For those of you new to the blog, sometimes I go into great amounts of detail about my sex life. This is one of those times.

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The date on Saturday, as I said, was good. Slow building of physical contact. Brushing our shoulders together as we walked, the placement of his hand on my lower back for a brief moment to guide me, leaning slightly back into his body as we watched and whispered about the bit of fluff porn being shot in his studio.

After dinner, we went back to his loft in downtown.

Walked up the stairs to the second floor, his bedroom and library running half of the width of the building. Unlit candles lining the steps, obviously used many times before.

I dropped my bag on the couch in the library, dug out my skirt, nylons, and tights. Sat down and began to remove my shoes and socks, then stood and unfolded my little black skirt.

He had sat down in the armchair directly across from the couch.

"Mind averting your eyes for a minute?" I asked.

"I do," he said, watching me.

I raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, then shrugged. Undid my pants and let them fall to my feet. Stepped out of them, then sat back on the couch, placed toes in nylons and unrolled them up my legs, tights followed suit. Brushed my blouse back down over my hips, knowing it was revealing just the lower curve of my ass. Wasn't quite long enough to cover.

Stepped into my skirt and wriggled into it. Zipping it up the side, smoothing it down.

This was the moment. Instinct uncurls from the base of my spine and winds up my back: if I do not step forward now, I'll leave without physically connecting with him. And I do want that connect.

He later said I slinked forward, walking that ten foot distance between the two pieces of furniture, before placing my hand on his chest and settling onto his lap, my skirt riding up my thighs as I placed them on the outside of his while his hands slid from my waist to my ass, gripping.

Ran my hands from his chest to the back of his neck, whispering to him "Sorry, I just couldn't resist". Watching his smile grow just before we kissed.

Establish contact with tongue half a second before lip contact. That's the rule I follow without thought. Anything else seems childish and unnatural.

Lips closing on tongue, suckling, teeth biting lightly down and tugging on that lower lip. Tongue sliding on the outside of one lip, then the other, traveling down to neck with open-mouthed pull and wet tickling of earlobes while grinding hips in a light, erratic bucking rhythm. Rub the length of his torso with your face followed by your chest, back to lips, then slide down to his feet, nuzzle stomach and crotch, scrape the teeth down his jean-encased cock, warm breath through the fabric.

Yes, I know you. I know this poetry.

Relocate to the couch, more room to lean back.

But my teasing nature, my constant smart-mouth, lands me in trouble.

On purpose, of course.

He yanks me up, so fast. Turns me and traps my hands behind me in one move, strides across the open space shoving me in front of him and I'm face down, ass up over the side of his bed. Pulls my stockings and underwear down, tosses them behind him, pulls me up, discards my shirt onto the couch (skirt was discarded long before).

Back to the bed, naked. He's still fully clothed.

His hands leave my ass red, me yipping into the comforter with each blow. He bends down, still holding my hands behind me, licks me from hole to hole, so warm and wet, me moaning and trying to keep my feet from sliding on the slick hardwood floor.

He gets on the bed, pulls me all the way on, flips me onto my back and drags me against him, hitting my breasts until I'm whimpering, burying his fingers in me, curling deep until I free myself from his hold and unsuccessfully pull against his wrist to stop the overwhelming sensation.

He stops. Only to pull my thighs farther apart and start spanking me directly on my cunt. Such a weakness for me... I hate it and love it. Body starts jerking against his hand as I shout, then I'm squirting because the sensation is too much and my body loves it too much. I hear him groan his happiness as each smack causes more liquid to eject, spraying and splashing onto the bed, my thighs, his hand.

When he stops, I'm left panting and happy. He lets me curl up onto my side, and I lay there, face buried in his chest. I hear someone come down the stairs from the third floor, walk through the library area to the next set of stairs: the resident studio photographer. I would receive a text the next day letting me know that he thought I had a lovely ass.

We shift positions, I start dozing with my head on his chest. He's warm and comfortable. I've needed this affection and the physical relief of palms bruising my skin. Trail my fingers over his jean-caged erection, lay a kiss or two on his chest. Some time later, I bid him good night and drive home, with him telling me we'll get breakfast in the morning.

How odd. I don't spend the night, we don't sleep together, and he drives to me to take us out to breakfast on the beach the next day.

It was lovely, sitting in the sun, the beach to my left, ocean breeze running through my hair. Talking. Talking with that ease of familiar comfortability though we've never met.

I will admit some anxiety. It's always like this for me, when I meet someone I'm interested in. What makes it annoying is that I know with him having a vasectomy, there's no future I want there. But he makes me nervous anyhow.

He has access to my other, public blog. A year or so of entries spanning the end of Darkeye's and my relationship, into my winter of seeking sexual validation from men, spring of that continuing... and then the beginning of things with GV8, when it tapered off and life started to go... odd.

It worries me.

It shouldn't. But it does.

I was so very different. I was so young, so searching and desperate. I'm still searching, but that desperation is mostly gone. I'm still a little wavery on the confidence front, but I'm light years better than I was. Worried that he'll judge me on who I used to be. Worried that that information will turn him off.

But it shouldn't matter. It's not who I am now. And he's not someone I can "have".

It's the rejection. It's always the rejection at the heart of things, the insecurity that fuels it. It's times like these that leave me grasping at getting thought patterns under control. Times that I know I need to get a handle on it or I'm going to slide and lose what progress I have made.

Breathe.

The texting guy from yesterday texted me to ask me out again for this weekend.

Which makes it a total of three times I've had to tell him that I'm too busy. Because I am. Party on Saturday night with my club friend (where I get to sit him down again and tell him again that I am not interested in him as more than a good friend, and also, while we're on the topic, I found out that he's an insane playboy with loads more sexual experience than I have, at least in certain areas, so why is he emotionally attaching to me when he knows better?), Saturday day is a lapdance class with a friend, Sunday is my mother's birthday, an all day event.

I'm oddly not busy on Friday night. I'm not sure what to make of that. If I didn't have to be up early for the class on Sunday morning, I'd hit a club. I still might, if I'm in the mood. I'm all for wiping myself out.

But enough about my plans.

I've had two particular questions asked of me that I should probably address.

The first was by Phoenixism who wanted to know if I had a special magnetism for attracting socially inept men.

Yes. Yes, I do.

But since I can't see myself, I'm just going to go off of theory.

The initial approach is appearance. I'm pretty. I'm not gorgeous, I'm not beautiful, I'm approachably pretty. I am accessible, so those men who would be chased off of a girl because they feel she's above their "level" come to me.

When it comes to wardrobe, I'm also accessible. I am not showing the Los Angeles mass that I believe I am high status in my presentation. I don't overdo it, I keep things very mellow, well-fitting, and casual. I don't walk outside for day explorations with a second skin of make-up. I wear dark-framed glasses, but not in that indie-scenster kinda way, but in the "I'm a librarian and I'm studying you" kinda way.

Socially, if I'm just out and going about my day, I'm by myself as often as I can manage. This makes me even more approachable, as I'm not with a group of my nearest and dearest girlfriends. And when I saw I'm out alone, I don't mean I'm simply grocery shopping. I mean that if I don't have plans with someone, I will grab a book, go catch a movie, then maybe do a little shopping and sit at a nice little restaurant and enjoy a meal and my novel... and then maybe I'll wander around the city, poking my nose into whatever looks interesting.

-Girl who is approachably pretty, check.
-Girl who is not flashing high-status unapproachable via her presentation, check.
-Girl who is wearing glasses that add a little something, check.
-Girl who is reading a book, making opening even easier, check.
-Girl who is alone and infinitely more likely to be approached because of accessibility, check.

So that's just the simple initial information gathering pre-approach.

Then we talk and, holy crap, I'm not a moron. These shy, nerdy guys who are getting out there socially are startled and pleased. The older men that walk up to me expecting god knows what realize that there's a conversation partner beneath these boobs.

And I get the nerd jokes. I read so much, I play console and computer games, I've watched way too many Mutant Enemy productions, I know the internet memes, I can quote RvB, I can discuss anime and World of Warcraft without hesitating. I'm not going to judge them, and I'm going to understand their humor.

In a world of women that while never understand their nerdy male pursuits, I'm right in there enjoying those pursuits with them.

And since they usually aren't out there meeting women, they think this is incredibly rare. Which causes a sort of desperation fixation. I'm the only girl they're ever going to meet that will understand them, so they must make sure to win me over any way possible.

As for the older men, I can keep up with them, and usually overshoot them. It's not an awkward, stilted conversation that trails off into... bleh. Which maybe they'd like, I really don't know. I'm able to manage topic flow and conversation focus, which is so nice for both of us.

Which, really, if you look at it a certain way, is inconsequential.

My primary failing is that I like meeting people, like learning about people, and I'm never intentionally rude without someone first passing a boundary... and my social morals that allow me to engage in rude behavior so far out there that I rarely get to unleash my inner-bitch on people.

If I continue talking with them, they, being inexperienced and unable to read into our conversation or my body language, will assume that it means I'm interested. That my attention could only be of romantic or sexual intent, as why else would I be talking to them?

Because I am unwilling to immediately shut down these guys, because I can get along with them and maintain the conversation because I'm interested in what they have to say and who they are, awkward situations ensue.

But what am I supposed to say?

"I don't mean to interrupt you, but I just wanted you to know that I'm talking to you because I find you interesting and have absolutely no desire for you, so keep it in your pants, buddy."

"Before you take this the wrong way, you're really not my type, but I'm digging hearing about your theory on the best way to play Young Link in SSBB, so don't take my fascination on this topic as fascination with you."

"You see how I just deflected that somewhat subtle innuendo you tossed out there? Yes, that means I'm not interested. It was cute, but, really, no."

"Since I think I'm just the hottest piece of ass out there and you obviously must want me due to that fact, I wanted to let you know that before this conversation goes any further, you're soooooo not alpha enough for me, so please don't even dream that I would have any interest in you. Thanks."

"Okay, I'm going to bring up sex now because it is relevant to our discussion. This. Does. Not. Mean. I. Want. To. Bone. You. Continuing..."

I've found that my hints, the cues that I would pick up if someone was having a discussion with me and I was testing the waters like these men do and was being rejected, don't work with most of these guys.

Some I have flat out told I have a boyfriend or I wasn't interested in dating right now or I wasn't emotionally available or I was too busy for a relationship.

Random excuses that were all semi-true to completely true.

But it does not deter them.

So why do I attract these guys? I'm visually approachable, physically accessible (no, not in that way, you jerk), and I'm friendly.

I do not have disgust or hatred for these guys. I don't find them annoying or pathetic. I think it's wonderful that the nerd guys are getting out of their comfort zone and meeting women. I think it's flattering when the older men try to pick up on me, and very entertaining when they realize I'm not an airhead.

But there is that learning curve of figuring out how to attract what you want and reading the signs that tell you that your target is not interested. And then respecting that lack of interest, or at least adjusting your game to hopefully generate interest.

If it doesn't work, though, move on. Don't make it awkward, don't be pushy, don't make a scene.

So that was the first question.

The second question has been asked a couple times, especially of late due to all my bitching about men I'm not interested in not getting the hint and my platonic guy friends trying to shift themselves into relationships or booty calls.

Why do I have such a hard time rejecting men?

I have issue with rejection in general. I know what it's like to go through it and I know it's a major blow to the ego for most of us. I also know it's part of life and something we're all going to experience if we put ourselves out there and we need to learn to accept that.

I try to cushion it. Because I'm too nice.

And I don't mean "too nice" like, awww, I'm such a sweetie, I care about everyone's feelings because I'm such a great, kind-hearted person (that was written in my head with a nasally, syrup-dripping voice, by the by).

No, I'm a pussy. I'm a little too empathetic to rejection, I think, and it makes me cringe and then I feel guilty and I hate feeling guilty so I do my best to avoid rejecting people so I don't have to feel guilty about it later.

That sort of "too nice". Stupid "too nice". Avoidant "too nice".

And one would think I would have learned by now how to manage this unwanted male interest.

Quite obviously, that's incorrect.

What I have learned is that if you tell someone flat out that you aren't interested, they have to know why.

They will demand an explanation.

And you might be reading this going, "Well, they can demand all they want, but you don't have to give it to them."

This is true.

However, they storm off all butthurt and never speak to you again. And I like my guyfriends. Most of this will happen within the first month or two of a budding platonic relationship with a guyfriend. You want to be able to salvage the friendship and their ego.

Why should you salvage the friendship?

I don't know about you, but I like having friends. I like having a variety of friends across the board that I can hang out with and learn from and just have a good time.

So, if you give them the explanation they are demanding in their fit of anger at your rejection (which is just a cover up for the insecurities you've just produced/exacerbated in them), then they have to argue that explanation.

Which means you are sitting there for god knows how long trying to explain not only why you don't want them, why they are still great guys (just not your type), but also why it is okay for you not to want them.

In the end, they'll:

A: Get butthurt to cover their embarrassment and storm off, never to be seen again, which makes you wonder if the only reason they were around was to get into your pants or if they're just that hurt by it (common).
B: Get butthurt to cover their embarrassment and storm off, but come back later, ease into friendship again and have a solid thing going for the both of you (rare).
C. Tell you they understand, that they're okay being friends, but then they'll try to Nice Guy you for some time until there's an explosion and you kick them out of your life (I've had this happen, it is so not fun).
D. Tell you they understand, and then they respect your boundaries and the two of you frolic in happy sunshine friendship meadows with pink marshmellow unicorns and fluffy purple bunnies. (This never happens.)

So that's the direct approach that everyone tells me to take, that I have taken and have had miserable experiences with.

Or you can make up excuses as to why you can't date them in an effort to save their ego and your friendship:

1. You have a boyfriend. (Lying isn't my thing)
2. You're emotionally unavailable. (Refer back to demanding an explanation)
3. You've just had your heartbroken and aren't ready for another man in your life. (And... here comes Mr. Nice Guy again!)
4. You're much too busy right now for a relationship. (They'll try anyway.)
5. Your grandmother is on fire. (I've tried this, it only works for so long.)

The problem I've found with this sort of set up is that they'll either hang around, making contact, waiting for the "problem" to go away, or they'll check in with you every few weeks to see if the "problem" has resolved itself.

Eventually, the former may turn into an unsteady friendship, while the latter will just get frustrated and disappear.

So those are the basic verbal communicators.

Then we drop down into other categories.

Such as the slightly extreme: "making out with someone else in front of them". I've tried this. It doesn't always work. In fact, it seems to drive the nutty ones even nuttier.

You might think, "Well, you don't want the nutty ones for friends anyway", but I actually love being friends with nuts. Except pecans. Pecans are bitches.

Anyway.

There's the easy, Level One, "play stupid" when they hit on you. This is stuff that involves messing with words, pretending to mishear, pretending to think they're joking.

Level One also includes avoiding physical contact and moving out of the way if at all possible, as well as avoiding any flirting or innuendos.

Then there's the stereotypical: "oh, I'm so glad we're friends, I couldn't take it if another guy was interested in me right now" or "I'm so glad you don't want to date me, I can just relax around you" type comments.

There's the Level Two casual drops about guys you find attractive, guys that you're thinking of going out with.

Which can be escalated to Level Three conversation drops where you are really thrilled to be going out with this guy again, he's so good in bed, he's so cute, hold on, he's texting me, give me just a sec and I'll get back to you. (This is mildly difficult for me, as most of my guyfriends know that I when I date, I date multiple men and take a couple lovers until someone comes in and pulls me off the market entirely.)

Level Three conversation drops may be accompanied by Level Three physical withdrawal, which involves leaping away from any physical contact and running into the night shouting over your shoulder, "Is that the Bat Signal? Gordon needs me!" (I promise this is perfectly acceptable.)

And you might be thinking, "Christ, what's with the game playing? This is too annoying/difficult, this isn't worth it, is she nuts??"

But it's a preservation of their ego. This is me trying to send out as many signs as I possibly can to my friend (or my potential friend) that indicate that it is nothing to do with him. My lack of interest is not a failure on his part, but to do with my own life and attentions.

Because I want those friendships. They're important to me.

And not all of my guyfriends are like this. Most of them got the message early on, or had no observable interest in the first place (or had a girlfriend).

These guys that don't get the message are the ones that are a little awkward, or are just your general horndog. I make friends with all sorts of people, and some of them require this type of management. Sometimes it works, sometimes it goes down in flames.

I do my best, I think.

And, yes, I'll kick myself at times, thinking I should be rougher or more direct with some. But when you've had the experiences that I've had... I try to communicate thoroughly and honestly at all times. Playing these sort of dancing games is not my cup of tea. It's not enjoyable. I don't want to be doing this. I wish I could wave a magic wand and have them realize that my lack of desire for them has nothing to do with their value as a person, that I still have value for them, just not a need to get into their pants.

I'm told, and I can see, that it's wasting their time, to a degree.

But this is social interaction. This is learning to read body language and subtle cues that tell you what you are and are not doing right. If every approach failure was considered a waste of time, that would indicate that the approacher had learned nothing.

Even if you learn nothing, it's still good to approach, it's still good to steel yourself and get used to interacting with complete strangers as you attempt this mating dance.

And I am educational. I will, upon occasion, tell the guys that approach me better lines to use, or how to stand to present themselves better, or how to adjust their word choice to sound more attractive. If they listen to me or not, I don't know. But I am a girl they found attractive enough to approach, which means I am desirable, which means they should probably listen to my advice because I am telling them what I find desirable so they can use it on future women that are like me.

Even if they do not "score" with me, I have many female friends. Some guys look so into the immediate, they don't understand the value of leapfrogging and building social networks. If they come off as courteous and respectful, I will bring them into my various social circles, I will introduce them to my female friends and talk them up.

So is it a waste of time? At best, it's a wading pool of potential poon. At worst, it's practice.

Guys make it difficult to reject them, uncomfortable to reject them. I'm sure girls do it too, but since I'm fairly straight, that's all I have to tell them. They won't react poorly because my sexual orientation does not reject them, it simply excludes them. It's not personal.

Poor reactions based on insecurities.

This is why I have issues rejecting men and handling interest from my male friends.

Alone and barely breathing...

Saturday night, I hit my favorite club.

Before that, though, I was doing my usual: hanging with a friend and marathoning whatever TV show we had decided on (this time it was "Father Ted", which is an excellent BBC comedy). We made pizzas, me working my mad stylings on some ground turkey for his sausage needs.

Which sounded really gay. Yes, I know. I bring the funk.

Pizza was a success, wonderfully good.

And afterwards, I stepped into his bathroom to play what I call "Pretty, Pretty Princess". This is the fifteen minutes to an hour+ girls spend in the restroom getting "done up" for the evening. He lives significantly closer to the club I chose than I do, so I talked him into it. Which, admittedly, was pretty easy.

We've been platonic friends for over a year now, spending time together about once every week or two. He hosted me weekly during my ten month couch-surfing expedition, and it has been perfectly without any push or tension towards more than what we have.

Doing my part, I've kept it at jeans and t-shirt level, no make-up, hair usually pulled back.

So I go into his bathroom in casual gear, plain-faced, then come out in a mini-dress, sexy hair, and club make-up.

And he was perfectly cool with it.

Drove over to the club, chatted with the valet, backed myself into my usual spot. My club friend from the previous Friday was already in his usual spot next to mine, a song I love blasting from his stereo- on the mix CD he made for me.

Walked past the door guy with a smile and a wave, my club friend guest-listed me at the inside door.

And then I hit the floor.

Glorious. It was such a perfect night for dancing, the floor was recently cleaned which made every move smooth and perfect. Friends I had texted earlier in the week to harass them out started arriving, quick reunions then back to the music.

Unfortunately, one of those friends, someone I've been quite happily platonic with for about four years now, had suddenly determined I was now desirable. Too-close hugs, roaming eyes, extended touching, excessive (for him) complimenting.

Awkwardness, on my part, ensued. Untangled limbs, edging away. It was managed, as much as it could be.

Another friend brought her date from a previous club.

I had told her to bring him, as we had been discussing dance styles over time within a particular club circuit, and how one could track the music, club, and what time the person entered the scene based on how they danced. He is a dancer, salsa, swing, ballroom. Actually straight, suprisingly, and not feminine at all.

What was even more surprising, occurred at the end of the evening when he hugged me goodbye, pulling me against his hard body by wrapping one arm around my waist and yanking, almost like he was in the middle of a tango. I began to suspect that my friend wasn't his date, but their body language from earlier illustrated private physical intimacy, so I dismissed my suspicion.

And dismissed the idea that him touching me all night, bumping into me, leaning into me, brushing shoulders, was not because of trying to be heard over loud music, but him maintaining physical contact out of interest.

This all happened, of course, after I told her to give him my number so I could text him when I went out clubbing. He wants to learn how to dance the style I do, and there's not a lot of people better to learn from, I will admit.

So he texted me today, to find out if I would take him shopping, get him the right wardrobe for the clubs.

I couldn't... I just kept thinking back to what GV8 told me once, that he wasn't going to give me the play book to figuring him out, that if we fit together, we'd do so naturally, without me shaping to fit him.

I've been using that more often lately. I'm usually so straightforward with my communication, but it really is frustrating to constantly have to be feeding the men around me the tools they need to, essentially, manage my attraction for them.

I want them to be able to do it on their own, from their own observation of me and their own intelligence, like GV8 did.

I'm not talking about not sharing my emotions, making a man figure out what I'm mad about and how to scramble about and fix it, but simply how to gain my attention in the first place.

So I kept texting light and minimal on my end, watching to see what he would do.

Here's our text message series from this afternoon. My notes are in bold, so you all can enjoy(?) how my brain works.

H: "It's ******. ******'s friend. I got your number from her. I'm think of going shopping for some newer stuff to wear to the clubs. Wanna help out?
At this point, I still thought he was seeing my friend. Not very observant of me.

V: Sure!

H: sweet cause I have no idea where to go. we used to look down on ********, but I'm not sure if it's still like that.
Wait, wait, why are we suddenly dropping our punctuation and capitalization at the beginning of sentences? Please tell me this isn't going to be another guy who doesn't pick up on my near perfect texts and can't conform to my texts in a sort of mimic like body language. At least I don't have to worry about him being interested in me, since he's seeing my friend.

H: do you live locally?
Ah, yeah. There went the caps.

V: ***********

H: o ok that's not bad. I'm right next to ******. where's a good place to shop?
And he's lost his "h" in "oh". That's going to drive me insane if he keeps it up (there is a non-anal reason for this).

V: There's some places in Hollywood, one in OC, another in HB.

H: I'm too familiar with hollywood's shops but I remember the ***** in HB. whatever outfits I end up with need to be sexy :)
You need to be sexy???? What guy says that? What do I even say to that? And the emoticon?

V: Sexy is relative to what type of girl you want to attract.

H: I trust your judgement :)
Uh... wait. Is he inferring that the type of girl he wants to attract is my kind? (reluctant understanding begins to dawn)

H: but preferably the fun ones

V: I dunno. Not a lot of girls like fun these days.
Must... insert... teasing. Must... hope... he... picks... up... on... this... and turns this conversation into something that isn't so boringly generic.

H: their loss i guess cause I like to have fun and in as many ways as I can find :)
...I suddenly hate my life. I like having fun and doing fun things and I love to laugh omg. Puppies are cute. And did he just toss in an innuendo at the end of that?

Which continued into a boring bit about money to spend and clothes he needed to get, which shifted into a logistics of our relative locations and where we needed to shop, which, of course, shifted into what he does for a living, and how he met my friend. I assumed it was because they work in the same field, but he said...

H: I met her when I was riding my harley with some friends which happened to live next door to her. she came out riding with us after that and we became friends
Huh. Math. She lives on the beach. Her neighbors to the south are hot beach guys, loaded, lazy, and doing lines of coke way too often. Did he just raise his status?

V: Ah, sweet.
I have no comment.

H: yeah, she's a good friend :) never short on cool things to check out. like clubs with cute girls :)
Fuck. Friend. Fuck. Lame line about cute kids in clubs, directed at me. Fuck.

V: Yeah, I really don't spend enough time with her.
Um, let's focus on... not me.

H: what clubs are you going to hit this week/weekend?

V: None, too busy. I'll be at ***** next weekend, though.

H: I might be riding to yuma for a kids charity this weekend. what else do you do for fun?
Well, now we've established he's a "good guy", he "likes kids", and he's "adventurous". With one activity. If only I liked good guys. Or other people's kids. What's with the generic question?

Insert discussion about hobbies here. One of my favorite activities that came up was, of course, driving.

H: ever ridden on a motorcycle?
Oh, I know where this is going.

H: I know some kick ass places up and down the coast. I've seen every mile of coastline from san diego to the middle of oregon.
Which is pretty cool.

V: Lucky. I'd love to have the time and money to do that.
Generic comment is generic.

H: well when you have time I'll take you to a spot I like. get to go check out the tide pools

H: we can ride the bike if the weather is nice enough. I'll have to see if I have a helmet that fits you.
Called it. Clinging to his back as his powerful metal steed propels us up the coast for a romantic beach trip, complete with tide pools while he establishes his rebellious masculinity with his control of his motorcycle.

Trail off into reminders, once he asked, that I was already busy this weekend.

I haven't re-read the above, but I likely sound like a stuck-up bitch. My mental tone isn't as derisive as it sounds, really. Just... kinda bored, kinda leaning back, looking at my phone going off, groaning slightly as I feel vaguely like an idiot for dismissing him and not guarding against him like I normally would if I hadn't thought he was with my friend.

It made me feel... just, myeh. Isolated. That feeling has passed, mostly. But when I finally ended the conversation with this guy, I was frustrated and feeling so socially abnormal.

I want to say I'm not supposed to think like this, that I'm not supposed to be analyzing the behaviors of the men around me and breaking them down into little parts (most of which I did not include in the above, as that would take too long and I'm a major over analyzer).

Having this guy do this... I felt so out of sync with my age group, so alien. I'm passing as standardly attractive now, and that means socially standard men, which means I'm left feeling like an oddball when "normal" guys hit on me.

So I texted Roman to get on IM so I could bask in the glory of his equally abnormal masculinity. Get back to baseline of talking with someone whose company and banter I enjoy. Even though, as I was bitching about my feelings of isolation brought on by the text conversation above, he totally smacked me down in his own way.

Which is what he does.

But at the same time, I'm left feeling like people expect me to be grateful for male attention. That I should be just happy as a clam. However happy that is.

I can't make myself feel glad of this. Reminds me of when I was younger, forced into going to church with my family, going to a youth group that was part of the church, staring sullenly at my peers while they pray and sing, while the youth leader would tell me the way I should be, what I should believe, and how happy I should feel that God loves me.

In a room full of people, people willing to listen and discuss, but none of them willing to understand or accept, viewing me through the light they choose, not caring that the light doesn't fit me. I'm not who they so desperately want me to be, if only to stay within what they deem okay.

I'm supposed to be some sort of male-interest Buddha, able to easily deflect desire, able to handle situations that arise, however uncomfortable they may be, constantly forgiving of transgressions and totally understanding of fumbles.

But I'm not. I'm a just girl, and experience has given me certain expectations. I bring certain qualities, good and bad, to my partners, just as they bring good and bad qualities to me. I will get frustrated, I will feel put out when yet another man steps outside of behavior I am comfortable with.

And I will feel lonely when I come back to my apartment and realize that I've opened up to so many people, but never enough. That I'm always guarding myself.

A bit of an emo post tonight. I'm much too tired to attempt to think.

C is already passed out beside me, tangled up in my blankets. It's probably time I joined her.

What a wicked game to play...

"In other words, a man can have any woman, except the one he loves. And a woman can fall in love with many men, but not with the one who loves her."

Soundtrack: Comptine d'un Autre Ete

He never expected to love me.

When we met, at the club, he was open to possibilities, the way a highly competent man is when he is out on the town: not hunting, but aware of the women around him, able to act on opportunities as they arise.

Our meeting was accidental, a slight misunderstanding brought on by a moment of intersecting body language when I stepped in his general direction.

When the club closed for the evening, routine-weary employees shoving the patrons into the street, we stood under a street lamp. My car door was open, I was leaning against the frame, half ready to go, half waiting to be convinced to take him home with me.

He did convince me. With his attitude, his boundless confidence, the smile and those yellow-green starburst eyes.

I took him home.

We walked up the stairs at 3AM, I unlocked the door, and pushed inside.

The computer was running, documents still open with my notes on the large flat panel screen, stacks of papers on the ottoman I had been perched on a few hours prior, debating whether or not I should interrupt my progress to spend the evening with a few friends.

I sat on the edge of the bed, across from the mirrored closet doors, took off my shoes, the knee-high socks, and we began a night where he refused to let me sleep, continued to make my body scream for him until I had twenty minutes to shower and be out the door for previously made plans.

He bought me coffee, kissed me, and we parted.

It wasn't supposed to be more than that.

It wasn't supposed to develop any further.

Fast-forward through the months, through the restaurants, the explorations, the adventures, the clubs, the laughter, the days spent in bed, the hours spent talking. His presence slowly began to mold me into a woman who could do more, be more, than I was before.

I loved him because he had control. He had control of himself, he had control of the world around him. If things were not going the way he wanted them to go, he'd find a way to fix it- whether it was legal or not. Whether it was moral or not.

He weakened me. He would comment on how he was getting in my head, push me outside of my comfort zone, to points of complete rawness as I attempted to cope with a lack of emotional shielding, coming to him afterward, shaking like a lamb, seeking comfort in his presence, even though he was the one who began the process in the first place.

I idolized him.

He ended things, and came back. Repeat. Repeat.

He told me he wasn't relationship material, but he continued to try.

And then he loved me.

He lost focus on projects, postponed them, ran himself ragged, for me.

He turned down parties, booty calls, old lovers, and one night stands, for me.

Whenever we split, the slightest bit of me into his life would weaken his resolve, and he'd be back again, calling me, telling me we should try again. Never quite admitting that he made a mistake.

My alpha male.
My millionaire.
My lover of hundreds of women.
My forty-time over convict.
My successful life-sentence appealer.

I made him crumble. I made him weak.

Rather, his love for me made him weak. Made him human.

His lack of control made me upset and so disappointed. He was a god to me, and suddenly... he's human and much too fallible. Capable of mistakes, capable of faltering. His lack of control over his emotions meant he could no longer maintain his resolve when it came to staying away from me.

How can I respect him? How can I trust him with my emotions, trust him with my safety, the surrendering of my self?

How can I look up to him?

The more I consider this, the more I wonder if anything will be able to repair it. The thought of permanently losing him sends sickness to take root deep into my stomach, but the thought of him coming back to me, telling me he's willing to finally compromise and make it work... makes it seem like he's unable to be decisive, or at least to adhere to the decisions he makes.

And makes me uncomfortable to think of linking my life to his, as we spoke of some months ago.

Perceived masculinity is a tricky thing. It reads like a curse, in a way: forever bound to be locked up inside oneself. Isolated from equal emotional companionship, from true disclosure, the constant monitoring, never relaxing one's gaze from the goals at hand, always maintaining. Expectations pressing on you, knowing that to falter is to lose, and that losing reflects upon you in such a way that undermines identity through desirability.

Do I like this knowledge, that my desire, my love, is not dictated through some cosmic connection, underlying spiritual forces that drew us together?

No, not really.

My love, my emotions, are creations of tiny cues, definitions of masculinity and desired traits that have been dripped into me like an IV by a combination of socialization and biology. My interest is severed when the man drops his cues, drawn away when another is better able to signal his dominance.

I am a moth, flitting drunkenly, looking for the brightest flame.

Tell the northern lights to keep shining...

Last night's post was made under the haze of exhaustion. I was so tired when I was writing that, I barely remembered it in the morning, only waking to know that I had sat in bed for two hours rambling on the keyboard.

Now that I'm not so exhausted, there's things I should have added.

At the club, the guy in the suit came back to talk to me, about an hour after my friend informed him that I was taken and to go pick up girls elsewhere. This guy came back and near chewed me out for not telling him I had a boyfriend. Then he ranted that my friend told him where to pick up girls in the club, and that that all was bullshit, as there were no such social rules that people needed to adhere to (which confirmed that he lied to me, again, when he told me earlier that he wasn't picking up girls, which I already knew, but I hate being lied to), and that he still wanted to know my name, but since I had a boyfriend, it didn't even matter anymore.

I started laughing at him. Not maliciously, but just so amused at the fact that he just essentially told me that there was no reason to get to know me as a person because I wouldn't be available to sleep with him.

He started ranting again, I think about not knowing my name, and I excused myself to go dance. I wasn't going to miss a good song for his asshattery.

So he shouts after me, loud enough that I can hear it over the music, something like, "You don't even know what kinda game you're playing! You don't know!"

Or maybe it was: "This isn't just a silly game! This is more than you know!"

Something about game. And me not knowing something or behaving like I should in whatever social set-up he was imagining.

Then flip to the older guy the next day.

He walks by me and strikes up a conversation about the book I was reading.

This is completely normal. Strangers will approach me and start talking. Extremely commonplace. It's a weird day if I'm out and this doesn't happen.

So this guy comes up to me. Stylish hat, black mockneck sweater, jeans, shoes that weren't really noticeable, so didn't tip me off to anything I should know. Black framed glasses, like mine.

We're at Westwood Plaza, which means money, means Hollywood money, means showbiz, means interesting characters and odd stories, random adventures. I like this. I like wandering around and striking up conversations with people and hearing about their lives and adventures, seeing what type of jobs they do because there are so many jobs I've never heard of in the industry that you never think about, but once you learn about them you start watching movies and TV in a whole new light.

So we start talking. Eventually, he sits down at my table, straight across from me, not in my space at all. Compliments me a few times, about my appearance, my intelligence, my look, my figure, throughout the conversation.

Odd, but nothing uncomfortable. Nothing sexual. Just comments.

We probably talked for an hour or so. He kept asking me questions about my life, about what I did, what I liked to do, working in queries that could turn into transitions of "hey, why don't we go do ------- sometime?" that I made sure to subtly make impossible. We talked entertainment theory, social theory, lifestyles, LA living, standard fare.

He kept commenting on how intelligent I was.

I don't consider myself especially smart. I know, yes, I'm above average intelligence. But... yeah, it doesn't impact. I assume everyone is functioning at my level until proven otherwise, that I'll learn if I apply myself, that everyone can do the same.

So that was weirding me out.

We finally wrap up, I'm ready to head over to my friend's party, and he walks me part way through the plaza and hugs me.

Like I mentioned.

He didn't ask, he didn't offer the handshake, he just goddamn went for it and extended it past the point of social normality and comfortability. And then he fucking did it again. With the kiss on the cheek, with me dodging his attempt at a kiss on the lips. Then he insisted he give me his phone number and that I should call him.

This pissed me off so badly.

I'm very respectful of people's physical space. If someone doesn't like being touched, I don't touch them. If someone has no interest in me, I don't try to change their mind. If I'm having a platonic conversation, I do not fucking try to shift it to a physical/sexual thing at the end. There are social norms to be observed and basic respect to be shown.

What both of those men did was show that there was no respect for my desires, my boundaries, or my time. Which meant no respect for me. There was no "socially accepted" motivator for disrespect, by which I mean I was not dressed slutty (nor do I ever dress slutty), I was not drunk or under the influence of any substance, I was not rude, I was not incapable of intelligent interaction, they had no knowledge of my sexual history that may make some guys go "oh, she's just a slut, no need to respect her boundaries".

I comported myself well, I treated them, at least the guy from Saturday, politely. The other one did not get polite behavior because a) he was drunk and b) he kept touching me without my consent.

So why are they unable to treat me with a standard level of social respect?

This is why my tolerance has gone down. This is why I am now so quick to shut down men with no game when I get approached. At least men with game have life "training" and know the rules.

It feels as though whenever I'm polite and friendly to someone hitting on me, even when I do tell them I'm not interested, bad things happen. Not horrible things, but uncomfortable things. It's almost as if they believe that as long as I'm talking to them, they have a chance. I let the older guy from yesterday know that I wasn't available, but I was friendly and he took advantage of that, possibly disrespecting me because I hadn't shut him down like a "high value" girl would. I've had guys hit on me whose conversation I've enjoyed, let them know I wasn't interested, but we should hang (very much stated platonically), or they should go to whatever thing is going on that I may be going to, or that I need to introduce them to a friend, and yet they still pursue, they still make things awkward, and eventually tend to angrily toss away my friendship because they can't deal with the rejection and cannot wrap their minds around the fact that men and women can be platonic friends.

And I do believe that men and women should be platonic friends because it socializes us to the opposite sex, which makes us comfortable with handling them and helps us in the future when dating/seducing(/"making others uncomfortable" she said bitterly), as well as it allows social networking in the dating scene. So many people meet their partners through their friends, and without those common platonic friendships, such match ups would not occur so often.

Now that that rant has ended, even though I still feel icky from the older guy...

I mentioned last night that my friend likened the things I get out of sex to that which alcoholics get out of alcohol.

It made me think.

Last year, I was finally able to start having sex purely for the sake of sex. No motivators other than enjoyment. It was a break through for me. I was making so much progress and it was so good to finally move past that awful point.

Then, then everything happened. With GV8 and the family. With my life.

Total chaos and instability. Completely wounded and vulnerable.

I backslid.

I backslid into the comfort I get from men, from sex, from desire, from knowing I'm so very good at what I do, exalting in my talents.

Which is something that GV8 mentioned to me, but I did not understand at the time.

When smokers get stressed, they up their intake. If they quit, and stress happens, they start again.

Alcoholics drink all the time, but, from what little I know of it, stress stimulates more drinking, or falling off the wagon. It's what they turn to for the comfort they know they will find.

And that's what I did. Under a period of intense stress and emotional vulnerability, I started turning back to what I knew would make me feel better: sexual contact.

I could rationalize it, say that it's not physically unhealthy like smoking or drinking, that it feels good, that it's a source of cardiovascular exercise, that everyone does it and loves it.

But, to be perfectly honest, and as I'm sure most of you have realized, how I've been acting lately, how I've been wanting to act lately and stopping myself from doing... it's a dependency. It's all psychologically driven manifestations of my hurt and instability.

I would normally be berating myself about this, about being so weak.

But my friend, the one who mentioned this to me in the first place, said to me, in that conversation, "You're a very special girl. You're just hurt."

And he's right. I am doing so well. I am... special, as hard as that is for me to say. Not in a beautiful and unique snowflake way that everyone loves to mock, but I am... definitely a bit different.

And it's not that I'm still so wrecked from my teenage years, though that certainly does impact who I am now and what I learned to do for comfort, it's that I've been in a lot of emotional pain lately from several different sources, with my only stability and shielding coming from myself and the rare times I truly let myself lean on my friends.

This is a new situation. This isn't fall-out from an old one, from unaddressed issues.

That doesn't make it suck any less for me, though the realization does allow me to stop mentally punching myself. I feel like I'm going through withdrawals. Friday night, with my friend, it was almost as if I was talking to a bartender, pleading, "Just a little, just a sip. Just a sip will get me through the night."

Which is better than a whole glass.

And I did manage to make it through the night without doing more than "sipping".

And, even knowing that he was in my neck of the woods today, I did not reassert an earlier (pre-kiss) offer for him to come over, knowing that if he was in my apartment with me, it would be too much temptation for me to handle as tired as I am.

I don't know if I would say I am an addict. That seems so very trite, saying I'm addicted to sex. I certainly don't have a problem with sleeping with anyone who attempts, or getting myself into risky situations, nor do I ever wake up in the morning, look over at my partner, and groan that I did it yet again.

But there is a problem. I have a problem.

I'm not really sure what to do about it, other than wait out the need, hope that I learn other ways of coping with high amounts of stress, break patterns, and become healthier for it.

Suggestions, including that of reading material, are welcomed. I may even go as far as to say needed, as I have no idea what I'm doing.

Amusing postscript: After posting this, I went to go make dinner. So I opened Pandora and went into the kitchen while it loaded. A few seconds later, the beginning notes of a song started filling my apartment, and I nearly fell over. What was it? Massive Attack's Dissolved Girl. How blood appropriate, the lyrics and the fact that used to be a theme song of mine whenever I ran wild on the sex front.

Why am I in at 1230AM on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, listening to the bar across the street rage on?

Let me enlighten you.

But, for this exercise, I've been instructed by a good friend to speak only positively of myself, instead of the constant criticism I subject myself to. So let's see how this goes.

Friday morning rolls around. Pretty tired. Go into work, boot up the box, decide that I should just give in and drop the money for the tickets to a club that's having an event that I really didn't care about, really wish wasn't happening.

But friends were going. And while events mean large crowds and significantly increased door charge, they also mean new faces, new, potentially attractive faces. I can dance, which drops me quite visibly into the "regular" category and since I dance well, it ups the visual value.

So I win all over.

I go buy the overpriced tickets online, text my friends, make dinner plans, power through the day, go through the usual pre-club routine, etc. Dinner, dancing, Taco Bell.

No Taco Bell. That was a movie reference. If you get it, awesome. If you don't, eh.

So, I meet up with my best friend and his girlfriend of four or five years that I've mentioned here before, and they tell me that they're planning on getting married sometime in the near future.

Which concerns me. I like her, but she's completely unaware of her sexuality. She recently almost cheated on him because of this, caused a big issue, they almost broke up, and a few weeks later and he's... clinging to her. This isn't going to solve anything.

Anyhow, get to the club, start making the social rounds.

And then I go down to my usual spot on the first floor, leaving my friends up on the third. Nothing new with this, I tend to keep to myself after my hellos.

Who rolls up on me?

The tall blond in the freaking suit from last time. He's hovering over me, again, like he's Edward and I'm Bella and we're about to re-enact some teenage drama and I'm starting at him thinking, "Fuck, really? He doesn't remember how hard I shut him down last time?"

Then he says, "You're that girl."

"That girl?"

"Yeah, the girl who asked me if I was drunk last time. And I said no. And then you said that I shoulda said yes because that would have excused my behavior."

He remembered. Word for word, he remembered. And he still came up.

Balls. Balls or total stupidity.

So I thought I'd give him a chance, see if he was drunk this time. If he was being ballsy or stupid.

And we chat a little bit, with him leaning into me touching my back, trying to put his arm around my shoulder at one point and draw me into him (which was a quick step back and a "Oh no, no, no, you don't get to do that" scold and push).

Since I'm me, and how I screen for guys is being a complete smartass and seeing how they roll with it and which ones will just hand me my ass (those are the ones to take home, in my opinion), I put him through some mildly light paces before I realize he's not only drunk, but stupid.

And he's nagging me for my name and I'm politely handing him his ass, making jokes that he's not able to keep up with, occasionally apologizing for being such a smartass, but he keeps trying to grab me.

Finally, I tell him that I'm going up to the top floor to dance and next time he tries to pick me up, I'd prefer he'd do it sober so I wouldn't have to deal with the mild guilt of mentally manhandling a drunk. Because that's just sad.

I bolt, and he's calling out after me as I near sprint up the stairs. As much as one can sprint in a mid-thigh dress.

He follows me up a few minutes later, which causes me to grab one of my guy friends and instruct him to place his hands on me and look territorial. Five minutes of that, I assume I've hopefully connected with this sad guy's buried intelligence, and he'll leave me alone.

Such was not the case.

I head back downstairs, dance for a bit, and he's back downstairs with me. He's not following me I think, as much as roaming. And he's trying so hard. I would've sworn he was sarging for the amount of women he was going up to, just powering through them (getting rejected 100% of the time), occasionally going back to talk to this one tall, well-dressed man.

But there is no way, no way that anyone with any small amount of education in game could be that inept after at least three weeks of clubs.

I hope.

So he comes after me again, I tell him that he's a) not getting my name and b) being way too obvious with the amount of girls he has tried to pick up in the thirty-forty minutes I've seen him. He denies that he's picking up girls, tells me that he just likes making friends. Keeps trying to guess my name.

During this period, one of the guys, a friend of mine I've mentioned earlier, joins us downstairs, takes a seat at the bar a few feet away from the aspiring ladies' man and myself. I had mentioned to him earlier how much this guy had been annoying me, cracking jokes and the like. So a song comes on, I excuse myself, dance for a bit.

When I get back, the annoying guy is gone. A curvy redhead is leaning on my friend at the bar, laughing and hugging him, then introduces herself to me and explains that my friend, after I had left, told the guy that he was my boyfriend and, essentially, if he stayed in the area I was dancing in, he'd continue in his failure rate because the girls in that particular room are the ones that are there to dance, not socialize, not fuck.

Which is 100% true.

This wouldn't seem like a big deal to most girls.

However, most girls aren't me.

I totally teared up.

Yes, you read that line right. My eyes got wet and I was incredibly overwhelmed.

My guy friends... I love them. All of them are so wonderful in so many different ways.

But none of them ever stand up for me when it comes to men. I'm the maneater, I'm the shark, I can handle myself. I'm, especially of late, constantly having to shut guys down. When I see someone I want and they display interest, I walk up to them and go for it. I'm the sex queen who no one touches on a mental or emotional level.

They know I can take care of it.

They don't realize how much I squirm whenever I reject a guy. They don't know how bad I feel, even when I'm being a smartass, when I shut someone down. I'm not a bitch, but I do have a way with conversations that... works. That is playful and smart and will keep you on your toes. Most guys, especially when I'm out, can't keep up with it.

And I feel bad. I feel guilty and uncomfortable and I wish that I could go find them the right girl at the club or show or wherever we're at so they don't have to deal with the rejection.

But that's not life.

So this man, this man that I've known for a little over a year, who has asked me out a few times, who has expressed a good deal of sexual interest, who I have spent time outside of clubs with, eating at 24 hour diners while the sun rises on a new day when we haven't even finished with the old one, both of us covered in sweat from dancing, who is such a scene fixture it's ridiculous, this guy stepped in and chased someone off for me so I wouldn't have to deal with it.

Because he's just a good guy. And that's normal behavior for him.

...this, and an additional moment of emotional vulnerability that carried over from Thursday, was why I ended up in one of the side rooms, on a couch, making out with this guy.

Yeah.

And he could kiss. I actually got a little dizzy from one of them, which was amusing.

But I know, I know he'd date me if he could. Relationship.

Which is why I pulled back from him, locked eyes, and said, "This is a one-time thing, okay? This is just tonight. This is not carrying over."

That was, physically, as far as it went. Which is progress for me. No negative criticism. Not doing it. I'm pulling back, this is good. For the extreme emotions I went through on Thursday, with the resulting emotional flow and need for comfort, it's amazing that I didn't just drag him into a corner and ride him silly.

I was talking with a good friend of mine, someone I've known for a couple years. He's, apparently, a fairly famous anonymous blogger. I say apparently because he refuses to give me any information on it. But he can write, I know. And he's calming to me, in his own way.

I mentioned to him my current frustrations. I'm feeling a lack of value because of things with GV8, vulnerable because of some oddly emotionally heavy things that happened with Roman that caused me much embarrassment and self-doubt, instability in my worldview due to what has been going on with my father, and emotional drag because I'm the only person my mother talks to about all the things that are going on and she's cried so much this year and it eats me alive. Combine those things, along with working, school (and the just completed midterms), and the fact that I haven't had sex in over a month...

Sex is how I breathe. Sounds odd, but it's so very much a part of my body functioning. It mellows me, it centers me, it stabilizes me. There doesn't have to be an emotional connection, just the act of sex is calming, lets me get through my day, week, month so much easier.

That seems normal to me.

And then my friend told me that I could replace the word "sex" with "alcohol" and I'd be considered an alcoholic.

That kinda set me on my ass, but he's not wrong.

So, in this combo of use and appreciation, I took a little edge off of the physical and psychological tension I've been under lately with my friend. Hoping, hoping that he wouldn't read more into it than I was offering, that he would take me at my word. That things wouldn't change.

And, in a moment of... God, I don't even know what that was. Probably validation seeking. When we were in a much more public setting, when he was talking to some other people, I walked up to him and just started going at it.

Grinned at him when he leaned down and self-consciously said, "Who all saw that?"

Patted him on the shoulder and said, "I don't know these people. Have fun dealing with any social fallout." And walked off to go dance.

I just wanted to claim him for a minute. Yes, he's my friend and I care for him. But he's also a social pillar, in the scene for so long, popular, has worked, and still works, for various promoters, like he was that night. He's such a good, amazing guy, and while I don't believe a relationship would work out between us, I still wanted that... moment. I wanted to say, "Hey, I might be that serious, aloof girl on the dance floor, I might not drink or smoke, I might not party, and I definitely don't fit in, but this guy, this guy that is so damned amazing, thinks I'm wonderful and desirable."

And I'm not going to criticize myself right now. I know I am mercenary at times, not for money, but, yes, status. That's normal. That is standard female operating procedure and I know I'm not like most other girls when it comes to many social things, but when it comes to sex, I'm the poster child for my sex viewed through evo-psych theory.

I got home at 430 or so, in bed at 5AM.

Then Roman called me at 930.

930. I was sore and tired and confused as to the noise that weird, vaguely rectangular thing on my nightstand was emitting.

This call started off normal, conversation as per usual. About an hour or two in, I suddenly spoke what my brain had been suspecting for a few days, about another woman. Someone established significantly prior.

I hit that right on the nose.

Talk about embarrassment. For me. As I internalize everything. My responsibility, everything is my responsibility. I should have seen that coming, I should've asked, I should not have been flirting and gaining interest when I'm still not sure what is going on with GV8, I should've been focusing on myself like I said I would, I should have not been getting emotionally engaged with someone when I'm still messed up over GV8 and therefore much more vulnerable to such things.

This all played through my head.

Is that negative? I don't think so. It's just what I was thinking. This trying to stop myself from criticizing myself is a bit awkward for me.

Just lots of kicking myself.

Feeling that imbalance that comes when one party is only partially engaged, shifting in value. Makes you feel horrible.

Well, maybe not you. But me.

I felt so low. Just so disgusted with myself, and so used, as more information came to light.

When I got off the phone, another hour had passed. I wanted to curl up in bed and mope, but I had told myself I was going to get off my ass and do what I had planned prior to being stripped raw on an emotional level.

So I drove, still tired and sore from the club, to Westfield Plaza, which is like a condensed version of Orange County, but in Los Angeles. So rich white suburbia. I missed my originally desired movie, so I hit "Clash of the Titans" instead, then sat out in the food court, eating sushi and reading Frankenstein, slowly cheering myself up with good fish, a good book, and good sunlight.

That's when I was unexpectedly approached by a man in his mid-to-lateforties (why, why oh god why is it always the forty+ year olds??) who proceeded to sit down with me, introduce himself, and start talking.

And talking. And talking.

Which was fine.

He fucking grilled me though. Running through all the points you would on a first date, gathering info. Family, education, neighborhood you grew up in, occupation, interests, goals and... oh, yeah, boyfriend? It wasn't that subtle. But, then, most things aren't that subtle to me when it comes to such situations.

That was all fine. I wanted the distraction, didn't mind the reading break, he was decently intelligent so it was an okay conversation.

What I did mind was two things:

1. He repeated himself. Enough to be noticeable. Which made things feel odd.
2. The significantly more major one, when I went to leave, instead of shaking my hand, he went to hug me. And I just went along with it.

And then he held me. He just stood there and held me and tried to do the full body hug and did actually kiss my cheek way too close to my mouth, and then when I went to go, he tried again for the kiss and I was just standing there going, "Oh my fucking god, I want to go, I don't want to be a bitch, I don't want to cause a scene, I wasn't flirting with you at all, I didn't escalate at all, fuck, you didn't even escalate, you just immediately went for it, why the hell are you holding me, I told you I was sorta seeing someone and not dating at all and made that VERY clear, where the hell did my personal space go, why the hell did you go from an okay conversation partner to creepy and gropey as we went to part ways?????"

As odd as this may sound, it's days like today/last night that make me glad that I'm not standardly attractive (blonde haired, tan, model-thin). I would not be able to hang if the standard issue man was hitting on me all the time. I'd go bezerk and kill someone.

So I run away from him and head over to my friend's party, still feeling rather low (and creeped out, yay!).

It took me a little, but as I was sitting on the floor of their living room, meeting new people, having interesting conversations, sharing stories and jokes... I suddenly felt more okay. I've got some great friends, people that unexpectedly entered my life and they're fantastic people that I'm glad to know. There's no motive other than enjoyment of each other's company, we lend support when needed, time when it's open, and caring.

The morning's events that left me so distressed faded.
The man with his verbal escalation at the mall that took on a weird vibe because it was not encouraged, but he continued anyhow, interrupting the conversation with small, physically complimentary comments that made no sense and derailed everything... it still bothers me, but it'll be okay.

I won't be negative here (again), I think I did... okay.

And, my friend is right, I'm really not comfortable with not criticizing myself. I don't know how to do it, it makes me hesitate and stumble over the words.

He says I have to practice.

Wonder how long I can keep it up.

I'm not really sure how I wish to tackle this post. I've got many things to say, and most of them are not related to each other in the slightest.

I'm sick of talking about GV8 right now. I'm tired of the high emotions, of attempting to retain my grasp on my possible life-goals, embarassed that I'm participating in an on-again-off-again relationship, sad that he's gone (again), and in this weird state where I want to cling to the ideal of him, of us, but I'm not sure if that's because I have hopes for him, for us, or if I don't want to deal with the possibility that I actually allowed a pheromone-driven situation influence me so strongly, that what was/is between us is nothing more than biology, that my instincts that he was The One were wrong.

All that, and more, for one low, low price.

I spent a chunk of this afternoon at my doctor's, my legs spread, heels in stirrups. I know, I know, the imagery is something you've always desired. Apparently, my right ovary has formed a small cyst and it's fucking with my female state of being in a painful way. Which meant hanging out at a place that does ultrasounds so I could confirm I don't have some massive tumor crushing my uterus or somesuch.

Which I might. Hopefully not, though. Aside from not keeping myself in healthy athletic shape, though that will be changing soon, I do take care of myself.

Those two things aside, I've got this thing that's bugging me.

One of my best friends is a forty year old man. We've been friends for about a decade now, never any sexual activity, though he's openly desired me for the length of our friendship. He's a fan of open relationships, swinging and the like, and has a solid reputation as a sexually promiscuous soul. People will get warned off him upon occasion.

But he's wonderful.

He has been dating a girl, 28, for around five years now, living together for four of those years. I really enjoy her company, more than most women (though that's not saying a lot, because most women I just don't care to deal with on more than a basic social level), and we occasionally spend time together without him.

She's... young, in her own way. She was raised, as far as I can tell, in a religiou home, but no more religious than the standard Orange County Christian. She uses alcohol to overcome sexual inhibitions, like most girls seem to do when they aren't quiet comfortable in being the naturally sexual creatures that they are. She doesn't quite understand, I belive, the responsibility and respect necessary to be in a healthy relationship.

With all that, I like her. She's a kind and decent person, very caring, very supportive of her friends, very driven to succeed in her chosen field on her powers alone, without stepping on others. She's an animal lover, a writer, always genuinely friendly to everyone, no matter how much she may dislike them.

And she knows her boyfriend has been in love with me for years.
She knows he wants me, she knows he spends time alone with me.

But she trusts the both of us.

Which is as she should. I have knowingly touched a man in a relationship, oh, I think twice now. The first of those times, I was twenty-one, and he led me to believe it was a casual thing. I found out later it was not, and was pretty annoyed. The second of those times was last year, I kissed someone with a girlfriend, wrote about it here because it bothered me so much.

Anyway, she and my friend have entered into the sort of standard, passionless relationship, it seems. Too long together without relationship maintenance needed to keep each other on their toes, keep it going. My friend has submitted to her needs for monogamy (I wish GV8 would do that for me, bleh), and she's content.

Now, why I bring this up and provide this short backstory is because they had an upset late last year.

You see, they went to a Christmas party and she met someone.

I honestly don't know how she went this long without meeting this man. I mean, I was 17 when I met him, on a camping trip, and he was lovely hotness. One of the few blondes I've ever gone for. But he wouldn't touch me because I was underage, and then he married fairly quickly after (though, of late, he's been sniffing around and I've been whacking his nose with a rolled up newspaper because I'm so very past wanting him).

She met him at this party and she lusted. She lusted enough that she went to my friend and asked him to have an open relationship, just so she could bone the hell out of this guy.

Her needs for monogamy in her relationship were tossed aside by her lusts for this man she had just met.

Even better, this man has repeatedly accused my friend of sleeping with his separated wife, helping along their impending divorce.

So my friend's girlfriend becomes distant from him, starts pushing away, starts talking online and on the phone with this new man, goes out for coffee with him behind my friend's back.

This, this is where a point comes in I've been trying to make for a few months now.

She's 28, two years older than me. She's had four boyfriends, her sexual experience/partner count is extremely limited. She met someone new, someone who had a grudge against her boyfriend, and he spun her head, probably on purpose. Intentional seduction for revenge.

If my friend had not stepped in, not sat her down and taken control of the situation, she would have cheated on him. Maybe she did before that conversation happened.

This is what limited experience does. This is social and sexual handicapping. The MRA/PUA movement loves to preach so very much that a girl with a low partner count is less likely to cheat and is, therefore, of more value than a more experienced woman.

Because, of course, more experienced women have no self control, as illustrated by their high numbers.

That is a load. A load of what? Pick something you don't like, and it's a load of that.

What I do agree with is that women with high partner counts, like myself, tend to have some underlying issues. Those issues vary so much from person to person, some of them are manageable and can be healed with time and the right support, some of them are incredibly deep-seated and will likely never quite go away, always having some sort of impact on the mental health of the individual.

I say "individual" because it isn't just a "female" issue. I'd wager that the majority of the PUA/MRA set has very similar underlying issues that prompt their own behaviors towards seduction, manipulation, misogyny, sexual validation, and so on.

People have issues, whether or not they are sleeping around.

What matters is if your damages mesh with that of your partner's.

When I started ranting to my friend about the lack of experience women are expected to have, and the negative outcomes that social handicap has on relationships, he told me that he did not believe she had any idea she had been seduced, that she was not aware of her behaviors. If she had a quarter of the experience I have with men, she would have realized what was going on, and it would not have progressed as far as it did.

This is what happens, if I'm going to draw a quick metaphor:

If you only give a person the most basic of driving lessons, when they are out on the road going about their lives, they will not have the essential knowledge or skills needed to avoid accidents. They'll probably get through their day to day for months without issue, simply by luck, but when another car comes barreling their way, even if they see it, they're not going to be competent enough to avoid getting hit.

I would rather be dinged, nicked, keyed, rear-ended, maybe taken for a joyride in my youth while I'm learning to drive with skill, than be plowed into when I have a boyfriend, husband, or even family in my car when I'm older.

My friend could have lost his relationship because of her naivety. He's not a PUA, he doesn't specialize in maintenance, he's just an average guy, like most men on this planet (hence "average").

If women are continually shielded from their sexuality, infidelity is to be expected. Temptation, passion, these girls don't have experience in it, don't know what is causing these feelings, only that those feelings are there and they don't have the experience to control them. Marry your high school sweetheart, marry your second or third sex partner, and you've got a life that is open for temptation because you've never gotten a chance to establish yourself, to learn what sex is.

Personally, I haven't cheated on a boyfriend since I was sixteen.

And it is not because I haven't had offers, haven't been tempted, haven't had the opportunity. I have. I just choose not to take it because I know that passionate, but meaningless, sex is nothing compared to a good relationship. Because I have that experience. Because when a guy tries to trick/trap me into a situation, I've already cockblocked them, because I know the signs, I know their moves, and I know that there's nothing there worth it.

I've been tested and I've been true.

I may have a high partner count, but I've come out clean, come out better for it. I do not urge others to follow my example, but I do wish that it would be recognized that a lack of experience and the suppression of female sexuality does have infidelity repercussions, as much as evo-psych theorists love to claim otherwise.

You don't need to turn to scientific theory to justify why you desire a mate with a low partner count. Your search for validation of your wishes is unnecessary, save for argument's sake. So what are you trying to prove?

I found myself thinking of the weekend to come at work.

Seeing GV8 on Saturday, a whole day together.

I dance at his feet like an over-excited puppy, begging for attention and to be let out for walkies.

Totally true.

We all have our weaknesses.

I realized, when we were talking last night, that the man I went out with on Saturday and GV8 are similar. Not in the ways that count, not the ways that matter to me, but... they both shave their heads, they both are around my height, they both are in their forties, they both have partner counts well into the hundreds (400+ for GV8, 300+ for my nameless Saturday date), they both used to host and run adult parties and swing clubs, they both are sexually dominant.

I did not do this on purpose.

In fact, when I first started talking to Mr. Saturday Night, I did not know most of these things about him... they only came up in later conversations.

So, what? Have I specialized myself for excessively sexually experienced dominant males in their forties? Is this it? Weekends full of sex parties and the like? I can't even imagine that.

I'm... yeah. To be with GV8, I would give up a lot. I have given much, offered even more. Body, heart, mind, on a platter.

I'm lucky he loves me. I'm lucky he gave me so much of himself, even though we finally hit that dealbreaker stage of the three M's, as he calls it: marriage, monogamy, munchkins. Marriage and monogamy I could work with a lack of, munchkins... we both knew I could not. Being around him made me want to breed, made me want to create the amazing children I knew our combined genetics would be capable of.

So, Saturday we are spending the day together. We were too busy this last weekend to see each other, and I missed his company terribly. I know when we do meet up, we'll likely not let go for awhile.

And he's thinking of me, missing me. I know this, I see it.

A lot has been rolling around in my head today, about sexuality, about rarity, uniqueness. That everlofted need to be an individual, to express oneself as irreplacable, to preserve that ego of self. Of men, of women, and the damage we do to each other on a social level.

I do not like being told that I am undesirable. No one does. I find it... annoying isn't the right word, but close enough, how many men feel the need to tell me that I'm doing it wrong, that my past has spoiled me, that because I did not exhibit control when I was younger, I'm doomed to cheat on my partner, doomed to a marriage with a man I don't desire, so desperate for that provider as I age and lose my looks that I'll have to settle with the only men who will take me.

Have I ever been average? Have I ever led a normal life?

Hardly.

Do men find me desirable? Yes.

Wait, wait, even after they get to know me, after they hear my track record, do they still push for dating, push for the relationship? Yeah, they do.

Do my male friends regularly fall in love with me, something I find incredibly awkward and painful, and still haven't quite learned how to handle well? Yeah.

Have I, with knowledge gained from the seduction community, managed to flip my usual one-night stand occurence from men that discount me for "putting out too easily" so often to men that continue to call, text, and email, to the point of annoying the hell out of me? Yes.

Do my male friends' girlfriends ever worry about me trying to make a move on their men? No, there's perfect trust, even with those who asked me out before they asked out their current girlfriend.

Have any of my boyfriends ever worried about me cheating on them, ever accused me of touching another man, even though three-quarters of my friends are men, a chunk of those I have had as lovers, and I still spend time with exes? No.

Am I the go-to person for relationship, seduction, and sex advice, the impromptu counselor for sexual trauma and damage, among friends and acquaintances of both genders? Yes. Regularly.

Have I taken the time to work with my male friends who have sexual issues, body issues, or general comfortability issues with the opposite sex, to the point of sleeping with them, showing them what to do, how to do it, so they could, hopefully, go on to a healthy relationship, or at least start working through their issues? Yes.

Do I really think that my sexual history makes me an undesirable figure, that I will end up in a sexless marriage to a member of middle-management, cheating on him with young hot things, because no self-respecting man would have a whore like me?

God, I hope not.

I don't pretend to know the future. As I am now, definitely not. But things change, situations change. As has been recently illustrated, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

There are men that try so hard to stuff down the idea of sexual liberation.

And I do not think what is going on now is at all sexually liberating, only a mass of angry, damaged people trying to reclaim what they feel is theirs, bitter against the opposite sex. It's an extreme reaction.

So many things are viewed as threats.

I'm pretty enough, possibly beautiful when I try. Alluring, mysterious, I've been told. Whether that's true or not, I'm not going to guess. I don't find myself mysterious, only a little complex.

I make some men incredibly uncomfortable. Usually the mainstream set of men that are trying so hard to be "manly" alpha males. Not the pick-up guys necessarily, but the guys that are struggling with themselves, with their insecurities, mimicking what they think masculinity and self-confidence look like.

They react in anger, if I don't manage the situation, if I don't play sweet and cute while still laying it down for them.

I am not the ideal woman for the masses. I appeal to a certain set, a set that is next to impossible to find. It takes a certain kind of man to be comfortable with me, to not feel like I am challenging him, like he has to live up to some sort of standard I set, especially sexually.

But my guy friends love me. The more they get to know me, the harder they fall, until I'm sitting there near praying that they get a girlfriend so I don't have to find myself in another awkward social situation.

I'm a sweetheart, a mama's girl.

Yet I'm told I'm defined not by my life actions, but by my sexual ones. That what I do in bed is more impactful to my future than what I will do out in the rest of the world. I do believe that most of the world is not composed of bedrooms, but I could be wrong.

It is not my character that counts, but how often and for who I spread my legs.

Gotta love that demeaning terminology.

I'm a consumable commodity. Every time I sleep with someone, part of my limited value is scraped away, like a knife taken to a stick of butter. By the time I reach thirty, I'll be left with one greasy dish and a soulless, wrinkled husk wandering Los Angeles, drool escaping from the corner of my mouth as I moan "Provider... providerrrrrrr..."

Mmm, delicious brains. Er, I mean, mmm, delicious beta males.

I have never claimed to be aware of what is going on around me in regards to current events or drama. I do believe it was three days after the disaster in Haiti that I first heard about it.

So I'm a bit behind, if I ever even bother catching up.

What recently was brought to my attention, though, was a mini-feudish type-thing going on between two bloggers, one being, of course, a PUA. I'm not going to bother to link to multiple sources, you can do your own research if you so desire. And I'm not going to say I know the details or either of the bloggers, or that I've really taken the time to read either of their blogs, because I haven't.

That's my disclaimer for you.

From the initial post on the topic and the subsequent comments, it seems as though the female blogger was picked up, quickly seduced, shagged, shagged some more, traveled across state lines to, again, shag some more (and travel), and in all of this, she discovered that the man she was banging was a successful pick-up artist.

When he cut ties, she freaked and shot off an angry email.

People flooded into the comment section, declaring crazy-bitchness. Drama, drama, and more drama ensued. The identity of the female in question was revealed. Madness, cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria, etc.

If I had been her, I would have done exactly the same thing.

She's a perfect product of the sexual values that we support. Thirty-one years old and has slept with only six men (including the blogger in question).

Defending herself against accusations of slutiness?

She did not have the experience, the education in men and sex, that one needs to navigate these waters competently. She did not understand her desires, did not understand how he gamed her, and put herself into an incredibly bad situation by traveling into a country where she did not speak the language.

(RULE#1: Do not under any but the most extreme circumstances, put yourself in a position where you are reliant on a male who has sexual interest in you. Immediately you imbalance the relationship in his favor by placing yourself in a position of weakness that is easily exploited, at minimum, on an emotional level.)

She was crippled, crippled by living up to the expectations of women set forth by society.

She did not know how to play the game.

So she lost. Badly.

Embarassment, shame, public humiliation, feelings of greatly diminished value.

The way she was raised, the way she was taught to act, the way we, as women, are all taught to act, allowed sex to be used as a weapon against her on an emotional and social level.

And she reacted. Oh, boy, did she react.

(RULE #2: Don't react. Anger is a show of weakness, a show that you've been injured. The best weapon is polite disinterest and, if you're able to do it, friendliness on a purely social level.)

Half of the world's population is at a purposeful disadvantage. Half of us are raised to be weak, to be easily taken advantage of. We are mocked, we are scorned, when we step outside of that weakness, when we reclaim our sex.

Why do we continue to cripple half of our population?

I remember the first time something similar happened to me.

I was 17. His name was Patrick. I had been ineffectually working on him for months.

Imagine me, 17. Still blonde. My hair was ratty, always with split-ends, overlong. I'd wear vintage jeans with the seams split at the side and some colorful fabric inserted to give me bell-bottoms, along with too-tight vintage shirts from thrift stores and overpriced boutiques. Gods, I was even tan.

I was in college, as I had started when I was 16, skipping my senior year. He was a senior in high school, 18.

After months of pursuing him, I finally got him in bed. I had been so excited, snagging the loner male of this particular social group I occasionally spent time in.

Imagine my disappointment when he ended up being ridiculously small. Barely fit across the palm of my hand small (which I've only seen one other time). But I still wanted him, still was game, still wanted to claim his body as mine for an evening.

Later, talking within the group, I found that he had informed them of our fucking, and that I was "as loose as a goose". (That's a phrase I still hear inside my head and cringe, by the by.)

I was completely flabbergasted. I did not mention it to anyone who knew him because I felt bad for him, because I did not (and still don't) identify my partners publicly without their consent. And he had gone ahead and told everyone, and then blamed me for the lack of tight fit?

God, I was pissed. I was embarassed and hurt. I immediately lashed out, informing them that he how small he had been, how anyone would have felt loose being paired up with something that little. The hurt was compounded because I had wanted him for so long, had actually had a crush on him (as opposed to simple lust) and felt like we had bonded on the lead up.

After that, things started falling apart with that group, socially. The other men started trying to sleep with me, assuming since I was so "loose" I must be a slut and therefore they'd have to put in minor effort. At that time, I don't think I had even broken the 10 partner barrier. Once I started rejecting my loving suitors, I was awkwardly shoved out of the group.

These are things you learn. These encounters will stay with you, will trigger signals in your brain that you aren't even aware of that will guide you in your future choices.

It's a refinement process. The more exposure you have (and I don't simply mean sexually) to different types of men, the easier it is to navigate, the easier it is to survive. You learn what roles you are able to play. I found out quickly that I fell into a masculine dandy role, that playing that part allowed me access to the type of men I believed I desired, and once that access was gained, I was able to filter for which were actually desirable.

You learn not to react. You learn to roll with what is tossed at you.

And when you get played, you know what to do.

You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. You know that when a man takes the time, puts in the effort, to seduce you, especially when he has gone to such lengths to learn how to do so, that you're being complimented. You're worth that effort. You're desirable, and all that education is being directed your way (at least for a short period, if you don't know how to handle him).

You know that sex is only sex, and that there are going to be people out there more experienced than you, that will blind you and use you and the best way to react is to know that you've learned something.

Embarrassing situations are going to happen. You are going to get hurt. You will find yourself doubting your own value, you will find yourself suspecting all men of less-than-honest intent. People will badmouth you whether or not you deserve it. People will label you as a slut if you're more experienced than they think you should be, or a prude if you don't put out "enough".

Whatever "enough" is.

If you're not acting in the way people think you should be acting, you're going to get assigned a negative label. You'll likely get harassed and hounded until you give in and alter your behavior or until you own your sexuality.

I've slept with around 70-80 men. Basic sex, vaginal or anal. Both with several of them. If we go into oral, I can't even guess at the number. Probably running around 150 or so. Which, in my opinion, isn't bad at all. My friends make fun of how easily I get men, how often I get asked out, how open I am about sex. I've a constant cycle of attention paid to me, and when I'm running a busy schedule, it's not unknown for me to have three or five men I'm sleeping with regularly, along with others I simply date.

I cannot think of a single time anyone has ever called me a slut, whore, skank, or other sexually derogatory term to my face, other than friends in jest (or men in bed, which is, of course welcome). No one who knows me challenges me, and as years pass and I come more into my own, it is unlikely that anyone ever will.

It's not because I'm aggressive about my sexuality. I'm certainly not in anyone's face about it, verbally or physically. My clothing is always reserved and mellow, elegant for nights out.

It's because I'm comfortable with myself. Because I believe that, without a doubt, what I have done and what I will do is perfectly fine.

When a girl like the blogger in question gets into a situation like she did, her reaction is due to a discomfort with her sexuality. Is due to how she judges herself, how others judge her, and how much she lets that impact her.

Let's play with the situation. PUA picks you up, you do the dirty a few times over the course of whatever period of time, you travel to his home country to visit and see more of the world, and he's an ass. And then he tells you not to contact him again after the trip.

You break down everything he did. You break down your desires, you break down what happened, why you did things that were out of character. You learn. You mentally shake hands with him, acknowledge that it was well-played, that you were outplayed by someone far superior in knowledge of a tiny sector of the world and you realize that it's going to happen again, in other ways. You accept it, you integrate it, and you move on.

In the future, you will do better.