O Sailor, why'd you do it, what'd you do that for?

Last night was... amusing. Unexpected. Odd.

I had the brilliant idea of attempting to remember all of my sex partners, and then other partners where I did not have sex with, but did have significant sexual contact, or impacted me in some way.

I have not been able to keep track of this for a few years now, so I knew it would be a challenge.

But C, another friend, and I, had plans to meet some other friends and acquaintances for dinner in Silverlake, which meant I ended up propping myself up at one end of the table, my paper journal open in front of me, playing with the end of my pen with my lips and tongue as I, Winnie the Pooh-style, drummed my fingers and went, "Think, think, think."

C was flirting with her boyfriend (she and Crosser decided to be friends for now, due to a drunken threesome they had with his primary partner last weekend that weirded the girl out entirely too much, as she isn't secure in their relationship right now, as they recently opened it) and the friend we came up with, her boyfriend and I were cuddling while I wrote, and I was occasionally doing my usual dry humor, interjecting at appropriate moments.

Think, think, think.

I remembered things I had forgotten, but there was still a good two or three year period where I was drawing a blank.

This was frustrating, and as I continued to list and lip my pen, people kept trying to peer over my shoulder, read my notes, ask me what I was doing.

By the middle of dinner, people were going through the alphabet, listing out male names, hoping to jog my memory. It did work, some. It also made me laugh way too much and, after an hour or so, I put the journal to one side.

During this, I gained the attention of a decently attractive blond. We started talking, as a group, but he continued to seek me out. Even when the conversation splintered into sub-groups, he would still be listening to me with one ear, looking for my opening, trying to draw my attention. Standard things such as continued eye contact, catching him looking at me while I was engaged with someone else, him asking me to email him. Normal, basic things.

I was pleased. He had an above average body, a decent face, and he was decently intelligent. Above average, maybe more, if we talked more.

I would not have thought anything of it, but before the group became so animated, before attention was focused on me, they had been discussing a Christian Slater movie called "The Heathers", and how another member of the group should watch it. Opinions were asked for, and while I was telling them I found it romantic, others were calling it a dark comedy. Which it is.

But I also find it romantic.

C and our mutual friend just looked at me, one of them said something along the lines of, "Yeah, you would find that romantic."

I tried to explain to them, about finding someone just as damaged as yourself. Someone that is torqued in the way you are, rather, in a complimentary way. They referenced the cigarette lighting scene, and I told them that was exactly what I meant. She burns herself, he lights his cigarette in the heat. Perfect.

Of course, then he tries to kill her.

Anyhow...

Finding someone who is a greater beast than yourself. A bigger monster.

Wolfboy, he has a reputation for being insanely good with the women. He has sex and more sex. He's the group badass, the damaged rebel, the recovered addict, the tragic romantic. As we would cuddle, talk, and fondle, we would compare techniques of seduction. Our natures matched so well, the need to be hunting.

But I was always better. My numbers doubled his, my successes and techniques covered a wider range than his. And I was smarter. Less damaged, or at least more able to maintain, than he. More in control of my life and myself, more able to direct what I was doing, and to control situations.

I'm straying a bit.

Combined with the movie discussion, earlier that day, I had a date cancel on me.

I... occasionally do things that I loosely call man-projects, or guy-projects. Where I meet a guy with a lot of potential, a good personality, but something about their sexuality is off. They may just have issues with sex, they may be inexperienced with sex, they may have had a horrible experience (or several) with a woman.

So I talk to them, I learn their issues, and then I start spending time with them, usually sleeping with them, coaching them, complimenting their body with words and touches if it is needed, making sure that the sex is relaxed and good, that errors in judgement or motion are corrected and treated as they are- inconsequential. Laughter is key. Making them comfortable with themselves is key. Making sure they can understand and communicate their desires, needs, and comfortability... major.

Sometimes this lasts for a few days, and they get a little weirded out by it. Sometimes this last for a few weeks. Sometimes months.

My favorite one, hands down, is my friend who is getting married in September. We spent so much time together, working with his issues regarding his body and sex (bad ex-girlfriend). And, after several months, he was okay. He was on the road to being good with himself, to being happy and healthy with such a key part of his life.

Eventually he met the woman who he decided to make his wife.

I still haven't met her, but I am going to their wedding. The invite is sitting on my nightstand.

I was 20 when I met him, and all of this happened.

Sidetracked a little again.

So I met a man a few weekends ago who I thought would make a good man-project. And he agreed, we started working on it. It was going slowly, but well. We planned to go out this Friday, but he sent me a text saying that he didn't think we had much in common, didn't see this going anywhere.

I specifically communicated with him, and he agreed, that I was going to get him to relax around women. That I would teach him how to flirt, kiss, and touch. That was it. No future plans, no relationship in the works. Simply potential friends working together.

Yes, I know, I know, I'm an oddball that I do this (I'm an oddball anyway, actually). I just see a need for it, and offer it when I can.

But he was nervous. I did get him to calm down in my presence, but I think the time spent away allow the anxiety to mount. Maybe. I don't know. I don't pretend to really understand anyone's logic but my own (and even then, not always my own).

I was mildly hurt, and surprised. I got over it quickly, though.

...and all this leads back to the blond guy at dinner that I found decently attractive, I swear.

So I was flirting with him, basking in his attention, and I was suddenly hit with the text message from the potential man-project, with GV8's dislike of the pick-up, and with the beast/dark romance I find in "The Heathers". That made me think of all the times I've had to subdue parts of myself, the darker parts, that make men uncomfortable, that predatory nature, the near-sociopathic analyzing of everything and everyone around me and how best to move them in my life.

In a man, this is usually acceptable, or at least okay, behavior. This is logical man-thinking, whatever. In a woman, I've found, people tend to view it as sociopathic and manipulative.

And it irritates me that I seem to have this near perfect blend of those tendencies and my need to be compassionate, kind, and helpful.

So I thought of those things, of meeting men in the past who loved my external nature. Who told me I sparkled, that I was unique and magnificent. Brilliant and funny, clever, witty, exciting, intelligent, so different than other girls. And then, as they got to know me, and found the things that exist underneath... they realized that we just didn't match. That there is something swimming beneath my currents that makes them uneasy.

And then they leave.

And it hurts, because I am not just the beast. They should know me that well.

But then the suddenly knowledge of those darker waves, something that they had no inkling of before, it's really no wonder.

The ones that don't leave, they become boyfriends. Beacuse they have those same beasts in them. But then they realize that, with all my strength, I'm still battling with self-esteem problems, that our mutual fixation on being strong... I'm not as strong as they are. Because I date older. Because I date men who are more experienced than me, who have lived longer, done more, had time to establish themselves.

And I haven't.

Then they look down on me. Because I'm weak, compared to them. When you toss in my need to submit and serve, it becomes even worse.

And then they leave.

Only Rick understood.

So I found myself looking across the table at this bright man, realizing that even though he finds me attractive, finds me desirable, we have only the external in common. And any time spent pursuing him, or getting him to pursue me, will only end as he realizes that I'm more and less than what he sees.

Because he's not my kind.

... ... ... ...

Side Note: as I re-read this after I posted it, checking for typos and my tendency to dance between tenses, I realized that the likely reason that I am not even bothering to look for a relationship, that I'm viewing men as potential companions and lovers only, is because of how I am. Men, currently, can only feature in my life as lovers, one-night stands, or friends. Because nothing else works, and it becomes increasingly unlikely that it ever will.