Retrospective

At its best, my past 30 days– or at least the part of the past 30 days that has revolved around my sex life– has been something out of a sex comedy, a comedy of farces, or, even, chick lit.

The moment Jorge produced a gigantic Hitachi Magic Wand, as he was prepping my ass for invasion.

Making fun of RealDom for his insistence on yelling about the Lumpen Proletariat while we were naked, in his back yard, at midnight…. in Berkeley, of course. Before he cropped me into submission.

Driving around looking for parking with K.PhD.M for 2 hours, talking about kink terms, and anal sex. Eating chips.

And, second best: the bizarre post-modern Romance Novel moments, courtesy of Mystery Man. As much as they cause me angst, and confusion, and anger, and are something to over-obsess upon…. it’s nice to have a crush, something to obsess on, to feel like I could fall in love again (for the first time?), to feel physically the way I do when I am with him. Oh my lord, cue the swoony heart dropping music now. To know  I could feel that way (again? for the first time?). My gratitude goes out to the universe.

Jorge’s excellent 69, excellent railing of my ass, hilariously bad jokes. Making me feel both older (I am almost 10 years older than him), and glamorous and sexy, but also somehow younger, and lighter, and definitely definitely beautiful. All his silly almost bro-ish jokes; his vulnerability and sadness.

RealDom’s self-seriousness but also his tolerance for my making fun of him, his ability to laugh at himself, his sense of humor, his acceptance, in the meta/buddhist sense of the word… which is of course balanced by his railing against the 99%. Of which  I am one– but that’s okay, he says, he likes his iPhone 6, too.  And, I feel young, with him, too. As though I am in grad school again, didn’t have to drop out and go back to work because my husband got laid off (again).

But, at its worst: I kinda sorta got date-raped Friday night. And Saturday: I really used Sweet Surfer Boy for comfort, which he had asked me not to do. Used him as a substitute. Made him as anonymous as Whiskey Dick had made me. It doesn’t matter how much you lave on a guy’s cock: you can still be cold and hard, and just a taker. Not what I am or want to be, not the point of this.  I don’t want to be fucking guys on some female chauvinist  physical rant, making some random guy pay for another’s slut shaming, another’s brutality. But, it’s an easy trap to fall into.

Safer

We’re not allowed to call it safe sex, these days. Only, “safer”. I suppose the renaming is to remind us that condoms are fallible? I remember when GRID (as HIV/AIDS was then known) was first being described in TIME magazine. I must have been about 12 or 13? I thought I might never be able to have sex. I remember being terrified, whilst simultaneously overwhelmed with hormones, desire, longing, curiosity.  Terrified that I might never be able to sate the odd thirst bubbling up inside me.

I have an IUD and use condoms religiously. Not for oral, thought, and  I schedule an STD screening appointment after anal contact. Otherwise, test every 6-ish months (some guidelines are 12 months. Given that I’ve had sex with 4 different people within the span of 2 weeks, 6 months seems reasonable).

Good testing information here.