Pussy Power

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?

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.

Living in a porn film

Apparently my life has turned into a porn film. I have a potential new lover, one I met in a very x-rated flick kinda way. He showed up on my doorstep to deliver me a pizza. Quick: turn down the lights, cue the cheesy music and let me get my clothes off so I can fuck him.

Of course, that’s what everybody thinks when they hear how I made his acquaintance, even though it didn’t go down that way. This boy caught me completely off-guard, and when I first laid eyes on him standing on my front porch, sex was the furthest thing from my mind – I was starving and wanted some dinner.

Oh, you brought me a pizza! Let's fuck!

Oh, you brought me a pizza! Let’s fuck!

Not only did he pursue me, but he did so quite patiently. He didn’t even try to kiss me until the end of the third date, gave me time to talk to him, allowed me to get to know him and feel safe with him. There was a flurry of text messages, and then I left town for a couple of weeks. We still haven’t had sex (at my request…it’s more fun to drag it out and torment each other for a little while, allowing the sexual energy to build), though the sexting has been hot and heavy, and the night we spent fooling around was extremely erotic and left me wanting more. I invited him out, got way dressed up and took him to dinner. His eyes popped out a bit when I walked up to the restaurant. Which was exactly what I wanted…. Telling me that the meal I prepared him was better than what we ordered in the restaurant was a nice touch (my cooking skills leave a lot to be desired).

He’s a 5th generation Texan, and has the gentlemanly behavior, sweet southern charm and nice manners that come when a boy is raised in the Lone Star State, but with the extra benefit of having lived on the west coast for a while. He is handsome and boyish, with brown hair, blue eyes, a scruffy beard and a soft, round belly. He has almost no hair on his chest. He’s just shy of 6’, which is a bit taller than I prefer, though I could almost look him in the eyes when I wore platform shoes out to dinner. He’s almost 20 years younger than me, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. In the bedroom, we seem to be well-matched, with high libidos and mutual wicked imaginations. I’m actually more than a bit surprised that I don’t intimidate him. When we were making out on the couch after dinner, I looked at him and said that  most men were scared of my sexuality. He laughed, kissed me again and told me I had been hanging out with the wrong guys. Okay, you don’t have to convince me – I want to know where to find the men who say “yes, gimme more.” For the moment, though, I’m happy to have found one of them. It feels really good to have someone appreciate my libido, instead of treating me like I should be ashamed of my sexuality.

When I was married to my ex-husband, I would be climbing the walls because our sex life consisted of about five minutes, start to finish, once a month. He would get resentful and tell me I was a sex addict because I wanted to have sex with the man I had said “I do” to. It occurred to me, at the time, that perhaps it was better to find someone who wanted what I wanted rather than for him to convince me to live in his world (which I did, for the better part of five years), or for me to wait for him to live in mine (something that never happened, regardless of how patient and understanding I was). Neither sex life is better or worse, and people deserve to have sex how they want and when they want it, but when sex drives are that badly mismatched, nothing good can come of it. I was a cranky bitch most of the time, and couldn’t figure out how to shift the energy, make him want me, or even get him to tell me what it was that he wanted or needed. In retrospect, I was just way too much for him – he needed something that more resembled an old Ford truck, and I was a Lamborghini.

The new boy, though…I think he’s driven a sports car a time or two, and knows when to accelerate around the curves, and when to put on the brakes. I’m enjoying learning how it feels when his arms slip around my waist, the softness of his tongue sliding between my lips when he kisses me and watching him jump when I bite his extremely sensitive tiny nipples. I loved watching him masturbate to see what sort of strokes he used (and filed the information away for when I wanted to get him off with my hands), and delighted as he quickly became erect when I sucked on him. I kept coming back to his cock, torturing myself by allowing him into my mouth but not into my cunt, where I really really wanted him. I think he likes the way I squirm…he’s quite up for playing this game.

I have no idea of how our relationship might develop – I don’t really have much interest in having a boyfriend at the moment. But having a lover or three, that sounds like a damn fine idea. Nice to have a willing victim.

Women can always get laid

Last week a friend and I went to see Shame, a new movie about a man who has lots of casual sex. The protagonist, Brandon, has almost no relationships, though he manages to have a lot of sex. He jerks off at work, tries to pick up women wherever and whenever he can, hires sex workers, watches tons of porn and generally avoids human contact that doesn’t involve fucking. His fortress of casual sex is compromised by his emotionally fragile sister, Sissy, who comes to stay with him. He becomes borderline violent when she tries to get close to him. His sexual adventures escalate as he tries to escape her neediness.

I had read a criticism of the movie saying that it was an inaccurate portrayal of casual sex, but it rang true with my own experiences of men trying to find a sex-only relationship. Perhaps it’s just that society has a default script for what a “normal” relationship looks like: a couple meets, dates, becomes exclusive, (maybe) lives together, gets married, buys a house, has kids, and grows old together. Though that script often breaks down somewhere after the “gets married” part, we don’t seem to know how to do it any other way. On the other end of the mating dance we have the porn model, where a woman will hop in bed with men with at a moment’s notice, and that is all of their relationship. It’s hard to find role models or good examples of what alternative relationships may look like. (The only other relationship that is well-scripted is the affair, which often ends in sadness for all involved parties.)

In my mind, having a relationship that’s based primarily on sex is still a relationship. But most men can’t deal when I try to establish the ground rules for that. I’m not a fan of one-night stands – I want to know the person I’m sleeping with, even if I don’t intend to have a full-blown, meet-the-parents kind of romantic relationship. I find it impossible to be erotic on that level with a total stranger. I am clear about what I am looking for, but they will always try to convince me that I want something that resembles their fantasies, not mine. While men often say they want women who are more sexually open and assertive, when they are faced with it, it scares the crap out of them. I suppose there is too much honest and intimacy for them in my model.

You can't have it both ways!

You can’t have it both ways!

It seemed to me that many of the men I have encountered are looking for something that resembles seeing a prostitute without having to pay for it. It has often been said that regardless of the form your relationship takes, be it seeing a sex provider or being married (or anything in between), the man has to pay. Well, duh. If he’s not paying money, at the very least he has to pay attention. And I think that’s hard for a lot of men. (Staring at my breasts doesn’t count.) After reading rants over the years from men who feel duped by dinner whores – women who go out on a date for a free meal – I decided to either always pay for my own meal or, even better, buy the guy dinner. If I go home with someone after a date, it’s because I want to sleep with him, not because I owe him. As is more often the case, I don’t have any interest in seeing him again, let alone sleeping with him, and I can walk away with a clear conscience that the guy invested nothing more than an hour of his time. I’m not fond of dinner whores myself, and am happy not to perpetuate the stereotype.

I related to Brandon’s cravings, even though I choose not to resolve these cravings with casual sex. I haven’t had sex in almost a year, and the last sex I had was of the lackluster variety with my ex-husband. It’s been six months since a man has kissed me (and that ended quickly and badly). I have spent most of my life being sex-starved and crave physical contact beyond the hugs I get from my friends or snuggling with my cat. I dated a little for a few months after I separated, but my heart still isn’t ready.

Woman + cats = lonely (or so they would have you believe)

Woman + cats = lonely (or so they would have you believe)

They say it’s easy for a woman to get laid if she wants to, but the options fucking suck. I could pick up the phone right now and call one of the emotional cripples or alcoholics who have made their intentions known, or track down a certain ex-lover, but I know that will be unsatisfying. Sometimes I peruse the casual encounters (the two men looking for threesome ads always get me…oh, how I crave getting fucked like that), or contemplate running an ad myself, but the thought of the sorting process just makes me tired. I have varied interests and fantasies, some of which might appear in porn scripts, but most of which don’t get revealed right away, and certainly not with someone who can’t even be bothered to have a cup of coffee  and some conversation with me before hopping into bed.

I am, sadly, not bisexual. If I was, I would have started dating women years ago. I am well aware that comes with its own set of problems (lesbian bed death, anyone?), but it would certainly give me more options.

I love Annie Sprinkle’s analogy of different sorts of sex being like categories of food: you have your nutritious sex, your gourmet meal sex, your junk food sex, your weeknight meal sex, your dessert sex. After years of tiny, monthly portions of something that resembled prison food, McDonald’s ain’t what I’m craving.

Would you like fries with that? (Not really, thanks.)

Would you like fries with that? (Not really, thanks.)

It may be years, if ever, before I meet a man whose values and interests match my own. Fortunately for me, I’m an expert at masturbating, and am capable of giving myself mind-blowing orgasms; unfortunately for me, my wrists are fried from too much typing. I will undoubtedly be investing in a Sybian sometime within the next year. It won’t do anything to provide emotional or spiritual intimacy, but it will scratch the itch for penetrative sex.

Valley of the dolls

Last week, I went to a new friend’s house to discuss an idea I have for a website. I showed up at the appointed time, knocked but got no response. The door was unlocked, so I went in. I hollered a loud hello, and heard a “back here” coming from his office. When I walked in, he was sitting at his computer, naked. Since he was expecting me, this was clearly for my, um, benefit.

I was a bit shocked, not by the nudity (I’ve logged hundreds of hours sitting in hot tubs with naked people of all sorts of persuasions) but because of the context. He and I had met about a month before, and had only socialized on two occasions. I don’t know if we had even hugged, or had any other physical contact. I had enjoyed talking to him, there was an overlap of interests and social circles. I had no idea he was interested in me sexually, nor had I indicated any overt interest in him. The second time I saw him, he was flirting with every girl in the room, myself included. I certainly didn’t feel special or singled out.

Fortunately, he knew enough about me and my predilections to know that this wouldn’t offend me. I appreciate boldness, honesty and forthrightness in a man, but I would prefer to get them from a man wearing pants. I must have looked embarrassed, because he apologized, and started asking me about my project. I excused myself to use the bathroom, stayed in there for a few minutes, and when I came out, he had gone to get dressed. When he came back in, we had a productive time discussing our project over dinner, and nothing more was said about our initial encounter that afternoon.

While it’s true that men and women are turned on by different things, I believe his come-on followed a pattern of one of the most common male fantasies: the Valley of the Dolls Syndrome.

Trust me, it will take a lot more than Valium to get me naked in five minutes flat.

Trust me, it will take a lot more than Valium to get me naked in five minutes flat.

This term, coined by polyamory blogger Pep-o-mint, refers to the lightning speed with which men can get women into bed without any effort, and it goes a little bit like this: “Oh! You’re the plumber! Let’s fuck!” Works like a charm, every damn time, and takes nothing more than a knock on the door and a stiff dick. There’s no need to chat a woman up, ascertain that she’s interested in him, or spend any time getting to know her. She’s merely an object, a prop in his fantasy, ready to fuck, anytime, any place. While men claim that they know that porn isn’t real, I’m constantly surprised how many men seem to have bought into this illusion. (Actually, this is a fantasy for women as well; Erica Jong famously wrote about it in Fear of Flying in 1973, but it is much more common for men.)

I have a friend who has been trying to sleep with me for years. He stopped by one night and met a friend of mine who was visiting. When I turned him down yet again, he told me that he was considering going next door to ask my friend if she wanted to have sex. He had talked to her for less than a minute. Did he really think that would work, or was he just lonely and desperate? Another time, I posted an ad on Craigslist Casual Encounters and specified that it would take much longer than 5 minutes to get me into bed, because it was important that I be comfortable with a man before sleeping with him. One guy wrote back that was fine, but that he expected we would be fucking within the hour.

His response was immediately deleted, and that was the last ad I ran. I just don’t have much interest in casual sex these days. Or porn, or romance novels. My libido is high, and getting higher by the day as I start working out again. I crave sex, but not of the sort that is nothing more than a quick fuck with no intimacy, or one that includes no actual touching or kissing. Wait, I take that back – I love quick fucks, but they have to be with someone I already have a connection with. And I like casual sex as well when I’m in a relationship; I fall much closer to that end of the non-monogamy scale than full-blown polyamory. But right now? Not so much. My heart is still tender from the divorce, my confidence in my capacity for intimacy is shaken and I grew tired of being the girl you’d hook up with but have no interest in dating years ago.

Is it possible to have sex with someone five minutes after you’ve met them? Sure. I’ve seen it happen at swingers clubs and play parties, but more often than not, people who play with each other in those situations have already established a friendship, either at other events or in real life. I have no problem with casual sex; I’ve had more than most men and women I know. But even if a relationship goes no further than the bedroom, it’s still a relationship and I expect to be treated with respect. I want the men I sleep with to have integrity and good communication skills, because quite frankly, a liaison that’s based primarily on a sex requires a lot of maturity.

There is only one way I know to get a woman into bed within five minutes of meeting her: hire an escort and pay her to have sex with you. Short of doing that, establishing a connection the good old-fashioned way of talking and building a rapport is still the best way to go.