Source of Safety

The other night, someone with whom I have heavy dance floor flirtation with, said to me, after squeezing, hugging, and rubbing up on me, "I feel so safe with you".  He is in a sexually monogamous relationship with a woman, and has several women with whom he shares intense connections. With me, it is dancing and heat; we don't talk much between the two times I see him at events. Clearly I fall into some other category with him, and perhaps he for me as well. But I don't use that phrase, "I feel safe with you".

The first person I can distinctly remember saying they felt safe with me was my now ex-wife, however it is certainly likely it happened before, very early in our relationship. This has continued in many forms, often from people I am sexually intimate with, as well people who would never really dream of crawling into my bed.

Far back when my ex-wife said that to me, I felt honored, special, given her trauma background. I thought I had something unique, at least in her eyes. I thought it might even be a type of gift. Now I am not so sure. It has become a source of painful humor to me; it is more than once that a straight woman has said to me that if they were ever to sleep with another woman, it would be me. The first time, I thought, perhaps I should be honored, the next time I wondered why me, after that it became a running irony in my life: the safe, sexy lesbian. In the scheme of things, it's not the worst designation one could have, and they aren't all straight woman who will never act on their vague urges, they are just a distinct category.

How did I become the shore of safety for so many people in what they seem to see as a dangerous sea of sexuality? I have no idea, and sometimes, like the other night, I wish I wasn't. It feels like a barrier from getting down and dirty, primitive with people. I wonder if my ability to communication my boundaries, or fuck, to even have boundaries, and in turn respect theirs is what inspires this response with people. For me, more often in the past, the lack of knowing someone allowed me to let go better. Now, mostly, I have to know people a bit more. Is that a matter of safety, or more thoughtfulness about needing to like the person a bit before hopping into the playground with them. I think the latter. Unless I am in an unsafe situation, I don't need to know how safe I would feel with you for my other vulnerabilities, the ones that feel much more fragile than those involved in having sex with you. If it's not going to be some sort of ongoing relationship, then yes, I need to know you are trustworthy, perhaps that's my translation of "safety".

The idea of emotion safety is one I understand but I find people expect it from all sorts of places. Once, during a discussion of what it means to be safe, someone spoke of feeling safe is not the same as feeling comfortable; that safety isn't always comfortable. Since that time I have often wondered when someone has said that something: a guideline, someone else's expression of emotions, an event, "makes" them feel unsafe, I wonder if what they mean is that it is disquieting to them. What has also come to my attention is the vast  majority of people who say they don't feel safe are women. This greatly concerns me, especially when it is said during a display of strong emotions - done verbally. It is a repeated pattern I have seen even in women who say they have not witnessed or been involved in intimate partner violence; this could be a result of vicarious trauma from our society, which if true is a horrible statement of the state of affairs. Also it brings to mind the inheritance of the old rules that women don't get angry, that we have no way to get mad other than to cry so that when someone, usually a man, "explodes", the response is for some women to feel unsafe. How sad for the women to feel so afraid, disempowered, and how sad for the men to not be heard and held in their emotions.

This thinking brings me back to the other night, when that man told me how safe he feels with me - it is very infrequent I hear men discussing safety, especially in the vein of their sexuality or sensuality.  Now, perhaps I do feel honored that he was able to say that, in complete openness, knowing it would be held. Of course he had no idea what it would raise for me, because I would bet he would think someone would take that as a compliment - a long time ago I probably would have only taken it that way, but now it cause ripples of memories, of questions about what really constitutes safety and how different the definitions and expectation of that state can be for each of us.

I was really, really, really, craving sex earlier today. While I was driving this morning it hit me like a ton of bricks.

No idea what brought it on, other than it's been a bit of time, though really not all that long. Perhaps it was the rainy weather, I find that type of rain, especially in the fall, to be seductive, leading to cravings of time in bed with someone. It feels a bit different than a rainy day in the spring, maybe it's the slant of light, or the color of the trees just turning at the edges of their frame. The drive for time in bed with someone has a different vibration, more serious, a heavier quality - not somber but less gleeful nonetheless.

While reflecting on this I started to think about sex in general in my life. Mostly I thought of how I have never gone for very long without time with a lover, whether a lover for the night, the month, or year. In the last 20 years, as I recollect I have not gone with sex with another person for more than a few months, maybe six? Mostly I think this is good, perhaps excellent but sometimes I wonder about those people who conscious choose to go without partnered sex (or even perhaps solo!) for a period of time. Is there something I could gain from such an exercise? What would it be? Is it something I could really use? There have been many other times when I have wondered this but I could never find a way to argue myself into making this decision. It could be that like some of us are really good at math, and others are amazing artist, some of us are destined to learn their lessons with periods of celibacy and then there people like me.

For better or worse the craving was submerged since there was nothing I could do about it for at least several hours and truthfully, I really prefer my sexual activity to be with someone. Here again I wonder if there is something I am missing by not treating myself like my own lover, could I learn even more ways to make myself orgasm? Really? It seems like there are quite a few already. I am fairly familiar with my nooks and crannies. Though I am well endowed there is no way I could ever begin to tend to my nipples with my mouth the way that I most crave. I already know how I like them licked, teased, sucked, and nibbled on, the only thing that perhaps I could do more is instruct with greater detail and encourage to my partners. I do not need to further woo myself to learn those things.

Isn't terrible the way we think there is always something else we should be doing rather enjoying what we know and love. Judging ourselves for being different from someone else's ideal which has nothing to do with how we live and thrive. Rather sad and a waste of energy. Perhaps that is the lesson I need to learn from these musing - I know myself well, I do not need withdraw from sexual activities to become more in tune with myself or a better lover to myself and others. What I want to do is just simply have sex more, continue exploring, letting go even more, unshackle any remaining negative message that run around in my brain for the things I like, things I want, or the fantasies I have. Is one ever truly free of that? Betty Dodson or Tristan Taormino maybe? I suspect even they, in quiet moments deep inside still have questions, still have to push out other voices in their heads.

In the meantime I will wait until I am home again, in the sanctity of my little apartment to indulge in some release and mark off the days until I can ravage my beloved. 

Changes in Behavior, but not Labels

Really life continues to spin in ways I would have never imagined.

A huge change is that I've been "seeing" a guy, as in a CIS boy. It's been over twenty years since I have had sex with a guy. Seriously. Over the years, in theory I thought, sure, I could do that again. But then I would really start to imagine it and, well frankly I would get turned off. I mean, not having to deal with balls all these years has been awesome. Getting to play with breasts? Fabulous beyond belief. And the loveliness that is the cunt. So, yeah, not into playing with boys except My boy, and there's not that kind of sex, just bdsm play.

But then I met him, or rather got to know him since I had met him a few times here and there. It crept up on me suddenly. I let him set the pace because he is so much younger and this is not the type of power play I'm into. For goddess sake, for all I knew, he was a virgin (thank goddesses without husbands, that was NOT the case).

One thing that has been unusual is that it didn't feel as foreign a landscape; not like going home either. However it did feel like a whole new playground in a way, everything that is quintessentially male about him is amusing, cause for giggles and exploration. For all my tricks, experiences and badassedness, there were, maybe still are, ways that I feel like a beginner all over again. Which is humbling, playful, and a bit compelling. For quite some time I would play with his cock, not during sex and just experience the texture, the flexibility, laugh when it moved on it's own. Silicone dicks just don't do those things. Plus, he's not circumcised; never had one of those, at least not that I can recall. That foreskin adds a whole other layer (as it were) of things to explore and toy with. Kind of a cool thing to finally experience that. There is still a learning curve for me in trying to determine what works on a cock. At this point I know the basic plus some (really quite a bit) when it comes to exploring a cunt, but I feel like I need to do some reading, or take a workshop (me!? in a sex workshop? I used to teach them, I still could, as long as it didn't include much about cocks and prostrates). It doesn't help that my guy is a tad on the quiet side. He's not very vocal during sex, very intense but doesn't say much, nor outside the carnal activities when it comes to talking about what he likes, or would like to try. Some things come easier for him to talk about - but techniques with his cock? He's rather quiet, though clearly states that he's happy with my skill set.

So after using lesbian and more recently queer, I find myself looking straight in a new way to the world. I have never passed for a dyke, except when walking with my sweeties, who have all been on the butch end of the spectrum. But now, I really, really look straight. But I'm not. In fact I don't feel particularly different either. I don't feel bi - despite some "friends" insisting on foisting that label on me. I still feel queer, still desire women, oh hell I miss being sexual with women. Sometimes a lot. Several months ago I had a luscious kiss with this chick I know, one I've been attracted to, and just that little bit of lip action stirred something, woke an urge. Nothing I have to act on right this minute, but it was a reminder of what I didn't have going on. He and I have talked a little about this; he shared his fear that there was something he couldn't offer me, that he was lacking. It was so sweet, no pretense about being male as the ultimate; it felt like truly respecting an elemental part of who I am, about my desire.

Only now is it beginning to chafe a bit, being more invisible than I have been in a very long time. It reminds me of when I first came out and no one saw me; finding women to take me seriously as lesbian was a struggle; having to out myself, hoping I wouldn't be mocked because of my hair, make up, and soft, flowing clothes. Yes, it's a different world in many ways now, and there isn't a lot of surprise when people learn I have spent most of my dating life with women (once in a while there is surprise I'm sleeping with a guy), but I don't want to be seen as a woman who has "dabbled" with other women, I don't want to be labeled straight because it's how things look. At the same time I don't want to feel like I need to explain my history in order for people to see me, well as me. I am still trying to figure that part out. Yes, yes, it doesn't really matter in a way, people will learn about me, as they get to know me, blah blah blah.

But you know what? It does matter. In some way that is hard to define, I want to be seen completely. I want people to know I don't usually sleep with men, that never before have I dated someone younger, that I don't do patterns, that I am not what I look like. I am what I am inside, I am my identity - all that's visible and perhaps even more, what is invisible.

Scents of death and love

It struck on our second time together that her breath smelled like death. I am not sure why, even more I have no idea when it stopped smelling like that to me.

The first time we met in person we both traveled to Vegas to consummate the heated conversations being enjoyed, and sometimes endured, over the ethers of the internet. Somehow I did not notice it then, perhaps the smells of the casinos, the rich food along with the convergence of nerves and passion dulled my senses. That weekend was like nothing I had experienced because I had never fallen in love over electronic media before; in fact I had until then I scoffed at such notions. In the excitement to please me, she had purchased a harness and a dildo or two - things she had never bothered with before. The toys were nice but her being unable to keep her hands off of me was much more compelling than fabric and silicone, though they were nice. The entire weekend there was a hum running through my body, like the buzzing of fluorescent lights - annoying, compelling, and a bit scary. During our time together I had this sense that all was an illusion, that she would disappear after creating all this emotion in me, that somehow I would be left bereft.

Six weeks later she came to California where we caroused around the hotel room like drunken college students who had just discovered they could have sex without sneaking around. And that's where it hit me, every time we kissed (which was frequently and with wild abandon) her mouth tasted like death in mine. I thought perhaps it was because she smoked cigarettes, a flaw I had decided to overlook. But I had kissed other smokers and not had the taste of mortality rolling around my tongue.

As I said I don't know when I stopped smelling it, or if something changed in her. What I do know is that I reflected on that memory our entire relationship and what it could have meant. Given the hells I descended into during our time together, it was hard not to see it as foreshadowing. Being with her ended my other long term relationship because in time I realized that there were irreconcilable issues in it and though I was tempted to end both, I chose to pursue the new relationship. Being with her I drifted into dire poverty which resulted in a move to a red state where I never had any desire to live.

In the end, leaving her was my phoenix moment, rising from the ashes of constriction, isolation, and reuniting with myself. Somewhere that death scent became the pathway of my rebirth.

So much better than what I wrote!

Many moons ago I write a crappy essay on this topic. I never published it here because I knew it was lacking. Now I find a lovely, bright, clear piece that I am happy to link here!

What's Sex, over at Scarleteen (a site I wish I was bright enough to work for!)

You Scored as Switch (((Note: This quiz is not totally comprehensive because of the length such a quiz would be. I kept it sex-based because I felt that psychological profiles and motivations were too complicated and vary too greatly among people that practice BDSM.))) You know what you want but it has nothing to do with your own role in the bedroom. You have the ability to be flexible in that area which can be useful for exploring you sexuality with your partner. Switch 93% Sadist 79% Dominant 71% Experimental 68% Bondage 57% Exhibitionist / Voyeur 50% Submissive 32% Masochist 29% Degradation Lover 25% Vanilla 11%

Cherished

The word that comes to mind the most, now that I have spent years considering the draw of the “daddy/girl” dynamic, is cherished. It is the thing I most missed with my biological father, with both my parents really. Other women who talk with great affection about their fathers seem to give off this energy that their fathers’ really cared for them, about them, were happy to be their father. It is that encompassing, emotional, psychological cloak that acts as a sword, as a veil, as the soothing hug always available as one moves through life that I miss.

For years, decades now, the sexual nature of father/daughter fantasies have been present, have worked to turn me on, I’ve acted out variations of seductions in my head, with a partner, reference it using words to evoke some deep-seated erotic space in my head. Written stories of this theme have been a guarantee to taking me over the edge during one handed reading.

Quite a while ago I acted out scenarios for the first time with a lover. Initially it was great fun, very sexy. One in particular - a daughter of somewhat indeterminate age (a recurring theme but in my head I (she) am mid-late teen who had never met her father until now and was very attracted to him, and I seduced my “father”. Sometimes it was the reverse as both have a powerful resonance for me. Soon after, the relationship disintegrated into an abusive relationship where in the last three years we had sex three times. This was also a time when I had my first and only flashbacks of apparent sexual abuse – perhaps by my father but everything was unclear. This lover used all of this against me and would literally and figuratively poke at me about me being messed up because “your father fucked you” (I have no memories of any such thing and still don’t know if he ever touched me physically but he certainly psychologically molested me and was inappropriate.) She went from being playful and thoughtful about my desires and experiences to mocking and cruel. I suppose it’s no wonder I never really went to any great lengths to really enact any of these fantasies for so long.

Later, with my next partner I eventually whispered the word “Daddy” at the height of passion. It was not rebuffed but actual serious role play was not her strong suit. Well that’s not totally true but it was of a different nature, the daddy stuff wasn’t as much of a draw for her. We had lots of fun and saying things like “come for me daddy” did work. But what I realized over time, mostly unconsciously with hindsight being nearly perfect, is that the reason I didn’t go deeper with her is because she could only wear what I was looking for and not inhabit it. We played with it more and said a lot of the right words but something was missing.

In the time before and during my relationship with her, I spent time looking at this dynamic on the web and struggling with my thinking about all it. There were people who talked about it in this other way, one that was more about being taken care of –something I resist and crave. As I said, I always knew the sexual piece, it was the rest that I hadn’t put together – the deeper, less sexual nature of daddy/girl was what I really wanted and needed to resolve.

I spent years making peace with acting out my possible abuse at my father’s knee or another male’s hand using fantasies whether in my head, in a book, or whispering the words. It was my way of reclaiming what happened (no matter what plane it existed on); I think this is why both sides, me as the seduced or as the seducer have so much power for me.

This new concept of being someone’s beloved baby girl was much scarier for me ultimately than wanting to act out incest. I resisted even as I read peons to this relationship. The threads on butch-femme.com about “orphaned little girls” do not resonate for me, I felt no affinity for these women. People who do deep age play clearly were looking for something different, maybe it’s a more visceral recreation, reenactment of what they miss or craved in their childhood. So many possible things but I still wasn’t finding anyone who really named what I wanted.

Ultimately I realized I craved cherishing, the sense of being taken care of – something my childhood lacked, in so many ways. This idea is in total opposition to my fierce desire of taking care of me, of not needing someone in that way in my life. I am the caretaker, how could I want someone to do that for me? So as I moved slowly and half unconsciously to this self knowledge, I also knew there was no way my last partner could do any of that, even as she claimed she had been, could be a “daddy”.

Why I associate all of this with a father and not a mother is hard to say and I’m not sure it matters much except that as a person who identifies as a lesbian who primarily pairs with women who at least look if not gender id as butch, it all seems to match up for me. It’s nothing I feel drawn to delve into – all the variations of gender expression, sexual identity, societal expectation of parental roles along gender lines, etc, at least not in this essay.

Working through months of trying not to leave my partner and knowing I had to, I think this subject was one of the things that were brewing to full knowledge at the edges of my brain. In the wily ways of the universe, it has granted me with someone who might be able to do all those things, and more. We are talking about it, playing with terms of endearment that follow that road and it feels very heady. It is an interesting time to have this person drop into my world. This is a time when I decided to be on my own, made a firm decision to not move in with anyone, possibly ever again. A time when I have no firm plans, no true home address. It seems in contradiction that at this amazing time in my journey, when I am carving out a new path and to find someone who might cherish me, care for and about me in this way, regardless of the labels applied that I have clearly desired for a very long time. In either case, I am tentatively dipping my toes into this dynamic, which for convenience I call daddy/girl. So far, and it’s very new for both of us, it feels good, it feels like a piece of the way I have wanted to be treated in an intimate relationship forever. I have no idea if it will heal anything, minimize scars and or fill empty spaces of my life, but I will embrace the positives of it and keep an eye out for the negatives.