Polyamory: Safer-sex

I received an email from someone the other day asking:

Hey Silken, this whole polyamory thing makes me nervous because I'm paranoid about getting an STD.  Doesn't being poly increase your risk of STDs? I'd think poly people practice safe sex, but doesn't that get in the way of intimacy?

 1) There is no such thing as "safe sex".  Not even masturbation is safe sex, since you can give yourself something if you don't keep your toys clean. So, when we take precautions, it is safer-sex, but its still not 100% safe.

2) Practicing safer-sex is very, very important. But in poly-sexual situations it is critical. This is the 300# gorilla in the room that no one wants to talk about because it may seem paranoid, untrusting, crude, or melodramatic. As a proponent of polyamory, I am also an advocate of safer-sex practices, because the last thing I want to do is transmit something to someone I love.


3) Some people think that practicing safer-sex means using a condom during intercourse. This is naive, almost criminally so. If you are using condoms when you fuck but not when you suck him, or don't use gloves and a barrier when you are giving her oral, then you aren't practicing safer sex, you are playing at it. (Read more about how to have Safer Sex at About.com)


4) Polyamory is Polynomial. In the not too distant past, I had three partners. Three. Now lets do the math. If I have three partners, and each of them has one other partner, and each of their one-others has one-other, how many body-fluids are possibly being inter-exchanged? 10. That is a lot of semen and vaginal secretions, saliva and mucous membranes, and if I hadn't been scrupulous about screening my sex/play partners, then I put myself and everyone I was with, and everyone they were with, at risk.


5) Everyone who is sexually active in non-exclusive relationships should have regular screenings for STIs (sexually transmitted infections). You may trust your partner(s), but do you trust your partner's partners? Is your inner circle sexually responsible enough for fluid-bonding (Don't know what fluid bonding is, read this clear explanation at SmartSexTalk.com)? There are many stories of fluid-bonded couples who have had to go back to using barriers because one of them had poorly-protected sex or took on a secondary partner who couldn't provide proof of recent screenings and the other partner(s) felt it was prudent to practice safer-sex during the 6 month testing interim. 


6) The importance of confidentiality and/or anonymity for screening. Consider whether or not to use your insurer / primary physician for screenings. I know we are in the middle of a health care crisis and reform, and Insurers are Big Brother in all this. The have the pot of gold, they want to keep it to themselves, and they use your medical records to discriminate against you. If they know that you are regularly tested for STIs, they may consider that an indicator of "risky behavior" (rather than health maintenance) and drop you or raise your rates. There are companies out there like getSTDtested.com, as well as various local clinics, that offer testing at a variety of rates without compromising your medical history.



Just a few anecdotes:
   It is not uncommon for poly-couples to have a contract for themselves and their secondary partners -- contracts that are reviewed and signed prior to intimacy, not after. Such contracts often require that all partners be tested semi-annually, disclose any and all exposures, and to use barriers during sex for at least six months before considering moving to a "fluid-bonded" status. I've been presented with and signed more than a few of these over the years and I've always found them to be an affirmation of my judgment in my partners.


STIs can show up in surprising places:

   I have some friends in a monogamous relationship that were "serial-monogamy sluts" before they got married. They didn't realize they had genital herpes until he had a flare-up -- in his eye. He is one of those pussy-eaters who really likes to rub his face in it, soaking himself from his hairline to his chin. They aren't sure who gave it to whom, and though they've tried to notify past partners, for them, its too late. They've got it for life, and he gets to worry about going blind if he doesn't keep it under control.

   I have another friend who learned that a wart on her husband's finger have been transmitted to her vaginal and anal openings. The treatment was embarrassing, extremely unpleasant, and so painful she screamed every time she went pee for a week.

The message of this post? Even monogamous couples transmit STI's to each other. Practicing safer-sex isn't just about taking care of you: it is about taking care of the ones you love, and the ones they love, too. Yes, you might think it would interfere with intimacy -- if intimacy was just about sex. In my book, sexual intimacy (as delicious as it can be) is just the icing on the cake.

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Homecoming

Home was dark and lonely with my lover out of the country, and so I delayed going home for as long as I could. My friends were great, very pleased in fact to have me to themselves for an evening, but around midnight I thanked them for a wonderful time and left.

The drive home was a bit stressful. Fog had rolled in, covering Silicon Valley in a quilted blanket. As I drove down the winding road into the valley from the mountains around Los Gatos, deer materialized in the fog, grazing on lawns and watching me pass with curious dark eyes. I got turned around once in the dark and the fog and when I finally found the ramp for I-280 I heaved a sigh of relief. Shoulders I didn't know were tense suddenly relaxed.

An hour later, I reached San Francisco. I pulled into the garage and as soon as I did, I had thoughts of my cold bed. Tempurpedic it may be, with silky-smooth 1000 threadcount sheets, but the night was cool and there was no one to warm myself against. I felt a bit of melancholy, but chased it off with the mantra "Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll be home."

I love the darkness. I've always found it friendly and embracing, and I have excellent night vision, so I didn't bother with lights. I walked straight up to my room and started stripping down. I was bent over, untangling my panties from around my feet, when hands seized my hips. I knew it was a man by the erection he ground against my ass.

Fear froze my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't talk. I wanted to pull away, but self-defense training kicked in. I leaned backwards, throwing my weight against him. He fell into the door, taking me with him. I dove my hands between my thighs, aiming for his balls, determined to emasculate my uninvited guest. Or at least stun him long enough to get away.

His "Ow! Kay that hurt!" saved his ambition to one day be a father. I knew that voice.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me you stupid idiot!" I hissed at him as I helped him move to my bed. The way he was rubbing his back it looked like he'd taken the doorknob in his kidney.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you. I told you I'd be here around One," he grumbled.

"I thought you meant 1pm not 1am!"

I helped him lay down on my bed, then crawled in next to him.

"I'm sorry baby," I said, and kissed him.

"I'm sure you are," he said with a grin in his voice. "Who knows when I'll be able to have sex?"

I ran my hand down his chest and put my head on his heart.

"I don't mind if you just lay there," I said suggestively, letting my hand slide farther down until I was cradling the warmth of him.

"Well I do!" He said, and pushed my hand away. "My back hurts!"

"How about I kiss it and make it better?"

"How about we go to sleep and try this again later?" he responded grumpily.

I threw my leg over his and kissed his chest.

"I'm glad you're home," I said, and gave him a big squeeze.

"I can tell. Some homecoming!"

Being Known

Why do you fear being known?
I ask when he says
I know him too well
that echoing well deeper than his voice
He does not want to be predictable,
dull, uninteresting
But it is deeper than that


I know
the fear of being known is fear of intimacy
I know

I know this fear. I lived it
Lived it like the babe uprooted from his mother's breast
It goes back that far, yes
for all of us

We fear losing our mystery, we fear
losing what makes us compelling strangers
lest we lose what we fear most to embrace

Our intimate other selves
So we dance, dear
dance with our fear and the Other
who might be mother or father
in addition to lover

Know me, I challenge
stripped bare of pretense my body a gift
Here are my mysteries, touch them see
how my skin pebbles
fingers playing tumescent flute
same song every time

yet novelty is not lost
right now
in the moment
in the primacy of here-now

Why flee this intimacy, savor it instead
like tongue savors nipple tasty
forbidden pastry sugar-sweet
as carnal knowledge of one's beloved

I nurture you
penetrate me
Know and be known
Some things can not be lost
Some things will not keep

Gratitude

(Thank you PS for the gift of your breast.)

Tears blur my vision, dripping onto the keyboard. My heart is filled with Gratitude. So much Gratitude for so much Love in my life.

Two years ago I created for myself the possibility of being fully self-expressed. And as I manifested that in my life, I found myself struggling with freedom, with feeling truly free to be myself, to be whatever I wanted to be. And then something happened. I had a breakthrough in 'being' and found that I was free to fully express myself as Love. Mahatma Gandhi once said, "be the change you want to see in the world." And this freedom to be the change I want to see in the world, to Be Love, has enriched my life and the lives of those I touch, and the lives they touch. It is a wonderful thing, to know love and to be love, and to feel its presence in my life when it comes back to me, manifold.

In my heart there is sadness and longing and anticipation and joy and... so many things simple and complex. But gratitude and love are foremost. It seems that every day I've been in Portland this year, an extraordinary person has come into my life. And there has been such a sense of urgency to bond with these people, to make that connection that will withstand distance. I'm trying not to mourn the loss of easy access to my friends new and old. At times I am more successful than others, but I am comforted by experience: I know I can maintain deep and meaningful relationships over long distances. And I do plan to come back to Portland often. The sense of community here is so amazing. There is so much going on, so many people committed to doing good things, great things. People committed to helping others and growing and being and sharing and co-creating a livable world.

The pain and loss this year have broken me open in a way that I always feared. These feelings are at times so intense that I find myself unable to breathe, unable to stop the tears. This is what love feels like--the other side we don't want to think about--the side that keeps many of us from being open to love, and to Life. Everything superfluous and unreal, every barrier and mask and inauthenticity was burned away from me and I am standing naked to the world, exposed, pink and new and vulnerable and terrified and people have responded with unanticipated love and tenderness and kindness. Who knew there was so much lovingkindness in the world?

It has been a whirlwind week. Work during the days, play during the evenings, repeat as necessary to satisfy myself and my friends. I have hugged, kissed, nuzzled, danced, wined and dined, tried butter shots, licked chocolate off of body parts, slept snuggled up to a wonderfully curvacious bottom, wandered the halls of a hotel during Orycon in my pajamas, enjoyed an impromptu cleavage convention, watched lap dances, fire dances, and asses dancing under floggers. And that's just the PG to R-rated stuff ;)

And as it hits home that I am leaving this wonderfully expressive, connected, touch-positive community this week, I know gratitude, and love, and grief. But my world is not ending. I am embracing what life brings next, and I will carry this community in my heart and mind, and I will create it anywhere I go, because I am Love.

Kahlil Gibran wrote:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your
understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the
sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life,
your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always
accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Winter is coming, and soon the Spring. I will sow the seeds of a new life in a new place and find joy in discovering what grows out of my efforts. Thank you, my friends, for letting me love you. And thank you, so very much, for returning it ten-fold and more. Truly, I am blessed.

The tides of life take another sandcastle

More sad news this weekend. One I love is on hospice. I will likely be attending her funeral before the end of the year. It is agony, knowing this, knowing this on the one year anniversary of my failed attempt to commit her to medical care involuntarily. She's lived longer that I expected, though I don't think few would consider her existence anything resembling 'living'. Ah well.

The nice thing is that I had someone at hand to hold me after I'd gotten the news about her condition. He lay with me on my bed and held me, and kissed my forehead and my eyelids, and soothed me with his hands and his mouth and his words. Genuine intimacy in combination with vulnerability has been a balm for the pain of loss. It has opened doors within us both.

Elie Wiesel said, "When a door closes, another opens. It is the same door." Life, pain, death, loss... None of it has any meaning except what I give it. What will I make her death mean about her life, my life, the world, the legal system, the medical establishment? What will I make the love I feel for him mean, I wonder. Even as something ends, there is a beginning. It is cyclical, ebbing and flowing like that tide, and the lives we're building are castles of sand. It means nothing, in and of itself--it means only what I make it mean. Soon the tides of life and death will claim another sandcastle, and in that clearing, something new will arise. Let it be Hope, I beg. Let it be Hope.

Stages of pleasuring

I have lived an interesting life. Before I reached puberty I witnessed a wider variety of sexual intercourse than most adults see in their lifetimes. As a child, I did not know that other kid's parents only slept with each other. I did not know that the limit was usually two adults to a bed--my parents always seemed to have friends in their bed--nor that sex is usually reserved for the bedroom. I did not know that boys having sex with boys and girls having sex with girls was taboo. I did not know that nudity in the home was uncommon, etc.

Masturbation was something we were very open about. When I was 4 or 5 and my mom found me touching myself in a sunny spot in the living room, she didn't slap my hand. Instead, she told me that if I wanted to do that it was probably best to do it in my room. I understood early on that sex was something grown-ups did, and it was not something I was eager to rush into. It did not have the secrecy, the shame, or the thrill of the forbidden for me that it did for most kids. In this environment, my sexual identity flourished, unfettered by the boundaries most people develop. I am free, uninhibited--my sexual self is fully expressed. But this does not mean I am promiscuous or indiscriminate, an assumption that mainstream, vanilla humanity tends to make when they catch wind of my lifestyle.

I am polyamorous. I date a wide variety of people. I have sex with two of them. Most of the ones who are not my lovers I have been dating for a year and more. I form deep, intense connections rather quickly, but I do not rush into sexual intercourse, or sexual intimacy for that matter. Without a mental connection, sex is just a form of exercise that may or may not result in orgasm, and if I want to cum, no one can do it better for me than I can.

Recently someone asked me what I did do with these people if I did not have sex with them. Heh. It depends. Some get kisses, which may not sound like much, but I have it on good authority that kissing me is better than some sex people have had. Kissing is wonderful, delicious, arousing. It makes me feel sooo good. It is its own journey and destination. Then there is frottage. I love to frot with people I feel connected to. I'm very good with my hands after so many years of practicing massage. I like pleasuring others with my hands and I love the rub of bodies against each other, both languidly and with rising urgency. I haven't dated a woman for a while but there is nothing quite like scissoring with a woman, rubbing together on a dance floor or in bed, lost in the tribadic subset of frottage. Mutual masturbation (to orgasm) and languissement is something I've experienced with two of the men who are not my lovers. Lastly, there is the intercrural form of 'outercourse'. This is very intimate and little different from actual coitus save there is no penetration... just delicious friction and body movements that simulate coitus. I particularly enjoy it from behind, while spooning. There is someone I am dating that I am approaching this stage with. We had a frot session a couple of weeks ago that had my roommate convinced I was having some amazing sex, when in fact he was worshipping my back with his mouth and grinding himself against me in a way that had me moaning deliriously with pleasure. Or maybe it was the nipple-play that had me moaning that way? Its a sensual blur, to be sure.

The point is that there are many ways to enjoy others, many stages of pleasuring without sexual intercourse, depending on the level of mental, emotional, and spiritual intimacy I feel I have with that person. We each define 'sex' differently, and pleasure, particularly pleasure that results in sexual arousal, is so nuanced. So coloured by the experiences of childhood and adolescence. So limited and charged and judged by social mores and conditioning. I've thought about my sexuality, the stages of sexual arousal and pleasure, about intimacy and what it means to love and be with--to really love and be with--others. Have you?

Who am I, if not all women?

[audio-post]
Who am I,
if not all Women,
silkenvoiced and silkenfleshed?
A lotus-creature whose senses blossom,
unfolding toward annihilation of self,
abandoned to pleasure
and sun-gold enlightenment.
Oh Man, who am I
that you would pluck me like fruit from a vine?
Have you not learned Adam's lesson?
I am succulent and bittersweet, aye,
the apple of God's eye.
Oh Man, you should tremble at the thought
of possessing one such as me,
such as we,
we Women, all,
all of us the fruit you long to eat
whose flesh, numinous and divine,
once swallowed,
dims.
The all-seeing eye grows in Man's belly,
sightless and afire with desire to See.
Oh Man, you wish to bite into the apple of God's eye
to sow your seed in the furrow left by your teeth,
immortalized by progeny,
through me.
Plow as you will, oh Man,
this body is a temple
not a field.
Who am I
if not all Women?
Worship me
I suffered that you might live
now suffer Me.
[audio-post]

More on Love Tribe and Yums

I've gotten some queries on Love Tribe and the Yum I went to. What are they? I was asked. There is a Love Tribe link under the "Spiritual and Sensual" section of my page. The following is an excerpt from an email sent to a friend in August who asked the same thing:

First thing, at formal gatherings, the intention of the Love Tribe and the specific guidelines of the gathering one is attending are mentioned. There are intimacy exercises at the begining of most of the gatherings, except those that are specifically for 'experienced' Tribers, which assumes the attendees are already boundary-aware. The exercises focus on getting in touch with your own boundaries, leaving the street-energy behind, practicing saying yes or no to verbal and non-verbal requests to hug/touch, etc. Its a great way to get that higher, more spiritual energy flowing. Everyone is there for the same reasons -- to enjoy intimacy in a safe environment -- and everyone is open and vulnerable and genuine.

The first gathering I went to was a Yum (They occur the last friday of every month). It was an informal gathering at the massage studio of one of the members. There was a massage table, a couple of foutons, a dance space, food and drink, and over the course of the night, I figure that about 50 people came and went. The rules of a Yum are that it is a safe space where talking, dancing, cuddling and touching occur but there are no sexual overtones whatsoever... It is an opportunity to connect with people and enjoy intimacy in a relaxed, no-pressure space where boundaries are respected. I enjoyed the ecstatic and improvisational contact dancing--it is quite beautiful to experience and watch.

There was a pillow fight between people seated on those balls that are used for stretching the back... people snuggling 3 and 4 deep on foutons... Lots of earnest conversation, laughter, smiles, languid caressing, and hugs--real hugs--the kind where people hold each other and relax and stay there a bit, sharing of themselves. It was a very genuine gathering, one in which I was able to let down my guard, as I so often do not in public spaces, because I've such an awareness of how much danger women are in, especially in situations where alcohol is used (LoveTribe events are safe/sane/sober). Also, there are no gender or orientation social barriers. Hetero men rubbing each other's feet. Gay women snuggling with hetero men. Gay men doing improv contact dance with hetero women. People being people, enjoying other people, without all the socialized and sexualized barriers. It really is Yummy :)

The Snuggle Salon on the Sunday I got back into town was wonderful. It was in an attic with sky lights, nice mood music, and about 25 people came and went. Most people wore pajama-type clothes. Several of the people there had been in the 34-mile 7 Bridges Bicycle event, so we rubbed them down. No kissing or sexal touch... it is like an informal version of the Yum. You have to have been to a formal gathering in order to attend. I felt so much lighter after attending. It was a great antidote to the anguish in MA.

The Rapture Dance was a lot like the Yum, only there were probably 150 people there and it had more of a party atmosphere. They opened the doors at 8pm, closed them at 9:30. It was held at a dance studio with 4 or 5 thousand square feet of space. It was divided up into areas. A social space with food and drink, a huge dance floor, a snuggle zone (500 sq ft of foutons, easy), a safe space (to be alone), and a play space. The snuggle space is for snuggling, tops and bottoms on, no overtly sexual touching. The play space is an intimate place for people to play sensually. Gloves, condoms and lubricants provided, if things go that far. And monitors there to assist, as well as to ensure people practice safe sex, including fluid-bonded partners.

There are many other types of gatherings, and an overlap between Love Tribe and other local organizations fostering community and/or alternative-lifestyle networking, like the Explorer's Club (Tantra) , Portland Ecstatic Dance, The City Repair Project, Darklady's pan-sexual and sex-positive events, PDX Bad Girls (BDSM for women), Cupcake PDX (fat-friendly), MeetIn Portland, Network for a New Culture, etc.

Portland is what I call 'cosmopolitan granola'. It is a metropolitan area, with all those amenities and sophistication, but there is a high concentration of educated, geeky, kinky, and green people. Or perhaps there is not a higher concentration, but rather that more people are 'out' about it. The Pacific Northwest is very friendly toward people who are in transition, transformation, or interested in living lifestyles that are different from popular/dominant culture. I enjoy it immensely because there is so much acceptance and self-expression and room for people to be whoever they want to be.

I hope, with time, organizations like the ones I've mentioned above will be more common. Unfortunately, it requires people with vision and motivation to create and sustain them, and it is a lot of effort. If you are interested in starting organizations similar to the ones I've mentioned, I strongly recommend contacting the people on those sites. All of them are good people who are eager to help others build community.

Yum

I made it through the entire week at work. I was exhausted by Wednesday but I pushed through it. I had too much work to do. So much in fact, that I am going into the office this morning. The bronchitis is getting better but I am still using an inhaler. I used to think that, as a result of meditation, I was very aware of my breath. But I can say that there is nothing quite like feeling like I'm not getting enough air to make me acutely aware of breathing, and just how integral it is to my well-being. Without enough oxygen I tire easily. I've lower energy. I sleep a lot more. I think I've the barest inkling of what my mother went through with emphysema. I am so glad that I do not smoke.

In resuming my social life, I attended my first LoveTribe gathering since October, a Yum. When I got home from work I took a shower and put on some jammies and headed over to the studio. The opening exercises were just finishing and I had the opportunity to squeeze into the circle and introduce myself before formalities were dismissed. There were a lot of new faces and some missing ones. The regular Tribers greeted me and and asked where I had been. I briefly outlined my profession and why I drop off the social radar for 2 or 3 months this time of year.

There is nothing like walking into a room with 20 to 50 people in it, all wearing comfy, snuggly clothing, all interested it genuine interaction and non-sexual intimacy. I gave a few massages, got a few. Joined a puppy pile with 5 other people and got some good snuggling and conversation in. Most of us tend to wear fabrics that are sensually pleasing to touch: flannel, silk, velour, etc--fabrics that make people go 'mmmm' when they touch it and reach out again. One of the women there always wears socks made out of an incredibly silky-soft material... something like a synthetic version of cashmere, I guess. Only this time she didn't wear them. I rubbed her feet anyway, though ;)

It was good to see so many men there. Men get the short end of the intimacy stick in our culture. They can't hug and kiss on each other like women can, or people think they are gay. They can't touch women even casually without people thinking they are making a sexual overture. In many cases, they are worried about being affectionate with children, lest someone think they are pedophiles. In fact, most men feel that the only way they can experience intimacy is with a partner. And with a partner it usually leads to sex. Which is all fine and good, but sometimes... sometimes even men just want to experience closeness and playfulness without the sexual element/expectation hanging over their heads. So it is good to see men at LoveTribe gatherings, availing themselves of the opportunity to enjoy intimacy and sensual touch in an environment in which everyone is there to experience the same thing, and in which everyone understands the rules and follows them.

I left about midnight, feeling wonderful. Satisfied. Content. YUM.

The perfect man

I was looking for something in my journal and my word-search pulled this up. CW and I had been dating off and on for just over 4 months at this point and were still a long way from sexual intimacy. In frustration, on the night of June 14, 2005, he asked me this question:

"What do you want in a partner? Do you even know?"

I had two simultaneous reactions to his query, one emotional, one rational. My emotional reaction was Asshat! What, does he think I'm a ninny? My rational self thought That's not an unreasonable question. Most women don't seem to know what they want...

I let my emotional self rant and fume (internally) for about five seconds, during which time I framed my response, beginning with, "Yes, I do. Are you sure you want to know?"

Chris made the mistake of saying something like, "Of course. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." It was a mistake, because, in my experience, people ask questions all the time that they either aren't interested in knowing the answer to (like "How are you?) or really don't want to know the answer to, but they don't know it yet (like "What do you think of my girlfriend?"). And with my singular lack of internal boundaries with people I care about, I share the truth as I know it.

So I told him, "Ok, you asked for it," and ran down my list:

My partner must be intelligent. If he isn't intelligent enough to turn on my mind, he's not going to get anywhere with my body. He must be secure in himself and satisfied in his work -- I have no patience for insecure men who are intimidated by a smart, sucessful woman, or worse, who want to either destroy those qualities in me, or hope somehow they'll be 'fixed' by being involved with me. He must be able to appreciate music, art, food, drink -- all those sensual, sybaritic, epicurean things that are the simple pleasures in life. He must have a creative outlet. I don't care if it is wood-working, model-building, writing, painting, or singing in the shower -- it can be anything, so long as he has a form of self-expression. He must be demonstrative, emotionally self-aware, and able to discuss his feelings. He must allow me my friendships with men. I cannot abide sexual jealousy, and a man who is threatened by the other men in my life will soon find himself out the door. He must be able to converse. He must be open-minded. He must be honest, both with me and himself. He must be able to laugh at himself. He must not be an obsessive sports fan. He must not be a couch potato. He must not be a workaholic, alcoholic, drug-user, or dead-beat. He absolutely must be a reader, because I am, and I resent being interrupted in my reading by attention-seeking behaviour. He doesn't have to be a sex-god, but he must be open to learning how to please me. He must be STD-free. He is not required to be monogamous, but if he wants to sleep with someone else, I'd like to know about it ahead of time, and if he does he is required to practice safe-sex because I've never had so much as a yeast infection and if I catch something from him I will soon be in prison for castrating a man and force-feeding him his own diseased flesh. He must enjoy solitude, or atleast allow me mine, because I must have me-time. He must not want me to give him children, because I can't. He must take good care of his hands, because I don't like the feel of calluses on my skin. He must have good self-control, because I am a very frustrating woman, and I do not tolerate violence from men. And lastly, he doesn't have to understand me, but he does have to love me enough to let things end gracefully when or if that time comes.

"You've found all that in a partner before?" he asked, quite incredulous.
"Of course," I answered.

Poor CW. He did ask.

What is interesting about this is that, new to the heterosexual world after 4 years with a woman and nearly a year of celibacy after that, I knew exactly what I wanted from a male partner--and these criteria are as valid today as they were 18 months ago.

Companionship and loneliness

"Do you know what its like to be in a relationship and still be lonely, and if so, do you know how can I fix it?" a friend asked me. He is struggling in a 15 year marriage with declining intimacy and sharing. He loves his wife, misses her, misses the relationship they once had. They've grown complacent and in some ways, too like-minded. They've little left to talk about. I tried to think of what to say to him, and then I rembered something I sent to someone I love in a card:

More often than we are willing to admit, we find ourselves alone with others. In order to understand about how we can be with others and still feel alone, it is important to understand that we can only be comfortable with others when we are truely comfortable with our selves. And by this, I do not mean by developing a solid mental-view of ourselves as immutable entities and then going out looking for others whose similarities will not jab into our comfort zones. What I mean is first developing an idea of the integrity of one's identity aswirl in this continually transforming world. Then developing an understanding that we are each integral parts of a dynamic, inter-related whole; and from there, seeking others who will challenge and nudge us out of the habits and patterns and ruts we stumble into.

True companionship, the companionship that we all long for when it is missing in our lives, is more than the presence of someone in your life who shares common values and accepts you for who you are. A companion is someone whom you trust to be compassionate when it is necessary to help you refine your understanding of what it means to live your life, who will guide you without force or manipulation, who relieves the pain of daily life simply by being 'there', and who acts as a midwife to your soul, drawing forth from you that which was always within you, and is simply awaiting the moment to be born.

I asked him if perhaps he needed to work on being a true companion to his wife. I asked him if perhaps he needed to stop looking at her through the eyes of the past and see her for who she is now, in this moment, and love and value that person. And I asked him if perhaps his restlessness and marital dissatisfaction were external symptoms of an internal issue. I invited him to spend some time alone, to look within, to discover the person he is now--to have an internal dialogue about what he can do to meet his own needs, and how he can approach those he loves about getting their help fulfilling those needs he cannot meet himself. I asked him if perhaps he is lonely for himself, and that maybe, in re-learning to enjoy his own company, he might find his feelings of loneliness in his relationship will fade.

I hope I asked the right questions and said the right things.

Just your average blog entry

Last week a nasty cold fell on me like an avalanche, wiping out my voice, and filling my lungs. I left work at noon on Wednesday and it wasn't until Sunday that I could get out of bed without feeling dizzy. So I stayed in bed. A dozen long-stemmed roses in a gorgeous salmon-pink colour arrived to grace my room on Thursday, a bit of beauty to raise my spirits. This afternoon, more flowers, this time at work (a big no-no): an arrangement of orchids and interesting greenery. The card read "Stubborn wench--at work when you should be at home, in bed..." I added the parenthetical "with me" that he left off of the message, probably to save the florist embarrassment.

A cold front hit the Pacific Northwest at the same time. It was interesting to look at little drifts of sun-sheltered snow on vivid green grass. Such a contrast. The culms of the black bamboo seem so dark right now, the leaves sparser and less vivid. The holly trees are full of berries this year. Big red berries that show up so well against the spiky, waxy leaves. I really need to get out and take some photos. I've been wanting to for days, but I dared not go out in below-freezing weather, not with my lungs so full of crap. Perhaps this week.

I finished a naughty story yesterday, the seeds of which started months ago but which I just didn't have time to do right. I wanted to do a D/s story, but I wanted to get the nuances right, the psychology, the dialogue, the scenario. I'm fairly pleased with it, though I know some people think I will have ended it prematurely. I just don't feel it necessary to spell out what any reader knows is going to happen. That is the thing about erotica. You know the ending before you even start reading :) I doubt I'll record this one, there is too much male dialogue.

Plans for next month are shaping up. An upcoming seminar in San Fransisco just before my birthday prompted me to take some extra vacation time to spend with loved ones in the area. It should be a very full 10 days. Hopefully the weather will be conducive to photography. I may even bring my tripod.

The intensity level seems to be ratcheting up in some of my relationships. I don't know if it is a function of my stress-level or my customary availability during this period in my work. But I am being asked on several fronts when I'm going find a less demanding job, when I'm going to settle down, narrow down the list of people I'm dating, etc. I've got some great people in my life, people I enjoy so much and enjoy dating casually, no intimacy pressure or awkwardness, a fair number of whom are 'poly' people. And then the two most intense, rewarding, and frustrating relationships are with men who are monogamous, love me, 'wouldn't ask me to be exclusive' and yet aren't happy. I've offered to end the relationships. I've offered to eliminate physical intimacy and focus on what is important: relating. But that is not what they want. No, they want me available and all to themselves. And I'm floored. They are both good-looking, personable, financially-stable professionals that just about any single woman between the ages of 25 and 40 would gladly date. So why do they want me? Or why don't I want to pick one and settle down? Oddly enough, this is not good for my ego. And its definitely not good for my peace of mind.

There is so much love in me. I think learning metta meditation, learning to project that love out into the world, has helped to diminish some of that compelling intensity I bring to my deeper relationships. But not enough, I think, for one person to bear the force of it, of what they both seem to covet for themselves--my uniqueness. I am of the mind, however, to give one of them what he thinks he wants. And see how quickly he changes his mind. I don't think either of them is capable of valuing what being in a monogamous relationship with me really means. All of my intensity, my libido, my intellect, my spontaneity, my intuition, my emotions--everything I've honed in the past 2 years I've been single gathered up and devoted to one person, focused on one person? Heh. They would be intimidated.

They both deny it, but they would. I don't know why, but even when I try to be open and warm, I intimidate some people. Daily, prolonged exposure to me seems to make my partners feel insecure or overwhelmed or whatever. I am whole unto myself, self-contained and self-reliant. I don't need any one person. And men need to be needed. They need to feel they have a purpose in a woman's life, a reason to be: protector, friend, lover, provider. But no one person can be all things to another. Its a fallacy that monogamists the world-over have bought into and try to brainwash and socialize others into believing--that you're not whole until you find your other half. And two men I love think that their individual self-interest is jeopardized by the presence of other loved-ones in my life. They don't realize that it is not the others they have to worry about competing with for me. Its me.

Word-choice nuances

What is the difference between childlike and childish, between impulsive and spontaneous, between sensual and sexual, nevermind sensual and sensuous? What is the difference between acceptance and passivity, between aggressive and assertive, between creative and inventive, between religious and spiritual, intelligent and intellectual?

And then there is love. In English we have just one word to use. Sure, we can add modifiers such as maternal, filial, erotic, romantic, and platonic to describe who we love or what love or how we love them -- but love is such a deep and yet broad-spectrum emotional state, how can we possibly find the words to describe how we feel, and if so, how can we be sure that the words we use mean to others what they mean to us?

I was asked by CW today how I felt about someone.
I said, " I love him."
He asked, "Could you be more specific?"
I said, "He's one of my dearest friends, the friend of my soul."
He said, "But he's your lover, too..."
I made a face at him. "Yes, sometimes, but that is not the focus of our relationship."
He said, "I know you say men and women can be friends, but then you break the rules by having sex with your friends. Isn't that confusing?"
I looked at him and smiled. "Sometimes."
"C'mon Kay, talk to me."
"What do you want to know that won't violate his privacy?"
"How can you be friends and lovers?"
"Look, its not romantic. There is none of that new relationship energy, none of that passionate 'oooh baby I want you' stuff. I love him. He loves me. Sometimes... sometimes being sexual is a natural extension of the intimacy and affection between us, a natural progression of sharing ourselves."
He thought about it. "If it is so natural, why doesn't it happen more often between friends?"
"That is a good question. I will answer it with a question: how often do you think friends want to make love to each other, but refrain?"
"I think quite a few. More than people would willingly admit... I know there are a few times I've been really curious."
"Ok. So..there is curiousity, and there is desire. And then there is trust and love and sharing. I've got friends that I would never have sex with--mainly because I'd worry one or both of us getting 'romantically' confused.... It happened to me a couple of times, and... well... I like to think I've learned enough from those experiences that I do not need to repeat them again."
"How do you decide then?"
"Decide?"
"Which friends to sleep with and which ones not to..."

I swear, the groan I let out came all the way from my hara. Why is it that so much boils down to sex? I don't get it. I will never get it. Sex itself is an act we are programmed to desire to repeat as often as possible, partly for reproductive purposes, and partly for pleasure. It alleviates a need, like any other, like eating alleviates hunger and pissing alleviates a full bladder. And yet, sex, with love, can be so much more. It is a gateway to the spiritual, I find, and that is what gives it significance beyond reproductive and pleasure drives.

"Its more a matter of spontaneity. If, in the moment, it feels right, and there are no reservations, I act on it," I tried to tell him.
He looked surprised. "You're not the impulsive type."
"Ah, but there is a difference between spontaneity and impulse. Impulses are internally motivated, often subconsciously. Impulsive is going shopping when one does not have the need or the funds. Spontaneity is responding naturally and appropriately to the present moment."

And so we went round and round about nuances and verbage and his insistence that I need to remember that though I may choose my words to express exactly what I mean, that those hearing me are catching the words through their own emotional filters, adding their own nuances. Since I've been told the same by others, I suppose I should give this point more thought. It doesn't help my efforts to communicate if other's are not understanding what I mean.

The pulse of a new and better year

Perhaps it is the pagan in me, but I think the new year begins the day after winter solstice. The day after Longest Night. But for most people, the New Year begins according to the Julian calendar.

And so, according to this modern calendar, my New Year began with dreams. Dreams fuelled by post-orgasmic endorphins. Endorphins from one of the strongest orgasms I've ever had. I was on edge for well-over half an hour, and when I climaxed, it was like an earthquake hit me--rolled through me in successive waves of orgasmic aftershocks. It lasted for a long long time, and when I was done, he urged me on again to one more. He knows I love the torment of trying to reach another climax on the heels of such an intensely satisfying cum. And when I was done, I fell immediately asleep. I know he spoke to me, but I do not remember the words, just the sound of his voice... and then sleep. And dreams.

I dreamed of all sorts of things.

One dream was that I was travelling overseas and was hit over the head, and when I came to myself I was walking with my bags rolling behind me, and they seemed to be too light. When I opened them they were empty, and I was panicked because my ID had been in my baggage. There was no way to prove who I was. It seemed very important to be able to prove who I was.

I dreamed of my sister, the one who has been ill. I was looking for her. I never did find her.

I dreamed of K as a swashbuckler. He strode up to me in his kilt, with a bottle of cognac in one hand and his hand on the hilt of his sabre. He pulled me to him for a kiss. I opened my mouth to him and time stopped. We fell into a dreamy place where kissing is the most intimate, sensual exporation of another person.

I dreamed of my friend J, that we were snuggled on his couch, and his belgian shepherd licked my bare thigh, making me squirm against him, and he hugged me and his fingers found my nipple... and then I slid into another dream.

I dreamed of M, who said he was inherently monogamous and he wanted me to be the same, that it hurt him, knowing I loved others, and so he pushed me away and disappeared behind an emotional wall. And I was a little girl again, banging on that wall, and there were so many things I wanted to yell over it, but I knew he would not hear me because I'd lost my voice.

I dreamed about planting bulbs -- that no sooner did I cover the bulbs with soil than they sprouted and started flowering. There was something frightening about it, about the accelerated growth, and I started putting the bulbs in the ground as fast as I could, to get them out of my hands. I was frantic, and when I realized it, I stopped, and sat back on my heels, and breathed, and in that moment I realized that I did not have to plant all of the bulbs in my hands, that I did not need to fear the sudden blossoming of the bulbs that I'd touched.

I dreamed of C standing before me, so tall, so fucking tall, reminding me that he is a patient man, but not a saint. He appeared again, later on, tugging on nipple-clamps while his fingers worked inside me, even as I flogged G's wife, my pretty little pony. The dream-memory of the pink stripes on her ass and the horse-tail dildo sticking out of it makes me wet, even as I type this.

I had many other dreams, most of them just little flashes in my head now. I slept until nearly noon, awakening groggy from last night's cognac to an oddly quiet world. There was a soft light coming through the bedroom window, soft and diffuse, and when I got up, I knew why... the sky was bright and white with thick mist, and a light rain fell. I moved to the kitchen to brew coffee and while I waited, stood at the window and watched the rain fall on the bamboo leaves. Beyond the bamboo the golf course glistened, glowed with the green of new grass.

I settled into the armchair with a lap rug and my lap top computer and began my New Years conversations with friends and loved ones, still fuzzy from my rest and dreams. I resolved to do nothing today, especially no chores, and to do minimal cooking. I am a human being, not a human doing, and it seems like I'm always 'doing' something.

I have high hopes for this New Year. I dare to have hopes. Certainly 2006 was one of the most difficult years of my life, more painful in ways than the year my mother and grandmother died. And yet I've survived, and more than that, thrived. My resiliance astonishes even me, at times. And despite shattering news from someone who has become a very dear friend, I expect 2007 to be a good year. The year I turn 39. Year three of the new me. Whee!

(Regarding the photo: Can you see the one heart, formed by cock and cunt?)

2006: The year of love and friendship

In the past year, especially, I've learned the value of open and honest communication, and more, of putting myself out there emotionally and being vulnerable. My awareness of the world and my inner life has deepened with both therapy and my meditation practice. I've had some insights and put into effect some changes in my life and I've found that my ability to relate with others has increased dramatically. Yes, in putting myself out there, I risk emotional pain, but life is as transient and uncertain as it is beautiful , and I've realized that if I'm unwilling to embrace the possibility of negative consequences, I'm not really living my life--I'm playing it safe.

These flowers are from a friend I've made this year. A wonderful man of intelligence, wisdom, and kindness whom I never would have met if it was not for the changes I've made in my life this year--of my choice to take risks, to be spontaneous, to follow my intuitions.

A retrospective of 2006:
I am, mostly, well. 2006 was a tough year--My sister spent January through September in and out of the hospital and I did a lot of travelling back and forth to Massachusetts. She seems to have stabilized, but the medical estabilishment says it will be another year before they know what the lasting effects of the illness will be, and if she will require convalescent care for the rest of her life. We did not think she would make it to her 37th birthday, but she is a stubborn wench and surprised us all. Work has been awful--so short-staffed that I was asked to stay on even after I offered to resign because I was having to leave for MA for weeks on end and at a moment's notice.

And yet, for all that, it has been a great year, too. I've been dating some amazing men, completed two years of counselling/therapy, seen friends and family, and done a fair bit of travelling. I am participating in an ecstatic dance group, have been exploring tantra and intimacy, and I've been developing my abilities as a writer and a photographer with the encouragement of professionals in both fields.

This year my friendships have deepened, and I've learned just how secure a support system I have. I've learned that I don't always have to be 'strong' and that it takes more courage to lean on others than it does to be the one others lean on. I've learned that I can feel fear without embodying it. As a consequence of my sister's illness, which was partly brought on by self-neglect, I've come to the realization that I need to learn to live in and with my body--to fully inhabit it--rather than driving it, or using it as a tool. The seat of my self-awareness and the source of my connection with reality are my flesh and my senses, and neglecting to care for my body means that there will likely come a day when it is unable to furnish my needs.

And so, while I am not the sort of person who participates in the New Year's Resolution ritual, I am committed to making 2007 the year I make peace with my body, learning to inhabit it fully, ceasing to use it as a shield between me and a world whose attentions I'd become so averse to.

I am off to the Coast for the weekend for a quiet retreat in a little 1920's cottage, where I can recuperate from 50 to 60 hour work weeks to the sound of wild surf and blustry winds. I expect to sit by the fire, read, watch movies, and enjoy the opportunity to write and photograph.

Absent the need for certainty: growing a friendship

Absent the need for certainty: growing a friendship. Enjoying being present. Facing and discussing what arose. Struggling to remain open and vulnverable. Allowing energy to flow.

I had an interesting evening with a friend-in-the-making who asked perceptive questions that made me think, and because I was open to him, often triggered emotional responses.

Opening to possibility (Me: One of the first things I tell some one when we get into a relationship is: "I promise I will hurt you. I also promise I will never hurt you intentionally." He: Wouldn't a better choice of words be "I may hurt you.." The way you word it you are guaranteeing it will happen instead of allowing for the possibility of it. Me: Its a certainty. Miscommunication happens. Things happen. No matter how hard we try, the ones we love still feel hurt by things we say and do. So, that choice of words is deliberate. He: But wouldn't you rather chose an option that allows for the possibiltiy of not hurting the ones you love? Me: That is possible, but improbable. He: Still, we're not talking about statisical probabilities here. We're talking about relationships and allowing for the possibility.. why do you feel it necessary to set those expectations? Me: I am pragmatic. Its a warning, an acknowledgement that at times I will hurt the ones I love unintentionally. And a reminder to myself that the ones I love will hurt me, as well. Hmm... I will consider what you are saying. You are right that such wording does negate the possibility of not hurting someone.)

Opening to fears (He: Are you afraid of connection? Me: Yes. He: Why? Me: *hesitation*. He: Don't think, just answer. Me: Some of it is that childish abandonment issue from my mother disappearing when I was 9 or 10. Some if it has to do with Love. Some people stop loving, and I don't. The relationship may change but the reasons I love people are still there. I still love them. I don't understand how people can just stop loving someone, loving me. And that hurts. But more than that, it confuses me, baffles me, rocks the foundation of my inner-reality (love). So I'm very cautious about who I build connections with.)

Opening to what we want or need from each other. Expectations of our relationship, or more suitably, lack thereof. What we sense can grow between us -- there is a sense of boundless intimacy. That question I have--will he become a friend of the soul? I would like that.

Talking about the difference between being terse and being succinct, and my tendancy at times to be the former in an attempt to be the latter. Discussed Polyamory and Monogamy. His desire to educate not only the monogamous masses, but those struggling to make polyamory work for them so they don't participate in a string of divorces or serial monogamy. Awareness that one person cannot be all things to another, and even if they are, that such a state is unsustainable. Jealousy, and my statement that I do not feel it or experience it, and how this hinders my ability to understand it in others.

My face pressed to his chest, hot tears for no real reason. Simultaneously knowing it was alright, and fearing this release would be too much for him. I fiercely hate crying. But he is far more comfortable with tears and emotions than I am, and he did all the right things. And in that moment, one of the petals of the lotus unfolded. And that first petal was trust.

One Year Ago Today

[audio entry]
One year ago today, P was visiting from Denmark. We'd gone to the coast, to my favorite little place in Seaside. Early in the morning, while he was still sleeping, I sat at the table in the cottage and looked out the bay window. I watched the ocean and the birds and sipped coffee and wrote the following in my journal:

There is within me--within all of us, I think--a beast which protects me from the world. Some days it is a roaring beast and others it is a beast that crawls stealthily, but always it is ever watchful--the lizard brain upon which the monkey brain rests.

I recognize that I have defenses that I use far more than I need to, and that for each thing these defences protect me from, they cost me something profound: they keep the world and the experiences and the opportunities for growth and joy at bay. I am aware that closing myself off from my feelings freed me from having to do anything about them. I know that in barricading myself away, I pushed away my own life. I am trying to reclaim so much, and to let go of what I never should have internalized. I am trying to open myself to intimacy that goes beyond the intellectual intimacy I have long enjoyed with friends.

I have come to a place where I know that venturing further will only get me lost inside myself, locked away, never to get out alive. And so I have decided to fight for my life and let life and others in. It is not easy. I have habits and defenses that rise hard and fast when I feel threatened, afraid, vulnerable. Something within me still throws up barriers even while my consciousness works to tear them down. It makes me feel like a head-case, this internal conflict, but I know it is necessary. Somehow I have confidence to push on. I am all twisted up inside and some days I think it is the knots that hold me together, instead of holding me back. Time will tell.

What a long way I have come. And how far I still have to go. Whenever I think I am not making progress in my quest to truly live life, I have but to review my past thoughts. Despite the crisis with my sister's health, despite the stumbling over ingrained stress-response habits, I have made such great strides. I've learned its not as scary as I thought it would be, putting myself out there, taking risks, being real. I've learned that my being genuine means others are more willing to meet me there, and the ones who are willing to are the kinds of people I want to get to know. I've learned the value of attempting to remain eye-level with my consciousness, to watch where feelings and thoughts originate from, so I can determine where in the past I am hung up. And upon reviewing the past year, I've come to the realization that all the 'internal work' I've done needs to be complemented with 'external work'... I need to take better care of the body that houses my spirit.

Thought for a Sunday Morning

In a world in which
The desire for intimacy
Is a chronic longing
Which few fulfill
My heart is open to many
My arms are open to many
And because of this
So many assume
My legs are also open to many
Should I change my heart?
Or will the world do it for me
Against my will?

[audio entry]

Reminders

This has been the week of reminders. Reminders to live each moment fully. Reminders of why I decided to be more social--and why I had stopped. Reminders as to why I started therapy. Reminders that I do not own my fears--and they do not own me. Reminders that love is the most powerful force at my disposal. Reminders to be responsible. Reminders of who my friends really are. Reminders to let go of my need to control and manipulate reality instead of accepting and understanding that true freedom is simply experiencing life as it occurs, allowing myself to be truly spontaneous rather than habitual. I have been experiencing mini-moments of clarity, like the popping of ears signifying elevation changes. Something is up, I feel it, but I do not know what it is that is percolating in my intuitive subconcious--I only know that I am anxious about it, and that it, combined with an ear infection and inexplicable nosebleeds, has left me feeling weary. I am craving sanctuary with an intimate friend. C says come to him, and he will cuddle me--but I know where that will lead. And there will be no long period of peace, only moments suspended between interruptions. I would love a good long period snuggled up to B, but his social schedule is nearly as hectic as mine. I need nurturing, he said. And he was right. Nurturing, not sex... which is why I am at home in my own bed instead of C's. Weariness. Anxiousness. I tell myself there is nothing to be afraid of, and what does fear get me even if there is good reason? Readiness? Stress? I meditate, seeking the still mind, knowing insight and clarity will come if I can but calm the monkey brain long enough.
[audio entry]

Lingua Intima (a poem)

Mouths speak the language of intimacy
without uttering a word
Your lips on mine so tender and sweet
with one brush I am wet,
flowing like a river of metta
towards its numinous destination
Your skin so salty from exertion
with one taste I am lost
Moaning, I bring my mouth to yours
kissing deeply, asking,
Can you taste yourself on my tongue?
Skin-hunger and flavor collide
setting into motion lips tongue and teeth
breath-play
Touching tongue to skin
I exhale upon it, a warm breath
Your moan spurs me on to blow
streams of air across the mouth-water
tongue-stamped to your flesh
Lips forming the symbols of intimacy,
speaking without words

I awakened with this poem pulsing in my brain. It was inspired by B., Thursday night's date. He kisses like I do--with full attention. It is quite a lethal combination. Dizzying, in fact. At one point I pushed him back and kissed his chest, simply so I could get some air. His skin was salty from an afternoon of golf. It was like an aphrodisiac. He tasted like steak tartar. I wanted to eat him up. I nibbled, sucked, kissed and licked my way from his neck to his feet, pushing his clothes out of my way as I singlemindedly sampled him--stopping occasionally to crawl back up to share with him the taste of his salt on my tongue.

Mmmmmm.