Tag Archives: sex

I love you; you disgust me

I love you; you disgust me

I consider my Boyfriend Candidate one of the funniest guys I know.  And intelligent.  It’s a hard combo to find.  There are some notable exceptions, but most of the time I find the funny guys are hiding their stupid behind their funny.

Nevertheless, my guy crosses the line a lot into vulgar and disgusting.  Lately I’ve noticed it crossing over into really gross and embarrassing.  I went to his house last night.  He bumped into a neighbor who had been sailing that afternoon.  Basically, my guy said, “How was it?  You got any women with you on that boat?  Serving you drinks or anything else?”  I audibly groaned.  I don’t know that guy.  That was just awkward.  Later, I said something about a hair’s breadth away from something.  He then chimed in with a story about units of measurements in aerospace engineering.  He heard these presumably competent engineers, say something was as narrow as a gnat’s eyebrow or a c**t hair.  He thought that was hysterical.  I had no need for that to be in my brain.  And I’m sorry I just put it in yours. I was disgusted.  Am I a guy in a locker room?  Do men in locker rooms really even talk like that?  I suspect not.  Somewhere in there I told him that humor like that only served to reduce my opinion of him.

This hints at a larger issue.  He should feel free to say whatever, to disclose and dream.  I want him to share his unspoken ambitions and dark sexual fantasies.  But I don’t want him to cross that line into grossing me out or being perversely, publicly rude.  And where is that line?  I can’t say I just know it’s there.  So we talked about it.  He thought it was an interesting dilemma.  He definitely didn’t want me to be disgusted by him so he would try to self sensor a little more.

Two hours later.  We’re at a bar chatting it up with the cute young bartender who is going to cosmetology school and is a hair stylist.  She said there was a lot of money in simple blow outs and in Brazilian blow outs.  I bristled.  I knew it was coming.  She said “blow out” and she said “Brazilian”.  Double whammy, it was too much for my guy.  “Hey, I didn’t think there was any hair in a Brazilian!” and a couple minutes later “And how is that Brazilian blow job different from the regular kind?!”  Our girl looked like she was going to throw up.  I put my head down on the bar.  No one was laughing.  “Hey, what’d I say? I thought it was funny.”

He’s working on it.  We’ve got a ways to go.

Hello, goodbye, repeat as desired

Hello, goodbye, repeat as desired

The Boyfriend Candidate and I broke up not too long ago.   Again.  We do this about every three weeks, and we’ve each totally lost credibility with each other on the break up front.  This time I was picking on him — pretty much all day — most likely as a result of general frustrations with the relationship.  I was indirect, provocative and uncommunicative.  So we got in a fight.  He called me an ugly name.  And then defended it when I graciously gave him a chance to retract.  I was done.

So a week goes by and in that week I’ve been really asking myself hard questions about why I’m dating in the first place.  Are my frustrations with the relationship because it doesn’t serve a purpose relevant to my life any more?  I think I’m on to something.

I’m 46.  I have three small children who deserve my time and energy.  Now that I’m working, which means I can provide everything I and my children need, I’m not looking for a man to save me/us, to be the responsible party or to fund us, if you will.  I’m in bed weeknights at 8pm because I’m up at 4:45am.  When exactly am I suppose to nurture an adult relationship anyway?  So seriously why am I dating at all?

Sex is an obvious answer.  Adult companionship generally.  To be adored in that way a man adores you has particular attractiveness to me.  And you know I got all those things from the Boyfriend Candidate.  What I didn’t get that was frustrating me was “traditional marriage material.”  He isn’t that Prince Charming.  He’s a salty old curmudgeon, truth be told.  I don’t want to be with him every day.  I don’t want to live with him.  I can’t imagine the nightmare of merging lives.  But you know, I don’t think I really need that.  If he gives me the adoration, even part time, might that be enough?  I think anything more is an old dating paradigm from my early twenties that has expired.

I can reinvent the adult relationship now.  So I’m taking some time to figure out what that will look like at this point in my life.  Naturally I spoke with the Boyfriend Candidate and, as usual, we’re back together.  This time I am relieving him of those traditional expectations which aren’t relevant (or possible) any longer.  Maybe I can be more tolerant.

Honestly, he never thought we split up which slightly irks me.  I did make a dramatic exit.

4.5 seconds flat

4.5 seconds flat

So the Boyfriend Candidate was over not too long ago.  It was getting late.  The kids were half asleep in the living room.  Naturally we steal away to the kitchen to make out like teenagers.  I love that, that whole notion of recaptured youth.  I never saw it coming as one of theose benefits of being divorced.  I get to slip through a wormhole and improve upon mispent youth.

So we’re in the kitchen and he starts whispering, which I find annoying because I’m trying to listen for little feet which may be walking in our direction.  We might get caught!  And there it is: high school.  Back then when I was making out in the kitchen I had half my attention on where my mom and dad were and what they were doing.  Were they talking?  If so, where in the house were they?  How many steps would it take for them to get to me and would that be enough time for me to straighten myself out.

I’ve gone full circle.  There is something beautifully insane about being afraid of getting caught by your own children when just yesterday I was afraid of getting caught by my parents.  Is someone always trying to catch me?  Is my attention always going to be divided?  How nice, how unusual it would be during these deeply meaningful, developmental make out sessions, if I could just enjoy and listen to my own internal musings.  How much of lust is ultimately riddled with fear?  It does make me wonder if they are intertwined and related.  And is that ultimately dishonest?  If I’m not paying attention to me or my guy in those moments, am I really there with him?  Can I really enjoy it?

What a bunch of BS.  Oh yeah, the moment can be enjoyed.  Just as long as I can get my clothese back on in 4.5 seconds.

Sex for the first time again

Sex for the first time again

I’m recently divorced after 16 years of what was probably pretty typical marriage.  Except for those last four years when he moved out of our marital bed because he suddenly needed to watch TV before going to sleep.  Oh, and then he quit wearing his wedding ring because of eczema.  And then there was that last year when he just stopped coming home because of the long days and late nights trying to save his business.

I mention this not because I can’t bitch enough about the ex – I truly believe he did the best he could for a guy that didn’t want to be part of a family.  I mention it because about two months after he finally left, I went on a date.  I’m not one of those women who swore off men.  On the contrary, I’m one of those women who was furious because her ex was standing in the way.  If you don’t want me, move on so I can find someone who does!  So first date – and sue me – I start thinking about sex.

How is this going to work?  I mean I know basic physiology.  I have three children.  But I had this whole deer in the headlights thing about “Oh my God, what if single people today are doing things differently??”  Date Two goes by and Date Three is approaching.  My young single girlfriends tell me this is the critical date.  Date Three is usually the sex date.  Since when?  My very good friend Erin bucks the trend.  She tells me to resist.  Wait at least a month because the honeymoon period will likey be waning and perhaps I’ll see him for what he is:  54 and balding.  Erin, at 26, can’t imagine there is anything sexy about 54 and balding and wants me to reconsider the whole thing.

Well, I’m happy to say I held out til Date Four.  And you know it wasn’t a big deal.  Four glasses of wine later I was feeling very confident.  But you know, it was completely different from the sex and dating of 20 years ago.  I wasn’t concerned about accidental pregnancy since I’m past ovulating.  I wasn’t concerned about my reputation because who the hell cares.  It actually felt odd, laying there in the dark, post coital whispering, NOT worrying about any of those things.  I was liberated.  And then he asked the question:  “How long has it been for you?”  Considering the short time since my husband had left, he was very surprised to hear that had been four years since I’d had sex.  Something I actually had never told anyone.  No one is proud of a sexless marriage.

Then he stole my heart by saying, “Yeah, about the same for me.  I just don’t understand these kids today who can’t get past the third date.”

Really, men will want you

Really, men will want you

A couple of years ago, after my husband decided he was done with us, I confided to my friend Erin that I had no where to go with men.  I was old (at the time 46), perimenopausal, careerless, with three children, one of them special needs, and a mountain of debt.  I was out there on the open market with nothing.  NOTHING.

Erin said no.  “Oh no.  Get on eHarmony right now.  You won’t believe it.  The men are out there and, really, men will want you.”

Not one to not take a good friend’s advice, especially when the outcome seemed so beneficial, I immediately joined eHarmony and spent the next four hours filling out their online questionnaire.  After that workout, I felt that a) I couldn’t possibly know myself any better than at that moment and b) I’m going to meet someone who has been screened to within an inch of his life.  How could he not be perfect after that virtual rectal exam?  Seriously – if you haven’t been through it you should.  I broke out in a sweat, I cried, I laughed, I took notes – and it was an online survey.

I pushed submit.  I was in.  I was committed.  I got the message which stated that it could take several hours for results to come.  It could take a few days.  That didn’t stop me from checking every 15 minutes.

And nothing came.  No one wanted me.  I even checked the “search nationwide” box hoping to expand the possibilities!  Cast the widest net!  Nothing.

Then twelve hours later, the first guy came through!  Erin was right, I am wanted!!  I couldn’t click fast enough to see who Mr. Right was.

Mr. Right was a balding, with comb-over, red-haired guy wearing a muscle shirt standing next to his El Camino.  He was diminuitive.  A hair stylist from Denver.  A subsequent photo showed him standing next to his “rose garden” which consisted of a single bush planted, inexplicably, in the middle of his yard.  Oh God.  This was my man.  Shoot me.

He was my only man for the next 24 hours, then other candidates started to come through.  And I was much relieved and my faith in the universe restored.  For an entire day though, I thought that guy was it for me.  I had sunk to that depth.  It was painful.  And I was going to have to let my friend Erin go.  How could she have been so wrong?  How could she have put me through that?

So like the Phoenix, I rose from the ashes of the El Camino Comb-Over.  Maybe eHarmony does that on purpose:  completely lowers your expectations then builds you back up.

Whatever, it worked for me.  Ever since then, all men have looked pretty good.  All other men.