Topics of debate.

This blog was supposed to stay anonymous. My face, my name, was never supposed to be associated with it. No one that knew me in life, no matter how close, was supposed to have access to this corner where I scribe my thoughts into pixels.

But last night I found myself in bed with The Broken Prince's friend (psuedonym still pending), sliding my teeth along his ribs, admonishing him not to be one of "those guys" who worries about what I'm going to write here.

Already, I know that's a doomed thing.

I've seen it often enough.

So do I screen myself?

Or do I hide?

This is supposed to be honesty in text.

And there's always a part of me, always, that is disconnected and examining the events and interactions that take place around me or that I am part of.

That's how I am. That's how I've always been. Maybe I'll change in the future. Maybe I won't.

Each man I sleep with has a different impact on me, has something different that they bring to the table, even if it's only slightly different.

I worry, I worry a good deal that this is just going to cause pain.

Not to me.

I'm fairly emotionally shut off at the moment, from the male sex. Enjoying my singledom, knowing that there is likely a man in my future, but not anytime soon. And there shouldn't be. I need to grow as myself, without a great impact coming from another person.

Lying in bed with him, talking, touching, licking and gently nipping.
Massaging his back and listening to his thoughts.

Genuinely enjoying myself. Genuinely engaged.

But part of my brain examines. Part of my brain takes our interactions in its palm and rotates it around, checking the angles, checking the material, comparing it to past interactions.

I know the meaning behind the words.

I've heard these sentiments before.

It's patterns. It's falling into patterns.

And just then, I deleted a line. Too deep.

Self-disclosure is bonding. I'm silent and questioning because I like to learn, because people are fascinating and oh please don't let me hurt him. Please keep it simple. No emotions. Keep it a clean fight, no hitting below the belt.

We talked of his stresses, we talked of his life, we planned another threesome with another of his friends. We laughed and cuddled, fucked and moaned as one.

I forget what it's like, the worry of performance. I know I intimidate most men. More often than not, my partners admit it to me at one point. That they're worried I'm judging them, that they're worried they're not up to par.

What am I supposed to say?

On one hand, I've had some amazing lovers. Lovers that blew my mind. But these were extraordinary men with high levels of experience and lifestyles and confidence levels that lent to sexual exploration that allow them to be as they are.

As I am as I am.

On the other hand, each body is different. The touches are different, the feeling is different, the mood created, the baseline emotion. It's a dynamic between two people, which means that just because you sleep with one man in one way does not mean that either of you will be able to recreate that experience with others.

Sex is something I do. Sex is something that makes me breathe, makes me live. The touch and the heat, traveling someone's skin with my mouth. Afternoons spent in bed exploring pleasure.

It's what I am.

And I hate that the men I sleep with worry so much about it. So damn much. I'm here to enjoy myself. I'm not comparing them to anyone else, I'm focusing on being in the moment, in being with my partner. Why would I expend the brainpower on mental comparision?

No, this did not happen last night.

Some things just reminded me of the frustration.

I haven't slept with many people since I met GV8. The difference in attitudes is strong. I miss his confidence. I miss his simple enjoyment.

But that's the way it's going to be.

It is not easy to find men like that. It's not easy to be like that. He was exceptional.

I left around 1230AM, arrived at C's place and nuked a hotdog, starving.

Padded across the hardwood to her bedroom, nudged her awake with the cellphone she left on the coffee table, reminded her to set her alarm. Looked at the two naked people sleeping next to her in bed. Wondered if the 23 year old male knew how lucky he was to be enjoying three- and four-somes with C regularly. Ran my eyes over the Russian girl. Smaller breasts than I would have expected. I turned off her bedroom light and showered.

Cell phone had four text messages on it. Makes me twitch, reminds me of men that would not leave me alone, would not accept no for an answer, worried about rejection, though I know (hope?) he's not doing that.

High points for asking me to text him when I arrived at C's. Few men do that. Some might criticize it, but I find it a positive. Reminds me of my family, reminds me of friends concerned about my behavior, reminds me that not all men are simply lust trapped in skin.

Even though sometimes it's just another move in a complicated game.

I wonder what I'm doing. I'm going to have to pace this. Instinct says that to meet up too often would be bad, long-term.

I can't help my ice princess behavior. I'm not going to force myself... force myself to what? Force myself to try to feel for someone, anyone, who would not suit. Having respect for both parties, realizing what would and would not work.

Heh, GV8 has taught me more than I realized.

Smiling, nodding, knowing.

I feel trapped, almost. Between what I am and what I portray.

Remembering back to conversations had over linoleum, the quick social shifts, dancing between flirt and serious, depending on who was in the room. No thought, no effort, just the usual dance.

Makes me feel almost broken. But... not.

The hurt that this could cause, that my dual nature brings, causes me regret. Causes worry, causes shame that I would be so selfish to be myself and hurt another, instead of sacrificing what I want to be in order to make another happy.

I'm so good at making men feel valued.

Because I do value them. I do treasure them. I do care for them. I am there when they need me, not out of obligation, but because it is what I do.

But I withhold parts, I withhold pieces that hurt, that cause pain. The disconnect. The examiner. The mechanic, the tinker, the engineer.

So we breathe.

So I breathe.

I breathe and hope that I can maintain honesty here, even when I know it could hurt, even when I know that the things I think, say, and feel are constantly misunderstood because it's hard to grasp for most. Tweaked? No. Just different.

I would not be with them, with you, if I did not wish to be.

I will not lie to you, to myself.

I will not hide the part of my brain that drives others off.

I'm going to do this right. I am not going to give into fear, into anxiety.

I have double motives, triple motives. I watch. I wait. I like to run veins, roots, into social connections in order to solidify my position. I like to catch people by surprise. I cause cognitive dissonance whenever I can because I like to mess with people's perceptions.

I will be that girl.

I will slip between the roles that I know. Lover, confidant, teacher (though this one has grown so, so old), companion.

I will watch porn with you. I will offer threesomes, I will spend hours going down on you. I will point out the hot girls as they pass by, I will give you road head, flirt with your friends, go through your mental porn folder and tackle your sexual fantasies.

I will be kinkier than you. I will be more perverted. I will be more experienced. You'll question yourself, and I'm sorry. It's not what I want.

I will be your designated driver, your masseuse, your patcher of wounds. I will listen to stories you don't feel comfortable telling other people with an open, nonjudgmental ear. You will be able to tell me the worst things you've done, and I will simply listen.

I will go camping, hiking, swimming, biking with you. I will go to your gym and work out with you. I will go down on you and bring you beer while you watch football. I'll play video games with you, possibly even beat your high score. I will beg you for quarters at arcades and fail miserably at minature golf while challenging you to another round of air hockey.

I will debate philosophy with you. I will challenge your theories, challenge your ideas, read the books you recommend, see the movies you want to see. I will beg you to go to horror movies with me but continually bury my face in your shoulder and squirm in my seat. If the theater is mostly empty, I'll climb into your lap. If the theater is completely empty, I'll slip a condom on you.

I will stay up all night with you, or leave you alone. I will not argue or complain about your guys' nights out. I will keep my own social life, but allow you in. I will make sure that your friends like me and inform you if any of the girls in your social groups want you.

I will pay for my own meals, my own movies, my own outings, without question. It's not your job to provide for me.

I will support your decisions, your choices, even if I don't agree with them.

I won't drag you to chick flicks, won't drag you shopping, won't make you listen to me rant about drama between Betty and Janet. I won't cling, I won't beg, I won't whine.

When you have a social event, need a companion, I will put on the cocktail dress, the heels, the hair, make-up, nails. I will be charming and social. If your mother keeps bugging you to meet a nice girl and you want her to back off, I will happily meet her, all smiles and loving devotion. If she cooks dinner, I will help with the dishes, help clear the table, help serve dessert.


But I will keep my own mind. I will be watching. I will be analyzing, thinking, wondering, theorizing, planning, engineering. I will likely be judging everything you do on some level, comparing and contrasting. My emotions will never grow past a friendly love. I will squirm away and lay boundaries. I will keep you aware of my other partners, not in detail, but enough so you never think to lay more claim to me than I've allowed you.

I'm going to know exactly when you screw up in bed. I'm not going to particularly care, but I will be aware. I will know your experience level near immediately. I will get frustrated when I have to guide you through motions and positions.

I'm never going to want a relationship with you, and it's not because you're lacking, but because it's how I function. The more you try to convince me, the further away it will shove me from you.


There's so much to say.

I feel like I'm laying out a guide book, possibly a rule book.

The Way of V.


And it's funny. I keep going to publish this, and then adding to it. Because I am more than a companion, I am more than a bit of mental disconnect. I do care, I do love, I do worry and wonder about my partners. I want the best for them. Fearful of rejection when/if Mr. Pseudonym Pending sees this.

I cannot help the way I am.

Just have to embrace and start accepting the sum of my experiences.