hard to love
I mentioned in an earlier post that I am difficult to love. And I am. On one side, I am a polished professional woman who holds her own in the state's highest office of one of the three branches of government. I am offered jobs out of the blue within my industry. I speak several languages and I can talk at length on just about any topic.
On the other hand, I have ravenous sexual appetites that, let's face it, really do not distinguish between genders. Hedonism is hedonism. I prefer men. But I'm an anything goes kinda girl. I love that perfect blend of pleasure and pain. If you watch big tits porn movies and joke, "why haven't I met a woman like that?" it's because you never met me.
That is a very hard balance for today's American male to deal with. Since I came into my sexuality as a teenager, I've been pigeonholed into two categories: braniac or slut.
I fell in love once. With J. I believe he truly loved me (J, if you're reading this, feel free to weigh in). But we were 19; what the hell did we know? We had different pasts and different futures. I wouldn't have even spent the summer with him if I wasn't about to leave the country for a year just a few months after being introduced to him. But he was a playboy and in high demand. I did not see myself as beautiful or unique or even that my intelligence was an advantage back then. All I know is that he made me feel like a goddess who was worshipped - and I only treasured that fact because he KNEW me. And he loved me anyway.
But like I said, it went bad. God, I was so afraid of losing that feeling. I compromised in so many ways. I thought about throwing my entire academic career in the trash so I wouldn't lose him. He at 19 was not the kind of man any woman could hold on to. I left for my year in Europe. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. It was a hard year to begin with, it being very lonely over there, especially in comparison to the American collegiate system, but much harder with my heart in the states with J. There was some misunderstanding in November when the Berlin wall fell. In his eyes, I "disappeared" with a guy for a few days. In my point of view, I went on a road trip with a friend to grab a piece of history. J abandoned me in his anger. I went nearly mad with not knowing what had happened. When I finally got back to the states he was with someone else.
I swore I would never go through that again. Because, of course, it wasn't over there. Every subsequent relationship was less valuable because a chunk of my heart still belonged to J. Maybe I blamed myself. Who knows.
Every other man I'd ever been with wanted to change me somehow, or felt I wasn't "life partner" material. Until I met my husband.
When I pursued X2B, he had a couldn't-care-less attitude about me. I found that simply infuriating. No one had dared to take that tone with me. I pursued him and caught him. It was about the sex (in fact, I cheated on my shoe-in-marriage-proposal senior year lawyer-to-be boyfriend with him). X2B and I shared the similar backgrounds, the same goals in life, some of the same interests. But I still contend that from his friends, he knew about me and my past exploits. Hell, I even seduced him into sex on the roof of his fraternity house on a busy weekend night on campus.
Then it gets complicated. I was the third woman he had been with in his entire life, and all had pursued him. I didn't see the red flag inherent in that for years to come. As we were dating and becoming serious, my brother pulled my family into some serious stuff in his life that we pretty much stayed wrapped up in until he died in 1999. I had a strange side effect from some medication that affected me psychologically for a short time. X2B was with me for all of that. My family liked him. And he seemed to accept me for the way I was.
My parents will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary next year. Their relationship has always awed me. It hasn't been perfect, and I don't know how my dad puts up wtih my mom sometimes. I don't know how my mom puts up with my dad sometimes. But I saw that passion fades and friendship endures. Many of my relationships ended with me getting so disgusted with my partner, just spending time with him, grating on each others' nerves. X2B wasn't like that. I could see my parents' relationship in ours. Of course, we were only 23, so having the relationship of 50-somethings is not really good.
The one real warning sign I should have seen was around the time we got engaged. There was a party, and he got drunk. He tried taking off my clothes in front of everyone. I wriggled away from him and he got mad, started cursing, chased me up the stairs. I locked myself into his bedroom, then his bathroom. He flew into a rage and punched a hole into the door. The next day, he didn't believe any of what I told him. If he hadn't had three witnesses confirming my story, he would have denied it all. He hasn't really gotten drunk since then. But I should have seen the anger signs then.
So why marry someone who wasn't one of the loves of my life? J, would you like to fill my fair readers on the subsequent events of your life after I left in 1989? It was nothing I'd want to partake in, nor would he want me to have shared. We all go through our growing pains before we find we can't really LIVE together. Long and short of it is, in X2B, I thought I had found someone who loved me, who accepted me for me, who would share my long-term visions, who would take care of me, and yet, who I wouldn't feel that painful desperate passion for. I didn't think that my not having deep feelings for him, which he was too logical to really have wanted, was important. It seemed like a win-win situation at the time.
Ten years of difficulties and our own paths of change have taught me differently. Now, who knows whether it would have ended up differently if we had been deeply in love at one point. Maybe it would have, but just would have been more painful to recognize. I don't know.
Oh, and one last note, CCE, please don't confuse sexy high-heeled shoes on women with discomfort. They're only uncomfortable if they don't fit right, or if the woman's legs are not properly toned to wear them. I frequently wear three-inch-heels all over town for a day of sightseeing. I never wear under 3 inch heels and never wear uncomfortable shoes. Of course, I do get pursued by men with shoe fetishes quite frequently. At the last software developers conference I attended, no fewer than ten strangers commented on my shoes/legs/feet each day.
Wow, that was a huge departure! Time for beddie bye for me.
On the other hand, I have ravenous sexual appetites that, let's face it, really do not distinguish between genders. Hedonism is hedonism. I prefer men. But I'm an anything goes kinda girl. I love that perfect blend of pleasure and pain. If you watch big tits porn movies and joke, "why haven't I met a woman like that?" it's because you never met me.
That is a very hard balance for today's American male to deal with. Since I came into my sexuality as a teenager, I've been pigeonholed into two categories: braniac or slut.
I fell in love once. With J. I believe he truly loved me (J, if you're reading this, feel free to weigh in). But we were 19; what the hell did we know? We had different pasts and different futures. I wouldn't have even spent the summer with him if I wasn't about to leave the country for a year just a few months after being introduced to him. But he was a playboy and in high demand. I did not see myself as beautiful or unique or even that my intelligence was an advantage back then. All I know is that he made me feel like a goddess who was worshipped - and I only treasured that fact because he KNEW me. And he loved me anyway.
But like I said, it went bad. God, I was so afraid of losing that feeling. I compromised in so many ways. I thought about throwing my entire academic career in the trash so I wouldn't lose him. He at 19 was not the kind of man any woman could hold on to. I left for my year in Europe. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. It was a hard year to begin with, it being very lonely over there, especially in comparison to the American collegiate system, but much harder with my heart in the states with J. There was some misunderstanding in November when the Berlin wall fell. In his eyes, I "disappeared" with a guy for a few days. In my point of view, I went on a road trip with a friend to grab a piece of history. J abandoned me in his anger. I went nearly mad with not knowing what had happened. When I finally got back to the states he was with someone else.
I swore I would never go through that again. Because, of course, it wasn't over there. Every subsequent relationship was less valuable because a chunk of my heart still belonged to J. Maybe I blamed myself. Who knows.
Every other man I'd ever been with wanted to change me somehow, or felt I wasn't "life partner" material. Until I met my husband.
When I pursued X2B, he had a couldn't-care-less attitude about me. I found that simply infuriating. No one had dared to take that tone with me. I pursued him and caught him. It was about the sex (in fact, I cheated on my shoe-in-marriage-proposal senior year lawyer-to-be boyfriend with him). X2B and I shared the similar backgrounds, the same goals in life, some of the same interests. But I still contend that from his friends, he knew about me and my past exploits. Hell, I even seduced him into sex on the roof of his fraternity house on a busy weekend night on campus.
Then it gets complicated. I was the third woman he had been with in his entire life, and all had pursued him. I didn't see the red flag inherent in that for years to come. As we were dating and becoming serious, my brother pulled my family into some serious stuff in his life that we pretty much stayed wrapped up in until he died in 1999. I had a strange side effect from some medication that affected me psychologically for a short time. X2B was with me for all of that. My family liked him. And he seemed to accept me for the way I was.
My parents will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary next year. Their relationship has always awed me. It hasn't been perfect, and I don't know how my dad puts up wtih my mom sometimes. I don't know how my mom puts up with my dad sometimes. But I saw that passion fades and friendship endures. Many of my relationships ended with me getting so disgusted with my partner, just spending time with him, grating on each others' nerves. X2B wasn't like that. I could see my parents' relationship in ours. Of course, we were only 23, so having the relationship of 50-somethings is not really good.
The one real warning sign I should have seen was around the time we got engaged. There was a party, and he got drunk. He tried taking off my clothes in front of everyone. I wriggled away from him and he got mad, started cursing, chased me up the stairs. I locked myself into his bedroom, then his bathroom. He flew into a rage and punched a hole into the door. The next day, he didn't believe any of what I told him. If he hadn't had three witnesses confirming my story, he would have denied it all. He hasn't really gotten drunk since then. But I should have seen the anger signs then.
So why marry someone who wasn't one of the loves of my life? J, would you like to fill my fair readers on the subsequent events of your life after I left in 1989? It was nothing I'd want to partake in, nor would he want me to have shared. We all go through our growing pains before we find we can't really LIVE together. Long and short of it is, in X2B, I thought I had found someone who loved me, who accepted me for me, who would share my long-term visions, who would take care of me, and yet, who I wouldn't feel that painful desperate passion for. I didn't think that my not having deep feelings for him, which he was too logical to really have wanted, was important. It seemed like a win-win situation at the time.
Ten years of difficulties and our own paths of change have taught me differently. Now, who knows whether it would have ended up differently if we had been deeply in love at one point. Maybe it would have, but just would have been more painful to recognize. I don't know.
Oh, and one last note, CCE, please don't confuse sexy high-heeled shoes on women with discomfort. They're only uncomfortable if they don't fit right, or if the woman's legs are not properly toned to wear them. I frequently wear three-inch-heels all over town for a day of sightseeing. I never wear under 3 inch heels and never wear uncomfortable shoes. Of course, I do get pursued by men with shoe fetishes quite frequently. At the last software developers conference I attended, no fewer than ten strangers commented on my shoes/legs/feet each day.
Wow, that was a huge departure! Time for beddie bye for me.
posted by midfreds at
2:55 AM
