Tuesday, November 17, 2009

One of my male friends asked me out last night.

Fortunately, it was through text, immediately after we got off the phone with each other, so he couldn't see my face or hear the tone of my voice.

It was, of course, a no. I try not to sleep with men that I have to teach, that I have to be gentle with, or that I would simply eat alive. This particular man has more mental issues than I do, especially concerning his self-worth and relationships, so it would have been incredibly tedious and probably drama-filled for me.

Tedious, I can do if I'm feeling generous. I'm very patient.
Drama, I cannot do. I refuse to participate to the point of abandoning friends, hang-outs, entire social groups, if I have to. Drama only affects you if you let it.


I had called him to get his take on the disconnect on Saturday.

I've been finding this rather frustrating.

It's rare enough to find people damaged in the right way to understand this, the right way so I don't have to explain, justify, rationalize, only to have the concept go completely over their heads anyway.

But I tried anyway. Different viewpoints are good, allowing for angles that you had not considered, angles outside your experience.

Massive failure.

Another notch added to the internet, the only place I can talk to myself about this.

I miss having someone to talk to with ease.

But that's the way things go.

The positive thing that stemmed from his asking me out was that I was out to dinner with another male friend that I was mildly concerned might be edging that way. So I got to do a mini-rant that allowed me to express my distaste for my guy friends asking me out. I probably could have ranted better and gentler, but I was not really thinking at the time, having gotten caught off-guard.

My friend's text was... it was very polite. It was a thought out mini-paragraph that explained, very briefly, why he thought we should go out, and inquired if I was interested at its conclusion.

Sharp contrast to the text received Saturday afternoon, asking if I would like to join The Broken Prince and his friend for fun and frolic.

It's different ways of playing, I suppose.

The Prince certainly knows me, my buttons, better than my friend, though I've had that friend for about twice as long.

Surprises me. Going against one's instincts, going against the knowledge one has, in an effort to be polite and respectful. If two equally attractive men approached me in one of the clubs and one asked me if he could buy me a drink and spent the next twenty minutes trying to charm my number out of me and the other simply walked up to me and told me that we were leaving right now to go back to his place, the latter would be significantly more successful than the former.

I make this very clear. My friends know what I go for, know what does it for me.

But he could not move past it. He could not take that knowledge and use it.

Probably because, like most men, he doesn't believe me. He doesn't believe that I know my own desires, and that I act on those desires when I deem the situation safe and healthy. Having sex with a man who I know likes it rough, likes to punish, yet he won't go full-out on me because he's afraid he's going to hurt or scare me... I find it annoying. If I take the time to communicate what I want, which I do, and they do not trust me to know my own desires, they are not allowing me responsibility for myself.

Which means I can't respect them.

Odd logic twist there, I know.

A comfortable, confident man who knows himself, knows his desires, is aware of his sexuality, will be much more likely to trust in their partner to know what they want, and if that partner turns out to be not so aware of their desires... he knows how to reign it back. He knows the signs, so he does not worry. He respects the person in bed with him enough to communicate and trusts that she'll tell him if it is going too far.

That's my theory.

However, there is also the other side of this. Where the woman is a typical (yes, I know, I'm insulting my own sex again) girl who has been, like usual, repressed in her sexuality and experience so is not quite aware of her desires and her limits and is unable to communicate them (at least without innuendos and blushing profusely), so the man has to sit there and be gentle (theoretically) and guide and hope that he won't frighten her off with his normal male desires.

People make too much of sex.

It ends up tangling everything up.

Turning it into self-damage. Damage of others. Misunderstandings. Drama. Power plays. Religious and social intolerance beaten into all of us from the time we step out of our mothers. Women are taught to fear sex.

To fear pleasure.

That strikes me as so wrong. So unhealthy.

I'm not advocating free love. For the very few of you who have met me, I'm quite obviously not rolling the hippie lifestyle.

Safe. Healthy. Aware. Respectful. Communicative. Sex.

I think if I arrange those letters around, I can get a rocking acronym.


...sounds too much like a candy. Or a disease from Asia.

Anyway, that's enough of rambling on that topic. I do it enough, I know.

This weekend is looking exceedingly, pleasantly empty of social activities, which means it's likely that I'll be making pleasureful plans to top of a weekend full of studying and writing papers. Walking around with bruises for a week, especially during Thanksgiving, always proves entertaining.

Still mulling over Saturday night. I enjoyed myself, just wondering the potential social ramifications that might fly my way. Also missing a conversation partner on the topic.

Was reading a book (shocking) and there was a line in it that I really dug: "This is who I am. Now let's see what I can do." Reminding myself that I am something a bit different, which means options are open to me that are not open to other people. Wondering how I am going to explore those paths.

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