Going viral

Posted on March 31, 2015 by Epiphany Jordan

(Note: occasionally I will blog as an advice columnist, and am happy to offer you some feedback on issues you might have regarding love, sex and relationships. Feel free to email me at epiphany@bluestartemple.com to ask me something. I will, of course, keep your name and identifying characteristics on the down low….)

And now, for our first question:

Recently, I met someone that I am actually interested in dating. We met, had chemistry, and ended up kissing. Three days later we both ended up with cold sores. In the process of dealing with our sordid pasts, my new “friend” disclosed that he also has HSV-2. He told me that his ex-wife did not have the virus but that he prefers to have non-sexual contact with partners since being diagnosed. I myself have HSV-1 and occasionally get cold sores. Usually the outbreaks are far and few between but usually associated with extreme stress, fatigue, and anxiety.

I am incredibly impressed with his honesty. He definitely scored points for having the balls to put totally up front. He didn’t have to be and so many people fail to be straight up about having STD’s. I am genuinely interested in dating this dude but I need more information about the virus, his past, the occurrence patterns, and whether or not I want to put myself at risk.

First off, you should be glad that you actually have a choice about this. STD’s often get passed around because of the shame that surrounds them. Many people who contract an STD and try to be honest about it get hit with a barrage of comments like, “you filthy, disgusting, plague-ridden whore! How dare you think that you deserve to experience sexual pleasure? Do us all a favor and close your legs and never ever ever have sex again! People like you make me sick!”

“you filthy, disgusting, plague-ridden whore! How dare you think that you deserve to experience sexual pleasure? Do us all a favor and close your legs and never ever ever have sex again! People like you make me sick!”

Once upon a time, the Catholics had a monopoly on shame, but these days it’s a national pastime.

Of course, what these people don’t realize is that their fear and shaming is what helps get STD’s transmitted. Few are the people who can go through a few rounds of this without realizing that they better keep quiet about their dirty little secret lest they face involuntary celibacy. I knew a guy who had HIV who told me that 9 out of 10 people who are HIV+ say that they will not voluntarily admit to being infected (I don’t know if 9 out of 10 also lie and withhold the information when directly asked). And so, another unwitting person gets an unpleasant surprise, those who are uninfected get to feel morally superior, and fear, ignorance and misinformation rule the day. All kinds of people get STD’s, even those who act like judgmental assholes. And it’s more likely to happen when you don’t know a whole heck of a lot…or are too embarrassed or ashamed to even bring up the topic to begin with!

Ooops – someone just kicked my soapbox out from under my feet. Sorry, but this is a pet peeve of mine. Let’s look at the practicalities of your situation. The first thing you can/should do is educate yourself. Do more than just read about it. I recommend a visit to your city’s STD clinic, as these folks have the latest information, lots of practical advice and you can avoid an unpleasant go-round with your family physician (who won’t know nearly as much as the clinic peeps anyhow). You can also call the excellent 24-hour hotline sponsored by San Francisco Sex Information and pick their knowledgeable brains. And, of course, get a full panel of tests on a regular basis if you’re sexually active.

One of the three great lies of the 80s!

As you will discover, 1 in 6 people is infected with HSV-2 (Herpes Simplex Virus 2, the Genital Edition™). And, you will also realize, that it’s entirely possible that 15% of the people you’ve slept with in the past have had HSV-2 and haven’t told you about it, so you’re probably lucky you didn’t get it before. You will also discover that HSV-1 (Herpes Simplex Virus 1, the Cold Sore Edition™) is exceedingly common (estimates range from 60-90%) and that mouth-to-genital contact with someone who has HSV-1 can cause the oral sex recipient to contract HSV-2. Good times!

While having sex with someone who has HSV-2 does not automatically mean that you will contract it, there are a couple of things about HSV-2 that make it kind of tricky. Sores can occur on the groin area, and not just on the shaft of the penis, which renders condoms safer, but not completely safe (or on the labia instead of inside the vagina if you have girly bits). The other thing is that even when people aren’t having outbreaks (a lot of people who have HSV-2 only get one horrific outbreak and then never have another one), the virus does this lovely thing called asymptomatic shedding where the infected area will give off the virus for several days prior to an outbreak occurring. Asymptomatic shedding also occurs a few times a year even if the person isn’t having an outbreak. So while you can sleep with an infected person for years without contracting the virus, you can never be 100% sure that it won’t happen.

Don’t forget to breathe!

How can you decide if this risk is worth taking? As with navigation of all things relationship: communicate. With a little luck, your potential partner is an expert on his particular flavor of HSV-2. He should be able to tell you how aware he is of his outbreaks, how frequently he gets them, if he gets any warning signs in his body, etc. Does he take medications or supplements that might keep it at bay? Does he take good care of himself, and is he physically healthy? He will be able to answer your questions much better than I can. Hopefully you will be satisfied with his responses. This is also a fantastic opportunity to find out how well he communicates about unpleasant, contentious topics; people who are capable of doing that are rare indeed.

It sounds like he’s pretty damn conscientious about it, and has avoided situations where he could transmit it. While I would say that I admire his chasteness, and his commitment to a life of celibacy, and freedom from romantic entanglements, I also think that infected people deserve to have great sex lives just like everyone else (and doubly so if they are honest and upfront, as he has been). Ironically, sex can be a great stress reducer, thus potentially contributing to keeping his outbreaks to a minimum.

Sometimes, you gotta take a chance.

Ultimately, though, the only person who can decide whether or not to move forward is you. I will say that, STD or no, sex is always a risk. Whenever you open yourself up to another person, you take a chance. And I would say that heartbreak and pregnancy are way more likely to occur than getting an STD, but if you want to make sure you truly stay 100% safe, then get thee to a nunnery. I don’t mean to make light of your situation (because there is obviously a risk here), but very few of us blissfully skip a way from a sexual encounter without being changed in some way. It’s impossible to guarantee utter safety when it comes to matters of the heart; even shutting down and turning away from the possibility of connection carries its own sort of pain. Sometimes you have to grab for the brass ring. And besides, if you’ve been dating for a while, you know how hard it is to meet someone you actually click with. All of them are going to have some marks against them.

What it’s like to be in love with an emotionally available man

Posted on February 18, 2015 by Epiphany Jordan

A few weeks ago I was chatting online with a west coast acquaintance. She told me she had given up on dating, and had decided to just do hookup sex. She had met a guy, and they started sleeping together. The sex was great and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Then, out of the blue, he told her that he had realized he couldn’t do casual sex, and that while she was his type, he wasn’t in a position to be dating her at the moment, and so he was breaking things off. It could be that he truly felt that way, or it could be that he felt like she was starting to get attached to him and didn’t want to lead her on, or that he was starting to fall for her. (Hard to know when I’m only getting one side of the story.)

She was more than a little devastated.

I have so many women friends who are attracted to emotionally unavailable men, and I get it. I was one of those women for years. After doing a huge chunk of healing work, I found that my perception had shifted, and I was no longer interested in these commitment-phobic guys. My first relationship after that transition turned into a marriage; strangely, it was with a man who a friend had tried to hook me up with several months before. I had rejected him because I thought he was probably boring (read: emotionally available). After my marriage ended, I started dating my current partner, whose heart is wide open to me.

As you can probably guess, things roll a bit differently with him than with guys I’ve fallen for in the past. I realized, too, that if you haven’t experienced being on the receiving end of deep love, you might not know what that looks and feels like. Below you will find some of the ways that I know that he is telling me what’s in his heart…and how I can trust him with mine:

He is supportive: as evidenced by this popular video a while back, many men tend to be problem-solvers and don’t know how to be empathetic. I’m more than welcome to cry on my guy’s shoulder when I need it, and it doesn’t make him uncomfortable.

Can I interest you in a nice set of luggage?

He is self-reflective: My guy is very willing to examine his feelings, and works to resolve the disagreements that come up. Not only do we deal with issues we have as a couple, he also constantly works to self-improve. He is capable of receiving feedback and criticism…and acting on the same. Neither of us is perfect, but we try not to blame each other. When you put our collective emotional baggage together, we have a rather nice collection of luggage.

I always know where to find his heart.

He’s not afraid to tell me how he feels: The other day, I got a couple of text messages from him. “I’m so in love with you it scares me sometimes” and “BTW…don’t think I told you today how absolutely fucking beautiful and smart you are.” This is standard for him, both in text messages and in person. He makes sure to tell me that he appreciates me, and acknowledges that he thinks I’m beautiful. He’s not afraid to make himself vulnerable to me, nor does he try to suppress his feelings about me.

He allows me to be childlike: I do a lot of scientific research, pay my mortgage on time and love a good debate. I also jump up and down, clap my hands and say “yay!” when he comes in after work, and run around pretending I’m an otter cracking abalone on my belly. Not only does he find these younger parts of myself delightful, he often lets his young self come out and play with me. To him, silliness is a source of fun and creativity, not shame and embarrassment.

He loves having missionary position sex: The other night we were getting ready to have sex and debating whether to do it doggy style or face-to-face. The latter won out, as it frequently has in recent months. Having our hearts next to each other amplifies the connection in our genitals. The result is some of the best sex either of us has ever had.

The eyes have it!

He is devoted: While porn bores me, my boyfriend enjoys watching it. A couple times a month, he will show up with a story of getting hit on by a girl at the grocery or a restaurant. (Great sex and deep love will make a person attractive, so it makes sense.) I don’t feel threatened or jealous in the least; I know he’s not going anywhere. And if he were to develop a crush on someone, he would feel comfortable with telling me about it.

He loves my girlfriends: While my female friends aren’t romantically involved with my boyfriend, they are very comfortable coming to him for snuggles, love advice and emotional support. He is loving and kind, and treats them with respect and affection to the point where they often ask if he has a brother (yeah, he does, but you wouldn’t want to date him).

Truer words have never been spoken….

He does all kinds of nice things for me: Even when he works all day, he’s always willing to take out the trash, feed the cats, or cook dinner. As I’ve told him numerous times, I can carry my own damn groceries, but it’s still nice to have someone who likes to make your life easier. He gets pleasure from taking care of me, and so I let him do it.

He is careful with my feelings: While he can be maddeningly logical and literal in disagreements, he never belittles my perspective or feelings, and rarely raises his voice. He is great at seeing cause and effect, and does his damnedest to avoid causing problems. He recognizes that my love for him gives him great power over me, and he strives to not take advantage of that power.

Of course, there is a downside to this emotional availability. His past includes physical abuse, molestation, bullying, depression, a dysfunctional marriage, several suicide attempts, cutting and a family history of alcoholism. As a sensitive person, the only way he could cope was to shut off his emotions entirely. When he turned them back on, they came out in a flood, and now he feels all the things. Along with intense love and joy, he often feels deep sorrow and pain. Still, it’s better than the alternative, and I wouldn’t trade him in for a shinier, newer model if you paid me….

C’mon…give it a try!

And finally, a Piffy axiom to keep in mind: It’s easier to teach an emotionally available man to rock climb than it is to teach a rock climber to be emotionally available. Look for the heart when evaluating potential partners. After all, you’re here for the love, not the pain.

Women seeking unicorns

Posted on February 5, 2015 by Epiphany Jordan

When we returned to my house from a fancy birthday dinner at Olivia, he looked and said, “there’s an envelope on the door. It’s for you. Go look at it.” I opened it. Inside was a letter from his kinky role-play persona to mine. (No, I won’t tell you what it said – my mom might be reading this!) It instructed me to go inside, follow the trail of clues to the next envelope. It also said there would be treats for me.

A reasonable facsimile of my bedroom the night of my birthday.

I unlocked the door, and stepped into a dark house. The floor was covered with a trail of rose petals, candy and electric candles (thoughtful of him not to burn the house down). I picked up each of the candies as I went through the living room, the office, down the hallway and into the bathroom.

I turned on the light in the bathroom, and saw another envelope taped to the mirror. When I opened it, it gave me instructions to change into the clothes that had been laid out for me, and then proceed to the bedroom for the next envelope(s). I found the outfit that corresponded to the role-play scenario he had chosen for the evening, along with two pairs of stockings. I couldn’t decide which one I was supposed to wear, so I put on one of each.

The rose petals and candles continued to the bedroom, which was also lit with candles. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed that several of our toys had been laid out, and the sex swing had been hung. There was a bottle of wine with two glasses poured on the dresser. I opened the first envelope on the bed, as instructed. It directed me to stop reading after the first paragraph, and open the second envelope. In it was a birthday card that said, “I love you. You are the center of my universe.” Going back to the letter, I was instructed to lie down on the bed, put on the blindfold, and wait for him to come in.

Yes, they did taste just as good as they look.

Our role play was punctuated with him feeding me chocolate-covered strawberries, and offering me sips of wine. At one point, he told me that I must be a witch, because I continue to get more beautiful every time he looks at me. Eventually, the role-playing gave way to round 1 of fantastic sex. After a break, we continued with round 2 of role playing (the punishment phase), followed by more hot sex. After, we talked, we kissed, we snuggled, we laughed, we listened to music, we drank wine. Hours later, we curled up together and fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

By now, I’m guessing that many reading this blog post think that I’ve been mainlining 50 Shades of Abuse Disguised As Romantic Fantasy and that it’s wishful thinking on my part. But no, this really happened, a few days after my 51st birthday. He had been telling me all week he had a big surprise planned, and only a couple of people knew about it. He had enlisted the help of two of our girlfriends, but all they knew was that they needed to show up at my house at a certain time. After we left for dinner, they arrived at the house. When they got inside, they found an explicit step-by-step list of how to set things up (there were over 30 items). To their credit, they followed it exactly. IP information He had told me during dinner that he had a big client project he was tracking that would require him to be on the phone. In reality, he was texting back and forth with our friends, giving them clarification, telling them where to find things, etc. The set-up of the house took most of the two hours we were at dinner. They left a few minutes before we got home.

He’s quite charming, once you get to know him….

While many men seem to be missing the romance gene (one of the many reasons I offer the Design-A-Date service), they are out there, though you wouldn’t know them on first glance. I had no idea that my sweetie would be the flowers-and-candy type when I met him. Most of the women I know who desperately want a boyfriend like him wouldn’t have given him the time of day had he answered their ad. Hell, it was a bit of a fluke that we even started having a conversation: he wrote a brief initial email that I normally would have ignored, but I disagreed with one of his statements and ended up replying to him. And he is a completely different man from the one who shuffled in to our first date 20 minutes late with a sad expression and a horrible shirt. He definitely didn’t step out from his horse-drawn carriage, in a tuxedo, tossing rose petals in his wake. Yet women will ignore the guys who might have that potential all the time, instead wanting the fully realized version. It used to be that a staple of fairy tales was that sometimes the frog or the ogre would turn into a handsome prince, but that seems to have been forgotten. Transformation is the cornerstone of the Hero’s Journey.

I cannot take responsibility for the person he is today – he did that on his own. He often says that he took a chance with me because he had lost so much by the time we had met that he felt he had nothing left to lose. Accepting someone, and appreciating them for what they do bring to the table, might inspire them to grow and change.

Hey, ladies, would you like to see my horn?

A friend recently said that looking for a decent boyfriend was like searching for a unicorn. My unicorn looked like an old, tired nag that was about to be sent to the glue factory when I met him. But he had good teeth, and good hooves, a strong heart and several years of life left in him. I took him home, gave him some food and water, untangled his mane and – lo and behold! – there was the horn, peeking out from under his forelock. I’m guessing he’s not the only guy out there who doesn’t look like a great catch on first glance, but who turns out to be exactly the sort of guy women are dying to date. Perhaps it’s worth hitting “reply” next time a guy who doesn’t seem to be all that sends a message to you from the dating site. Who knows? Perhaps you could find yourself walking into your house and finding it transformed into a romantic fantasy.

(NOTE: The day following the publication of this blog post, I came across this article on the history of the unicorn. Apparently the unicorn was the product of a game of telephone that transformed the lowly rhinoceros into the mythical beast. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere….)

It’s always something.

Posted on January 27, 2015 by Epiphany Jordan

It’s 6 a.m., and I awaken to the sound of my boyfriend’s alarm going off on his phone in the living room. It goes on for a solid five minutes. He hasn’t hit snooze because he’s sleeping so soundly. Fortunately for me, he’s sleeping on the couch: he has horrible sleep apnea, and if we had been sleeping in the same bed, he would have woken me up with his uneven snoring (don’t even get me started about the constant sweating, another side effect of the apnea).

Look, Ma, no wallet!

I climb out of bed a few minutes later because my own alarm has gone off. We are up early because we have to catch a plane at 8 a.m. He’s sleeping heavily, so I start shaking his foot. He has only been sleeping for three hours. The previous night we had gone to visit friends in San Antonio, and the next morning I got a panicked text message from him telling me that he thinks he’s left his wallet there, and can I make sure it’s where he left it. Yes, the wallet has been found, and I spend a couple hours working out the logistics to get it back. I cannot manage to find a friend who is heading up to Austin, so he spent three hours driving there and back to pick it up.

Dude, give me just 5 more minutes.

To say that my man is not a morning person does little to convey the difficulty of waking his ass up. If he had his druthers, he would be up until 3 a.m. every night. When we were living together, I would spend about an hour gently trying to wake him. I would kiss him, shake him, whisper silly questions in his ear….lather, rinse, repeat. I marveled at his ability to fall back to sleep so easily. While he never reached full-on anger when I insisted he get vertical, he frequently resembled a polar bear who had had his winter hibernation interrupted.

This morning, though he doesn’t have an hour for his brain to come online. We are on a tight schedule and need to scramble. In the process of putting his last bits of stuff into his suitcase, he discovers he can’t find the stuff sack for his sleeping bag, and pushes its fluffiness onto an already bulging pile of belongings. When he goes to zip it shut, the zipper breaks. Quickly he retrieves two smaller suitcases and starts stuffing his belongings into them, all the while grumbling under his breath. We finally make it out the front door.

As he is packing, he discovers he’s out of cigarettes. He stops on the porch to grab a half-smoked one in the ashtray, but it’s disappeared (that was my fault). His nicotine-starved brain panics. Since there are no cigarettes at the airport, we stop for some. The minutes are ticking by and I am worried we will miss our flight. I had planned to be on the road at 6:30, and it is now 6:50. Things are not looking good.

Running through the airport: it’s what’s for breakfast.

We get the car parked, grab the shuttle and run to the baggage check. We may have missed the cut-off for our bags. We have a few minutes to spare, but there is something wrong with his name in the computer. We go in to the counter, get the name thing sorted and surprise – unexpected luggage charge! Boarding passes in hand, we head outside for a final cigarette. As we are rushing to security, suddenly he realizes he needed to pee. (I’ve never understood this about him; my bladder tells me it wants to be emptied long before I’m about to pee my pants.) Security kills another ten minutes; the boyfriend absolutely refuses to go through the microwave scan and has to be manually patted down by a friendly TSA agent every time we fly.

We make it to our gate right as they call our names for the final boarding call. He falls back to sleep as I type this. Of course.

It was an annoying, unnecessarily stressful morning. I do not like to travel this way.

This is how I do like to travel: I’m a morning person, and know how to wake up and hustle out the door, regardless of the ungodly hour. Air travel is one of the most annoying rituals of modern life, but I have come to a place where I accept the adversity, grit my teeth, deal with discomfort, and stoically get through the unpleasantness to put my ass in a small seat so I can go see people, places and things that rock my world. I do my best to be efficient, upbeat and kind (I swear it’s gotten the counter agent to take my luggage after the cutoff period more than once.)

Over the past three years, I’ve learned that we have different ways of dealing with getting to the airport, and usually we end up doing it his way. Because I have been paying attention in therapy, I did my damnedest this morning to let him have his emotions. I didn’t try to cheer him up or tell him to look on the bright side. I lost my temper briefly. All in all, things went much better than our previous trip when he almost passed out due to low blood sugar and I snapped at him because we were running late and didn’t have time to grab him a snack. (That one goes in the Girlfriend Hall of Shame.)

Your chariot awaits, but it’s not taking you where you think you’re going….

At this point, the average single woman is shaking her head and saying to herself she’d never put up with a dude like this. Not only does her mythical soulmate not smoke or overpack or lose his wallet, but he has been sitting at the gate for at least 15 minutes before they begin boarding. He will hold her hand on the flight and order champagne to celebrate the beginning of the fabulous trip to a romantic destination of her choice (of course he’s picking up the tab). Traveling together will be a joy, a grand adventure, and absolutely perfect…like everything else in their relationship.

Ladies, please, by all means, keep on fantasizing. Because you know what? There’s always something. It might be something small, like he doesn’t know that socks go in the hamper (he may not even be acquainted with the large, rectangular box in the corner of the room), or something large, like you’re a morning person and he’s a night owl. Quite likely it will be both…and dozens more somethings. When two full-grown adults partner, they move through the world in different ways, and this causes all sorts of friction. Even when there are enormous amounts of compatibility, there will always be something.

One of the most bullshit parts of the romantic myth is that you and your soulmate are going to be completely and utterly compatible. It says that your political views, your taste in music, your favorite brand of toilet paper, your favorite album in college – all these things will neatly line up in a symbiotic, sychronistic, cosmic, serendipitous way. Because your soulmate is THE ONE, the peanut butter to your jelly, the alpha to your omega, the perfect person, the guy whose previous relationships were only a dress rehearsal for your amazing, glorious, peaceful union. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

The struggle. It’s real.

The good news is that when you fall in love, you get to enjoy that fantasy for about three months. The bad news is that fantasy usually collides with reality, and you find out that your prince charming hates tomatoes, is consistently late for dinner, plays video games late into the night and sees no reason why he shouldn’t continue to do these things, thank you very much. Sometimes, it’s just too much to handle, and you return him before the 100-day money-back-guarantee trial period is over (minus the $50 restocking fee, of course), or you decide to keep him and go about trying to change him and mold him to match the perfect picture in your head. Then, the power struggles begin. And somewhere in universe, a thousand therapists are rubbing their hands gleefully and thinking, “I’m going to make a lot of money off of these two.”

What if your perfect guy was the one who was there not to passively fulfill your every wish and desire, but had shown up to sand down your rough spots where you find it hard to practice compassion, patience, empathy or forgiveness? What if partnership’s primary purpose is self-growth, and love is a by-product of that process? What if you find out that People Magazine isn’t lying, and that partners are people just! like! us! They shop! They are distracted! They make mistakes! What if instead of trying to make your partner change himself, you set the alarm 30 minutes earlier, put snacks in your bag and make sure you have several packs of cigarettes on hand to make the morning go more smoothly, because you are much better at organizing and planning than he is?

A balanced relationship contains good and bad.

Balance. It’s hard. But you can’t have it without the good and the bad.

In the short term, in the moment, shit like getting on a plane with him drives me nuts, stresses me out, makes me angry and puts a big frown on my face. In the grand scheme of things, though, the positive far outweighs the negative. I know he loves me deeply, is devoted and kind, makes me laugh, and will be there for me when life is beating me to a pulp. Hell, I’ll put up with a lot of nicotine meltdowns (and cigarette butts in his pockets that don’t get discovered until after I do the laundry) to have a steady supply of yummy, orgasmic, heart-connected sex. Not only will I put up with it, I’ll walk to the fucking store to get him cigarettes to keep his annoying ass around because I love him so much, and wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Because he loves my annoying ass, and wants to keep me around too.

Looking for love in all the wrong places

Posted on December 27, 2014 by Epiphany Jordan

Last week I was chatting online with a friend who had recently ended a relationship. For the past several months she had been grappling with whether or not to keep dating a man who was very emotionally available and loving, but who didn’t challenge her intellectually. Her mind won out over her heart, and she was single once again.

I mentioned that my boyfriend and I had in mind three different guys to set up with another mutual friend who had recently separated from her husband. My friend asked me if I had anyone to set her up with. I always keep a running tally in my head of all my single friends, male and female, and introduce them when I feel like there might be potential for love. I cast about in my head for someone who might be suitable; this particular friend had been looking for “her guy” for quite a while, and has met most of my single male friends over the years. I suggested a man I knew who she had never met, who seemed to fit her criteria. Intelligent? Check. Emotionally available? Check. On a spiritual path? Check. He had dated another woman whose opinion I respected a while back, and she had given him the thumbs up, both in and out of bed.

After I described him, she rejected him. “Too old, probably,” was her excuse. Would they have made a good match? I certainly don’t know. But to reject someone outright without even meeting him doesn’t seem like an invitation for love to come and find you.

Almost every person I know who is single, regardless of age or gender, is struggling with trying to find a partner. Sorting through the sheer number of possibilities, and trying to filter for those who may be compatible, is an exhausting process. A radically different strategy is needed to find love in this day and age. Here are a few things that have worked for me, and others, who have found the holy grail of love.

Letting go: it’s not just for Disney princesses.

Be free: Do you want to be in a relationship more than anything else in the world? Is this the only item on your letter to Santa? If so, the best thing you can do is make peace with your singlehood. Truly accept that you might spend your entire life alone without a man to love you. I believe that fear of being alone is the greatest barrier to love. While I think everyone deserves love, no one is entitled to it. And focusing on some imaginary thing in the future that may or may not happen keeps you from experiencing the love that makes up the fabric of time and space, the love that’s in front of you all the time, the love that is much greater than anything one person can give you. “I love my life, but…” doesn’t cut it. Let it go. Really let it go. Don’t just say it, feel it in your heart and mean it. I’ve seen this strategy work countless times. One friend met her husband on New Year’s Eve literally five minutes after she declared that she was done with trying to find men.

Be open-hearted: Now that you’ve banished the fear of being alone, and are able to be present right where you are, let yourself feel all the love that surrounds us. Women often say, “when I meet the right person, I’ll open my heart and fall in love.” That’s backwards. You have to open your heart before you can meet the right person. Look at two people. One is walking around with an empty cup and saying, “please, I’m so thirsty – will you fill my cup?” The other one has a cup that is overflowing and saying, “I have so much to drink, I want to share it with everybody! Here, try some!” Which person are you more likely to be attracted to? Like attracts like. Be the lover you want.

Free your mind, and the rest will follow.

Be open-minded: What constitutes the “right person”? Usually what women have on their list is the superficial shit. A list like this only limits you; what looks good might not feel good; what you want very likely is not what you need. Things like consistency, loyalty, kindness and empathy can’t be discovered on a first date…or a second. Get rid of your expectations of what the perfect person looks like. Change your daily routines. Date guys who are totally not your type. If you go on a date and your response is, “well, I wasn’t crazy about him but I didn’t hate him,” go out with him again. Let the universe surprise you, and love will likely show up packaged in a way you never expected.

Be engaged: erotic energy runs through every level of creation. Playing with this current will make your life more enjoyable on a moment-to-moment basis. Interact and engage with the world. Wear clothes that scream your presence and invite curiosity, connection and conversation from those whose paths you cross. Smile and look people in the eye. Offer compliments; make people feel good about themselves. Flirt with plants, the wind, that cute eggplant at the grocery store, little kids, old men (they will love you for it). The world – your world – will be a more vivid and happy place because of it…and you might find yourself engaging with someone who is a potential romantic interest.

Hop on in and let me take you for a ride….

Be available: Every day I run across women who say they want to be in a relationship, but their behavior says anything but. It’s kind of like being a cab driver who is looking for fares but doesn’t have their “available” light on, and they wonder why no one flags them down. You can’t send mixed signals out to the universe about your availability. Either you want love, or you don’t. Saying “yes, but” is shorthand for “I’m not open to it.” And so, you keep driving in circles while other cabbies make their money.

Be a hot mess: I am. You are. We all are. Don’t hide it from potential partners. It’s part of being human. If you accept yourself as flawed, you’re more likely to accept another’s flaws. And then you can each love these tender, wounded little kids you’re carrying around inside of you (you know, the ones mommy and daddy didn’t love right when said kids were little) and heal some of that huge rift between men and women. That’s the good shit, right there.

Be realistic: Refusing to settle” is often code for “I want an absolutely gorgeous man with a killer stock portfolio and a loving heart.” Do such creatures exist? Yep, I’ve met a couple of ‘em, but they are few and far between. And pretty much every single woman between the ages of 18 and 65 is looking for that guy. Even if this stereotypical fantasy doesn’t match your own about who Mr. Right is, there is definitely a dearth of strong, solid men with open hearts. If you look for the guys who know they want a more modern model of relationship, as opposed to the guys who are already there, you open up so many possibilities. The sweet, loving man I love today is unrecognizable from the shut-down, frightened man I met almost three years ago. He was lurking in there somewhere, but had closed himself off so much that he needed someone else to show him that it was okay to live and love. Caterpillars do turn into butterflies.

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em….

Be willing to gamble: You cannot have great love without great risk. Going into a potential relationship holding back and trying to play it safe will only connect you to others who do the same. Vulnerability has been a hot word the past couple years, but its literal meaning is capable of being wounded or hurt. If you aren’t willing to allow for the possibility that your heart could be broken into a million pieces, it’s unlikely that you will find a person who wants to cherish your heart. And finding true love DOES inevitably include utter heartbreak: what if your partner dies before you, is in a freak car accident or gets cancer? I have a close friend who met a man much younger than her. Despite the fact that she knew it wasn’t going to work out (he wanted children, and she had just finished raising her son), she fearlessly kept dating him and didn’t play it safe. I attended their wedding last month.

Be ready to work: In the fairy tales, as soon as your eyes lock with your soulmate’s, all your problems are solved. You never need to do another therapy session because your true love will accept you just the way you are. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the hard work is just beginning. You will be learning different things with a partner than you do alone, but the evolution, growth and change do not stop. Once the honeymoon is over, your partner will push your buttons so well that you will think your parents gave him a detailed instruction manual on how to best get on your nerves. A relationship will put you on the fast track to work on your shit. It requires enormous courage, awareness, tenderness, patience and forgiveness. It is a fucking part-time job, and it is not for pussies. The good news? There are huge opportunities for becoming a better, more compassionate, more self-aware human being than you ever thought possible.

What would happen if you just let go?

Be prepared to surrender: People are busy as shit these days. Finding someone who will “fit in” to your Google calendar is probably not in the cards. If you aren’t willing to skip a yoga class or two, eat something that’s not on your stringent diet or travel to a different part of town to meet a potential partner, it’s unlikely you will be willing to let love alter the fantasy future you have envisioned for yourself. Falling in love will re-arrange your life molecularly, from the bottom to the top, in big ways and small. For the past 50 years, women have been learning to take care of themselves and not to depend on men for security. Economic freedom has allowed us to be in control of our lives and our destinies. Love asks us to say yes to interdependence, to create partnerships and to allow others to care for us. Being open to love means willingly giving up our control, and getting something much greater in return. Stop struggling to cling to the banks as the current tugs you; let the raging water carry you to the place of calm.

Womansplaining

Posted on December 17, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

(This piece was performed at the December 2012 Bedpost Confessions. My boyfriend was working in a fairly public role at the time, and he attended the show in drag. I love that man….)

Womansplaining

Oftentimes my man will tell his fellow geek friends stories about our sex life, and they will get quiet and stare at him open-mouthed. They will say shit like, “Dude, you’re living in a porn film. Teach me how to do what you do.” But it’s not really anything that he does. It’s more about the perspective inside his head and how he treats me. Apparently they think there’s some software that will get a woman to have super hot sex with you if you just have the reg key.

Guys, let me give you a piece of your own advice: Read the Fucking Manual. Oh, wait – you can’t find the manual? Well here, let me help you out. I’ve decided to write down what it is I appreciate about him that makes me give him everything that he wants in bed. Hopefully, this will give you a few bread crumbs about how you might get the sort of erotic relationship you want. Well, here it is: Womansplaining: The Manual.

Introduction: Light My Fire.

The time to hesitate is through, no time to wallow in the mire.

My man and I met on Craigslist Casual Encounters. He was one of dozens who responded to my ad. I wasn’t expecting much – I’ve spent hours reading inarticulate, badly written porn scripts, oh, I mean, emails, and deleting dick pictures from guys who can’t follow instructions. I have had dozens of conversations with guys who stopped communicating the second they saw my picture and realized that Angelina Jolie was not going to be showing up at their house and having sex with them at midnight on a Friday. I have had guys meet me and tell me bald-faced, bullshit lies to get out of having to tell me that they aren’t attracted to me. On rare occasion, I’ve had some mediocre sex. But this time, it was different. This guy turned me on from the get-go, and hasn’t stopped since. I have been ecstatically, orgasmically surprised by how this man has exceeded all my expectations. Not only is a fantastic lover, he’s a genuinely kind person. Hooking up with him was kinda like getting a royal flush on the dollar slots at the airport on my way out of Reno.

You must be thinking that this guy is some sort of cross between Steve Jobs, Stephen Hawking and George Clooney, but that’s not the case. He’s not drop-dead gorgeous. He’s not rich. He doesn’t have flawless social skills. He doesn’t drive a sports car, have a huge cock or ripped abs. These are the things that men think matter to women, and that without them they don’t stand a chance. In all honesty, these things don’t carry much weight with women who aren’t shallow, and they will do nothing to compensate if they are attached to a man who treats women like dirt. Status symbols are the sort of things that may attract a woman in the short-term, but they will not keep her. These days, you gotta work for it.

So, what is it that does turn me on about this guy?

Chapter One: R-E-S-P-E-C-T

R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me!

My man respects me as a person. He understands that I have hopes, dreams, fears, likes, dislikes, and a million galaxies worth of thoughts inside my head. He respects my intelligence, my drive, my creativity, my ambitions, and my accomplishments. He treats me like I’m his equal, and I reciprocate. He understands that my life and where I’m going is every bit as important to me as his is to him. In other words, he pays attention to the person I am when we’re not having sex. He gets that what makes me good in bed is much, much more than what I look like.

This is a huge contrast to how many men behave, especially when they are trying to have casual sex. In their minds, women should exist only during that space of time when they’re fucking them, and that during that time it’s a woman’s sole purpose to be hot, wet, ready and obsessed about having anal sex, followed by cum all over her face. It’s as if nothing else about her life matters – they have no interest in the fact that she might have had a bad day at work, or that she’s fighting with her best friend (unless, of course, said best friend can come over for a threesome). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat across a table from a guy who talks about nothing but himself – all he wants is a hot chick to serve as his groupie. Newsflash: women do not exist solely as sex objects. Sometimes we like to be treated like sex objects, but we like that sort of shit with men who respect us as people and are role-playing that we are dirty little sluts. Guys who actually feel that way about women are called misogynists, and they tend to scare the shit out of me. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to fuck one.

Look, I don’t need love in order to have sex with someone. But if you’re not giving me love, you sure as hell need to be giving me respect. I know this statement probably places me in the territory that many men seem to despise – feminist – but hey, that’s what a lot of women are these days. Most of us make our own money, pay our own bills, have our own careers and exist in the world of men. We would like to be treated as human beings who participate fully in society. And honestly? Sex between equals is much more interesting than fucking someone who thinks you’re nothing more than their plaything.

Chapter Two: The Pleasure Principle

And oh my meters running so I’ve really got to go, it’s the pleasure principle oh oh, oh hoo

A lot of guys love pussy. My Man loves women. He totally gets off on getting me off. He loves making me come with his cock and his hands. When I told him that I only get off from penetration and not oral sex, he spent the better part of six months trying to figure out how to get me to come with his tongue on my clit…and he succeeded. The look of astonishment on his face when I have an orgasm is a beautiful thing to behold – he has so much reverence for the unlimited capacity for female orgasm. It’s kinda like a little kid unwrapping presents on Christmas morning – he loves every last one of them. I have never in my life felt so worshiped. And trust me, after he makes me come several times, you can be damn sure that he gets his. If I could, I’d spend all day every day enjoying the exquisite sensation of feeling his cock slide in and out of me, hitting my g-spot over and over. When we’re having sex, my pussy is the center of the universe, and he’s more than happy to orbit my sun.

So many guys seem to be rolling along with their own sexual agenda and expect women to be nothing more than a prop to fulfill their fantasies. Last year, I dated a guy briefly who showed up on our third date with a very large butt plug that he wanted me to wear all night. He didn’t even bother to ask if I liked anal sex, or if I was interested in having it with him. As you can guess, there was no fourth date.

At this point, a lot of guys are probably asking themselves why it’s important to put a woman’s pleasure first. According to a recent study, only 11% of women reported getting off in a first-time hookup. In another study, 64% of women got off in their last sexual encounters, compared to 91% of men. That’s pretty damn sad, and follows the mainstream model of what sex is: put penis in vagina and thrust until man reaches climax. Female pleasure doesn’t even enter into that equation. What would the world look like if we put women’s pleasure first? I’ll tell you what my world looks like these days: after having multiple orgasms for 30-60 minutes and giggling incessantly, I am a happy woman. A VERY happy woman. My friends always comment on my positive attitude, my glowing skin and my shit-eating grin. This is a far cry from the angry, bitchy woman I was a few years ago when married to a man who had sex with me once a month, if I was lucky. If a guy can make me come over and over, I’m going to happily indulge his fantasies, play every role he wishes and feed his fetishes…then serve him breakfast in bed. And while having frequent, orgasmic sex won’t solve all of your relationship issues, it will make a lot of the small stuff seem unimportant.

Chapter Three: Foxy Lady

Move over, Rover, and let Jimi take over….

My man is constantly telling me that he thinks I’m beautiful. He tells me that I’m so sexy that it stuns him, and that my ass would look great in a potato sack. His emails and text messages always refer to me as a hot girl. He complements my breasts, my eyes, my tattoos, the curve of my waist, my feet. He tells me that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever slept with. Every time I get dressed to go out, without fail, his eyes light up when he sees me, and he tells me that I look in-fucking-credible. He has told me repeatedly that I am perfect just the way I am, and that I never need to lose weight to look better.

Look, it’s no secret that men are visual creatures. It’s also no secret that most women in the United States have huge body image problems. We magnify our flaws, and are generally unhappy with our bodies. We are constantly bombarded with images of what beauty should be, criticized for not being pretty, skinny or young enough. Every day, everywhere we go, we are reduced to nothing more than our appearance. A friend of mine recently told me that her husband’s ex-girlfriend would break dates with him because she had gained 3 pounds and didn’t want to be seen naked. After getting it out in the world all day, it really sucks to have that negative burden added to by our lovers.

I don’t get that from this guy. I can confidently spread my legs and beg him to fuck me. I’m not worrying about it because earlier in the day he told me that he thought my thighs were too fat. I find it easy to be naked around him and I’m comfortable in my own skin because I know he thinks that skin is beautiful.

Chapter Four: Walk the Line

Because you’re mine, I walk the line.

My man respects my boundaries. I specifically said in my Casual Encounters ad that I needed time to get to know someone before we jumped into bed together. He had no problem obliging me, and chatted with me online for several hours before we met. When I sent him a nude of myself with my back to the camera, his response was, “Oh my god. I so want to fuck you,” and then he went back to non-sexual conversation. He also made it perfectly clear that while he definitely wanted to sleep with me, if I said no, he would respect that decision. Our first meeting in person, we sat across from each other at the restaurant, and enjoyed a conversation about dozens of subjects, none of which had to do with his cock in my pussy. When I finally told him that I wanted to sleep with him, he said, okay, paid the bill…and then took me home and fucked me vigorously for over an hour until my head was spinning. And this has continued. In every encounter we have had, I know that I always have a choice to say no, and am confident that my no will be heard. I know that he will always honor my choice, no matter how hot or how crazy things are in the moment. As a result, things routinely get very hot, and very crazy.

Our liaison is a kinky one. It turns me on to give up control, to be ordered around, tied up and whipped. I know many men wish for that sort of arrangement and dream of having a woman do their bidding in bed. If a man wants this, he absolutely must create trust. I think a lot of men don’t realize how vulnerable a woman makes herself when she takes a man into her body. That vulnerability increases tenfold if she’s tied up and immobilized – it would be very easy to beat and torture a woman who was in that position. If a woman doesn’t think that you will respect her limits, she’s not gonna be your sex slave. In my travels, I’ve run across many, many misogynistic guys who call themselves sexual dominants who seem to think that translates to, “I can do whatever the fuck I want because you’re a doormat, um, I mean, a submissive.” I may be many things, but a doormat isn’t one of them. I love exploring the edges of erotic experience and sensation, but if it doesn’t feel safe, it ain’t gonna be fun for either one of us. Everything in a successful sexual relationship comes down to choice v. force, from the first flirtation to penetrative sex. An honorable man always stays on the side of choice.

Chapter Five: Just a Little Tease

She’s a femme fatale (and, apparently, so is Lou).

My man doesn’t always give me what I want when I want it. When we first met, we worked completely different schedules, and often saw each other for an hour during lunch. We were both horny and wanted to fuck, like, five minutes ago. Still, he acted like he had all the time in the world, dragging his fingers excruciatingly slowly down the inside of my thigh, bringing his fingers to rest lightly on my labia without giving me the penetration he knew I craved above all. Even though he doesn’t have to work to get me aroused, he seduces me and teases me every goddamn time, and is rewarded by an even higher level of wanton desire and openness. This strategy has paid off for him hugely. He has never had to badger or pressure me to get me to do anything in bed. It took me three months of asking to get some anal sex, and five months to get the hard spanking I wanted.

Several years back, I appeared in a production of the Vagina Monologues. There is one part where the M.C. asks all the women, “If your vagina could speak, what would it say, two words.” The scream, in unison: “SLOW DOWN!” This is useful at every step of seduction and sex, and is a major key to female sexuality.

So many guys I’ve fucked in the past have had their eyes on the prize, and want to shove it in as fast as they can, after a few minutes of kissing, maybe an ear nibble or two, a quick grope of the breast and a bit of finger banging if I’m lucky. They’ve got the condom on while I’m still dry and not even remotely turned on, either physically or mentally. I can totally understand why men want to get there so fast – it feels amazingly good. But I promise, if you take your time, hold back and let her come to you, make her want it, you can’t go wrong.

Chapter Six: Do You Feel Like I Do?

Must have been a dream, I don’t believe where I’ve been.

And lastly, this man not afraid of emotions, either mine or his. We have cuddle calls instead of booty calls. Snuggling is just as important as sucking. There are times when we’re fucking, and things are nasty and dirty and slutty, and there are times when we can’t stop staring into each others’ eyes, kissing over and over, and being sweet and tender.

I have many single girlfriends who talk to me about their experiences of dating in the 21st century. I hear over and over again about guys who hold back, shut down and seem scared to death when presented with an opportunity to have amazing sex, deep love, and solid partnership. These guys are often scared of losing control, of being swept away in the feelings they are taught to suppress, the feelings that are province of women, the openness and vulnerability that makes other men call them weak sissies. When he and I met, he was in the process of extracting himself from a very painful 15-year marriage, and had a badly broken heart. There was no commitment between us – I made it clear I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend right then. But instead of shutting down and trying to protect himself, his response was “fuck yeah, give me more.” The sex was just so compelling and powerful that he could not walk away.

I love love love when we have raunchy sex. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier than having my feet and hands tied above my head, giving him complete and total access to my pussy. But woman cannot live by smut alone. And you know what? If you are having hours of mind-blowing, earth-shaking, multi-orgasmic, wake-the-neighbors, sweating, moaning, melt-the-bed hot fucking sex…it’s probably going to get intimate.

Conclusion: The Mystery Dance

She thought that I knew, and I thought that she knew, so both of us were willing, but we didn’t know how to do it.

I’m guessing that a lot of men out there will scoff at my suggestions, say that they’re doing just fine and that my advice only works when ball-busting women are looking for weak pussy guys to fuck. But it’s obvious that many men aren’t getting laid. Whether it’s Craigslist, OKCupid, FetLife or even Facebook, there are thousands and thousands of men who are seeking casual sex without giving anything in return. (An aside, here, guys: if you really just want to get fucked by a hot chick five minutes after meeting her, there is only one way to do it: pay her. Seriously, save yourself a lot of trouble and go hire an escort.)

On the other hand, I have talked to many women who are open to having a sexual relationship but feel frustrated by the shitty treatment they receive. Unfortunately, this is a gray area that both women and men are unsure how to navigate. But there has to be something in between anonymous sex and full-blown commitment. It’s pretty simple: if you’re having sex with someone more than once, you’re having a relationship with them. It may not be the sort of relationship that is intended to lead to marriage and kids, but it’s a relationship nonetheless. Personally, I think it takes more integrity, honesty and communication skills to be fuck buddies than it does to have a girlfriend, and that this sort of intimacy is precisely what many people are trying to avoid.

Maybe, though, my man is onto something here. Perhaps subterfuge, head games and making women feel insecure is not the best way to get laid. Maybe treating women kindly and with respect will result in super-hot sex. Might be worth giving it a shot. Honestly, though, it really doesn’t matter to me. If the way you’re doing it is making you happy and getting results, by all means, please continue. In the meanwhile, I’ll be showing up at my guy’s office after hours with dinner for him, and then fucking his brains out in the back seat of his car.

A very merry un-anniversary

Posted on April 2, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

Sunday, April 1, would have been my sixth wedding anniversary. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes about how stupid it is to get married on April Fool’s Day, but trust me, it wouldn’t have mattered what day we had gotten married. It was doomed. I was having doubts before the wedding, and even considered calling it off, but I didn’t. This regret is one that I revisited plenty in the year after we split up.

During our Tuesday night tryst, I tell the new boy about the upcoming anniversary, and he offers to come over and help me celebrate my un-anniversary. After I accept, he tells me that he tells my ex-husband must have been the stupidest man in the world not to want to have sex with me, but that my ex’s loss is the new boy’s gain. He certainly knows how to say the right things, though I think he’s just being his sweet self, and is not consciously trying to manipulate me into liking him (as if he needed to do that). I love that he is not afraid to express his desire for me, either verbally or physically. So many men second-guess themselves when it comes to sex, but I don’t feel a lot of hesitation coming from him. Apparently he finds our coupling as compelling as I do.

Sunday morning finds me driving back from Houston when he calls. He has been camping with some friends the night before, and is on his way home as well. I tell him how much I am looking forward to having a long afternoon with him, and that I will have a hard time concentrating on my drive. He laughs, tells me to be careful and that he is looking forward to seeing me in a bit.

I get home, put on a short skirt and a tank top and begin to wait impatiently for his arrival. When he shows up, he is limping – apparently he has overdone it on the jet ski the day before, and is paying the price. I tell him I’m making him take a bath with Epsom salts later on. We sit on the couch and catch each other up on our weekends. Before long I am climbing on his lap, straddling him and kissing him passionately (we seem to end up in this position every time he comes over). He cups my ass in his hands and started teasing me with his fingers, getting them close but never quite giving me what I want. I start shifting around, pushing against him, wiggling and trying to get him to finger-fuck me. He tells me in his deep voice how much he enjoyed teasing me. I try to grab at his hair, which is too short for me to get my hands into and tell him that he has to stop and take me to bed immediately, that if he fucks me now he can tease me later. He agrees to this plan, and we go in the bedroom and strip off our clothes.

I tell him to lie back on the bed since he is in a lot of pain, that I will do all the work. He puts on a condom and I climb on top of him and start to ride. Again, I am amazed at how good it feels to have him inside of me, and I start to cum over and over. While I’m no stranger to multiple orgasms, he seems to hit all the right places, and I’m so wet I wonder if the condom has broken. He is delighted by my pleasure, and tells me I can cum on his cock as many times as I like, and that he’s glad he’s wearing a condom because he would only last 30 seconds if we were skin to skin. I lose any sense of self-control, and continue to moan and writhe above him. He tells me he has mastered the art of having orgasms without ejaculating, and he’s probably had about four or five. Finally, he can no longer hold back his ejaculation, and he comes with a roar. I collapse onto him, panting and kissing him over and over. I realize that I’m very, very thirsty, and drink deeply from the glass of water I have left next to the bed.

I curl up next to him and put my arms around him, absentmindedly stroking him wherever my hands fall. This is the first time in the month we’ve started seeing each other when we’ve had the luxury of lying in bed, talking and touching. We’re still at the stage where flirtation and sexual sparring on email eclipses small talk about our day-to-day lives or more philosophical conversations. I’m attracted to his mind as well as his body, and it’s nice to have a chance to find out more about what’s going on in his head.

I’ve been wanting to talk to him about some boundaries issues since I’ve been seeing more men than just him. Some guys get extremely turned on by the idea of the woman they’re sleeping with being with other men and want all the details, while others do not. I’ve been talking to him a bit about my other adventures, and he seems fairly neutral. At this point, though, I’m developing more of a conscience about him, and want to make sure I’m not hurting his feelings. I wouldn’t necessarily stop seeing others because he specifically asked me to, but I would be willing to make that choice. I ask him how he feels about me sleeping with other men.

It turns out that he is not in the least insecure, and tells me that as long as it’s consensual, I’m free to do what I want. It neither turns him on nor off to think about me with someone else, but it doesn’t threaten him either. He has utter confidence in himself sexually, and with good reason: he’s a damn fine lover. Here I am trying to be considerate of his feelings, give him a bit of say over what I do, and he just puts it all back on me, and makes it completely my choice. That is an incredible amount of freedom to have; I know so many people who would be envious.

While some people say they are polyamorous to the core, and others feel drawn to monogamy, I don’t have any preference one way or the other. I managed to remain faithful to my ex under pretty dismal circumstances, but I also enjoyed having the option of being able to sleep with others later in our relationship. But now I find myself in very different circumstances: while I could easily take advantage of my freedom, I have no interest in doing so. The sex I’m having with this man is so good that it seems like everything else would pale in comparison. At first I thought I would need to have sex with other people because he leaves me horny as hell every time I see him (I’m not pleased about the fact that I won’t see him for another 14 hours as I write this), but I don’t think somebody else would be able to scratch that itch. If everyone in monogamous relationships was having super-hot sex, I’m guessing that far fewer people would cheat. Not sure if this the passion will fade after we’ve been seeing each other a while, or if things will continue to evolve on the upward path of ecstasy, but I’m just going to lie back, relax and enjoy the ride.

After lying around for a few hours, we realize that we’re hungry, and hit a new Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. It’s romantic to be out in public together, and we’re all over each other. It’s been years since I’ve made out with someone in a restaurant. Later we return to the house, get naked and enjoy round 2. Again, it feels amazing, and I can’t stop having orgasms. Since he’s still feeling sore, I run him the promised bath. Around 1 a.m., my eyes start to close, and he takes his leave. I can’t wait to see him on our regular Tuesday night again.

I don’t have much to compare it against, but this one definitely qualifies as the best un-anniversary ever….

Being an adult sucks

Posted on March 26, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

Warning: unfounded assumptions follow….

One of the benefits of getting older and wiser is knowing that sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t always the same as doing the thing I want to do.

Oh, am I learning that lesson the hard way this week.

Things have been fantastic with my Craigslist hookup guy. The sex, which started out great, keeps getting better. We are well-matched in libido and skill. I’ve never felt so sexually validated in my life. He “gets” me in bed. It’s such a gift to be an overweight, middle-aged woman and have your lover tell you he finds you incredibly sexy and beautiful, and to have him demonstrate it with his eyes, lips, tongue, fingers and cock. Not only do I not have to hide parts of my sexuality, he embraces them and says yes, give me more. Our erotic connection is powerful, and strong, playful and passionate. I know that when we first get together with someone, so much of what we see and feel is our own projections, but I don’t think this is all in my head; he too is drawn by the siren song our bodies make when they come together. I know he’s had a lot of sex with a lot of women in his life, but I also believe he got a bit more than what he bargained for when he answered my ad.

But while things are great in bed, out of bed there are cracks in the facade of his life, stuff that doesn’t add up. A few weeks ago, I discovered evidence that pointed to him being married, and confronted him about that. Now, like having the safe sex talk, it’s important for me to establish someone’s relationship status when I meet them. I didn’t do my due diligence in this regard with this guy – he had me too hot and bothered, I went too fast and forgot to ask questions first. Totally my fault. There are tons of guys out there who want to cheat for a variety of reasons, and I’m not down with it. I have a lot of compassion for them, as I was in a celibate marriage myself and know how much it sucks, but I don’t want to sleep with a cheater. My primary impetus comes from respect for the other woman; most women will be hurt if their husbands have sex with other women, even when it’s oftentimes their own actions that lead their husbands to seek sex outside the marriage. When a woman refuses to have sex with her husband, I don’t know what she expects. But I digress. (Cheating – it’s complicated.)

Dude, you are so busted.

When I confronted him, he instantly told me that they were separated and in the process of getting divorced. After chatting with him a bit online, I was satisfied that he was telling me the truth about this relationship. His situation sounds eerily similar to the reasons I ultimately left my marriage: his wife wasn’t moving forward in her own life, and he has been enabling her in staying stuck. What I believe now, though, is that she is still living with him. And that is a bit too entangled for my tastes (not to mention the fact that she sounds crazy and I don’t want that crazy directed in my direction…or his).

It wasn’t too difficult to figure out. He is acting like a man who has something to hide. He has consistently flaked on me about coming over after work, and has always had a last-minute excuse for not getting together on the weekends. There are few things in the world that are more upsetting to me than falling asleep and waking up in the middle of the night, expecting someone to be in bed with me, and having them not be there. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like him breaking promises to me. It’s rude and it’s disrespectful, and I’m not going to continue doing it.

And so I’m going to tell him goodbye. He needs to clean up his previous relationship and move on physically before I will consider being with him. I cannot and will not risk the safety of my body – or my heart – for sex, no matter how amazing it might be. He has started to get under my skin, and I want to be able to spend hours in bed with him, talking and kissing and touching. Pleasure is a powerful, addictive drug that can destroy me, but its influence is also positive. My friend Jeanne, who was also separating from her husband last year, says she can see how things have shifted for me since I got involved with this man. I’m more relaxed, flirtatious, soft and open. I tend to spend a lot of time obsessing about the evolution of the human race and feeling cynical about our prospects; these concerns are starting to recede in my mind. Everyone comments on how good I look. Apparently freshly fucked is a style that works well for me.

The unknown is always the killer. The idea that I may never again feel his lips on mine saddens and terrifies me. It would be so easy to continue to sneak around, keep our Tuesday night and Friday afternoon trysts, and hope that we fly under the radar. But his life is just too messy right now. I have worked too hard to achieve this much self-love and respect. I can’t allow myself to open myself up and make myself vulnerable to someone who lies to me. I don’t blame him a bit; it’s quite likely that if I had known what was really going on, I would have said no. But it can’t work this way.

Still, I’m so glad I have had this experience. Even while I feel my heart ripping apart, I am grateful for what we have shared. I feel more hopeful than I have in a very long time. I have hope that there can and will be more sublime sex out there, that connection and passion and pleasure is within the realm of possibility. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for something as good again, forever comparing each new experience and having each one come up short, or maybe I’ll meet someone who rocks my world even harder. Maybe this will be the end, and I’ve had the joy of get to hear his beautiful, deep voice crying out as he climaxes for the last time. Or maybe he’ll free himself from his marriage and make his way back into my bed, without the subterfuge and lies.

(Postscript: she really wasn’t living with him. And we kept seeing each other. More to be revealed….)

Riding in cars with boys

Posted on March 15, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

It’s Tuesday night around 9 and I’ve gotten lost four times in North Austin. As a general rule, I try not to go further north than MLK, but the new boy has gotten under my skin like a whole summer’s worth of chiggers, and I have to scratch that itch. Hell, I’d even drive to Georgetown to see him. Fortunately, his office is within city limits. Unfortunately, he works nights, so our time together is very limited. We’ve taken to meeting up on his lunch hour to hook up, and Tuesday is our night. I cannot seem to get enough of having him inside of me, and my inability to remember the way to his office is only adding to my anticipation and frustration.

I finally manage to locate the right street, and drive past deserted office buildings. When I pull in, I call to let him know I’m here. I go and stand against the back of his car, leaning back, smiling to myself, looking at the stars, lost in my fantasies about having his hands on me once again. It’s been four days since we’ve seen each other, and that’s about 3.5 days too long to be apart at this early stage in our courting.

He comes out with a glass of cold ice water for me; I know that I’ll be very thirsty by the time we’re done. He hugs me and gives me a kiss, and tells me the office cleaning people are gone, so if I’d like to come in and get bent over and fucked on the conference table, we could do that. I smile at the thought, look up at him and ask him what he wants. He opts for the car. I can’t blame him…it’s fun to act like teenagers. I climb into the front seat next to him, and we start driving. When he casually puts his hand on my knee, my body shudders a bit.

We drive behind the deserted warehouse that has become our spot, and check to see if there is anyone behind the next building over. We didn’t realize people were there last week; if they saw or heard us, they must have gotten quite a show to go along with their Lone Stars and bad Mexican schwag. Tonight, though, we’re all alone.

If this car’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’.

We smoke a cigarette, and he leans over and starts kissing me. It’s a bit awkward with the console between the seats; heavy petting in cars must have been much easier when there were seats that went straight across. My knees flop open (ooops, forgot my aspirin tonight), and his hand travels down my back and around the curve of my hip to rest on my knee. He pushes my dress up my leg. I slouch down in the seat a bit and throw my right leg up on the dashboard. He pulls away, and looks at me. I’m wearing a black and white striped dress with cleavage for days, and a pair of gold cowboy boots with very pointed toes that showed up earlier in the week in a big box full of shoes from a girlfriend in California. I love getting dressed up for him, and will do anything to turn him on and make him want me more.

“You have an amazing ass,” he says, as he continues to stroke my leg. “And beautiful breasts. And an incredible pussy.” With this, his fingers begin to caress my labia through my underwear. I begin wiggling, trying to get him to move his fingers so they are touching my skin. My panties are tight, though, and it’s impossible for him to push them aside, though he doesn’t seem in any hurry to do so. I marvel at his self-control; I have none. I feel like I’m going to explode if he doesn’t get down to business soon.

Normally when I meet him, I wear thong underwear, which he loves. I had been wearing a brand-new pair earlier in the day, but they proved to be too small, and I changed into a pair of little white boy shorts that ride up on my ass cheeks. I like the way they look on me, and hope he does too. I tell him what I’ve done.

“Perfect,” he says. “Bootie shorts are my second favorite after thongs.” He begins kissing me again, and I grab his hand and guide it under the top of my shorts. His fingers graze over my clitoris gently, and I push my pelvis up, trying to get him to stick his fingers inside of me. As usual, I’m drenched.

“Mmmm, you’re so wet,” he says. “I’m pretty sure that’s all your fault,” I tell him, gasping a bit. He laughs. “Okay, I’ll take the blame.” We continue this way for a few more minutes, our kisses becoming more frantic. Finally I tell him we need to climb in the back seat. We pull apart, and I walk around the corner to empty my bladder. My PC muscles are contracted tightly, and it takes a minute to relax my body enough to piss. On the way back to the car, I pull off my dress and throw it in the front seat. I walk around the side of the car wearing nothing but my gold boots and white underwear.

He’s finished moving the seats forward – we have quite a bit of room in the back of his small SUV – and he’s sitting in the back seat, taking off his shoes, socks and pants. I open the door, and turn around so he can get a better view of the little white shorts riding up into the crack of my ass.

“Goddamn,” he says. “Okay, those are a tie for first place with the thongs. But then again, I think your ass would look great in a potato sack.” My cellulite is quite appreciative of the compliment. I hop into the back seat with him, throw my arms around his neck and begin nibbling on his earlobe. His cock is starting to get erect, and I grab at it through his underwear. After a few strokes, he removes his underwear to give me better access. I kneel sideways on the seat, lean forward to take his cock into my mouth, and begin sucking. He starts moaning. A couple of days earlier, he has emailed me to tell me how good my blowjobs were, and I intend to do him proud. His cock is a bit smaller than what this size queen is used to, but it’s more than adequate, and I love that it’s easy for me to take the whole thing in my mouth. The more turned on he gets, the hornier I become. Finally, I stop, and look at him pleadingly.

“Will you please put on a condom and fuck me,” I beg. “I need it really bad.”

“I think we can arrange that,” he says, and reaches for the condom he has coveniently set on the console within easy reach. He puts it on, and sits back. I pull off my underwear, but leave the gold cowboy boots on, and ask him to move more toward the center of the car. Once he does, I straddle him, and lower myself onto his cock.

Because I’m so wet, no lube is necessary, and it’s easy for him to slide into me. As I start riding him, the energy in the car changes, it feels more solemn and raucous at the same time. It’s electric – he’s put the plug into my socket, and my nervous system lights up like a stadium. I can’t believe how good it feels to have him inside me, how responsive I am to his every thrust. I put my arms around his neck, and start bouncing and grinding on him. Within a minute, I feel the first of many orgasms begin – I can come practically the entire time he’s inside of me. I put my arms around his neck, and he buries his face in my breasts. I ask him to move forward a bit so I can get a better angle. Somehow, I can’t possibly be close enough, or have him deep enough. I kiss him over and over. His arms wrap around my waist to pull me toward him. Our moans fill the car, and float out of the open sunroof. The temperature begins to rise. At one point, he stops, and begins talking to me about a sexual fantasy he has, but he has yet to climax, so I kiss him to shut him up and start grinding again, moving my hips back and forth. Speed, friction, moans and urgency increase until he finally climaxes. As I hold him tightly, panting, I feel like I want to cry. I’m filled with peace, and my heart is expanding. The chatter in my brain has calmed, and is marinating in a lovely cocktail of dopamine, oxytocin and endorphins. Years ago I lost count of how many men I’ve slept with, but this is the good stuff, what people write songs and poems about. Breathlessly, he repeats, “oh my god” several times. I must agree; it’s pretty fucking divine. Not sure if it’s chemistry or skill, but damn, do we work well together.

He looks at me, and asks if I thought that was even better, more connected than the first time we had sex in the back seat of his car. I concur – the sex has improved every time we’ve fucked. I wonder what it might be like when we’ve been sleeping together for six months or a year, and know each other better. We talk about our plans for the weekend. I tell him I think I’m falling for him, hard, and he smiles and kisses me. I’m glad he approves; wild horses couldn’t peel me off his dick right now.

While I could have gone for rounds 2, 3, 4 and 5, his lunch hour is unfortunately over, and we get dressed for drive back to his office. I throw my panties in the front seat, knowing that sometime in the next couple of days, he will drape them over his cock and masturbte into them until every inch of them is coated in cum.

We arrive at his office, get out of the car, and he kisses me goodnight. I look at him, and realize he has put his shirt on inside out. I point it out, and start jumping up and down with my fists in the air. “Yes! I made you orgasm stupid!” I say triumphantly. He doesn’t seem overly concerned.

Reluctantly, I say good bye and let him go back into his building. I hop in my car to drive home. I’m sleepy and smiling, and this time I don’t get lost. And while I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure that my gold cowboy boots are shining just a little bit brighter….

Pussy Power

Posted on March 6, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

Sometimes, despite careful analysis, research and logic, the universe surprises the hell out of me. The year that has passed since my divorce has been eye-opening on the relationship front, in a very depressing way. As I had been hearing from the women around me, there is a definite dearth of decent men out there. Or maybe it’s just that men seem to want different things from relationships than women. Whatever the case may be, I was feeling like there was little hope, and that I had missed the window of opportunity that might have allowed me to have a happy sex life. While I rarely watch TV, I had, apparently, bought into the media’s idea that sex is something for the young and beautiful, and therefore not me.

Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it, and it might come from an extremely unlikely place. I mean, usually when people place/answer an ad on Craigslist Casual Encounters, they are looking for sex, but what are the odds of actually meeting someone who interests me AND getting laid?

Not good…but every once in a while you hit the jackpot.

My past experiences with Casual Encounters had not been great (though I did have a somewhat successful hookup while I was still married to my ex-husband). This time, I wasn’t expecting much when I placed an ad. There were a couple of men in the stack who seemed willing to engage in a conversation with me. One in particular sounded really nice, and understood my desire to establish a rapport and meet in person before considering anything sexual. He followed my instructions to the letter, and provided me with exactly the information I asked for. We exchanged a few emails, and discovered that we had several things in common outside of the bedroom. I ended up chatting online with him the night I ran the ad, and we had a very pleasant conversation. He was smart and articulate and engaging. I hopped off the computer feeling like perhaps there was some hope.

The next night, I spent a bit more time chatting online with him. We had a more sexual conversation, and I liked the way he described himself and how he liked to have sex (a man who spends his 20s sleeping with women in their 50s gets major points in my book). He described himself as being an ass aficionado, and I sent him a nude picture of my back. His response, “I so want to fuck you,” was deadpan perfect and flattering. We finally agreed to meet for dinner on Saturday night. The next morning I got another email from him saying he had mixed up his days, and could we meet on Sunday night instead? I had made a coffee date with another fellow for Sunday afternoon, but figured I could do both.

Sunday afternoon I went to meet my coffee date. He was surprisingly handsome, with thick, blondish-brown bobbed hair, a yoga-toned body and incredible blue eyes. We chatted for a while about our lives, our kinks and what we were both looking for. We were close to my house, and decided to continue our conversation in a more private setting. Our afternoon ended with some hot mutual masturbation. I had decided that I wanted the guy I was having dinner with to be the one to break my long sexual dry spell – I don’t like to sleep with people I don’t know at all. I was happy and bouncy when I started getting ready for dinner.

Right before I left the house, I checked my email, and discovered that my dinner date didn’t know exactly where to meet (there are two restaurants in my neighborhood with similar names). As a result, he was extremely late. When he walked in, he didn’t look exactly like his photos, but I still recognized him. He was big and tall, with short-cropped reddish-brown hair and beard, and a sexy low voice. While I’ve slept with my share of men I’ve outweighed, he made me feel physically small, and those primal instincts that wire women to look for a protector kicked in. We ate, and talked about California and Texas and quantum physics, and I discovered we had even more in common than we originally thought. He was a good listener, and a fun dining companion. As I suspected, I was attracted to him. I told him that I had turned down an offer for sex earlier in the day because I wanted him to be the first guy I slept with post-divorce. We paid our bill, and he followed me back to my house.

We were talking, and I finally leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were soft and full, and he was a really good kisser. We began making out in earnest. I stood up, and he followed, put his arms around me and ran his hands down my back until they cupped my ass. He smiled when he felt my underwear (he had told me how much thong underwear turned him on, and I had no problem obliging his request). I pulled away from him again, and began undressing as he watched. When my skirt came off, I turned my back to him and walked toward the bed, smiling at him over my shoulder. I bent forward over the footboard, and stuck my ass in the air so he could have a better view. He inhaled sharply. “Wow. Your ass really is incredible.” He walked over to the bed and began running his hands over it, pushing his body against mine and pulling the thong up a bit to rub against my swollen labia. I spread my legs a bit, and asked him to push his fingers inside of me. He did not oblige. I began to push back against him more frantically, trying to reposition myself so he would touch me. Finally I reached behind me and grabbed for his cock, which was starting to get erect. He backed off to remove his pants. I spun back around to face him, and fell on my knees. I teased the head of his cock with my tongue and my lips, and finally took him into my mouth.

There are few things in the world I enjoy more than having a man’s cock in my mouth. I know a lot of women don’t like it, but it feels so natural to me. I’m not sure if it’s the trust implied in allowing me to put a man in such a vulnerable spot, or if it’s a replication of the sucking I did as a baby, but I take great pride in my work. Well, it could also be as simple as knowing that soon after said cock has been sucked, it will likely be in my vagina. “You are amazing,” he moaned. “You really like this, don’t you?” I looked up at him, and smiled. “Oh yes I do, very much,” I said, as I continued. After a few minutes, I was squirming, and wanting more. I stopped, climbed on the bed, spread my legs, and asked him to fuck me. Instead, he began going down on me.

Normally, having a man go down on me is pretty meh. I have a very small clitoris and a large g-spot, and most of the time oral sex is just too intense (such a huge concentration of nerve endings in such a small spot). But this man had a very talented tongue. I think I may be converted to the cult of cunnilingus yet. It didn’t get me off, but it was much more arousing than normal. If his goal was to rachet up the sexual tension, he was doing so quite successfully.

He finally capitulated to my begging, and started to fuck me. While I may come across as a man-hating bitch at times, I love having sex with men. This is how I crave to experience masculine energy: channeled into me through the end of their cocks. In the yin-yang symbol, the masculine and the feminine each have a piece of the other inside of them, and my pussy is definitely where that little part fits into me, physically and spiritually. Or maybe it’s just that I get off so well from penetration.

Whichever it was, the masculine energy coming at me from this man was strong, primal and wholly unapologetic. One of the complaints more traditional men have about men who couple with feminists is that many modern men are emasculated. I think that men who are really kind and sensitive in this day and age are wary of traditional masculine traits or behaviors, because so many times over the ages they have been used to hurt, dominate and oppress women, and they don’t want to be that guy. This man had no issues about that whatsoever, and clearly enjoyed his sexuality. Or maybe he was just enjoying watching me have orgasm after orgasm. He had skill, size and stamina, and fucked me in a way I had fantasized about, and craved, for years. I’ve had some great sex in my lifetime, but wow.

I had waited a long, long time, to consecrate my temple, the space that had been created to facilitate sex and pleasure. The construction of the temple destroyed my love for my ex-husband, and ultimately it killed our marriage and the dreams I had of bringing my vision to life. I had fooled around in there before, had several self-administered orgasms, but I had yet to have sex with another person. It was definitely worth the wait to find the right time and the right person.

Why you so afraid of a little pussy?

Somewhere in the middle of being fucked, I felt myself stepping into the archetype of the temple priestess, she who walks the universe to the intersection of sexuality and spirituality. I have spent many years thinking about her, talking about her, writing about her, studying her and – after my divorce – telling her I was finished with her. Apparently, she is not finished with me. I don’t know how I might manifest her in the future with others, but this Inanna has found her consort, her Dumuzi.

“Oh my god – where has this pussy been all my life?” he asked incredulously, as he was watching me sitting on him backwards, frantically reaching for another orgasm. About 20 minutes in, his thrusts became more insistent, and he came loudly and decisively. So many men are quiet (a friend theorizes this comes from boys furtively masturbating in their bedrooms as teenagers so their parents won’t hear). Afterwards, both of us lay on the bed, kissing and panting and smiling, asking ourselves what the hell had happened. Not sure, but I know I want more of that.

I. Am. So. Dick-whipped.

And he is so in trouble.