For a while now I've been trying to recall the best sex I've ever had. This is purposeful twofold; firstly it passes the time of day as and when required, and secondly, I'm so blown away by my current lover I can't quite accept it's the best I've ever had. What makes sex great, or should I ask what makes great sex?
A close friend once informed me that having sex with someone you love was such an amazing experience it was incomparable to that which you would have from casual sex. I have always disagreed with that, in part because she only had experience of the loving kind, but also because, well, to be perfectly honest I consider it a silly statement. Sex in a loving relationship is only good if you want it, they want it, and it all works nicely in tandem.
Casual sex is great, but always on the premise that it's great because that's what you want. Take Mr Green, who I saw on and off for a year or so - our relationship was not strictly monogamous, nor committed on a full time basis - he was lovely but had issues with not being good enough for me (oddly in a social standing kind of way, not a sexual one) which ultimately was our downfall. There was only room in that relationship for one self destructive neurotic, and that was me!! So on we go ...
Mr Green was challenging - emotionally, intellectually and physically - he was, and to some degree still is, someone special and absolutely brilliant in bed! The other most notable partner, Mr Marine (who surely deserves at least one dedicated post at a later date such is his deliciousness), was predominantly challenging physically, and fared pretty well on the other two fronts, though not in such an enjoyable way - but boy was he, and is he, hot hot hot!! The current Mr, a suitable moniker is still not yet forthcoming, blows them both out of the water in the most curious way.
Boundaries that I refuse to accept do not seem to exist with him which leaves us with a 'the world is our oyster' feeling. We move between loving and tender, to rough and intense, back the other way and then everything in between as easily as putting one foot in front of the other. The very thought of him is intoxicating, let alone when he is between my legs, but it goes beyond the act of sex alone, it covers ever interaction with him. The intensity of the connection we have on an intellectual and physical level, and I pause before adding an emotional level, leads to the most mind blowing sex I have ever had which I think neatly answers my question ... I do like it when that happens!!
The question that now follows, for me at least, is, given our scarily similar selves, is this a relationship built on narcissism? I think I have some reading to do before I consider that one fully ...
Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Neurosis
I invited him to join me for dinner on Saturday, and in the style of 17th century companions, we corresponded through his acceptance, the arrangements and his concern that the lack of chaperone may have on my reputation. You may ask why, but I ask why not? We've put the debacle of the previous weekend behind us, and I am resolved that whilst not necessary, I need to make an effort that he is not necessarily aware of, but which he will appreciate.
I'm happy to admit I have a few neurosis: I'm not keen on displaying affection in public, I loathe neediness and I have a horrible tendency to separate emotions from sex. The net result is that the man at the end of my attentions finds that I'm attentive and adventurous in bed, but I won't hold hands in public without cringing and am laid back regarding when I may see him next which often appears ambivalent and occasionally cold. In principle you could argue that there is nothing wrong with this, but it very much goes against certain aspects of my character so is often confusing for the recipient.
I'm very aware that the two occasions I've ended up spending the night with Him, it's been at the end of an alcohol fuelled evening. Not excessively so, but if you put it into the context that it's natural where alcohol is involved for your normal barriers to be lowered, it prompts an unpleasant question. Am I more likely to display affection and emotion when I've had a drink? I think this is in part true, and that I'm not likely to be alone in that, but I also recognise that with Him there are lots of uncertainties surrounding our relationship that leave me uneasy and as a consequence less likely to overcome these neurosis.
So I am resolved that necessary or not, it would be to both our benefit for me to make more of an effort in these regards. Our dinner date was lovely - a nice evening with good conversation as companions, and later, as anticipated, we got down to business ;-) Yet another sleepless night, toe curling engagement, pushing of boundaries and genuine ongoing and seemingly unending pleasure. But amusingly, I feel the need to remember to take his hand next time that I see him, because I think he'd quite like it.
I'm happy to admit I have a few neurosis: I'm not keen on displaying affection in public, I loathe neediness and I have a horrible tendency to separate emotions from sex. The net result is that the man at the end of my attentions finds that I'm attentive and adventurous in bed, but I won't hold hands in public without cringing and am laid back regarding when I may see him next which often appears ambivalent and occasionally cold. In principle you could argue that there is nothing wrong with this, but it very much goes against certain aspects of my character so is often confusing for the recipient.
I'm very aware that the two occasions I've ended up spending the night with Him, it's been at the end of an alcohol fuelled evening. Not excessively so, but if you put it into the context that it's natural where alcohol is involved for your normal barriers to be lowered, it prompts an unpleasant question. Am I more likely to display affection and emotion when I've had a drink? I think this is in part true, and that I'm not likely to be alone in that, but I also recognise that with Him there are lots of uncertainties surrounding our relationship that leave me uneasy and as a consequence less likely to overcome these neurosis.
So I am resolved that necessary or not, it would be to both our benefit for me to make more of an effort in these regards. Our dinner date was lovely - a nice evening with good conversation as companions, and later, as anticipated, we got down to business ;-) Yet another sleepless night, toe curling engagement, pushing of boundaries and genuine ongoing and seemingly unending pleasure. But amusingly, I feel the need to remember to take his hand next time that I see him, because I think he'd quite like it.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Saturday
Saturday came and went. The net result was that I went home by myself to a cold flat, and sat in the lounge for a few hours staring blanking at my laptop in a state of fierce despair and confusion waiting for the tumble dryer to tumble my bed sheets dry. I desperately wanted to just crawl into bed, shut my eyes really tight and fall asleep, not thinking about anything.
He came to the party. He didn't just appear all of a sudden - we met in advance, he didn't shy away too much from the cameras, and we didn't re-enact our favourite trick of competing with each other in front of other people to the point we both make idiots of ourselves. Making an idiot of oneself was reserved for me that night, and me alone, and I'm conservatively sure it isn't for any of the reasons you could imagine, so let me try to explain ...
Having had the opportunity to meet him for coffee during the week I took it, thus thwarting my own attempt at game playing. He was and has since been lovely, as I have come to expect, but he also was not planning on attending the party for a fairly reasonable reason: he knew the host had not invited him, she'd invited the prospect of us, which to someone like us, is strangely offensive. Neither of us wanted to feel like performing monkeys, we are both quite (and I say this somewhat ironically given the medium I choose here) private people, and can't abide matchmaking. So a little gentle persuasion and he booked himself a hotel, bought a new shirt and informed me of his quandary between shoes or boots.
To the other guests we appeared good friends, glued to each other side, but not what you would call an obvious couple. As the evening progressed and I performed my social butterfly trick I grew increasingly frustrated to a point I've never gotten to before, with the lewd attention I was receiving from a few other men. These are men that I know, and some I don't, but who all took it upon themselves to cross the line that is invisibly drawn between friendly banter, and inappropriate and unnecessary lewdness. As each one crossed the line I walked away, choosing to refrain from entertaining their company for the rest of the evening - that's an important point, I walked away.
At the tail of the evening, I explained my frustration as it really had an unexpectedly profound effect on me, and he was just lovely and we sat holding hands (a fact I confessed to him that surprisingly to me, with him I enjoyed doing it), but he also said that I invited it, the lewd comments he means. Why? Because of the lovely but fairly low cut dress I was wearing, but also because I choose to engage at all with these men. We escorted the birthday girl to her residence and watched her stumble through her front door trailed by a blizzard of helium balloons, and he invited me to stay at the hotel with him. I awkwardly deliberated and then awkwardly declined and as he kissed me goodnight I found I could barely kiss him - him, the man who makes my toes curl with delight, who pushes me into tornado of emotions and catches me when I'm tossed aside by it's force - and I couldn't bring myself to kiss him!
As I drove home, en route parking up in a layby 500 yards from the hotel to sit in my car and recover from my bout of insanity, I could think of nothing else but of why I reacted like that to him, whilst simultaneously feeling sick at the prospect of the damage I could have caused. What have I done? By the time I reached home I had gotten as far as realising that I couldn't bare the thought of hearing him say to me the same words those other men had earlier in the evening, to the extent I didn't want him to do anything other than hold my hand, or put his arm around me. It's an ugly and inexperienced knee jerk reaction that on many levels I perhaps could have handled better including telling him what was bothering me - the latter being possible had I actually realised what it was before I had left him but hey-ho.
I'm just used to it, the banter, the comments, the inappropriateness, and when, and if it goes too far I will unquestionably make that clear, but perhaps he has a point about my behaviour. If the situation had been reversed I'd have been uneasy to learn he'd engaged at all in these conversations, would probably not have acknowledged that he had drawn the line and walked away, citing the engagement, not the line crossing as the problem, and I would have been mortified if he'd then walked away from me at the end of the evening. Why? Because I would have found it disrespectful of my feelings for him, confusing and I would have been thoroughly unimpressed. Had he not been there, would I have acted any differently with these men - no, I wouldn't, but perhaps I should have acted differently because he was there, or just because of him ... I just don't know.
I like to treat people as I would want to be treated myself, so whilst I think it could appear meek, if I don't want him to behave in a certain way in those circumstance, I then don't want myself to either. As for any insinuation that my attire invites such comments, well, I'll dispatch that with a healthy 'whatever' - if he sticks around long enough he'll learn that if it's not my cleavage that instigates such comments, it's my mouth, and those are far worse. Regardless, I felt desperate at the thought of leaving him, and of having left him, at the thought that I might have upset him, and that I might not have upset him at all, and terrified that this might all be a concealed attempt to sabotage the relationship through sheer fear of what it could bring.
So I left him with a briefly apologetic text, which asked that if it was ok with him, I'd call him the next day to explain once I'd cleared my head, and that it really was lovely to have spent the evening with him. I will undoubtedly spend the rest of the day torturing myself over what to say before I call him, if he'll pick up, be receptive, or insist an explanation is not necessary. I'll wonder if he'd have spent the evening with his arm around me, something he does in short bursts as he knows my reserve of such displays of affection, if he'd have done that and made clear that we were there together, would these men have engaged with me in the same way, would I have let them, and would it have changed the outcome of the evening? Every time I consider that I end up asking myself why I think that it should be something he does that would have such an effect, rather than something I could have done, and that actually, he's been the perpetrator by flirting with me in front of his girlfriend so is he really going to cry wounded soldier?
Je suis un idiot. The reason for this remains unresolved
He came to the party. He didn't just appear all of a sudden - we met in advance, he didn't shy away too much from the cameras, and we didn't re-enact our favourite trick of competing with each other in front of other people to the point we both make idiots of ourselves. Making an idiot of oneself was reserved for me that night, and me alone, and I'm conservatively sure it isn't for any of the reasons you could imagine, so let me try to explain ...
Having had the opportunity to meet him for coffee during the week I took it, thus thwarting my own attempt at game playing. He was and has since been lovely, as I have come to expect, but he also was not planning on attending the party for a fairly reasonable reason: he knew the host had not invited him, she'd invited the prospect of us, which to someone like us, is strangely offensive. Neither of us wanted to feel like performing monkeys, we are both quite (and I say this somewhat ironically given the medium I choose here) private people, and can't abide matchmaking. So a little gentle persuasion and he booked himself a hotel, bought a new shirt and informed me of his quandary between shoes or boots.
To the other guests we appeared good friends, glued to each other side, but not what you would call an obvious couple. As the evening progressed and I performed my social butterfly trick I grew increasingly frustrated to a point I've never gotten to before, with the lewd attention I was receiving from a few other men. These are men that I know, and some I don't, but who all took it upon themselves to cross the line that is invisibly drawn between friendly banter, and inappropriate and unnecessary lewdness. As each one crossed the line I walked away, choosing to refrain from entertaining their company for the rest of the evening - that's an important point, I walked away.
At the tail of the evening, I explained my frustration as it really had an unexpectedly profound effect on me, and he was just lovely and we sat holding hands (a fact I confessed to him that surprisingly to me, with him I enjoyed doing it), but he also said that I invited it, the lewd comments he means. Why? Because of the lovely but fairly low cut dress I was wearing, but also because I choose to engage at all with these men. We escorted the birthday girl to her residence and watched her stumble through her front door trailed by a blizzard of helium balloons, and he invited me to stay at the hotel with him. I awkwardly deliberated and then awkwardly declined and as he kissed me goodnight I found I could barely kiss him - him, the man who makes my toes curl with delight, who pushes me into tornado of emotions and catches me when I'm tossed aside by it's force - and I couldn't bring myself to kiss him!
As I drove home, en route parking up in a layby 500 yards from the hotel to sit in my car and recover from my bout of insanity, I could think of nothing else but of why I reacted like that to him, whilst simultaneously feeling sick at the prospect of the damage I could have caused. What have I done? By the time I reached home I had gotten as far as realising that I couldn't bare the thought of hearing him say to me the same words those other men had earlier in the evening, to the extent I didn't want him to do anything other than hold my hand, or put his arm around me. It's an ugly and inexperienced knee jerk reaction that on many levels I perhaps could have handled better including telling him what was bothering me - the latter being possible had I actually realised what it was before I had left him but hey-ho.
I'm just used to it, the banter, the comments, the inappropriateness, and when, and if it goes too far I will unquestionably make that clear, but perhaps he has a point about my behaviour. If the situation had been reversed I'd have been uneasy to learn he'd engaged at all in these conversations, would probably not have acknowledged that he had drawn the line and walked away, citing the engagement, not the line crossing as the problem, and I would have been mortified if he'd then walked away from me at the end of the evening. Why? Because I would have found it disrespectful of my feelings for him, confusing and I would have been thoroughly unimpressed. Had he not been there, would I have acted any differently with these men - no, I wouldn't, but perhaps I should have acted differently because he was there, or just because of him ... I just don't know.
I like to treat people as I would want to be treated myself, so whilst I think it could appear meek, if I don't want him to behave in a certain way in those circumstance, I then don't want myself to either. As for any insinuation that my attire invites such comments, well, I'll dispatch that with a healthy 'whatever' - if he sticks around long enough he'll learn that if it's not my cleavage that instigates such comments, it's my mouth, and those are far worse. Regardless, I felt desperate at the thought of leaving him, and of having left him, at the thought that I might have upset him, and that I might not have upset him at all, and terrified that this might all be a concealed attempt to sabotage the relationship through sheer fear of what it could bring.
So I left him with a briefly apologetic text, which asked that if it was ok with him, I'd call him the next day to explain once I'd cleared my head, and that it really was lovely to have spent the evening with him. I will undoubtedly spend the rest of the day torturing myself over what to say before I call him, if he'll pick up, be receptive, or insist an explanation is not necessary. I'll wonder if he'd have spent the evening with his arm around me, something he does in short bursts as he knows my reserve of such displays of affection, if he'd have done that and made clear that we were there together, would these men have engaged with me in the same way, would I have let them, and would it have changed the outcome of the evening? Every time I consider that I end up asking myself why I think that it should be something he does that would have such an effect, rather than something I could have done, and that actually, he's been the perpetrator by flirting with me in front of his girlfriend so is he really going to cry wounded soldier?
Je suis un idiot. The reason for this remains unresolved
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Turandot
It was a picture postcard, the text he sent, a picture postcard of where he is, alone, on holiday. With: 'Wish you were here ... XX' written underneath. Amusingly I found that my mobile had done it's thing and turned itself off unnoticed by me else I'd have received it 8 hours earlier and thus would not have spent a fair amount of time fantasising about the mental torture I could serve to him. God I hate it when he's right!
A friend had mentioned he'd just gone away, so my irritation had been sparked by not knowing this, or at least not recalling that I knew this. Irritating to find then, that once he'd settled in his hotel he'd found a nice view and sent me a picture of it almost straight away. I wonder if he sent the same to the dowdy girlfriend as she is currently away on a long term mission so hence not with him (more on that, I'm sure, in another post), if he really did wish I was there or if he was just being lazy regurgitating a used text message. Furthermore given his reasonable attempt to get me to go with him whilst he was considering location, whether I wanted to be there with him, if I was irritated with his sentiment or just pleased that he thought of me at all.
Should I embrace this relationship with careless abandon, should I remain sceptical of his motives, or can I dare to sit back and gently appreciate it, all the while letting it develop into a deeper and stronger union? Rather than ponder that further let me tell you about Turandot, which I saw last night - it's the story of a beautiful Chinese princess, burnt from past experience she decides she will only marry the man who can answer her three riddles and those who fail lose their heads. The story unfolds, a prince succeeds to her horror but rather than take her hand he sets her a challenge: to discover his name before dawn - if she succeeds she can take his head, if she fails she must take his hand. The prince, blinded by her beauty and his love for her, crosses the chasm under moonlight and tells her his name, leaving his fate in her hands. As the opera reaches it's crescendo, we watched the princess take audience with her father, declaring that she knew the princes's name, and that it is Love.
If you don't already know, this is where Nessun Dorma comes from, and by the end I was fighting back tears, breathless with emotion, hand poised dramatically over my chest as if it would catch my heart when it burst out, unable to beat so fast in its own chamber. I identified with Princess Turandot; I've unintentionally set Him various challenges, which he has met at every step, and rather than bask in glory he challenges me, then changes the rules, handing me victory, relying only on the trust that comes from a deep unspoken love to save him from failure.
As a person who is loathe to trust at the drop of the hat, but who's socks have been well and truly knocked off in the most magnificent way by Him, I ask you: How does this happen in the real world, and how does one deal with it?! Baffling, quite honestly, baffling ...
A friend had mentioned he'd just gone away, so my irritation had been sparked by not knowing this, or at least not recalling that I knew this. Irritating to find then, that once he'd settled in his hotel he'd found a nice view and sent me a picture of it almost straight away. I wonder if he sent the same to the dowdy girlfriend as she is currently away on a long term mission so hence not with him (more on that, I'm sure, in another post), if he really did wish I was there or if he was just being lazy regurgitating a used text message. Furthermore given his reasonable attempt to get me to go with him whilst he was considering location, whether I wanted to be there with him, if I was irritated with his sentiment or just pleased that he thought of me at all.
Should I embrace this relationship with careless abandon, should I remain sceptical of his motives, or can I dare to sit back and gently appreciate it, all the while letting it develop into a deeper and stronger union? Rather than ponder that further let me tell you about Turandot, which I saw last night - it's the story of a beautiful Chinese princess, burnt from past experience she decides she will only marry the man who can answer her three riddles and those who fail lose their heads. The story unfolds, a prince succeeds to her horror but rather than take her hand he sets her a challenge: to discover his name before dawn - if she succeeds she can take his head, if she fails she must take his hand. The prince, blinded by her beauty and his love for her, crosses the chasm under moonlight and tells her his name, leaving his fate in her hands. As the opera reaches it's crescendo, we watched the princess take audience with her father, declaring that she knew the princes's name, and that it is Love.
If you don't already know, this is where Nessun Dorma comes from, and by the end I was fighting back tears, breathless with emotion, hand poised dramatically over my chest as if it would catch my heart when it burst out, unable to beat so fast in its own chamber. I identified with Princess Turandot; I've unintentionally set Him various challenges, which he has met at every step, and rather than bask in glory he challenges me, then changes the rules, handing me victory, relying only on the trust that comes from a deep unspoken love to save him from failure.
As a person who is loathe to trust at the drop of the hat, but who's socks have been well and truly knocked off in the most magnificent way by Him, I ask you: How does this happen in the real world, and how does one deal with it?! Baffling, quite honestly, baffling ...
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