Sexing - a tender distance
Sex can be boring. Fun times are great. Intimacy can be rejuvenating. Sex can involve intimacy and fun times, and it can do neither.
Choose accordingly.
There are alot of open relationships out there; there are almost as many monogamous ones. And then there are some that are dead either way, and no matter what it seems to come down to sex. It comes down to individual relationships with sex, about what it means and where it goes.
I have been amazed in finding out that my relationship with sex is not complete. There are still points of discomfort in an otherwise very comfortable sphere. And those points have nothing to do with positions or roles or actions, but in terms of relationship.
How we interact with sex often comes via how we interact with people. How did we deal with the people we fuck? How do we deal with being very very close for a moment and then seeing that he's going to fuck someone else, sometime. Or that he's fuck someone else in the past.
How we deal with sex often is determined or determines how we deal with people, namely ourselves.
There is a boy, and he has always been there, fucking all the boys I fuck. He's like a month of the year. You forget about it but it's always there waiting. You forget about it, but then you turn over a date on the calendar, or a new name at a party, and there he is, he has always been there.
It used to bug the shit out of me. Knowing he was waiting somewhere in the moment, with his qualities and features contrasting mine. Sometimes I'd try to push him out of my memory, other times I'd deny he existed.
And then after a while I just stopped. I accepted as fact instead as threat. And it has been interesting, because when that time of the year comes around where his name is everywhere, I chuckle and try to remain.
I try to remain, because it isn't entirely ok, it isn't entirely forgotten, the comparisons are still inevitable. But I try and mostly succeed.
Look, it's impossible in the world as it we find it to be the only one who has ever been there. We'd hate to live in a world where every one is virgin and nothing ever grows. And yet it is a small world, and fluids change hands - experience is shared, with at first the two in the bed, and then the two previous and the the heavy hitters who always lurk.
And it's past and future - there will likely be future lovers, in spirit or in flesh or even just in mind. We don't live in a vaccuum and so neither does sex. And you got to be deal with it - not just with the occasional threesome, or the partner swapping, or the room filled with folks who at one point have seen each other naked, or any of the many many variations exist out there but also the intimacies: the friend who is a really good friend, the one that you used to have a crush on, the one that you let go and often reconsider, the one you can't sleep with even though you know you could, the one you can't invite home, the one who can't invite you home - there is a host of sexual nonsexual but kind of intense interactions, and they can all overwhelm you.
Unless you opt out, but I can't. It wouldn't be me to sit at home and wait out my life because it's too complicated to negotiate the in's and out's of the in out. Getting older means accepting that hugging this boy that you played with a few years ago who you really like but maybe not entirely in that way even as he always wears his pants wonderfully just so but still you push him in the direction of someone you think he'll like will always make you feel a little uncomfortable, as you go about your days and look forward, strangely, to being told later how it went, and you don't really need to know because you know well enough how it normally goes, but still you wait to be told, be reminded, that you aren't alone in all of this but you also aren't a part of every little dance.
But it also means that living openly means, well living openly, and not hiding the parts of you that are prone to discomfort. Because, in a shocking bit of divine mischief, the parts of you that most make you uncomfortable are the only parts worth keeping out in the open. Sex is great when it's not boring. It's revelatory and revealing, exhilarating and exhausting, fulfilling and frank, and to make it not boring, means letting it occasionally slip into uncomfortable.
Choose accordingly.
There are alot of open relationships out there; there are almost as many monogamous ones. And then there are some that are dead either way, and no matter what it seems to come down to sex. It comes down to individual relationships with sex, about what it means and where it goes.
I have been amazed in finding out that my relationship with sex is not complete. There are still points of discomfort in an otherwise very comfortable sphere. And those points have nothing to do with positions or roles or actions, but in terms of relationship.
How we interact with sex often comes via how we interact with people. How did we deal with the people we fuck? How do we deal with being very very close for a moment and then seeing that he's going to fuck someone else, sometime. Or that he's fuck someone else in the past.
How we deal with sex often is determined or determines how we deal with people, namely ourselves.
There is a boy, and he has always been there, fucking all the boys I fuck. He's like a month of the year. You forget about it but it's always there waiting. You forget about it, but then you turn over a date on the calendar, or a new name at a party, and there he is, he has always been there.
It used to bug the shit out of me. Knowing he was waiting somewhere in the moment, with his qualities and features contrasting mine. Sometimes I'd try to push him out of my memory, other times I'd deny he existed.
And then after a while I just stopped. I accepted as fact instead as threat. And it has been interesting, because when that time of the year comes around where his name is everywhere, I chuckle and try to remain.
I try to remain, because it isn't entirely ok, it isn't entirely forgotten, the comparisons are still inevitable. But I try and mostly succeed.
Look, it's impossible in the world as it we find it to be the only one who has ever been there. We'd hate to live in a world where every one is virgin and nothing ever grows. And yet it is a small world, and fluids change hands - experience is shared, with at first the two in the bed, and then the two previous and the the heavy hitters who always lurk.
And it's past and future - there will likely be future lovers, in spirit or in flesh or even just in mind. We don't live in a vaccuum and so neither does sex. And you got to be deal with it - not just with the occasional threesome, or the partner swapping, or the room filled with folks who at one point have seen each other naked, or any of the many many variations exist out there but also the intimacies: the friend who is a really good friend, the one that you used to have a crush on, the one that you let go and often reconsider, the one you can't sleep with even though you know you could, the one you can't invite home, the one who can't invite you home - there is a host of sexual nonsexual but kind of intense interactions, and they can all overwhelm you.
Unless you opt out, but I can't. It wouldn't be me to sit at home and wait out my life because it's too complicated to negotiate the in's and out's of the in out. Getting older means accepting that hugging this boy that you played with a few years ago who you really like but maybe not entirely in that way even as he always wears his pants wonderfully just so but still you push him in the direction of someone you think he'll like will always make you feel a little uncomfortable, as you go about your days and look forward, strangely, to being told later how it went, and you don't really need to know because you know well enough how it normally goes, but still you wait to be told, be reminded, that you aren't alone in all of this but you also aren't a part of every little dance.
But it also means that living openly means, well living openly, and not hiding the parts of you that are prone to discomfort. Because, in a shocking bit of divine mischief, the parts of you that most make you uncomfortable are the only parts worth keeping out in the open. Sex is great when it's not boring. It's revelatory and revealing, exhilarating and exhausting, fulfilling and frank, and to make it not boring, means letting it occasionally slip into uncomfortable.