It’s a curious thing, all of this. For 12 years (that’s a long time for those of you unable to quantify exactly how long 12 years is) I have only dated women. I did this not in response to any trauma inflicted upon me by men, in fact I have always thought men were awesome. I did this solely because I had not been attracted to a man in over 12 years. Ugh, that sounds so dismal. It really wasn’t as boring as that. Women turned me on in a way no man ever had. The first time I had a significant make out session with a girl, you know, clearing some bases and all… angels sang and seas parted and I know I at least stepped in water that night (it was raining), even if I didn’t walk on it.
I hung out with a few more boys while I was making my self discovery and then one day I just ceased hanging out with them. There wasn’t any one particular thing that happened. Merely, it was what wasn’t happening. My toes didn’t curl and butterflies never fluttered. I did fall in love with one boy once but it was the type of love that you get from whiskey, woody allen films and Shane Macgowan songs. That story is for another time.
For the next decade I dated some women. Some were amazing, some less so. I asked one to marry me shortly after 9/11 and lost her, 2 years later, to a midget with an eating disorder, manic phobias and a substance problem. While that was a tad bit demoralizing, cause yes, I am hot, I pulled myself back up and went out there again. Some casual fun, like the southern basketball fanatic who, when she came, would scream “oh gawd” in her bayou drawl… and then roll over and turn on ESPN after sex, or the former spoken word poet and sex education teacher turned high femme drag performer. The ivy league half-marathoner with ugly toes and a privileged ivy league background including republican politico parents. The struggling screenwriter whose youthful fun and frisky tone shifted upon living with me. We spent hours upon hours fighting, until eventually, we had hit levels of unhealthy that I hadn’t ever thought I would encounter in my own relationships. A lesson in expectations, I guess. No one is above being at the bottom.
Then my dog got sick and she died. A month later, I was moving out of that apartment and ending my relationship with the writer. I woke up one day, feeling completely numb and realized I just couldn’t do it any longer. I needed a break because I was completely devoid of any sense of well being. I then made, what seemed crazy to many around me, an active rational decision to be celibate and single so I could refocus on myself. For 4 years I did things for myself without consulting, compromising, or considering another individual and it was F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S !!! I learned to drive ( before you think oddly, it is NOT uncommon for people in NYC to not drive. We have the best subway system in the world, so, why drive?!!!), I bought a condo, started two businesses, and rescued an emaciated dog from the back of a pick up truck. I was busy. BUT, I had also become a recluse. I had built walls up and become increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of letting anyone in. Yes, at times I was lonely, BUT, I had control over my existence. I needed that control. It became more important than the companionship. I had the dog and she had me and it was us against the world, only we stayed inside and weren’t really in battle against any great force. We mainly snuggled and watched A LOT of netflix and ate kettle korn or roasted broccoli. (Yes, both of us ate the kettle korn AND the broccoli. She is a funny dog.)
So how did I get from kettle korn to boy hickies? Let’s just condense it by saying that I opened myself up to trying something different because, what I was doing, was really NOT working. Einstein was the one that said,” Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting a different result.” Now, apparently the universe likes to be a mischievous little bitch, because verbalizing my willingness to explore what she wanted to give me, opened up a whole universe wide can of worms.See, that’s how the universe rolls. Suddenly, I was trying to get a foreigner to make out with me, even JUST once, using multiple tried and true female methods, but to no avail (I did mention that I am, in fact, really attractive, right?! So, WTF?!). This all led to some off-color sexually frustrated venting to a casual long distance friend who, at the end of one conversation, impudently remarked that I would always be welcome to share photos with him, as many and as often as I wished. I was feeling extra flirty that day so I did and then I did again until I suddenly found myself involved in some rather thrilling multimedia internet naughtiness. There were then packages, pictures, phone calls and suddenly a plane ticket and a promise to be present, be open, be in the moment, but mostly to be honest to the process of being accepting of whatever may come.
Now, just as a sidenote… they never tell you this. It’s like a secret club, with a secret handshake and apparently a secret language…. yiddish. Jewish men are well endowed. I’m not saying that they are necessarily the size of a small baby BUT holy girth on that thing! I did a survey, of all my Jewish friends, and I looked it up on-line, and I saw a box of magnums in my friend’s drawer. Now, her husband is a 5’7″ Jewish man…I’m just saying. BUT, you can make whatever connection you want, I’m just saying that Jewish penis is something of a religious experience.
So, now I am back in my condo, with the dog, and I don’t want the same method of life I had been living. Did the religious cock send me on a quest for the holy grail? Perhaps. The details of that trip? That is purely mine and his. All I know is this, life is far too short to confine yourself to a definition. When did I stop living because my defined “way” of life wouldn’t allow it? Now I get so many questions. Some people need me to redefine as straight or bi or explain myself and why I feel justified in calling myself a lesbian in the tagline of this blog. I have spent 12 years heavily defined. I do not know what the future holds. I can only be here at this moment and be true to this journey, this exploration. If it makes you uncomfortable that my sexuality and use of sex does not fit comfortably into a tidy box, for this I can not apologize. Life is grey, relationships of all sorts are grey, sex and sexuality are grey. Don’t expect it to be tidy and black and white, for all of you will be shocked and disappointed each time it surprises you.