The Kegel Priestess/Kegel Ninja

My fellow commenters on NYMag are nicknaming me the Kegel Priestess/the Kegel Ninja, because I never let an opportunity pass to recommend kegels. And why should I? Ladies and gentlemen, particularly ladies, this is what doing your kegel exercises do for you:

**First and foremost, it gives you a more flexible vagina. You can squeeze it tighter for a longer amount of time, feeling close, warm, tight and young for your lover, as well as opening up to a further degree, giving a looser and more relaxed feel to it (a good thing if your lover is on the bigger side and/or if you want to try fisting, and/or if you’re among those who feel pain during intercourse). In short, vaginal rejuvenation plus a more varied repertoire as a lover, for free and without the risks of going to a surgeon!
**A stronger libido, because you’ll become wet and ready quicker and easier than you’re used to. You’ll enjoy the in-and-out-movements more than you did before. (This feels great for your man too. Makes him feel like a wonderful lover, whether he is or not.)
**Stronger and more frequent orgasms, especially multiple orgasms, and I think, without being able to prove it scientifically, also an easier access to squirting orgasms. (See parenthesis above.)
**Easier and faster births, the experts say (by average, the pressure phase is an hour shorter for a woman whose muscles are trained, plus the risks for cuts/bruises/having to be stitched after are smaller) AND quicker recovery after birth.
**Greater bladder control.

HOW: There are three speed intervals you should be able to master. The quick one. The long-lasting one. And the one in between.
**For the quick speed: Tighten and relax the muscles in as quick a movement as you are physically able to. As if blinking with an eye. Repeat as many times as you want, or until you feel as if you want to/need to pee.
**Medium speed: Tighten the muscles. Keep the grip while counting to ten. Release and count to ten before repeating. Repeat at least 10-50 times (depending on how well-trained your muscles are. As your muscle strength increases, you increase the time interval to counting to 25. And then to 40. And then to 60/a minute.)
**Slow speed: Tighten the muscles for as long as you can take it. Then loosen up to relax. Do not repeat until later, say, the day after.
In either case, after every squeeze you should loosen up and relax for as long a time as you’ve kept your muscles together. If you’re not used to doing kegels, there’s no harm in relaxing for a bit longer than you’ve been tightening up, either.

Don’t know which muscles to squeeze? I call them, naturally, the kegel muscles. Some say the love muscles. The medical name is the pelvic floor. They’re located all the way around your vulva/vagina/anus and uterus. Those closest to the vag will be the first where you notice the exercises. If you want to control if you’re doing it right, you can to one out of two: Stop the flow by squeezing the muscles tight when peeing. Or stick a finger in and try to grip and release the grip around it (when NOT peeing). Naturally, I prefer the latter, but the former is the way most often recommended by gynecologists.

AN EVEN BETTER HOW: When you’re sure you’re in control, you can practice these same squeezes when fucking. Your man will feel the difference to your grip, varying between tight and soft, strong and mellow. I call it my “hug and squeeze maneuver”, or sometimes, my “hug and squeeze and milk maneuver”. I usually do it when on top (= the man can effortlessly lay back and enjoy it) and several of my lovers have told me the sensation is no less than sensational…

WHEN: Whenever. No one will notice you’re exercising these muscles. Unless, of course, you do it while having a male visitor inside. He won’t fail to notice, and he will celebrate you forever.

WHY: See above. What’s not to love? Kegels really are the answer to everything.

PS: Men can work out their pelvic muscles, too. It will give them greater control over their erections and ejaculations, allowing them to come sooner or later as they please. Also, that bladder control thing.

Right here beside me... Still missing it.

He's lying right next to me. I still haven't gotten any in almost a week. Five days. He's sick. I'm desperate. And I am reminded of two things: Being in a relationship is a good thing, for the access. And being in a relationship sucks. For having to stick with it.

You can't get it all, can you?

Let’s (not) get married

NYTimes is doing another cockadoo story on men, women, dating, this time, even marriage. The conclusion is that more men marry educated women than in 1970 (that is, I can tell you, because more of us ARE educated today than women were in 1970, but that, of course, isn’t news).
But, according to the Times, this "trend" isn’t valid in New York, because it’s still very very hard for a very very smart woman in NYC to find a husband. Duh. Let me repeat that for my more stupid readers: Duh. Duh. Duh.

Let it lie that the article author isn’t educated enough to read statistics correctly. (Duh.)
Or that other statistics would tell them that there are in fact more women than men in NYC. (Duh.)
Or that the women interviewed are really poor examples of successful New York women. (Duh. Duh.) One of them is out of work, one is a German stylist, and one finds it genial to use the question "do you have a passport and a library card?" as some kind of litmus test to men she meets in bars. (Duuuuuuuh. And a well-meant note to everyone even considering for a second trying this: Not only do most people have this, not only will most people find it insulting that the other person presumes they don’t, but plenty of people would probably also take the passport question to mean that they’re sent packing. Alone. For a solo trip. To a galaxy far far away. Never to return.)
The interviewees seem to be chosen for one reason alone: They all seem to think of themselves as brilliant, and they all accept this for a reason why they can’t find a man. (I’m out of duhs.)

If anyone is interested: The real reason why it’s hard to find someone to marry in NYC, for men and women alike is this: There are so many other options out there, it’s hard to settle for just one. Plenty of us don’t even feel like trying.

Links are here, for the original article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/us/19marriage.html?em

And for the deserved ridicule committed by NYMag (“Ladies, it’s not that you’re too smart, it’s that you’re too freaking crazy”):

http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2010/01/less_men_are_marrying_wealthie.html

Polluted

Time Out New York put out their annual sex poll this year. I won't link to it, it's not at all female sexuality-friendly. But here’s how I responded, plus what I would have responded, had Dan Savage made the poll and included answers for those of us who actually like sex. He may be gay, but he understands a woman way better than his competition.

This is the poll for straight women:

How old are you?
33

What neighborhood do you live in (at this point Time Out’s sex columnist Jamie Bufalino finds it necessary to define what a neighborhood is, “Chelsea, Williamsburg etc”):
Lower East Side

Question 1:
I wish every guy I date could...
a. do cunnilingus right
b. fuck with both our orgasms in mind
c. pick up the telephone on occasion
d. live life without porn

My comment: Where’s answer e. fuck me eagerly as often as I want to be fucked? In lack of it, I responded a. But truly, I can’t remember the last guy who didn’t know the art. Actually, I don’t remember a man who can’t do a, b and c with his hands tied and his eyes blindfolded. As for d, I don’t understand what that’s got to do with me. His choice how he spends his spare time, right?

Question 2:
I wish I could learn how to…
a. deep-throat
b. achieve orgasm
c. be more vocal in bed
d. take it up the ass

Well. Again, the answer is e. Seriously, what 33 year old New York woman does not know this stuff? (In lack of this alternative, I responded d. Because that is the least easy of four easy feats.)

Question 3:
The last thing I would ever do is…
a. swallow
b. give a one-night stand a rim job
c. fuck without protection
d. allow another woman in bed with a man

My comment: I’ve done all this stuff. But I did respond c., because that is what I usually do not do. One man only has gotten the honor. Yes, baby, I can hear your “damn” all the way to here, all the way from the West Coast. Don’t do b. very often either, though.

Question 4:
The genre of guys I find the hottest are:
a. hipsters
b. nerds
c. cocky banking types
d. artsy dudes

What??? Where are the athletes??? I want my gym addicts!!!! In lack of them, I responded “artsy guys”. Because well-built jazz musicians are kind of dude-y and kind of artsy, and I’ve been there... “Cocky” isn’t that dumb a word either, but what’s that got to do with finance, these days??? And why put “hipsters” and “nerds” into each their category, as they look the exact same??? Seriously. If this is a man's world, at least give me one that looks a man.

Question 5:
My main deal breaker is…
a. bad breath
b. a shithole of an apartment
c. a pencil dick
d. a guy who’s selfish in bed

Well, finally something one could respond to by using one of the responses suggested. The answer is c. But what on earth has a shitty apartment got to do with a SEX POLL?

Question 6:
I would have sex with another woman if…
a. my man asked me to
b. I was drunk enough
c. I found her irresistibly hot
d. she asked me (I’m easy!)

My comment: For the record, the “I’m easy” parenthesis belongs to Jamie the Buffalo, not to me. Here, the answer is a. rewritten: I had sex with another woman because my man asked me to. But I’d like to expand that: I had to know he was potent enough to take care of both women’s pleasure, and I had to know she really wanted to and knew what to do. What would it take for me to do it again? The answer is e. having at least one man there with us, knowing he was equally competent. And he should be so desirable I’d know in advance my juices would suffice for both of them.

Question 7:
As far as plastic surgery goes, I would be most interested in…
a. enlarging my tits
b. reducing my tits
c. liposuction
d. butt implants

The answer is e. None of the above, for Jesus F-ing Christ’s sake! My body looks great and there’s nothing wrong with my tits and my ass is nicely shaped as it is, and who the fuck needs liposuction when there is yoga???? And yet again, what the hell has this got to do with a sex poll? Oh, yeah, I know, shouldn’t have forgotten that for a second. Buffy the eternal buzz killer thinks the sexuality of a woman is all about being the object for a man’s eye, not the subject of her own desires. And of course, her abilities to attract are not about the way she feels about herself, but the way she looks. How could I have forgotten! Did he ask the males the same, by the way, gay or straight? And the lesbians? Or the bisexuals? NO, HE DID NOT! This question was, for some reason, only relevant for straight women!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Question 8:
Whenever I am looking to hook up, I…
a. wear a short skirt
b. show off the girls
c. don’t wear underwear
d. all of the above

Well, I responded b, in lack of e: the right kind of smile is all it takes, baby. Actually, walking towards a man and giving him your hand while saying "come here" is all it takes.

Question 9:
Which reality star would you most like to fuck?
a. Jon Gosselin from Jon & Kate Plus eight
b. That dude Sebastian from NYC Prep (as soon as he is of age, of course)
c. 12 Pack from Daisy of Love and I Love New York
d. One of the rich husbands in one of those Real Housewife nightmares

Who the fuck are these fellows? Ok. Answer is not a, because him, I know who is. Not a chance in hell. It’s not b, because a boy can never be more than half a man, and it’s not d, because I gather a husband with a housewife nightmare is not exactly a dream himself. So it must be c, I do not have the slightest idea who 12 Pack is, but I do love New York, and with that kind of nick, chances are he’s got to be black, or at least have a six-pack, right?

Question 10:
My tried-and-true-place to get lucky is…
a. a dive bar
b. a hotel bar
c. Chelsea Piers
d. Craigslist

Again, the lack of imagination! Enough said.

Question 11:
What’s your ultimate sex fantasy?
Finally a good question, and what makes it best is that I do not have to follow ANY suggestions from the Buffalo. So the answer is short and easy:
Two men (or more) and me.

Question 12:
Tell us (in lurid detail!) about your most shameful or embarrassing sexual encounter:

The “lurid” is Buffy’s, of course. Because, like I responded, I do not think of sex as shameful or embarrassing. But the closest I do get to embarrassing, was that one time a girlfriend of mine introduced her new boyfriend, and I was sure I had seen him someplace before. He denied knowing me. I asked him if he may know my brother, one of my exes or so on. I didn’t remember until she left the room and he hissed to me to drop the subject. Turned out I had slept with him. Whoops.

Question 13:
Where’s your favorite place (public or private) to get frisky?

The good old bed holds the most opportunities. But everywhere goes.

Question 14:
What’s the sexiest person, place or thing in New York?

THING???? Ok, let that one go. My response was that the entire city is sexy, but that certain Harlem jazz clubs are places I never leave alone.

Question 15:
What else should we know about your sex life in New York?

My response: Volumes. But a lady got to keep some of her secrets.

What should have been my response: Who, but a 14 year old virgin, is supposed to take this question, or 12 of the others in this poll, half seriously????? Jamie Bufalino, you wouldn’t know a woman’s sexuality if it bit you in the ass. And if you’re half as ignorant to women in real life as in your column, I bet not many of them do bite your ass.

Truth in numbers

I don’t think I have EVER been with a man who has not asked me how many men I’ve been with before him. I can’t remember one. Even the one night stands want to know, and though I have a couple of theories why, I don’t understand why this should be SO incredibly important they all HAVE TO ask it.

If the motive is to prevent jealousy or to reduce the “risk” I have had lovers better than the one sharing the bed with me at the second the question is asked, I can assure you: The answer will not lessen any anxieties.
If you want to enter a relationship with me, and fear I am going to stray, knowing my number will hardly calm your feelings.
If you have a need to judge and/or to feel morally superior, you should not and are not likely to share my bed to begin with.
If you want to feel like a stud and/or to brag you are experienced to an extreme degree, well, then again, there is a risk you’ll be disappointed.
If you’re simply curious, ok. But please say so, when I ask why you want to know. Don’t go all quiet. This particular silence is speaking volumes. More often than not, it’s the kind of silence that tells me I’ll meet another kind of silence after.

Men who can’t bear this one specific number tend not to dial my other specific number later on. I know it in advance. They, I suppose, know it in advance. But they still ask. Whereas to me, the following numbers matter way more than the one you all seem to think is so important:

The number of years since I was a virgin: Seventeen.
The number of other serious, monogamous relationships I have had: Seven, including one marriage.
The number of years my serious relationships have all in all lasted: Nine, or close to ten.
The number of years I have been a single, adult and sexually active woman: That leaves seven to eight, doesn’t it?

The frequency of which I want sex when in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which I want sex when I am not in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which my wishes are fulfilled: Well, lately, answer is “all the time”. But if I see my life as a whole and include the times when I have not been neither as fit nor as socially active as I am now, a more honest response will be “mostly, but from time to time, not”. Life doesn’t give you everything you want unasked for. Most of the time, you have to make some kind of effort.

The number of times I have cheated on a boyfriend: Zero. No effort.
The number of times I have lied to a boyfriend: Zero, or zero that I know of/can think of. I have no qualms in not volunteering things I do not feel like telling. But if you ask me a question, I don’t lie to you. If you don’t want an honest answer, ask another woman.

The total number of women I have had sex with: One.
The total number of men I have had sex with: Ok, there we go... I can only guess. I can give you an approximate. But I don’t write a diary. And I have long ago gotten beyond the point where I can even try to make some sort of list. I am no good at remembering names, dates or years. I am no good at remembering faces. Also, I think the following facts matter and should matter more than any grand total measured in numbers:

*I know how many men I have loved.
*I know how many men I have had long term relationships to.
*I know how long these relationships have lasted and I know how many years of my adult, sexually active life I have single.

The truth come to numbers, is that morals, opportunity, looks, gender, sexual competence and social skills have less to say than most people think.

What really decides your grand total is how lucky you’ve been in love. You found the love of your life at the first try, you were only ever with him or her, you have never felt a need to be with any other? Ok. Your number is one. You may lose out on something, but you're still a lucky bastard. Yet, there is no reason in the world you should feel morally superior to me or anyone else.

Most people need more attempts. Some of us need many. And to stop trying? If you ask me, being a coward was never brave, honest, responsible, kind nor heroic.

Hot, smart & homo

Rupert Everett is way smarter than anyone has ever given him credit for. Read this interview, and you'll understand what I mean:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jul/17/g2-interview-rupert-everett

After reading the interview, you may also agree with my claim that Everett indeed seems smarter than the journalist interviewing him, and to understand my following statement:

Some people are very concerned with the labels "homosexual", "heterosexual" and "bisexual". Most people are very clearly defined as one or the other or the third, and some people seem to think that these labels also define the rest of your personality. That they define what you can do as an actor. Or what kind of ideas you can understand. Or what kind of ways you relate or are able to relate to other people.

What the most-preoccupied-with-labels-type of people tend to forget are that there are so many things not defined by a label. Individual features always matter more than group identities. There are the people who are simply sexual. There are the people who are simply people. And then, of course, there are the people who do not know what they are, sexually or personally, and who prefer to use their identity labels as identities. It's easier. It's a great deal easier, because if you do, you don't have to define or to front a real personality. And to define and to front a real personality? Well. Even if you do, you will sometimes be seen as one of the group more than one of your own.

I am a moralist

I am a woman fucking around. I am also a sexual moralist.

Despite the fact that I am this very moment located on the Other Side of the Atlantic, I can hear my regular readers rolling on the floor laughing right now. But you will understand what I mean once I say what I am now about to say:

My sexual morals is not about a having a double set of moral standards. Nothing is as dishonest as a double set of standards, and one should always apply the same rules to sex as to the rest of one's life.

Read this week’s Sex Diary in NYMag, and you will see an example of a person who does not:

http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_small_business_owner_with.html

My comment to her, posted on NYMag already, shortened down for my blog readers (full comment on page 5 of NYMag comments:

I get the impression she sticks to this BF for two reasons: She doesn't think she'll find anyone better than him (because she has herpes), and she realizes he is after all a good man (he stuck to her despite her disease and cares enough to argue with her).

But she takes advantage of him and she does not respect him, and she shows him CLEARLY she doesn't, by visiting dating sites AND telling him she does, by leaving him alone on the phone when they're having a serious convo/quarrel AND by writing a Sex Diary based on their relationship despite his expressed dislike that she does.

What will kill this relationship is a STD more lethal to relationships than Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Sexually Transmitted Dishonesty & Sexually Transmitted Disrespect both kill faster and are more infective than the STDs one can actually live with.

--

My PS, only posted here:

Why on earth should another set of moral standards apply to your sex life than the rest of your life?
Why on earth should you pretend to be another person as a sexual being than who you are as a human being?
And why on earth wouldn't you be a whole person, the same person wherever you are and whatever you do, rather than a compartilized person acting a different role for every part of your life?

Personally and professionally, psychologically and physically you are ONE.

With my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.

Without my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.

On Michael and the rest of us

The NYMag Vulture discussion on Michael Jackson’s death and memorial has somewhat developed into a discussion on black and white.

http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2009/07/mj_memorial.html

I do not refer to the MJ song by the same name, but to people saying things like “I can’t stand f***in white people” and “Most of you are mad that a BLACK man (that’s right I said a BLACK man) can get this type of tribute” on one side, and “this freak should have been put down years ago” on the other side. Some of you may fail to see the racial in the latter sentence, but as it was written by a person calling himself “White35”, the quote has a somewhat different air and a more bigot undertone than a name like, say, “IHatePedos” would have implied.

I don’t think it should be necessary to point out what I just did on the same board. But obviously, the following is not clear to everyone, and it can’t hurt repeating it here. Some of you will think this is so self-evident it’s unnecessary to say it. I love you for that, but I still think it's important to make it clear this is our point of view. It deals with humanity, and the right to own humanity is and should always be the human right topping the list. The headline for the rest of them, or the groundwork, if you will.

The “you” I am referring to in the below, is the original poster dissing whites:

Generalizations about/hatred towards white people are no less racist than white hatred/generalizations. We're different, too, you know, different values, different viewpoints. All people are individuals, whatever origin. There are white scum and black scum and white goodness and black goodness. Most often, pardon the pun, it's not as black'n'white as many people, either hue, pretend. Grey zones aplenty, and it doesn't go with the skin color, goes with the personality.

I say that, and I wholeheartedly mean it, but I am by no means ignorant of the fact that culture matters in shaping personalities, and that black culture/communities have suffered way more under white racism than the other way around. White people were never slaves under black ownership in this country. White people do not still suffer under different socio-economic dynamics. I think you're entitled to be angry for that, I am, I find it most unfair. But don't you be mad at those of us who've never made ourselves guilty of that particular sin.

Do not put all of us under the white supremacy umbrella.

Most of the white people I know do not belong under it, just like most of the black people I know do not accept black racism towards white people. Being in doubt of the moral character of a person repeatedly accused of the same disgusting crime does not make anyone a racist. Let's just remember that.

We're all people, and every generalization is as much a lie as a truth. Except for this one, of course: Whoever fails to realize the truth in what I just said is an idiot.

Problems with my e-mail?

Has any of you tried to e-mail me, no reply, these last couple of days? There may be something strange going on with the ladyinred.blogspot@gmail.com address, and I am wondering how many people are affected by it... One of my e-mail friends just told me he has sent me stuff I haven't received, and I would like to know if any other of you has experienced the same. That is, if you've sent me e-mails I haven't replied to, say, this week and the last? If you haven't, it's possible problem is on his end of the communication, but if you have, I guess I should set up a secondary address to avoid this from now on.

You can use the comment field under this post, to avoid new e-mails going AWOL...

On bullshit & being a woman

Sometimes, when I listen to male friends tell me about the bullshit some women put them through, I am wondering if we do indeed live in the same world.

There are the women who insist on a certain number of dates before they let themselves be kissed or touched or fucked. And there are women who “has to” be treated to this or that, shall they find a man “interesting”. Women demanding flowers or a certain amount of compliments or a certain number of phone calls or attention this way or the other before they even accept dates. The women “punishing” a man if he forgets to text or call when she finds it appropriate, most often without having told that man when those times are. There are women who tell a man to “forget about it” when all he’s done is asking if the chair next to her is taken or when he is actually just paying her a compliment on her haircut. And then there are the women who spend the time they spend with a man looking disinterested and acting disinterested just so that he will not find her “desperate”. And there are women actually really aching to go to bed with a man (these are who I find the silliest and did believe to be rarities, but my male friends insist there are many of them) but still deny themselves to go for it, because their girlfriends think one way or the other less about the fellow. And yeah, this is even worse, there are the women “accepting” to go to bed with a man, but COMPLAINING about it, in terms of sacrifice – to the guy or to her girlfriends after! Even worse than all of this: These women seem to think of themselves and talk about themselves as “class acts” because of their impoliteness. Not paying genuine attention to whoever you spend time with IS and WILL ALWAYS BE impolite, whatever your motives. And LYING on what you think about someone is and will always be a stupid, dishonest, childish thing to do.

Advice to guys: Never go out with a woman telling you she doesn’t “put out” without this or that happening first. A woman talking about getting down’n’dirty in terms of “putting out” does not get down and dirty. And if she does, you can be sure she expects some special treatment after, probably also without giving you some special treatment during. That kind of woman is high maintenance, whether she’s worth it or not. Unless you do already find her special to begin with, and there’s something about her intriguing you, you’re most likely to find her not worth it.

Likewise, advice to girls & women: If you like a man and enjoy his company, and are willing to show him you do by paying him the same attention you expect him to pay you, you’re likely to have fun with him. If you have fun with him, he’s likely to have fun with you. And that sex you’ll be having, when you’ll be having it, will be way better than it had been, had you put him through a number of tests and he’d been feeling he has to jump through hoops to please you. You will feel more relaxed, he will feel more relaxed. Most likely, you’d both be more playful and you may even feel ready for it sooner. And if the bed is the only place you leave it to him to please you, I can almost guarantee you he will.

Ok, enough on the world some people I know live in. I realize the truth in all of the above, though I do still from time to time think there cannot be THAT many people living in that world. But I have heard the same stories from too many men to deny it does exist as some kind of parallel universe, and I’ve heard the woman’s version of the story too many times to think that only those men live in that world. I have thought of that as a possibility, can’t deny that – suggesting that the men complaining about this kind of women are really men who do not relax with women themselves and/or men who think sex is their birth right, needing to cut some women some slack and realize that they are not interested in fucking every woman there is, either, and that women have the same right to be selective and to expect a man to raise to her “level” as he has for her. I have sometimes, too, told men that they do not notice the more subtle signs a woman has interest in a man and that they have to listen to what she’s not saying as much as to what she’s saying. I think that’s partly correct. But I do realize that it is not the full picture, because I’ve heard women tell me about this world too, realizing they (some of them) are finding it somewhat normal.

Her side of the story, for those of you interested, most often goes like this: She wants him to show her she is “special” to him, because she wants to BE special to him, and she wants to be “special” just by “being herself” and being appreciated for it – from the “beginning” on. So she sees nothing wrong in “testing” if she is. That she should put down some effort for his sake too, she thinks she does: She painted her nails before the date, right? She spent an hour getting ready, doing her hair this way and that, waxing her legs only yesterday, I know how much that hurts, don’t I, please keep that in mind, and she gave her outfit great thought, trying things over and over. She listened to his stories about his boring job, no complaint, even asked him some questions and let him dominate the conversation, though he didn’t ask once about her day. And she was “polite”, like her mama told her, she did say “thank you” when he paid for the drinks and asked her if she’d like some more, sure. That doesn’t mean she’s “obliged” to “go to bed with him, he should know that, and if he doesn’t, she’s willing to “teach” him. When I ask her if she doesn’t want to go to bed with him for HER OWN SAKE, answer too often is this: Sure, that would be nice, he’s looking good and smelling great, but she isn’t ready for it YET. And she doesn’t want him to think she does it with “everyone”.
Seriously, women: No one thinks you do it with everyone. No one even thinks I am doing it with everyone. If you only accept dates from men you actually like and only fuck men you actually want, you’ll enjoy it AND have that air of exclusivity without trying so freaking hard for it. He’ll feel special enough by seeing and feeling you enjoy it to the core. No man thinks every man can do that for you. They all think they do it like no other…

Me, I feel lucky, cutting myself some slack, being as honest as I feel like being. The men I like, I like, the men I don’t like, I don’t bother with. Why should I pretend otherwise? Wouldn’t improve anything for anyone, just a waste of time. And what’s so complicated about understanding that? Nothing! Sometimes, like when reading today’s Sex Diary in NYMag (http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_gay_commodities_trader.html) I think my life is more similar to the lives of the gay men I know, than to some of the straight women who share my status as a 30-something single.

Example: I just had a fuck date, a few hours ago. Man whose last name I didn’t think of asking about. That little fact leaves me feel a bit silly, but it doesn’t matter, really, I’ll find it if I want it. He is a friend of a friend, and it was our fellow friend who linked us, telling me he knew someone I should meet, considering my “lifestyle” and my “fitness fetish”, he was sure we’d “like” one another “very much”. And yeah, we did, though I can’t say we talked much. Man in question called me an hour or so before we met, just having gotten my number from our fellow friend some minutes before that. We hit it off, sending each other pics while still talking on the phone, both telling the other we liked what we saw. Neither of us having THAT fixed plans for the hours to come. It developed rather quickly, you can say, and when we discovered we were only a ten minute walk apart, he came over. He was hard as he came in the door, I was wet as well, and within seconds, we were both naked. And I am now just the right amount of tired and just the right amount of satisfied, and the man has left to do what he had to do for the rest of the day, not quite done working yet. I am free to spend my time how I want to, too, having just finished my work day before he called.

Maybe he’ll call me later, maybe we’ll repeat it later, and maybe we won’t. Either way, it was the nicest way to spend an afternoon. And though he was not quite my preferred size and not quite my preferred thickness, he was close enough, and he knew how to swing it. I liked that, I enjoyed it, and I sure wouldn’t mind doing it again. The simplicity of it all didn’t lessen the pleasure, rather the opposite.

Will I put this man through tests? No, why the hell would I bother with that? Will I give him hell if he doesn’t call me and I meet him again via our fellow friend? Seriously! He is not in any way obliged to. We spent an afternoon together, we did not enter a relationship. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we did not give each other promises. He’s got my number, and he’s allowed to use it if he wants to. If he doesn’t, there are other men who have the same number. And I am not incapable of dialing a phone number myself, if I want to. Women have phones too. Some of us even pay our own bills for it.

So sometimes I just thank my destiny I was born a woman. I suppose you’re right, guys, when you tell me we have it easier.

FB – for Facebook or Fuck Buddy

This is either the biggest compliment I ever got or the craziest. Or possibly both.

One of these days, I got a friend request on Facebook, from a man who used to be my fuck buddy some 15 years ago. Personal message was attached: He still thinks of me as the best sex he ever had. He even tells me how and why.
I’ve been trying for four days, but I can’t stop laughing at it.

Seriously! I was 17 at the time. I had only had some 5-6 others before him. If I remember this correctly, he was only the second person I ever gave a blow job. I don’t think we did anything more daring than that, and intercourse, of course. Pretty vanilla. I didn’t know half of what I do now about the male anatomy. Or the female anatomy, for that sake. And he wasn’t exactly a beginner himself, from what I remember. 25, he must have been. I haven’t thought of him for a decade and a half, but now, when I do, I think he was a good lover, although nothing that special. He was the one who told me I was wearing the wrong bra size (a 36B, when I should have been wearing a 32D. Correct assumption, and still my size). I remember that. I remember, too, that he wasn’t ashamed of his porn collection, or his history with women. He was a player, and he’d been to bed with several girls I knew or almost knew before this. He wasn’t afraid to scare me off by joking about it. Feeling free around me, I suppose, or maybe he was as free with everyone. How many I didn’t know about, I have no idea.

He is a player still, he tells me, at 41, he’s only had a couple of long lasting relationships, and most of his women have been what I was: An affair lasting a month or two or three, or one nighters. A couple of hundreds, he claims. And my 17 year old self is supposed to top the list? This must have grown way out of proportion these 15 years we haven’t seen one another. He must have put all his best experiences under the umbrella painted with my name. Sure, I have heard the same thing from men I’ve met later in my sexual odyssey. Some of them, I know have definitely meant it. But at 17? I don’t think so.

Still, it flatters me. This man, who I suppose I must give the initials FB, for Face Booker or Fuck Buddy, not for his real name, tells me he has never been to bed with a woman as sexually playful, liberated, honest or open. Which is a description I recognize, I guess it’s been fitting me from the very first time I ever slept with anyone. (I was a couple of months short of my 16th birthday at the time, for any of you wondering. Last millennium.) He also uses the words “a natural”, “a wildflower” and “a lioness”. And he tells me he still fantasizes about it. Again, I can’t stop laughing at it, but I think his fantasies must be what this is really about, not the real life experience. No woman is that good at 17. No way. And if I were, I still couldn’t have been that extraordinary, because I am so, so, so much better now. The things I didn’t know… Which is, BTW, what I answered him. “Flattering, flattering, but I don’t quite believe it. I am so, so, so much better now”, I wrote him back.

Just before starting this post, I got his reply: “I would hope so”. And then a couple of sentences more, on possibly finding out during the span of summer. If I want to test it out, he will. Pic e-mailed to me. He still looks v. v. good. And against myself, I am tempted.

Self-distraction at work

Fabulous Rebecca Rose has put a very important issue on today's curriculum: Hot dudes allowing themselves to let go. For women who regard their work outs as sacred (ok, that goes for me, not so sure about RR) this is a crime of the most severe variety.

http://rebeccarose2004.blogspot.com/2009/06/hot-guys-i-want-to-d-oh-no-not-again.html

To punish the guys in question and make up for the crime to the victims (drooling women, that is, represented by yours truly and mentioned RR plus a whole load of others, I am sure), I suggest a world-wide internet campaign for a 2010 remake of the Top Gun movie. Female bloggers, unite! Or let us at least campaign for a 2009 remake of the volleyball scene, which is, come to think of it, the only part of Top Gun I have bothered to see more than twice anyway... Ok. Drop the rest of the movie. Let's have a volleyball scene remake. And make it a more diverse one, to cater to our tastes. I suggest one Viking, one Black man, one Latino and one Asian, all representing the best of their ethnicity, and to make sure they'll do, I think I should pick the two former and let RR pick the two latter. And then Team Lady and Team RR can play volleyball for a couple of hours straight. Ah, if straight women ruled Hollywood...

Hm. In role of the Viking I suggest Swedish actor Mikael Persbrandt, Norwegian actor Aksel Hennie (he just have to put on some more muscle first) or, if he agrees to grow back his Lord-of-the-Rings hair and beard and associated muscle strength, Viggo Mortensen. Alternatively, we could let Viking blood be Viking blood and go for Daniel Craig. (With those eyes, I am sure he’s got some genes from the other side of the Northern Sea anyway.) Eric Dane, if not a Dane for real, probably would be a good choice, too. Idris Elba could be his sparring partner. Or Tyson Beckford. Tyrese Gibson would be perfect. Or Isaiah Washington, or Dulé Hill, or Chiwetel Ejiofor, or D.L. Hughley, or Shemar Moore, or Blair Underwood, though I wish I had thought of that before that eye operation of his. Plastic surgery does not make a man more of a man, dear - you'd be better looking if you let yourself mature the way you're meant to. But that does not, by any means, allow you to go the Val Kilmer route!!!

On self-promotion and unfair accusations

I warn you: This posting is going to be a lot less interesting for those not following NYMag’s Daily Intel than for those who do. (If you don’t, bookmark it already, it’s one of my favorite web pages and a great source to rage, annoyance, snark, sarcasm, intelligent observations and other fun. But you don’t need to read the rest of THIS posting if you haven’t followed Intel for a while. You may not get it.)

I am a web wise woman, and I know there are even more idiots online than offline. The invisibility cloak of the former allows idiocy free reigns. That’s a good thing and a bad thing, I think. It allows for good, honest debate on stuff one wouldn’t or couldn’t have discussed under full name & real life identity, and for bad, too-honest-to-stick-to-case debate spewing shit at the same time.

I am, too, fully aware that mine is the Alpha type of personality, and that some people dislike me intensely and others like me as intensely. Offline and online, same goes. I’m good with that, too, a decade or more has gone since I gave up the idea everyone has to like everyone. Part of growing up. As long as you accept people to be different than yourself and still as valuable as yourself, you don’t need to like a single person to be a goody'ol'heart in my book. I do in general find people awakening sympathies and antipathies a lot more interesting company than those awakening just indifference, though.

But still. STILL. Sometimes, some people can make me so raging mad their idiocy stick with me for hours, and as that’s the case right now, I JUST HAVE TO SAY THIS TO GET IT OFF MY CHEST. It’s been bothering me since before I got to sleep, it bothered me through those three holy uneasy hours I did sleep, and it’s been bothering me since I gave up sleeping and started working at half past five. (To FG77: Don’t flatter yourself on your ability to throw me off balance. Everything throws me off balance these days and this is my average sleep pattern for the time being.)

To the rest of you: You see, there was this one comment. It was going very personal, without even bothering to do the slightest research on who I am or what I stand for. And that provoked the hell out of me. It’s not as if I am at my normal balanced self to begin with.

Let me take this point by point:
*I am a self-promoting narcissist. Ok, I accept that one. Sometimes get that in real life too. It goes with that type A personality, and though I do normally try to put on the breaks and stay away from dominating every single conversation I am in, I have long realized breaks are broken for now.
*I am banal, a drain and yawn-inducing. Ok. I accept that one too, even wish it to be true. I’d like a yawn, not to stay as hyperactively maniac as I am right now forever. Would be SO nice to go tired SOMETIMES and anyone who can learn me a trick to help me go to sleep: I'll be forever grateful!
*I am not a sexual creature. Hahaha. That one I enjoyed. Just one thing to add: FG77, I don’t know if you’re a man or a woman, but either way, I can guarantee you that you will never see my sexual self close up. I don’t do judgmental idiots. I don’t do people I see as in the middle of a middle age crisis, and I especially do not do people having middle age crisises while I suspect them still to be in their teens. Woman's got certain principles.
*In addition to being a non-sexual creature, I am an old, fat, sad, male Las Vegas whore. Ok. Tip on improving your insults: They work better if you try sticking to a certain continuity and to hit where it hurts. One of these may have done the trick. All of them? Nope.
*And, and this is what I think is the worst part of it: I have a need for acceptance from RANDOM STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET. This, ladies and gentlemen, I think is what really makes me mad.

First of all: I do not want your acceptance, I want your honest opinions. I don’t really want to ask my real life friends what they think on me having had sex with 16 persons in the span of a month, but I do trust the NYMaggers to be honest in their opinions. Opinions matter. Your own opinions matter the most, but it's always the opinions from others that take you further.

Second: I don’t consider the regular commenters on the Daily Intel board to be ”random strangers”. To a person having registered two minutes ago, I guess you are. To me, most of you are the coolest, wisest, smartest smart-ass bunch there is. You’re all true New Yorkers, even those of you never having lived in the City. (Yes, Till and Rebecca, and Cheesesteak, if you still live in Philly, I am talking to you.) You, and (most of the rest of) the regulars are distinct voices with distinct opinions and distinct platforms from which to speak. I value your points of view, I value them so much I consider you all among my best friends never met. Rebecca Rose – I wholeheartedly love you, and I think your blog should be a preinstalled bookmark in Internet Explorer settings at all computers & Macs sold in the world (http://www.rebeccarose2004.blogspot.com/). Hedgie – your blog has given me lots of fun (http://www.646hedonist.blogspot.com/). Meow: You’re hilariously funny and have often made my day. LZA, you’re my married hero, proof it’s possible. Loobs: Yeah, same goes for you. Sternman, GayNarcissus, Cheesesteak, Seamus, Till, TheLessYouKnow, Bulging Bracket, NYAaron, you’re all great guys, and if I ever suspect our paths to be crossing in real life, beers are on me. That's a promise. Smug: I almost never agree with you, but I find arguing with you great fun. Spice to everyday life. We all need that, those of us leading crazy everyday lives as much as those who don’t. (And to anyone I should have mentioned, but forgot about: Sorry about that, head’s not altogether gathered.)

Rant over. I may have lost all my readers at this point, but I do feel like self again, so in my opinion, writing this was totally worth it. I just want to add one more thing before posting this, probably for my own pleasure only. (This is MY blog, I am ALLOWED TO DO THAT.)

My ability to feel pain and my ability to feel pleasure may annoy or confuse people without the same emotional capabilities. From time to time, even people I dearly love and I know love me dearly back can ask me to chill it and please calm down. But I am who I am, and I think if there is ANYTHING following the Sex Diaries on Daily Intel has taught me, it is that not all living people are truly alive. Lots of people, even among those considering themselves to be happy, are not true to themselves. I am. I have my share of bad habits & annoying sides, but I am 100 % alive, and I am honest. And for that, I am incredibly grateful my life is mine, even when I feel at my most insane.

Life is short. Live it.

Post Diary: As of now

The world is spinning fast around its axis. I am spinning faster around mine.

These last four weeks I have been keeping up a frantic pace. I drown myself in work. I drown myself in men. I work out doubles and triples in the hope one more will calm my mind. I seem incapable of relaxing, and I hardly sleep. I get mad for nothing. I bitch for nothing and I cry for nothing. And all the while, I know exactly why I feel like I do. I say his name out loud, I let it ring in the room, and I know I can’t call him and hear him say the same. That alone would be too much for me to bear. I miss him so much it physically hurts, and I can’t even call him and tell him. That phone call would end with me agreeing to give up my life and promising to live his. And I can’t do that. I can’t.

I have had sex with some 12-14 men since my breakup. Yeah, I’ve fucked twelve. I’ve given two more BJs. They’ve all been great. Hot guys. White guys, black guys, one Latino guy. Able lovers. Nice cocks. Smooth tongues. It’s been a fucking frenzy. They’ve all made me feel goddess-y. And still, when I fall asleep at night, if I fall asleep at night, I am alone, and it’s his touch I am feeling. I detect his smell in the air and my skin remembers the warmth of his skin. Those other guys have not decreased his presence. I remember exactly how he felt inside me. The exact pressure. The exact size. Just how he shivers the second before he comes. I can still come myself, from the memory alone. But I can’t go back to him. I can’t.

I sedate myself on work and sex and yoga, a psychotherapist close to me says. I respond I find it healthier than pills and alcohol and sugar, and she tells me not to be fresh. She adds I am in mourning and I need to face my pain. I don’t go to therapists and I don’t think you need to be one to realize that. But I cope. A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do, right? What this woman has to do is make herself feel good. Whatever it takes. It takes hard work. It takes hard workouts. Fucking strangers helps, too. At least, it has always helped before. I've always been able to escape my thoughts in the arms of a man. On the yoga mat. In my work. These methods have always worked for me, and I need them to work now too. Everything, not to pick up that phone and tell him I’ll give up my whole life for him. I really can’t.

Why can't the idiots leave NYC because of "the recession"????

Some women are idiots. Lots of men are idiots, too, but let me tear these women apart first, because today, they’re who provoke me the most. I read this article in NYMag’s Daily Intel just now. It annoyed me so much I temporarily lost the ability to spell.

It deals with dating during the recession. And ”deals” seems to be the word. Certain women are complaining men can’t afford to take them on dates. Certain men are complaining women won’t date them because they can’t afford "real" dates. All those ”best things in life are free” stuff aside (what’s WRONG with a walk on Brooklyn Bridge and/or some happy hour drinks?) what made me the most mad was not these people’s lack of creativity, but their stuffed up ideas on what a date should be AND what a man should pay for AND what a woman ”deserves” for accepting to give him a portion of her time (as if he doesn’t have to spend time with her and her fucked up ideas of the whole dating ”business” too). Of course, the real reason I’m really so freakin’ mad right now, is that this is too very telling of what they think about what kind of balance their (STILL POTENTIAL!) relationship should have later on. I know I’m not exactly at my most balanced myself for the time being, just having broken up with the love of my life for not wanting to give up my career, but still: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? WHAT THE F ARE THEY THINKING?

Why, oh why, should the most important part of a date be to compare bank accounts? What happened to meeting people to get to know them, see if you feel attracted to them, see if you have fun with them, and, most importantly, see if you want to drag them somewhere private IMMEDIATELY RIGHT THIS SECOND and fuck them like crazy? Seriously – are you planning to be a stay-at-home-Mom before you even know if working-overtime-Dad can get it up???? These people sort of confirm the old idea that the most idiotic of women only want one thing for themselves: To bear so many children they can be sure to pass idiocy on to new generations.

One of the women in this article puts it this way: If he can't afford to take her to lunch (“nothing fancy, just a casual place to sit and get to know each other”) he probably shouldn't be dating. ”He shouldn't bring someone in his life if he can barely take care of himself," she said. SERIOUSLY: SHE should not be dating if finding a man TO TAKE CARE OF HER is her objective. A woman who goes on a first date to find a man rich enough to keep her at home painting her nails does not need a date, but a more fun job for herself.

What’s talking next may be my Scandinavian upbringing, but I’ll say it yet the same: A woman is not adult until she can pay for herself AND take care of herself. A woman who is not adult should NOT be dating. Sure, it’s nice being treated. Sure, it’s great to see that a man is eager enough to see you he wants to give you a present or take you somewhere special or do something special for you or with you. Yes, it’s great feeling important to a man, and a nice date can give you that feeling. But that should come from the way he pays attention to you, NOT how much he spends while doing it. YOU, sister, are responsible for your own economy and taking care of yourself, and that goes whether you’re dating or in an actual relationship. The man’s ONE AND ONLY responsibility is taking care of himself. OK, should you decide to get married and have kids and see it necessary that one of you stays at home, blahblahblah and so on, the other has to make enough money to support the whole family. But ONE LITTLE DATE? Screw the whole thing, if what he has in his back pocket is more important to you than what’s between his pockets in the front.

Rant over.

Cats and dogs and Sonia Sotomayor

Some people, not known for their racial sensibilities, now claim Sonia Sotomayor is a racist. A «new racist», they call it, to make sure their audience will understand her background is different from the «old racist»’s.
She once said: «I would hope that a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experience would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white man who hasn’t lived that life».
As those of us being experienced in reading now can tell, Sotomayor spoke about the value of a diverse life experience. She did not value people of one ethnic background higher than another. That the «certain people» I am talking about fail to understand the truth in this, or that they choose to twist it their way, does not make our new Bronx born hero a racist. It rather proves her point, and it shows «old racism» is still alive and kicking.

Let me put it this way: Of course an underdog is more street smart than a house cat. Only the house cat can fail to see the truth in this. True, it is not as if house cats do not have a certain knowledge of their own. They know where the milk is kept. They know how to purr to get it. But one does not need to be an underdog to hope that the new home owner will dole out the milk in a more just manner than the last. Sure, for himself, he does not regard pedigree the same way as the one who just moved out, but this gentleman, too, will have to consider what the neighbors think, or he will be forced to move again.

Sonia Sotomayor is a street dog having been accepted within the house. House needs a new watch dog, and she can do the job. She’s among the lucky few and she knows it. But she has not gotten her own food bowl yet. The house cats show their claws, scratch and scream and try kicking her out in the cold. They’d rather have a lapdog doing the service the way they direct him to. Let’s hope their meowing won’t keep the home’s family up at night. Owner needs to stay calm to do his job to feed his family, cats and dogs included, and he should be able to focus his energy on that, rather than on silencing the cats’ complaints.

Me, I am an alley cat. I was born a house cat, with what they call the finest of pedigrees in the richest of houses. But I found my golden cage a bit too tight. I wanted to roam the world, and one of those days, I simply slipped out the back door. I was just a kitten, really, and luckily, they hadn’t started breeding on me yet. I easily adjusted to the alleys. I am fully aware I am among the privileged here too. My pedigree is visible. My manners are exquisite, but I know how to fight. I don’t have to resort to catching my own prey, but can eat the leftovers from the fancy restaurants, and the chefs will even stroke my back so I purr when I do it. I know, too, that if something should change, say, if one of my friends should knock me up, I could go back to the garage to deliver my offspring. Some house would most likely take me in if I wanted to, whatever reason. I don’t need to fear that exterminators will get to me, I know how to avoid them.
But, exterminators, and house cats: Don't you dare thinking, for even a second, that looking like you make me agree with you. I can assure you of this. I will kick and scream and scratch you with my claws, when you target one of my fellow animal friends. Keep this up, and you’ll have to watch your eyes and lick your wounds before you know it. And there are other cats like me in this world too, you know. When survival of the fittest rules, we’re a great deal stronger than you.