Fearing women

It is my assessment that men fear women. They fear women because they do not understand us. Feminine logic escapes them and so they cannot predict us. They fear us because no matter how often they join their bodies with ours, seeking to know and be known -- no matter how often they experience the shuddering release of their essence into our bodies -- they know, even in that moment of ultimate sharing -- of orgasmic bliss-- they know they've never really penetrated the mystery of our otherness. And never will. And for the male of our species, the systematizers, the catalogers, the knowledge-seekers -- what cannot be dismantled, discovered, or known is feared. Sure, there are other emotions mixed in there -- respect, for some, and for others, dread, and a need to conquer or destroy -- but for the most part, consciously or not, most male interaction with the feminine is characterized by fear.

I usually manage to over-ride the feelings of exasperation, irritation, indulgence, and superiority with which most women greet the male fear-response to our impenetrable otherness. Usually. Occasionally, though, I cannot help it.

For all that I am very female, I have a rather masculine mind. I am highly intuitive, but I am also very logical. The combination of the two can be very formidable. I have excellent reasoning / critical thinking skills and am in the top 1 percentile for intelligence. Science, math, economics, programming, trouble-shooting / complex problem-solving -- these come easier to me than to most women. And quite a lot of men. I've been called a polymath by people I respect, though I think of myself as a dilettante. Its not that I'm lacking a polymath's abilities. I'm just lacking the ambition. Winning stopped mattering to me when I realized that other people felt hurt by losing. A rather feminine characteristic.

So, because I am a warm, loving, non-competitive woman, some men underestimate me. They fear me for what I consider the wrong reasons. And this peeves me. And not just me. It peeves quite a few of my peers, women who are feared because they are female but also unrespected because they are female. Because we know that women are capable of terrible things. It just so happens that we rarely tap into the place where that capacity lies dormant because it takes special circumstances to awaken it. For millennia women have made the terrible choice of life or death -- history is full of stories about children exposed to the elements for coming at the wrong time, for example. We've gone to war and when we fight, there are no rules and there is no mercy -- just blood and gore (Go Boudicca). We've pitted man against man, country against country. We've brought down empires as matters of personal vendettas, to right wrongs perpetuated against ourselves, or more often, against those we love.

But men think that women's history of needing to manipulate them to achieve our ends still stands today. They seem to think we cannot fight our own battles and thus they disregard us as martial threats. They forget that we can do battle on the field of the intellect, and that this new Information Age is a great equalizer -- superior physical strength does not matter here. We, too, can fight wars with keystrokes.

Something happened recently in which someone I care for was wrongly accused of something, to the point that evidence was manifactured, and that falsified proof used as a reason to act against him -- and incidentally me. It is nothing illegal, merely a matter of inter-personal politics (ie grudge), but I am enraged nonetheless. The one who accused him has spread fear and paranoia that he will exact revenge.

The irony is that they fear the wrong person. What lies dormant in this woman is awakened when those I care for are threatened. I have the skillset and connections to make Cooper's life in his little world hell should I wish it. If he is not careful, I just might choose to live my life in such a way that when my feet hit the floor in the morning, both he and Satan shudder and say 'Oh shit....she's awake!'

I am woman. Fear me, oh man. Fear me now while I'm still rumbling. Because you do not want to hear me roar.

WWKD?

[Listen to the podcast here]

So, if there is anything I really despise, it is sexual blackmail.

Recently I overheard a conversation between two women with whom I am acquainted, a conversation that ended with:
"....and he forgot to take out the garbage two weeks in a row! So that's it. No sex for a week."
I shook my head.
I said. "Oh, I'd handle that very differently."
She said "Oh?"
I said "Yes," and then waited.
She took the bait. She said, "What would Kay do?"
I grinned and said, "I'd tell him we were going to have sex morning and night every day for two weeks."
"That's not a punishment!" she exclaimed.
"Really?" I said and arched an eyebrow. "I didn't say he could cum."
That shocked her speechless. Hee hee.

(edit: This entry was referenced by Figleaf in his Real Adult Sex blog)

The bully and the bitch

Given the subject matter that I write about, I am continually reminded of how many men out there have submissive sexual tendencies and are looking for a dominant woman. Which is natural, I know. There are various statistics out there, supported by studies of everything from schoolyards and fraternities to dance clubs and tribal societies, which basically state that a very small percentage of humans are leaders, and the rest follow them. I suppose it would be fair to say that humans are pack animals. But what does this have to do with submissive sexuality?

People confuse power and sex all the time, probably because, from an evolutionary standpoint, those who are powerful are the ones who get sex. But in contemporary terms, powerful leaders are inspiring, charismatic. They have an energy that is infectious, that excites people to sign on with whatever the leader is turned on by, regardless of whether or not they understand, and this excitement is often experienced as sexual arousal. Such people are dominants, alphas, whatever word you like -- they are natural leaders and people follow them without coercion, and with out the leader needing to be a bully or a bitch.

However, our social hierarchy implies that for male to be a 'real man' he must take charge, take control-- in the workplace and the home-- regardless of whether or not it comes naturally to him. And women have a lot of power. We are the sex-objects, the child-bearers. We are mysterious, enigmatic, encompassing, nurturing. And so, I think, it is inevitable that when a man is in the privacy of his own sexual space, one of three things happens. Most commonly, I think, is that men indulge in masturbatory fantasies that have power-exchange contexts. Some, perhaps those more self-aware, want to give up control and seek to do what comes more naturally to him--they seek to submit, to worship, and to be nurtured by Woman. And then there are those who, knowing themselves outclassed as a dominant 'out there', seek to prove to themselves that they can dominate others, usually the wife and children.

I've accumulated enough knowledge and experience to comfortably state that most men who think they are Doms are really just men who have issues with women or their own masculinity, and who think being abusive or demeaning others is an expression of their dominance. But in fact, its just a pathetic display of denial. Men who bully or abuse women aren't dominant, they are submissives in denial. And they think I am a bitch. Which turns them on. And then they suddenly change their tunes, and roll over on their backs and show their bellies and beg me to take control of their pleasure. And in that moment, I am also reminded that so many women out there are incapable of playing a dominant role without being a bitch. Or rather, so many people out there, male and female, think that being bitchy equates to being dominant. And it just isn't so. A woman who resorts to being a bitch in order to get her way is about as dominant as a man who as to be an asshole to get his way. Anyone who stands in that place does so quite precariously, fearful of losing that foothold, and thus their 'dominance' is illusory, existing only so long as those in their lives are in collusion with that bullying behavior, and tolerant of it.

What most people do not understand about dominance and submission is that the submissive is not in any way diminished by submitting, that submission is not a demeaning experience, in general, and that the submissive is really the one who has the power, not the Dom. The Dom gives structure and controls the flow of the power, but without the submissive's energy and submission, the Dom is merely a man (or woman) with an itch to dominate/be in control. A real Dom doesn't feel more of a 'man' when he is controlling a submissive. A real dominant feels more alive, fulfilled, more sensitized to the eroticism of power exchange, filled with a profound sense of the rightness of the moment. But a true dominant feels no more or less him or herself as a consequence of such encounters, because they are confident in and at peace with themselves, with their status and their sexuality, and D/s encounters are simply another example of the natural order of things, not a power-trip.

Submissive males approach me. Am I looking for an obedient boy, they ask? They would love to be humiliated and teased and used by me, they say. Females, too, begging to be controlled, objectified, made abject. There are those, male and female, who want to please and be pleased. They want to feel treasured and cared for and more than anything, they want to make a contribution to their dominant. And while I occasionally dabble in D/s, I'm not in the lifestyle at this time and I don't seek out submissives. But they find me. Oh they find me. And while some of them tempt me and I do engage them, most of them annoy me with their persistence, with their begging and pouting, but I do try to be kind in my firmness, rather than a bitch. Which, a friend of mine assures me, makes me all the more compelling.

I rarely consciously use my innate dominance, because I've noticed that if one steps up to shepherd, one is burdened with the sheep. I don't like the tendency of people to unconsciously develop a dependency on alpha males and females to do their thinking for them. I know that our species is a pack/herd animal and I know that some of us are genetically predisposed to be leaders of the herd. But I also, as a woman, am highly conscious of the social responsibility and personal cost. Outside of the bedroom, I prefer not to use other's submissive tendencies and energy, because am VERY aware that I then have a responsibility toward them in exchange. I think a lot of people playing at being Dominant miss this very important part--the ethics of power exchange. Which is why I don't consider bullies and bitches dominants...and why I'm always sad to see a submissive mistaking them for such.

Women as objects of love and desire

Photo: The Sandstone Pudendum in Kolob Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah, USA (c) KR Silkenvoice
This is an essay about women as objects of love and desire. It is long and rambling, but it does have a point. Hopefully you will get it.

I tried to deny it for years, but I finally came to accept that my earthiness and sensuality can be powerfully attractive to people--regardless of gender. I am open, warm, relaxed, and most people feel comfortable around me--and feel comfortable talking to me about things they normally wouldn't dream of discussing with someone else. Due to the type of work I moonlight at (that is, writing & recording erotica) I come into contact with a lot of people who are already primed for conversation with sexual content. Especially men. Especially online.

Often, when I am conversing with a man, it becomes apparent that he is married or otherwise partnered and looking for a vicarious sexual outlet. Now, I'm not interested in wrecking homes or stealing husbands. Nor am I looking for another lover. I've never had an interest in marrying, and my chosen love-style, polyamory, is one that most people cannot handle well -- they're conditioned to the possessiveness and jealousy and insecurity which the socially-approved institution of serial monogamy engenders. So men talk to me. And depending on my intuition, on their responses to my questions, or the ideas I put out there, I'll often guide them towards erotic objectification of their partners -- instead of (or at the very least in addition to) me.

Now, I should state that I've observed that when men have been with their women for an extended period of time, their women become 'self' instead of 'other'. Which is a good thing, right? Well, mostly. The problem is that when a man internalizes a woman -- takes her identity into himself and begins to see her as an extension of himself -- she is no longer an object of mystery, novelty, denial, teasing. She is no longer a stand-alone individual -- instead, she is his, a part of himself, loved as he loves himself -- and thus she is no longer an object of erotic desire.

The happiest couples I know, the ones who are powerfully in-love after years and years together, seem to have one thing in common: a heathy sex life centered on her erotic objectification. For him, she is a fetish object, a talismanic creature radiating mystery and sensuality -- a Goddess. For her, he is the Summer King, her lover and acolyte, eternally in her thrall. They re-enact the ages old rites of worship between male and female, seeking to penetrate the barriers of their solitude in order to become as one, even if only for those few moments of orgasmic bliss.

Otto Kernberg wrote a book on love relationships which contained an analysis of a Hindu text known as the Ramayana, and in this book he stated: "...the beloved presents himself or herself simultaneously as a body which can be penetrated and a consciousness which is impenetrable. Love is the revelation of the other person's freedom. The contradictory nature of love is that desire aspires to be fulfilled by the destruction of the desired object, and love discovers that this object is indestructable and cannot be substituted."

At some point we all make this discovery, realizing, at least subconsciously, that the object of love and desire is both within our grasp and eternally beyond it. At this point, one of three decisions is made: one, to abandon the object and go in search of one that can be fully possessed/internalized, two, to hold on to the object, internalize what we can of them, and ignore/deny/attempt to destroy what we cannot possess, or three, celebrate the oft-times conflicting duality of love and desire, taking as much of the other as we can into our selves, and enjoy the mystery and delight of trying to grasp what can never be held -- no matter how hard we try. The way in which we cope with this love conundrum determines how well our relationships work, and how long they last.

End of spiritual and psychological analysis. Lets get back to sex.

So, as I established earlier, when men are with women for a long while, the women become 'self' instead of remaining 'other', and in order to re-eroticize their partners, men seem to need to objectify them -- to restore the mystery to the object of their sexual fulfillment. And for some reason I want to help make this happen.

How? Well, I'll sometimes guide conversation or role-play towards erotic objectification of their partners... sometimes the fantasies will be woman-woman, asking questions like, "Would you like to see her face between my thighs? Watch her press her lips to my bare pussy?" I sometimes invite them in..."Would you like to slip up behind her, and fuck her nice and slow while she eats me?" Once I have made the decision to re-eroticize someone's partner, I rarely, ever, suggest sexual intercourse between myself and him. I do not want him to focus on me as an erotic object, but on his wife. In general, my goal is for him to get 'off' thinking about HER, not ME. If he has D/s leanings, sometimes I'll suggest that I'll make his wife submit to me, and allow him to watch -- so long as he does not move or speak unless given permission -- regardless of what I do to her or what she says. This suggestion is powerfully erotic to many men. Sometimes I'll guide him through use of his wife in such a way that will 'please' me.. get him all worked up and then tell him to go to bed and wake his wife and take her... and report back to me on her responses. This has had spectacular results for some couples, results that have amazed the men... they wonder how I know that their wives will respond well to x or y or z, and I tell them its from what I learn from them about their wives...

I am sure a lot of women would freak out about this type of exchange... and here is where the humour of it all comes in. I am a woman who understands men. But I also understand women -- as much as it is possible to understand women. And women, well, we are raunchy. We tell our girlfriends things that make grown men blush. Our girlfriends tell us things that make us roar with laughter, make us horny as hell. We tease each other, flirt with each other. We talk about the best places to buy lingerie and sex toys, about the latest things we tried on our lovers. But heaven forbid if our lovers talk about it. Especially if the person they are talking to is another woman. Heads will roll. Tears will fall. Words like 'betrayal' and 'violation' will resonate in the air. And its ridiculous, the hypocrisy of it. Because for women, their lovers are also no longer 'other', they are 'self' and so talking about their lovers to whomever they choose is their right. But heaven forbid their lovers show an ounce of individuality and discuss such deeply private and personal things with someone else--especially another woman! Oh my.

It is illogical. I call it fuzzy feminine logic. And unfortunately, we're stuck with it. But we can work with it, keeping in mind that simply because women often defy logic does not mean they are irrational. I mean, part of what makes women an eternal mystery to men is this fuzzy, nuanced, emotional logic -- men don't 'get' it. In the everyday world, women are nuts and men are baffled. What men need from women is very simple, and what they want from women is very simple, but women are not simple. We are complex. We think that what we want most is to be understood, but really, we do not. We are complex and what we want from men is not that they understand everything about us, but that they understand that our natures dictate that we be true to the moment, and that this is both valid and rational. We like change, we need change, we are change. We are the source of creation and sustenance. We are mystery incarnate. We are objects of love, of desire, of denial, of fulfillment.

I suppose, when it comes down to it, my argument is that 'objectification of women' is a good thing. Perhaps the feminist movement's efforts to change the fundamental tendancy of men to eroticize women needs to take into consideration the archetypes which this touches upon, the deep-seated psychological reasons for objectification, and how it benefits both genders. Because as I see it, if romantic relationships between women and men are going to be fulfilling in the long term, women need to find ways to continue being erotic objects -- and men need to find ways to continue being enthralled by the objects of their love and desire.

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.

Flowers from CW

These are the flowers from CW that arrived at work. He used the same florist as KR did last month. Both arrangements are unusual and quite lovely. This one won CW lots of points from the women at work, and me lots of questions about him :)

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.

On the foundations of sexual psychopathology

[click here for audio / podcast]
I expect that, to the average American, I would seem to be a "sexual deviant", however, I think it is fair to say that my spontaneous, free-flowing eroticsm is but a extension of the way my mind works. I am a divergent thinker, and so I consider myself "sexually divergent" rather than "deviant". But again, that is a question of semantic nuances, I suppose.


Which leads to my next topic.... sexual psychopathology.

My morality, ethics, and sexuality were heavily influenced by two diametrically-opposed lifestyles: the hippie-hedonism of my parent's communal lifestyle, and the fundamentalist Christianity of my missonary evangelist grandparents. Perhaps as a consequence of being caught in the middle of their battle for my mind, body, and soul, I have long been aware of, and fascinated by, how the socio-religious regulation of sexuality is internalized to produce sexual psychopathology. I have long wanted to understand what it is about our society that creates 'child molesters' such as the one I fell prey to when I was 11. What I have learned over the years is that children have always been eroticized, but that the abuse factor is a fairly recent evolution in response to the Church's attempt to bring sexuality and reproduction under its control. It took centuries for them to bring marriage under the umbrella of Its authority, proscribing fornication and adultery, and condemning all non-procreative sexual practices as "unnatural".

The history of sexuality in the West is rather interesting and very convoluted. The Hellenic (Greek) culture tolerated pederastic and male homosexual relations for centuries. It was not uncommon for men and women to reserve feeling of higher 'love' for people of their own gender, or for children. It was understood that sex was required for procreation, but that loving sexuality was fluid in its expression, rather than static. Sex was recognized for the primal and necessary bodily function that it is, rather than being wrapped in and confused with 'love' like it is today. This ended rather quickly with the rise of Christianity--the pleasures of the flesh were directly at odds with the prospect of salvation in the imminent 'last days'.

In my readings, I found it interesting to learn that being a catamite in Hellenic days was not only accepted, but expected by those of honoured houses. It was an honour even, to the family whose boy was chosen. And homosexuality was no more looked down upon then as heterosexuality is now. I also find the evolution of prostitution from something accepted and deemed a necessary, if not always desirable thing, to the apparent abomination that some view it to be today. In fact, a great many things viewed as 'immoral' today were not so before the rise of Christianity.

In the 19th century, Darwin's work began to influence most aspects of Western Thought, and through it, religious views on sexual difference were provided with a biological and eventually an evolutionary logic, which then in turn was used to determine that departures from sanctioned demonstrations of heterosexuality were not only 'sins', but pathological deviations from physiological norms. The emergence of what could be called 'scientific sexology' at the end of the nineteenth century completed these developments by identifying as sexual 'deviants' the prostitutes, masturbators, and perverts whose sexual practices supposedly posed a biological and moral threat to the health of families, nations, and the 'race.' This was the pivotal moment in the modern history of sexuality -- when homosexuality, sadism, masochism, and the other 'perversions' were invented. It was not a simple medical or scientific conspiracy, but a decisive cultural revolution that,
when interwoven with the upwelling of charismatic Christian evangelism during the same era, left pyscho-social marks so deep, indelible, and socially transmissible, that most people in America assume that this 19th century construction is both natural and eternal.

In the end, I think it all comes down to pleasure. Pre-Christian cultures elevated pleasure and happiness as goals to be achieved in daily life. Early Christians, believing that Christ would come again within their lifetime/generation, embraced an ascetic lifestyle that renounced pleasure today in favour of the rigors needed to be worthy of the joys salvation in the afterlife. When it became apparent that Christ was not coming as soon was originally promised, the emphasis shifted to control, to controlling pleasure and pain, marriage and procreation through fear. The eyes of the Heirs of Paul ceased their inward look and turned to those whose lives were free of the oppressive fears of their Christian brethren, and seeing them as threats to the continuation of the Church, sought to bring them under the authority of the Church lest they influence new converts to return to the 'old ways'. Little did the Church elders know that the use of fear to control sexuality would last for thousands of years, and mutate to turn expressions of non-procreative sexuality into an underground phenomenon perpetuated from generation to generation by guilt and oppression. Christianity, and the culture it spawned, has a dark, twisted, and seedy underside. It makes sinners of its subscribers, who, knowing they are powerless to prevent themselves from participating in the cycle of Original Sin, become twisted by fear and the need to exert power and control -- over themselves and others -- in the most deeply personal and private aspect of their lives: their sexuality.

Perhaps, for ha-has, I should begin identifying myself as a Fundamentalist Pre-Christian, and begin dialogue on getting back to sound, healthy, pre-Christian values: de-nuclearization of the 'family' in favour of a return to the community as the basic social unity; the return of sexual worship to temples and other sanctums; rites of fertility and sexual initiation; placing procreation back in the hands of women, who, after all, bear children, and who for millennia, made the decision to bear or expose to the elements children born 'untimely'; viewing masturbation as a healthy and desirable expression of self-love; all as an effort to root out the sexual psychopathology, guilt, and repression rampant in our current society. I can just see their faces now. Wheeeee.

Interview with a Pornographer (me?)

From a recent IM interview (bold type is the interviewer):

-As I mentioned in my email, I am working on a master's thesis on pornographers, particularly purveyors of written pornography / erotica. I have read your stories and your blog. I would like to ask you some questions, if I may?

-You may ask. I may even answer :)

-Fair enough. How long have you been writing erotica?

-I remember writing some fantasies down when I was 16 - 18 years old, then I stopped. I don't remember why. I started again, about 18 months ago.

-Do you consider what you write 'erotica'?

-Yes... much of it. I try to write about the sensual and the sexual in a way that allows people to feel positive about their sexual arousal, rather than 'dirty' or 'bad'. I've gotten feedback on one of my stories, in particular, that it was one of the few erotic stories out there that did not depict the submissive in a negative, simplified, or objectified manner. I was very pleased to hear that.

-Do you consider what you write 'pornography'?

-The word 'pornography' has pejorative connotations. As I recall, this is a compound word that derives from the greek or latin word for 'prostititute' combined with 'graphor' to mean something like... "one who depicts prostitutues and what they do." I am not associated with any prostitutues, I do not depict any prostitutes, nor am I one. That said, I would remind you that in Greece and Rome, and many other ancient cultures, temple prostitutes were highly regarded and thus it is quite likely that we've twisted the word, its original meaning, and the depictions themselves from something sacred, into something profane. Its all subjective, isn't it, wavering as it does in the winds of collective morality?

-Would you consider yourself a pornographer?

-I suppose I could. I suppose on some days I might. I guess I would be in good company: It wasn't so long ago that works by Vatsayana, Hong ji, Ovid, Sappho, James Joyce, DH Lawrence, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Mark Twain, etc were considered 'pornographic. '

-Based on my criteria, you qualify as a 'pornographer'. How do you feel about that?

-I suppose it is apt. *shrug* It is a word. Your word. I don't really care. What is important is not how I feel about it, but how you or those who use the word with derogatory intentions feel about it.

-Ok, lets get back to your writing. Why do you write?

-Ah. Now that is a question I have not been asked before. Very astute. I write because I feel compelled to, I suppose. I was reading and writing by age 4. I wrote my first story when I was 5. I still have it somewhere, my grandmother saved it for me. I have noticed that writing helps me think, helps me organize my thoughts, sometimes even helps to purge my mind. I have a memory for details and a systematizing mind... sometimes I just have to get the stuff out of my head by writing it down.

-I've noticed that what you write tends to be 'sensual' as you noted on your blog, and yet your style is very peculiar. A single entry can contain spiritual, sexual, and psychological elements that are elegantly expressed on the one hand, and dissonantly coarse on the other.

-Yes, this is something several people have pointed out to me. Someone recently told me that my writing is "refined and raw at the same time". Apparently this style of expression tends to keep people off-balance, particularly in person. I'm not quite sure why I communicate this way... perhaps it has something to do with the fact that most people find my voice very soothing, often hypnotic, andmy using an occasional jarring word keeps them awake?

-So your writing style is similar to your conversation style?

-I think so. I suppose you would have to ask my family and friends if the way I converse and the way I write are similar if you want an objective opinion. My speech and my writing are both expressions of the same thing: my thoughts/feelings. While I occasionally filter what I say, I rarely edit what I write. I can say that I do tend to make people shake their heads during conversations. It is not unusual for me to be told I am outrageous.

-Why do you write what you write?

-Why... hmm... I write what I write because it turns me on, and because I hope in sharing it, it will turn others on, perhaps even give them an opportunity to vicariously explore things they otherwise would not experience. What I write on my blog is generally my thoughts on my daily life. When I have the time and a thought that might be worthy of sharing with others, I sit down and write it. Failing that, I write about something most people forget about.

-What is that?

-The sensual immediacy of every day life. I've been told that I seem to experience my senory input more intensely than most people, and that I express it in a way that makes people more aware of the sensuousness of their own lives.

-Ah yes, I should have expected that: your subtitle. So... you write about sexual and sensual topics because... why?

-Because I am a sexual and sensual being. Because we all are, only I seem to be more aware of it myself... Because too many people are hung up on sex. They have made pariahs of their sexual selves, rather than integrating their sexuality into their daily lives. And by that I don't mean daily sex. I mean... hmmm... people are socialized to think that there is a correct time and place to be sexual, and that 'feeling sexy' at any other time is inappropriate. That is bullshit. That is the kind of socialization that creates sexual psychopathology. Feeling sexy, feeling sensual is natural. We are human animals, we have senses and flesh. We evolved to avoid pain and seek pleasure. What sick fuck decided that controlling another's sexuality not only socially but intrapersonally, was a good idea?

-Interesting... so would you say that you consider writing erotic stories and sensual diary entries a sort of public service?

-Heh. I suppose so. My therapist once told me that I have the healthiest attitude towards sex and my sexuality that she had ever come across. It made me sad to realize how many people are so hung up on sex. It made me think. It made me want to change things. Between that and conversations with some friends whose opinions I respect, I decided to 'go public', so to speak.

- That is a good lead in to my next question...How do you chose what writing you will make public?

-I dont really know. I write for me. Anais Nin said " We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection." Sometimes I want to share what I write with a select few, sometimes with the public, sometimes with no one.

-Do you read erotica yourself?

-Oh yes! The first naughty book I was given was Little Birds by Anais Nin. I was perhaps 10. From there I read Delta of Venus, Lady Chatterly's Lover, The French Lieutenants Woman, Twain's 1601, and Janet Morris' Silistra series. As an adult, found and read the Fanny Hill story, Ovid's Art of Love, Anne Rice's Beauty series, and Anne Bishop's Dark Jewels series.

-Why did you start reading it so young?

Well, it was partly environmental. I grew up in a free-love environment. The act of sex was no mystery to me, but the reasons behind it were. Also, where most people have a fundamental desire to be understood, I have a fundamental desire to understand. I wanted to understand what made people want to do that with each other.

-Do you think that having access to erotic material made you more or less likely to be promiscuous growing up?

-Oh less so. But again, 'promiscuous' is one of those pejorative, emotionally- and morally- loaded words. In general, what is considered promiscuous is defined by the society one is in. I am not prone to indiscriminate sex --which is my definition of promiscuity--and I never have been. And since my curiousity about sex was both tickled and satisfied by the material I read in my youth, I wasn't all that interested in 'playing doctor'. I'd seen the real thing often enough, and I'd read enough to understand that it really was something best left to 'grown-ups'.

-Do you sell your erotica?

No. I've not submitted any of my stories to any organizations that pay to publish. A friend has a couple of my audio stories for sale on his site, but I don't think it has enough of a market share to generate many hits. I've been solicited by a few people wanting to work together, etc, but its been a hectic year for me personally, and I've not had much time or energy to put into it. Its been more of a hobby for me, than anything else.

-Do you think you would find more time to write erotica if it was lucrative?

-Of course! Writing and recording erotic stories is quite a lot of fun. They come very easily to me, once I set aside a block of time to write them down. Its just that there are so many other things I like doing, too, and though they don't make money, either, they are much better for my social life :) Seriously though, it would be great to make a living at producing erotic material. I'm too practical to do the starving-writer thing, but I may yet try some e-commerce / e-book / digital download venture -- if I can determine there is a market out there that would pay enough to make the effort worthwhile.

What would you like to see happening in erotica in the next decade?

I'd like to see more material out there for women and couples. Women can be quite raunchy. We like our romantic, sweet, hint-at-but-don't-describe-the-details fiction, but--just as we like to be bent over the couch and fucked hard and fast once in a while--we also like to read hot, steamy stories that make us want to reach into our sex-toy stash and play. And the stuff out there for the general male audience is just too... dry. Or too short. Or too unrealistic. Its funny, I'v had several men contact me, asking for help with their wives. They say their wives are frigid, or reluctant, or too perfuctory in sexual relations, and they wish there was something they could do to make their wives more like me. c Sometimes I recommend sensual massages or discission of fantasies. Sometimes I tell them to try to find a way to introduce their partners to one of my stories, like Check and Mate. Or one of my audios, like Picnic Beneath the Willow. I've heard back from some that the stories have gone over very well, much to their surprise. I think people would be surprised to know how many women would enjoy erotica more if they could find good erotica, with the right balance of romance and raunchiness. So, mainstreaming quality erotica for women and couples is something I would like to see, sometime soon.

And, with that, I've got to call it a night. I'm tired and I've got a long day tomorrow. I hope you don't mind?

-No. I understand. You've given my far more of your time than I had any reason to expect. Thank you.

-My pleasure. May I use a portion of this interview for on my blog? I think it would be interesting reading.

-It is mostly your material... I just asked the questions, so I don't see why not. Sent me the link if you do post?

-Sure. Goodnight!

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.

Home from Thanksgiving Vacation

Home.

I am sitting at the dining table sipping jasmine tea and nibbling on dark chocolate with bits of crystalized ginger in it, watching the black bamboo and the sweet orange osmanthus sway in the breeze. It is silent except for the deep thrum of the windchimes and the tap of my fingertips on the keyboard. I forgot how much I relish silence.

Ten days of travel. The joys of seeing family and friends and children. Road noise, airport announcements, beeps and flashes, the annoying endless loop of television programming.

And now, home. Silence. People say silence is golden but I think few really understand what that really means. It seems to me like so many people fear being alone with their thoughts, fear the silencing of the external noise that drowns out their internal dialogue.

And now that I am alone, I'll let my thoughts flow, unedited, from my fingertips...


The photo above is of my niece gathering up the golden leaves of the ginkgo tree. I braided some of her hair and put ginkgo leaves in it to form a crown. She looked like a princess with golden butterflies in her hair. A lovely child of four, with mossy green-brown eyes, so solemn and wide, and hair the colour of tobacco, brown and gold, with the same curls as mine. She resembles my mother in ways, particularly her mouth and chin, and she has the permanent sun-kissed tan that mom always had and which my sister's and I did not get. Lucky girl. I brought her Dr Seuss books and read to her, and she read the stories back to me, even mimicking the accents. She is so articulate, so expressive, so impossibly bright. I taught her fencing poses and lunges one day last May and she still remembered them. When she wrapped her arms around me and told me she loved me and missed me I fell in love with her all over again. My sister and her husband have done a fine job of raising her.

My nephew is a source of wonder to me. In January he will be 14. He is 5'9" already, and wearing a size 13 shoe. His hands are larger than mine, and mine are large for a woman. He is big and fleshy, poised for another spurt of growth. His nature is similar to what mine was at his age... he is very empathetic and kind, good-natured and friendly. He is popular with his peers but does not seek it. He does phenomenally in school--my sister was concerned that he was not bringing home any school work and met with his teachers, but the truth is that even with the GATE program he is hardly challenged at all. He finishes most of his homework before he leaves school for the day. I was prepared to find him at that age where teenaged boys don't want anything to do with their family--that age when they are exerting their independance and withdrawing from their family in favor of their friends. But he's not there yet, and perhaps never will become that self-isolating. For now he is thoughtful, affectionate and snuggly. I loved snuggling up to him and listening to him breathe, listening to him talk about the things that are important to him. Manga. PS2. Yugi-oh. Movies. Swimming. School.

We talked about girls. He said there are girls at school who say they are in love with him and I could tell that it confused him. "I'm too young for a relationship," he said to me with such seriousness. I always have condoms with me and I offered to leave him some but he blushed said he was fine--my sister has made some available to him but he doesn't plan to use them any time soon. I like him. Smart, articulate, brave, sure of himself in ways few teens are. He knows he is loved. My sister marinates him in it. I have faith that he will survive adolescence with his 'self' more or less intact.

As for my sisters, both are well. The one who was ill, well, she's getting better physically, but she drifts around a lot, somewhat out of sync with reality in ways that are hard to pinpoint. Some of that is being on morphine for pain, I know, but some of it is residual psychosis from advanced Beri-beri. She is existing right now... exisiting, and not in a place to care much for herself or others... she keeps falling asleep with lighted cigarettes in her hands, leaving burn-holes in carpets, blankets and clothes, freaking my other sister out. They fight over the smoking... my youngest sister fears that she is going to wake up to her house burning down. And so it goes.

Wednesday night I made yellow curry with vegetables and chicken for everyone. I decided it would be a good idea to have something completely different from what we'd be eating on Thanksgiving. Its a speciality of mine and my brother-in-law and my nephew were dubious, but find themselves enjoying it rather a lot.

Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner was delicious. My sister cooked the turkey in cheesecloth, which kept it very moist. There was cornbread stuffing cooked in a muffin pan, acorn squash, green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. Dessert (much later) was pecan pie or chocolate cream pie. I had the pecan pie, of course. The best part was snuggling up with my nephew for a nap.

Friday the six of us drove up into the Sierras to Shaver Lake, which is located about half-way between Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon. We had some of the best pizza I've ever eaten and strolled around the town a bit. The kids got their photos taken with Santa and my brother-in-law snapped a photo of my sister and I clowning around at the base of the town's Christmas Tree. It is a good photo. I think I'll have it printed and send it to my sister.

During the course of writing this I've gotten several phone calls and IMs. It is good to be home and good to know I was missed. I'm ready to resume my life here in Portland, even with the spectre of 8 weeks of 10 - 12 hours days at work on the horizon. Ah well, the joys of being in the accounting field.

Change

Its been very stormy here. I've watched in delight and awe at the high winds making 60 foot trees dance like palm fronds in the hands of children cavorting after church on Palm Sunday. I've listened to the rain pounding my window; record rains that are washing out roads and flooding homes. I live where two rivers meet and every morning I've looked with wonder at the new heights the water reaches, wondering if the State parks that border my home will flood again, as they did in January.

This morning, it stopped raining long enough for the sun to peep through the clouds, creating a golden stage that I fully expected angels to appear upon, blowing their horns. It was so glorious I stopped my car and pulled out my camera and snapped a photo. People looked at me--other drivers, their passengers--they looked at me and they looked in the direction I pointed the camera, looking for what I was photographing, and their faces wore puzzled expressions. I realized that they did not see the sunrise. It made me sad that nature had put on such a gloriously, exquisitely beautiful display for us as a consolation for two weeks of rain, and it went mostly unnoticed.

The trees are still changing. Some still wear green, but many are golden and ruddy, and some look ragged, with their leaves torn from them prematurely, leaving baldspots amongst the colour. At lunch I put on my rain-slicker and my Tevas and went for a walk. And as I walked, I noticed the ground was littered with jewel-toned leaves. I chased the ones recently torn from their trees, gathering them up into my hands, delighted with their singular beauty, each one unique as a snowflake.

I walked back to the office soaking wet. Cold. Ankles muddy. Hands and nails dark with smears of leaf litter. A colleague held the door open for me, and I grinned at her, filled with a child-like glee, and showed her the treasures in my hands. She shook her head, this woman a dozen years younger than me and said that only I would be chasing leaves in a storm. Her smile was condescending. The leaves were unremarkable to her. She has a whole front-yard full of them, she said.

A conversation with a friend, someone I love deeply, oh so deeply, and whom I miss every day because I seem him so rarely. We talked and I spoke of how pleased I am with the amazing people I am inviting into my life. And we talked of change, and in his frustration he mocked me, stating that perhaps the best way for him to effect change in his life was to "start pretending that everybody in this world is fucking amazing."

That hurt. It brought tears to my eyes. I said, "Its not my place to tell you whether or not you need to grow or change, and it is not my place to tell you how. I am the child, remember? I am the idiot who chases pretty leaves in a storm. And looks like a simpleton grinning ear-to-ear because they are so beautiful to me. But they are just leaves to everyone else, you know. You are a leaf. You are beautiful to me. Perfect as you are. And I don't need you to change in order for me to see you that way. But its silly of me, isn't it? Pretending that there are so many fucking amazing people in my life? They are just people. Just leaves, you know? I find them beautiful and incredible, but to other people they are just people."

He said, "Your people aren't my people, and you seek to find the silver lining in the clouds. You are free to look at people however you like hon. What upsets me is that I feel you are telling me what I cannot do, ie change."

I responded with, "I thought perhaps it would be good for you to try being more like me, to see the possiblity and the beauty in even the littlest thing--I thought maybe if you could see the world from a perspective of change, it would give you hope and pleasure... But I want you to know that I recognize that my child-like enthusiasm for the adventure of both my inner and outer lives is not a paradigm that is for you. And I am trying to apologize for trying to get you to look within and explore the possibilities that changes inside you might create outside you, via a change in attitudes/perceptions."

He said, "Change for the mere sake of change, is a waste of energy. Change, to impact that which brings the most unhappiness in one's life, is meaningful."

I thought for a moment and said, "Indeed. Pity so much technological progress is tied to change for the sake of changing, of trying something new... "

I felt an ache in my solar plexus. I had trouble fitting my mouth around the next words, but I managed. "The truth is I should probably be more like you. Obviously, you only embrace change when it is absolutely necessary. You have your feet firmly planted on the ground and change is something that comes to you, not something you seek. You are perfect as you are. I love you as you are. And as you say you are happy as you are, I am happy, too. You don't often seem so to me, but maybe I need to grow up and live in the real world, like you do. Its rather ugly, it seems, and unhappy, too, but its real."


There are days like this when I go to bed wondering when the curse of experiencing reality differently will be lifted.

And with that final thought, I'm off to bed to catch a nap. I'll be in California for about 10 days. It will be lovely to see my friends and family.

Fantabulous Weekend

I think this has been one of the best weekends of my life.

1-My sister is doing better. One might even go so far as to say that she is recovering, keeping in mind that a few good weeks does not a recovery make, not with an illness that cost her 10 months of her life and half her body mass.

2-CD has not only finished his manuscript, but will be handing it over to his editor in a week. Even better tho, are the poems and prose he is now free to write, brightening my days, like this:

Opposable Thumbs

Because of our opposable thumbs, we human beings have unique capabilities. Our muscled, contrary digits allow us to pull, twist, manipulate, and grip; to use tools, to control, even "civilize" our environment. There is, however, one essential human quality that does NOT respond well to this wondrous digital opposability...

Love.

Love is given; it is to be received with open hands, as if it was a gift of pure, clear, life-giving water, flowing into and over our cupped palms.

Love is not to be pulled, twisted, manipulated, leveraged, or squeezed. Love is not to be hijacked, hitchhiked, clamped, or hammered.

No.

Use your opposable thumbs on love, and its life-giving magic will disappear, as surely as water flows through a grasping hand.

3-I went to two birthday parties on Saturday. Yes, two!

J's was at a meditation center. I wish I could have spent more time there, because there were some amazing people there, and J needed some serious bodywork. Still, I got his low back relaxed enough that he stopped wincing every time he moved, and he gave me a peek at the library. Mmm... books. A good thing he doesn't know what a turn-on books in general and libraries in particular are for me :)

I had to leave J's party because B's was starting, and well, no offence to J, but who would want to miss a party involving a chocolate fountain, a basement lair draped in billowing fabrics, a wine cellar, a chocolate fountain, one man, 10 women, (did I mention a chocolate fountain) and a camera?

4-Sunday Sacred Dance Circle. Wow. The energy was amazing. I had gooseflesh the entire time I was there. Between that and the endorphine high from multiple orgasms, I was guaranteed a great day.

6-Snuggle Salon. I invited a different J to come along and he accepted. It was the smallest snuggle I've been to, maybe 10 people. Still, both the birthday boys were there, and there were only two other women besides myself, so I had a great time snuggling and being massaged. And I loved the five-person snuggle at the end of the night, sandwiched between the J I'd invited and J the birthday boy. YUM!

7-I got to talk to my other sister about all sorts of deep and personal things, and gave her the good news that I will be taking vacation in November afterall, so we're both really stoked. Its been a few years since my sisters and I were together last.

8-Oh! and I have pretty toes, courtesy of my lovely girl C, who loves me so much that she gave me a pedicure this weekend. French, with pretty nail art.

Its nearly 1am and I'm still high on life. I love my life. Life is good.

"A good day," a friend said to me. "Why are they so rare?"
"I don't know," I answered, "Somedays we dont know a good day when we are in one."

Sunday was a good day. So was Saturday. Here's to Monday.

Two sides of the same coin

Some people say pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin.

I say that may be so for most, but not for me.

For me, pain is the edge of the coin, and its faces are pleasure and rage.

The seed of a new story

I tied him to the foot of my bed.

He looked so magnificent squatting there on the balls of his feet, his arms draped along the length of the footboard, bound by wrists and elbows to the top rail. His cock swelled as I ran each scented scarf over his flesh, teasing him wordlessly with the promise of silken pleasure.

It was not long before I could smell his arousal. The scent of ball musk and pre-come slowly filled the room as I undressed, stripping off the armour that a woman wears to work, a woman like me, slipping my skirt down my thighs. He watched me with a combination of longing and wariness, as if afraid his watching me was not permitted.

Chat on women, the moment, and mystery

Me: Any woman who tells you that all she wants is to be understood is lying. To you, herself, or both. Women do NOT want to be understood.
Him: Oh really? It seems all I hear is the complaint 'you just don't understand me.'
Me: What women want is to remain a mystery, to be desired. What women want 'understood' is... hmm... that who they are is subject to change at whim. Thus, it is important, not to understand women, but for those who love women to be understanding.
Him: Ahh, so they know they are being crazy but want to get away with it.
Me: Actually, it is not crazy.
Him: Whimsical then.
Me: Spontaneous.
Him: First word that comes to mind… Combustion
Me: *grin* But it is completely in conflict with structured society. Lets face it, reality is free, it is fluid, tenuous, dynamic, constantly changing. Humans constrain reality, we try to control it, force patterns and habits on it. This creates tension. We see patterns even where there are none. We create systems because we need them.
Saiai: But you realize… that when men do the same thing, they are called 'immature'
Me: And when women do it, they are called 'irrational'
Me: It would be nice if we could meet the moment, react to the moment, free of conditioning and supposition. To know the wonder and mystery of each moment of our experience as it unfolds. To... hmm... to find in ourselves the imagination and the creativity to meet each moment as if it is unique and original, rather than forcing our preconceptions upon the time.
Him: Well, systemizing is the natural reaction when one attempts to control ones understanding.
Me: But must we understand something this moment? Can't we let understanding come at its own pace? Must we judge everything? What happened to just perceiving, to just experiencing? To feeling the questions arise and know that the answers will come in their own time... or not?
Me: And as for women, I still think that they want to be compelling mysteries which their partners will strive to understand, but endlessly fail at because women change. All the time.
Him: So what you are saying is, I'm doomed.
Me: Only if you think Women and Life should be as ordered and predictable as lines of code.
Him: Well, it would be nice...
Me: Relax. Stop reacting to what you predict she is going to say or do. Pay attention to the moment, to what is happening right now, and you will have better results. Because, having paid attention to what is going on, you will be able to react to what is really happening. And, having 100% of your attention, she'll be less likely to pull that pouty feminine attention-seeking behaviour.
Him: Is that how you do it? Is that why it feels so great just to hang around with you, because you are paying attention?
Me: Ayup.
Him: Isn't that a bit patronizing... a bit like treating me like a child?
Me: No and no. Its more like honouring your inner-child, that part of you that wants to be the center of the universe. And if I'm not willing to let you and me be the center of the universe while we're together, why bother?
Him: The center of the universe, hmm... I suppose it is difficult to be the center of the universe and sit in a restaurant at the edge of the galaxy :)
Me: Only if you insist on a universe that makes sense to you. Me, I think the universe is a lot like a women. A mystery that men wish to penetrate and to understand, using models which you then attempt to force them to fit into.
Him: Models aren't anything to sneer at, Kay.
Me: I know. But models are meant to represent something, not the other way around.
Me: I'm sorry sweetie, but you cannot build an accurate mathematical model of women or the universe. You have to toss out too many variables in order to build a reliable model, and then you are back where you started... trying to force life to imitate the idea you have in your mind of what it should be, instead of what it actually is.

Buddha and the Tree Spirit

Hawthorne District. Very granola, earthy, colourful. A garden, everyone a flower, some showy, some not. The sidewalks are crowded with humanity, the air redolent with the scents of food and people. Here I sit, alone by choice, last table, my back to the wall of the building, warmed by the heat it radiates. Dinner a romaine salad with curried chicken breast, almonds, dried cranberries, balsamic viniagrette, heavy on the rosemary. Terminator Stout, dark microbrew with a thick carmel-coloured head: I lick off the moustache after each swallow. Moleskine journal in hand, today a sepia ink, jotting down impressions, observations. A couple walks by, holding hands. Brightly coloured hair, tattoos, piercings, clunky Doc Martins. They are both wearing skirts: he has black leggings underneath, covering his knees. Next a couple, mid-thirties. He: Columbia Sportswear, Birkenstocks, pushing the stroller full of bright-eyed toddler. She: LL Bean, ancient denim jacket, Sketchers on her feet. They take the table next to mine, phone rings, the woman answers, stands up, walks to the edge of the sidewalk. She is a lawyer, or in the legal field, she speaks of briefs and cases and files. Flock of teenagers pass: skinny girls with hip-huggers, flashing belly-button piercings and tattoos around their ankles; lank-haired boys with knee-length baggy shorts and colourful t-shirts referencing some aspect of Pop-culture foreign to me. Young woman steps forward from the shelter of the building, into the center of the corner. Her voice soars: she sings opera, I recognize the aria "Un bel dì" from Madama Butterfly. A man limps toward me, holding a cane in his good hand, the other arm held close to his body. He stops and someone pushes past, jostling him nearly into the street. He hunches, tucks the cane under his good arm, pulls a bottle of water from under the other. He fumbles in his fanny-pack, I see two vials of medication. More people push past, jostling him some more. Observer role is broken, I rise, approach him. "May I help you?" I ask. "No," he grumbles. I move to stand behind him, waiting, putting myself between him and the foot-traffic pushing his way. More people press by, giving me frustrated looks for blocking their paths. They spill over onto the street to pass. I hear his fanny-pack zipper, turn around to look at him. He stuffs the bottle of water back under his bad arm, nods at me, and cane in hand, continues his slow progress down the street. As I watch, three others jostle him. How discouraging. Where are we going in such a hurry, that we cannot stop to help another? Returning to my table, I jot a few more notes, then close up the journal, snapping the elastic around it. Strolling west along the street until I reach Bread and Ink, then turning down the side street. Lovely neighborhood of old craftsman-style homes. Walking to my car I pass the head of Buddha, resting under a tree. A spontaneous altar has grown up here, an encouraging sign of community that lifts my spirits. As does the face they've made on the tree. Buddha and the Tree Spirit. The juxtaposition of reverence and whimsy pleases me. Yes. In this moment, Life is beautiful.