Brave men tell the truth...

I found that I can significantly jar my brain by listening to Royksopp for several days and then suddenly switch to Thin Lizzy.

But onto more interesting things... well, interesting to me.

When my friend mentioned The Game to me, many months back, I thought it was an interesting concept for a book and asked to borrow it... but it was no longer in his possession.

Fast-forward several months, I'm walking by a Barnes and Noble with Wolfboy and I remember that I wanted to pick it up and read it. We pop inside and find that they keep it behind the counter because of the theft problems they have with it. Really? Must be steamy.

I purchased it and started reading it the next day.

I tore through that thing on my lunchbreaks over the next three days, sneaking in an hour here and there between social engagements.

It was wonderful. On the first day, I popped onto IM to rave to one of my best friends about how much I was enjoying it.

"Don't do it, V," he tells me, "You're going to ruin yourself. You're going to learn so much about it that no guy is ever going to impress you and you'll constantly be disappointed. You're already a predator, you don't need to get better."

I didn't listen. Of course I didn't listen! This was knowledge, this was refining things I had been doing for years, this was giving me logic behind actions I did naturally, and then suggesting new ideas to me. And then it says that there's entire communities of guys out there doing this, practicing this, learning this, getting good at their own game, having discussions and workshops.

People who I could talk to about this stuff without being judged for being too predatory, as my friend calls it. People who would understand the dynamics, who would have the experiences I've had, who I could bounce ideas and theories off of, become better and better at this game.

What a dream.

That I could explain what I was doing, what I had done, why I had phrased things a certain way, sat facing a certain direction, touched a person in a particular place at a particular moment, tossed up a challenge, etc... and they wouldn't look at me like I was some sociopathic freak, or like I was so beyond them in life experience and then the idolizing look comes into their eyes and I'm sitting there going no, no, no, I focused on sex, I focused on seduction, on analysis and introspection. You focused on life, on education, on your career, on finances. You specialized like I specialized. You just did something more useful, more directly functional, something that will stay with you no matter how old you get.

Sigh.

Guys have a community for this stuff. It's not the most female friendly environment. I didn't expect it to be. But I've always been one of the guys. The girl that passes that test when few others do. It's not always a good thing, but it's a role I'm comfortable in.

I read The Art of Seduction and things became clearer. Things made sense. I could identify the seduction types of guys who had wowed me in the past, I could see my weaknesses, and my own tactics, written in this overly long prose in this tiny, tiny font with such outdated cultural references.

Then came Sperm Wars, certainly one of my favorite reads. It was a perfect manual to my sex life, and why I found somethings so very attractive, and other things so very viscerally wrong.

That was... last month. I've taken a break from the seduction community reads. I don't believe in immersing myself in any kind of lifestyle. I read too much of something, too often, and it starts to become a focus, my writing style starts changing, my thinking starts shifting, my internal monologue goes off at odd angles.

But then someone in the community asks me my partner count.

Should I even answer? I mean, these guys are sleeping with at least one new girl each weekend from the looks of things. Sure, I've had my streaks of doing that, but my numbers will never rival theirs. I'll look so inexperienced.

Honesty is what I choose to give. If I'm ridiculed for my low number, at least I'm representing myself accurately.

So I toss out my estimate. 70-80 full partners in the last ten years, with 7.25 of those years being in closed and committed relationships. Admittedly, now that I'm thinking of it, the first two of those relationships, when I was in my teens, I cheated on both partners once each.

When I was younger, I used to think my number was high, but then I realized that the strangest, most unexpected people will blow your mind with their count. You can never guess what someone is going to say, and you could end up looking like an idiot if you act accomplished.

Yeah... that happened once or twice. Ah, cocky youth.

But then, I think. Review your life in sex. I started college at 16. From the ages of 16 to about 19, I had around forty partners, which was when I lost count. Alcohol, weed, parties, nameless sex, those were days of wild destruction. I'd never take it back, but it certain left a mark on me.

So, from 20 to current age, I've had somewhere between 30 and 40 partners.

I always kick myself for not keeping a list, and for throwing away the journal I kept during my first few years of college that did have the initial list of guys I've since forgotten.

I don't think I have a high partner count. GV8 is in his 400s, but then he was a... well, I doubt he wants me to repeat that. I value his experience because it makes him one of the best lovers I've ever had. When he told me, I nearly melted.

I think between my most recent break-up last August, and December, I had around 12 partners. It was a fairly even divide on the one-nighters and the repeaters. I always get this frentic excitement when I'm fresh out of a relationship, this need to prove to myself that I'm still attractive to men other than my (ex)boyfriend, and the joy in no longer being confined to pleasing one body. It's such a thrill- your first new partner in the last two and a half years. So much new stimulation, new things to learn, new tricks, new ways to move.

Then my friends tease me, of course. New guy (or guys) every weekend? Where'd you find this one?

I find it wonderful that no one who knows me ever calls me a slut. That term doesn't really enter my operating procedure. I document my adventures, then guys go a bit bucknutty and the girls ask advice.

I love the sudden change, from focusing so much on one person, one relationship, to having everyone focused on you.

But I can only take it for so long. I don't like being in the center of attention.

Of course, as I pull back, I meet GV8.

I could hardly ask for anything better. Open communication. Open honest communication. The thing I value beyond most anything in a relationship. You have your respect on one hand, your communication on the other.

I swoon.

He's smart. He's significantly more social than I am. He's driven as hell. Dominant and caring, lethal when he needs to be. I'm safe and with a man who is so comfortable with himself that he can be honest with me at all times, even if it's to let me know he doesn't want to tell me something.

Plus, he's a swinger. Any relationship we get into stays sexually open. I can continue to roam, can continue to explore, can bring guys home for a threesome or gangbang scenario, and he will support me and protect me.

It's near perfect.

And I totally derailed myself. This week has wiped me out. It's a Friday night and I've been home since 1030 because I've gone out every night this week. I plan on being home tomorrow night as well.

Anyhow, back to thinking.

My own partner count has almost lost meaning to me, much like the age when I started having sex, much like the number of oral partners I've had, which I really don't know. I've had some wild years and, really, it's just oral.

I was talking to some guy I went down on years ago and, for some reason, partner count was brought up and he said, "Oh yeah, I've had sex with 26 girls and 35 girls have gone down on me." (I don't remember the numbers, so don't quote me on this.)

"35 girls have gone down on you??"

"Yeah."

"You keep track of oral?? Who the hell does that?"

Then he got defensive. That wasn't my most tactful moment. Didn't really like him that much anyhow, so no big upset for me there.

I'm finding it funny, though, that now that I've put my guesstimated numbers up, some people are analyzing them. Almost statistically, it looks like.

Really?

I'm not that fasincated by it. I'm used to people being interested in my sex life because I'm open about it and that tends to attract people for various reasons. I don't think I've ever had my number questioned before, but that's more than likely because if we're talking in real life, they know me, they see me, they see me interact. And, if I'm online, I'm usually on a site where a few (or many) people know me, have met the guys I occasionally bring around, have seen me pick up men, which means lends my stories total credence. It also helps if I'm blogging about the sex I had the previous night and the guy I wrote about freaking comments on it.

Then I stare at the screen and wonder exactly what I should say to him.

It's weird, having an anonymous blog. I've never done it before, never felt the need, until the other one got so popular that it was really starting to freak me out. Like I've said, I'm not a center-of-attention girl. But I'm so used to my reputation following me everywhere. I'm used to the stories that encircle me when I walk into a room, which you think would place me at the center of attention, but I tend to intimidate people so they stay away unless they know me.

But it's like starting from scratch. It's not even a clean slate, it's some pieces of rock and wood and an IKEA instruction manual saying, "Have fun assembling this chalkboard."

I came here to write. I came here to fix myself, to heal myself, to get over long-running fears and tackle my core issues. I wanted the anonymity so I could say what I needed to say without fear that the wrong person would read it.

But I got distracted.

I need to balance this more.

And I need to go to bed.