Follow my adventures in dating as a 30-something, sex-positive divorcee who likes rough sex.

I’m Not In Love And That’s Weird

March 22nd, 2017

I’m always in love, aren’t I?

I’m always falling or fallen and pained because of it. There’s always someone. A person. Him. Occasionally Her.

For over half my life. Nearly every day of every year.

I am good at being in love, even if I am not good at being in a relationship.

But I am not in love now.

I haven’t been, not for a year. Give or take (and it usually is take).

I am infatuated with dead celebrities. Attracted to assholes who are terrible in bed. Curious about new people. But I am not in love.

That is okay, of course. I don’t always have to be in love. Sometimes I don’t even want to be in love.

But you can become accustomed to things that you don’t want or need. We do it all the time, even when we shouldn’t. Especially when we shouldn’t.

So when I realized that I wasn’t in love and that this is the longest stretch in my entire adult life where I haven’t been in love, it gave me pause.

Still, it feels good. Somehow. I am not in love, but I know I will yet again fall in love. I can look forward to the good (and brace myself for the bad) of falling in love.

I am something of a fresh slate, ready to be written. Then crossed off and erased. Modified and corrected. Maybe it’ll even be a happy story for a time.

Either way, it’ll be fodder for this blog. For my writing.

I’m not in love now. That’s okay. I’ve got time.

It’ll happen sooner than we all think, anyway.



Why So Serious? On Laughter and Sex

January 30th, 2017

Today’s post was inspired by this tweet from Girly_Juice.

It sounds like she’ll be talking about it in the upcoming episode of Dildorks, but I wanted to give you my own take on it. Plus, dear readers, it’s been a hell of a long time since I wrote anything, let alone anything about my personal sex life. So, down the rabbit hole we go.

I’ve had a lot of serious sex. My first sexual partner and ex-husband was pretty serious about it. We didn’t laugh during sex, even though we smiled and we loving. Laughter, it seemed, wasn’t something that *belonged* in sex. Sex was Serious Stuff (TM), and there was no room for laughter.

I felt that if we laughed, it took away from the moment. It meant we weren’t taking it seriously enough. As a result, any laughter was accidental and often uncomfortable. That’s a pretty association to have with something so awesome, don’t you think?

But it was all I knew.

It wasn’t the worst sex of my life by far. We were in love, after all. But it was limiting, and I couldn’t come to understand that until I had a few more notches on my bedpost. Although many men near my age seem to subscribe to that sort of serious sex-having, some don’t. The Bartender is a notable example. While I originally found him to be overly chatty, I eventually fell in line.

We talked and, yes, we laughed. Without all the limitations created by such serious sex, I found myself being more myself inside the bedroom. It helped me to de-compartmentalize, and it was a welcome change!

Apparently, the change became permanent. Even though it’s been years since I’ve slept with The Bartender, my last partner remarked how much I chatted. It was obvious that being chatty and even laughing at something he did that was funny took him directly out of his headspace. He couldn’t be interrupted in any way.

Neither of us left satisfied, I’m afraid. I’m not one to judge, but if you’re unable to have sex with someone who is talking to and laughing with you during sex, then you’re limiting yourself — just like I was limited with my ex.

And the realization dawned on me that this just wasn’t good for me. It left me feeling disconnected. So not only was I left out in the cold physically, but there wasn’t any sort of human connection, and I was stuck inside my head. That’s something I’ve battled with for years, and it’s not a place I like to be when I can help it.

Perhaps this beautiful and seemingly inexperienced man was just a bad match for me. But I bet a lot of people would enjoy themselves a hell of a lot more if they simply allowed themselves to be themselves during sex, chattiness and laughter included.

Sometimes you kick someone in the dick, you fart or positions just don’t work. Being able to laugh at those moments and with one another seems to be not just something that is desirable but might be necessary to enjoy sex without complete mortification.

I guess, what I’m saying is, I crossed that bridge laughing the whole way. And now I won’t go back.


In Which There Is Confusion

September 8th, 2016

Adriana sees a guy who is completely gorgeous. She discovers he is also geeky. They hold conversations in public spaces. There is laughter.

Adriana hems and haws over asking for his number or sending a message. She eventually adds him to Facebook and sends a message. He responds that he was also of the mind they should talk outside of his work.

Adriana and this guy texted sporadically for some two months in an attempt to hook up. Attraction was there, but timing was not. The conversation was not fluid. The rapport was strained. She found herself losing interest.

Adriana sends a last-ditch message, to which he replies immediately. He contacts her as promised, but she is busy. Some more time passes. Adriana visits family out of town. He contacts her.

Adriana is bound and determined to fuck him after all this hassle. She is finally free when he messages at 4AM at a Saturday morning. She rushes through showering and shaving. She looks cute as fuck.

Adriana answers the door, and he is there, adorable but somewhat unsure. He greets her cats, makes himself comfortable on her couch — and on her body.

Adriana finds him adorable and funny but also pretentious and a little obnoxious. She likes how smart he is but wishes he was less arrogant about it. She finds him slightly less perfect. This reassures her.

Adriana has sex with him; it was going to happen, after all. It’s awkward and underwhelming. She doesn’t mind that he doesn’t finish but would prefer she someone got off.

Adriana wonders what any of this means as he hangs out in her bed for a while. She finds him adorable as he becomes sleepy.

Adriana says “Good bye.” She reflects that while she had fun, the sex was disappointing. She wonders if he can be trained or if she even cares to. She decides that she’s okay whether she sees him again — or not.

Then her fucking feelings decide they like him some 24 hours later. Now, Adriana wants him back in her living room and perhaps her vagina. But Adriana isn’t bold enough to be forthright.. yet. So she doesn’t know what he wants.. if she even knows what she wants.

Adriana is confused.


I Don’t Want to Be Friends

September 3rd, 2016

There have been a few people with whom I flirted or had sex. There was excitement in the beginning because I suspected there was something, but I realized it was going nowhere and called it off. I would tell them I just wanted to be friends. Or sometimes they would say the same to me. Either way, it was a lie.

What I meant was that it’s easier to let someone down when you say you wanna be friends. But in my heart, I know I was only making room for these people if there sexual or romantic potential. I don’t need another friend.

Before I might have thought that line of thinking crude, but now I know it to be true.

And when someone says they want to be friends with someone who is rejecting them, they more often than not mean that they hope things will change if they stick around. I know that, too. I’ve been that person.

But there’s more. Saying you want to be friends makes it less awkward, even when breaking up from a long term relationship. Otherwise, it just feels like you’re just ignoring or denying the fact that someone’s existence has suddenly been revealed to you, perhaps along with their hopes, dreams and other intimate details. What do you do with that knowledge when it’s time to part ways?

At least if you’re friends, you don’t have a vault full of knowledge about a stranger. It doesn’t feel quite so wrong or dirty or whatever-it-is-that-rubs-me-so-wrong to know all those things. But sometimes we may need to forget those things about a person, and that means we can’t be friends.

Which is okay. I didn’t want to, anyway.



The Last Person I Slept With Doesn’t Recognize Me In Public

July 18th, 2016

And this makes me chuckle.

I mean, we saw each other a total of four times, always at night, more than seven months ago. I usually have to do a double take to make sure it’s him, and I apparently don’t recall his voice anymore.

I wasn’t smitten and we certainly weren’t sexually compatible. I soon launched into a month-long flirtation with someone on Tinder. That’s since crashed and burned, and my spring-turned-summer has been busy as evidenced by the lack of posts on this blog. So it’s not like I even have a lot of time to think about it.

But my hometown isn’t so large, and this guy and I play the same games. We see one another here and there, albeit less than I would have expected.

Except.. I see him and he looks right through me. It’s a blessing in so many ways. Perhaps one day I will no longer recognize him!

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It’s A Small, Small World

May 5th, 2016

There is a new cashier at my preferred gas station. He’s gorgeous. Dark hair and eyes. Tall and slender. Strong jaw, delicate cheekbones. He’s got a nice voice and an even better temperament. I am smitten.

I am not above a little social media snooping, and neither are my friends. We quickly uncovered a Facebook profile, and I was stunned to realized I’d previously matched with this Adonis earlier this year on Tinder. What a small world?

I unmatched because I’d been talking to the Much Younger Guy. Also, this guy is far better looking in person than he is in his chosen profile picture. I wouldn’t have assumed that these people were one and the same from that photo.

Anyway, since we’re unmatched, I’ll need to work up the courage to do this in person. Wish me luck!



February 20th, 2016

Listen. This sucks.

I really, really, really like you.

I like you so much that it scares me. It’s always scared me. I fell too hard and too soon. And that was okay as long as we both thought you were into it, too.

But, even then, I thought this was too good to be true. As much as I thought “finally, this is it!”, I was terrified that it wasn’t.

And going from talking half the day away to not speaking at all is hard, okay? Fucking hard. I simply miss your presence, our wordplay, the laughter you brought to my life. I miss it all.

It’s no mystery why I would fall for you.

Maybe the hardest part of it is how I am falling away from you. Just another person for me to get over.

And I’m getting far too good at that.