind of size queen, but, Jesus, that was a poor excuse for a man dick if I ever saw one." I could only chuckle and regale her with my own story; perhaps they hung out together so they could feel good about themselves? I was most confounded that my partner had zero performance anxiety at all! Had no one ever guffawed at the sight of his naked body? Asked him when he was gonna put it in after he had finished? I do feel badly for these men who have been dealt an unfair and unfortunate hand, but of all the tiny penises I've seen, not one has been attached to a man with any shame about it! That, to me, is the true phenomenon.

So, in the spirit of the season, and my recent tryst with an infantile penis, I would like to express my gratitude for all the men on the small scale of normal who have had shame or performance anxiety about the size of their member. I assure you, you are above average and much appreciated.

Happy Holidays,
JN

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