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Splitting Hairs

***Warning. Mature, graphic sexual content. Stop now if you get offended easily.

When you really love people, even if you do for them something you didn’t feel like doing, you know you’ll feel worse if you don’t do it for them anyway, your feelings, time, money, lack of energy be damned.

And when you do it, you are actually glad you pushed through to make the person you love happy and your relationship lives to see another day.

It’s really quite simple. It’s the theory of reciprocity is the foundation of truly loving someone and being an active participant in a relationship.

Nothing is free.

People, with the exception of babies, do have to earn your love and the perks that come with it.

Even as a child grows and learns to share, show and give love, parents are getting a return on their investment too.

If this person loves you just as much as you love them, you can think of a million moments where they were in the same position and dug deep for you and in my opinion, that, more than just the warm, fuzzy, feeling we confuse as love is what propels us to fight the urge to be lazy, selfish bastards and give that person what it is they desire.

So I have all kinds of problems with people who have no real history with me making demands, or asking me to change myself or straight up asking me for anything or expecting anything, or having critiques about me.

Expect nothing, appreciate everything.

I was placed in a very uncomfortable position this morning and via text, of all places. I should have woken up to a “good morning beautiful text.”

Instead I was told I’d get more head if I went completely bald.

If you’ve been with me on this blog for a long time, you know how I feel about shaving and men coming out of their faces making demands on how I maintain my yard. https://29tolife.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/tmi-alert-a-hairy-situation/

I took a deep breath and shared my views and how like a box of chocolates, hey, depending on how I’m feeling you never know what you’re going to get.

I don’t want anyone to choke on a hairball, but to hold my pleasure hostage and impede one of the most successful methods of getting me off, because you want me to look like a porn star, or six-year-old, or six-year-old porn star, I got beef.

All I ask is that you keep yours clean and wash your balls and under your balls.

This expectation of women makes me angry. And when you tell me what to do with my nether regions, I feel like it’s an omen of things to come. I feel like there’s some control stuff going on and you want to see how much I bend to what you want.

Fortunately, I know better. I’ve had men in my life who loved it any way I served it up.

One even liked it after I worked out, because the sweat turned him on.

So having enough confidence in myself this time has made me speak up and set the record straight.

Some women might say, hey, it’s not that big of a deal. You want the guy to eat you out right? He wants to eat you out? He’s successful, and wants to do it. Do your part so he wants to continue to do it. Take the L. Someone else will keep it bald and buff it everyday to have a man like that.

And that’s a valid point.

I just don’t appreciate the double standard. Maybe some days I don’t want to squirm in my seat at my desk because of the coarse, prickly hairs growing in that I can’t scratch in public. I’m sure they will frown upon me putting a back scratcher in my pants. Someone will be offended.

Thing is, I’m not anti grooming down there. I’m not.

I’m particularly pissed at his specificity to the matter. And I’m livid at having to read this shit at 7 a.m. ( Here’s some context. This all started from a conversation last night about me baking pies, and him asking if I want him to eat my pie again…)

He said bald.

So with that in my mind, he acknowledged that I had maintenance going on down there and that he wasn’t picking hairs out of his teeth, but in order for me to enjoy his services more regularly, I had to go all the way.

I said what I had to say honestly and then I left it at that.

But I was fuming for most of the morning, including now.

We are supposed to go see a movie tomorrow night. But I’m feeling some kind of way. Am I being unrealistic and immature? Or do I have the right to feel comfortable sexually?

That’s a no-brainer. I want to feel comfortable.

And maybe he isn’t the one. Maybe for just the right one, I’d get a Brazilian every day. I doubt it, because I feel the right one is going to love me, and my puss no matter what kind of hairstyle she’s rocking that week.

I ranted to a close male friend and he confirmed that I was right.

But now this has me thinking, what may not be a big deal to other people is a big deal to me. Every time I’ve tried to please other people who did not go out of their way to sincerely please me, left bitter, awful tastes in my mouth that spread resentment all over my body like an aggressive virus.

So instead of questioning my ability to love, my capacity for giving and my aptitude for submission to a future husband, I’m going to be selfish for a moment and be a grown woman for once and say, “I want what I want. Someone is going to give me that.”

I’ve also decided that people who really love you and know what you like, love and totally hate, they simply won’t ask you to do something they know you don’t like. They wouldn’t want to put you through that much of an inconvenience.

At least that’s how I feel and that’s how I treat the ones I love.

Inner Freak: Sex, Senusality, Vulnerability, Power

I was having a discussion with one of my besties where she declared I was a freak, but I pretend not to be.

I had to correct her.

I flat-out admitted I was one, but I don’t advertise.

And these days, I refuse to waste it on the unworthy.

A lot of women, young and old have gotten female sexual liberation all twisted up and we’ve let go of some of the things that make us naturally sexy in the process.

We’re getting too literal with it. Too in your face.

We take strip tease classes and learn how to hang upside down from poles. We smack our booties and laugh, surrounded by strangers.

We drop it like it’s hot and make it clap in clubs. “Left cheek, right cheek.”

It’s fun. It is what it is.

But I reflect, and I’ve mentioned this in a post a long time ago.

I had never felt so free, so sexy and at the same time so vulnerable than when I was making love to the man I was engaged to.

I was ridiculously turned on by wearing nothing but the ring during the act and wiping the sweat off his face and looking right into his eyes.

Vulnerability is our strength as women. When we balance that, in my opinion, we’ve won the game.

As women, we are so busy trying to be EVERYTHING, we stop just being ourselves.

We get lost in all of the things we think we are supposed to be, and we don’t listen to who we are. This is across the board, at work, with our families, all of the lines blur and blur, and we are expected to hold every single thing together, we are responsible for maintaining everyone else’s happiness and success, while neglecting our own.

It’s the curse of being nurturers and multitaskters.

Maybe on some level women are the ultimate egoists, because we are convinced that we can and will do it all.

I do this to myself everyday and then I criticize myself.

There’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable in the right arms.

In fact, it’s otherworldly. It’s safe. It’s honest. It’s the realist thing you can reach out and touch and feel and be reminded of how alive you are and how fortunate you are to be suspended in that moment with that person.

There’s nothing wrong with being a freak there either.

I suggest all women figure out what kind of freak they are and accept it, and master it. As I told my friend, even professional athletes go to training camp at the beginning of the season.

Freaks gotta sharpen their skills too.

The most passionate sessions I’ve encountered was when I was giving up more than my body to someone I trusted and felt safe with and it was as equally terrifying as it was intense and freeing. Terrifying because I was being me. Vulnerable, a little nasty, but me.

Nothing is worse than doing something and wondering if your partner is going to think you are too advanced, or too nasty. Your head is already out of the game. You are self-conscious. There’s no way you will come out of this session satisfied.

Your bedroom should be the last place to feel like you can’t be yourself, as reserved or as raging freak as you may be.

On the flip side, you shouldn’t feel like you’ve got to put on a show or pull a hammie in the process.

You should be who you truly are and the person you are with should be enjoying you as you are. Period. If not, you don’t need to be with them. The end.

I hate the pressure placed on women to do all of this extra stuff that they may not be comfortable with to please their partner and his perception of what he thinks great sex should be as dictated by porn or multi-jointed exotic dancers.

It’s stupid.

If the roles were reversed and women had the expectations of male porn stars, just off of size alone, men would throw in the towel and not even show up.

So how is this fair? How is this right?

I’ve got to be able to hang upside down, in heels and have a non-existent gag reflex?

Give me a break.

Women be glad we are the emotional yin to a man’s physical yang. All of these things are connected. There is a reason we are wired the way we are and the whole “having sex like a man” (“no feelings”) thing is a farce. It’s also a farce because men actually have feelings too! What? Nah…

Yes. They do. It’s just about the woman they deem to be the right woman, but hot damn, they have feelings too and are just as sensitive, if not more sensitive than us.

That’s why we bring the spirit of sensuality, we bring the soft side. That is where we specialize. By us setting that tone, just as the right man makes us feel safe, we in turn, make them feel safe to be more emotional. We shouldn’t minimize that very important role or chastise ourselves for being so “emotional.” It is an emotional thing. And that is what we bring. It’s beautiful.

Seems like we women have to exchange a little freak and the men need to exchange a little vulnerablity.

Maybe if we saw ourselves as bringing more than the sum of our body parts to the table, and that we are seeking an exchange that satisfies all of our parts physical and emotional, we wouldn’t give in to men who aren’t worthy. We wouldn’t subject ourselves over and over again to bad sex because we will have recognized our value and not placed our partner’s satisfaction way, way, way above our own.

I’ve done it. It ain’t cute.

It sucks.

Our brains and bodies and soul have to be aroused. And as I get older, I’m glad it works this way. I’m glad it’s all connected to remind me that the person unlocking my inner freak has to have the skill set to get all of those things going.

If not, it’s a disservice to myself. A huge one.

A massive one.

It makes me more selective.

It makes me become a bit more selfish sexually, as opposed to just being proud of myself that I pleased a man and he thought I was great or the best or whatever.

It’s more than that.  We have power. And it’s not the kind you hang over someone’s head, or the kind you use to get rent paid and hair done. Our sensual and sexual power is more than currency, it sustains our own self-esteem and reminds us of our value.

Intimacy: One Of the Most Misused Words

There are books dedicated to how we misuse and abuse certain words. There are snobby people who often like to correct folks when they misuse and abuse certain words. The Huffington Post even broke down a list of the 7 most misused words. I’d like to add one to the list.

There is one word folks haven’t quite gotten the grasp of and they use it really loosely and use it for all sorts of meanings.

That word is intimacy.

Some men seem to hate it because they think it’s code for give her more hugs, and there will be just cuddling and talking about feelings tonight.

On the flip side, some men think some super good loving is about to go down, because they are about to “get intimate.”

Department stores have sections consisting of lacy bras and panties and consider them “intimate apparel.” I guess the “you’re almost naked” section wouldn’t look good on a sign.

Either way the word intimate always seems to either point to sex, or the lack of it.

Women will throw around the word if they are feeling unloved or unappreciated or if their man has forgotten that there is such a thing as foreplay. “The intimacy has gone out of our relationship,” these women will say.

I asked a good male friend what he thought was the true definition of intimacy.

And he said that a good 80 percent of people don’t really get its true meaning. In a nutshell, he mentioned things that were right along my path of thinking the ability to be vulnerable with someone, and to share a deep connection.

To me, I think that intimacy has nothing to do with sex, wanting sex or not feeling like you’re being kissed and caressed enough during sex.

My definition, as shared with my homeboy is, that you can share intimacy with anyone you feel totally and completely comfortable around and trust 100 percent. Children and parents can have an intimate relationship, people of the same sex, friends, people who are romantically involved, your spiritual relationship, siblings.

The biggest piece to my definition is the responsibility of the other person. You have achieved true intimacy when you’ve let down your guard, you are vulnerable, you trust them, and that person understands how important you doing that is, and not violating that trust. They honor your conscious decision to let them into your life in such a private, special, meaningful way and they want to protect you and what you’ve built together.

Building intimacy takes a whole lot of time and patience and all of that stuff because you are building trust. It’s not a quick thing, or a fleeting thing. It’s lasting. It’s quite real, it’s comforting and scary at the same time because you are willingly handing over your trust.

Just because you are having sex, you are not experiencing true intimacy.

Just because you are just staring deeply into someone’s eyes over a candlelit dinner and haven’t had sex yet, that doesn’t make you an expert on it either.

There are plenty of people walking around thinking there is intimacy in their relationship because they are the ones doing all the talking during cuddle time, but they laying down of fears, the opening up, and the exposing of vulnerability has to come from BOTH parties.

I’m happy to say that even though I’m not in a relationship, or having sex, I can say that I share intimate relationships, by my definition with a couple of close friends and family members and all of those situations may be very different, but I feel the same way in each case. I will protect those people and their feelings and they will protect mine. They take their jobs seriously as people who love me and I do the same. There is a mutual appreciation for what we add to each others lives.

You don’t need lacy panties.

Sometimes you don’t need to talk.


Beating the Psychology of Doing Bad Things to Feel Good

I just read an article that doesn’t surprise me at all, but for some reason it hit me in a profound way today.

The article I read was basically about a study that concluded overweight girls are at a greater risk of engaging in risky sexual behavior– such as not using birth control, or not having their partners wear condoms, to even being forced to have sex when they didn’t want to.

Keep in mind the stats were even more unsettling because the survey of almost 4,000 girls ranged from around age 13-18.

Sex wasn’t on my mind as a young girl, until I hit 18, surrounded by beautiful young men in college (who were smarter and better looking than the guys from my small town) and a roommate with an active social life that kept her out of our room… I had a boyfriend. We kissed and we touched and fondled and groped in that room until, I couldn’t take kissing and touching and fondling and groping anymore.

He asked me if I was sure, I nodded and took a deep breath.

I took the plunge.

It’s been a battle of discipline, self-esteem, love, rationality, irrationality ever since. I do see the reason why people should wait until they get married, even though I didn’t. Once you dive down that rabbit hole, it opens up a lot of emotions and challenges and human complexities that even people with multiple partners who claim they are cool with casual sex choose to acknowledge or ignore. Regardless of the choice there’s a Pandora’s box of feelings, of reasons why you are choosing to engage in sex, with whom and why.

I can’t imagine what these young ladies are going through having to think about these things as early as 6th and 7th grade. It hurts my heart, really.

But as a 30-year-old woman, I look back at the times I thought sex would make me feel better, and to my shock and dismay, it didn’t.

The bad news for these young, overweight girls is, self-esteem and the complexities of sex and why they are having sex will continue in their 20s, 30s and beyond.

They will find they’ll still struggle if they lose the weight. They’ll struggle if they are a runway model in Milan. They’ll still struggle if they got a degree, or a master’s or a doctorate. They’ll still struggle if they manage to rise in the ranks of a major corporation. They’ll struggle when they meet the perfect guy and he’s bad at sex, or the guy they can’t stand and he’s awesome.

For me, there’s no greater time for emotionally risky sexual behavior than my infamous “ho” phases post breakups.

Speaking of risky sexual behavior, other studies have shown that drugs and alcohol use are usually the culprits behind people having unprotected sex and making bad decisions.

Looking back, I’d say 99 percent of the time that I had self-pity sex, or spiteful sex, or bored sex, I was drunk. And even then I was drunk because I was feeling crappy about myself or I was stressed, or my job was making me nuts. If I was sober and made the date,  I was getting drunk by the time my booty call showed up.

Getting drunk was to muffle the voice saying, you need to be doing this for love and not to escape. This is not real. This is a waste of your time and energy.

I’m older now and although there are times I’m ridiculously horny, I’ve decided I’m willing to wait for the real thing. I owe it to myself. I know what it feels like to be madly in love with someone and be in a committed situation. Truth be told, when I was engaged, during the act, I’d look at him and I’d look at that ring on my hand and my head and heart would synchronize swim in delight. I’ve had no higher sexual experience than that. I’ve always joked that I couldn’t wait until the day I had married, God-approved sex. I still feel that way. I believe it will be highly intense, especially knowing all of the things I know now about love and committing fully to someone and trusting them completely with everything.

Once you have that high, anything outside of that kind of sex sucks, even if it’s great sex with a casual person who you think is cool. You find yourself reconfiguring your emotions afterwards whether you have feelings for the casual person or not.

You find yourself feeling like you wasted your time even if you briefly blacked out in ecstasy moments before. No sooner than you’re putting on your robe, to see them out the door, the euphoria has already come and gone…literally.

It’s not enough for me anymore.

Real great sex lasts longer after that release. Great sex carries over into sleeping late in that person’s arms, and making breakfast together, drinking out of the same glass. It’s watching that person getting dressed and heading out to work. It’s singing along with the radio while you are cleaning the house and sniffing his shirts and it’s coming right back home to that person when the day is done, and knowing that person is going to be there the day after, and the day after and the day after that day.

I’m alone.

Sure there are guys I could call.

There are hot guys I could call. Hot guys with good jobs, who are smart.

I do not love these hot, smart, guys. They do not love me. There is mutual respect. There is honesty about what we are and what we’re not, but no love.

I can’t see myself with them, and I’m not sure if they can see themselves with me in a real relationship.

I’m appreciating the discipline it takes to take control of my mind and my body.

That makes me feel good about myself. (When I don’t feel good about myself and I feel I’m going to crack, it’s time to break out the list of things that make me feel sexy and do the non-sexual things, lol.)

Feeling good about myself, keeps me from making that phone call.

Or in some cases, maybe I did make the phone call. But the good feeling I have about staying true to myself and having the understanding about what it is I really want, gives me the strength to change my mind, call back and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Love this song and the lyrics by the delightful Elle Varner “Refill”:

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