it’s been almost a year since i’ve written anything for f.u.c.k. I assure you it’s not for the lack of interest — however my own undertaking of my own ‘zine has forced me to concentrate more on it than on writing for other people.
however, sometimes there are things that need to be said — and can be in a more anonymous voice than in public forum, i choose f.u.c.k. to fill that void.
today (it being that i’m still up and technically, it is monday morning) is valentines day, and Justin and i had made no plans other than to open up the bottle of Tatteningers that we had bought new years eve and splurge ourselves on cool whip, pound cake, and strawberries.
after x-files was over (which i haven’t watched in nearly a year, nor do i really give a flying fuck anymore about all the closure on the conspiracies), i went and lit some candles in our bedroom and proceeded to straighten up the bed. i shooed Killer away and got out all of the ingredients. Justin popped open the champagne and we poured glasses of the bubbly. carrying our concoction of gooey eats, we sat in the field of our queen sized bed chowing down, tossing it down with the champagne. i stopped in mid-chew and realized that if we ate our full share of this sweetened mess, that neither one of us would want to have sex. why? because we would be feeling sick to our stomachs due to the sweetness of the desert as well as the bubbly which we were un-used to. i put my bowl down and waited patiently for him to finish. once he did, we laid down on the bed and stared in to each others eyes. after almost a timing of two minutes, we started to kiss and 38 minutes later, he was ripping the condoms off and flushing them down the toilet.
the sad thing is, i had commented to him about how sex felt “planned” and he keeps giving me this story about how he tries everyday (he does) and that i don’t have to do anything if I don’t feel like it (i don’t). but sex should be filled with SPARK and passion — and sadly enough, i don’t feel that with Justin.
i remember when we first met and how sparky it was. then it dissolved into that sisterly-brotherly feeling i had the first time around with him. i was sure he was different in that aspect — sparks tend to ignite flames that die out quicker. a slow burning flame tends to last longer and preserve under more conditions.
for the last 8 months, I’ve been consoling myself with that fact — that my love for him (yes, i do love him) is deeper (true) than many of the mens that have tip-toed through my tulips. however, I’m neither excited nor depressed about him. i know what he likes and how he likes it — there is no varying to our relationship.
at first, we claimed our inhuman schedule was the culprit in why we weren’t getting enough sex — being up at 5am and lasting till 9pm. by the time we were both home from work and i had done all the nit-picky things that needed to be done around the house (I’m too domesticated for my own good), i was too tired to even think about anything more heavy then sleeping. then the schedules changed — and we started fooling around on weekends — but that very precious thing called sleep calls to me. i sleep on the weekends on the average of 10-13 hours a night. during the week, I’ve got a thousand and one things to do other than have sex — thing like filling out college apps, filling out financial aid forms, getting my affairs in order that won’t be done by themselves. throw in the fact that both roommates o’mine tend to be complete slobs, so someone has to make sure that everything is done in the house. oh hush you, I’ve tried the whole “going on strike bit” and doesn’t work.
I’ve tried everything under the sun to lighten the mood, to relax, to make him feel comfortable. to make him not so stuck in his rut (he only likes it missionary and maybe me on top if it’s a good day), but he likes NOTHING. Save me, basketball and ice cream. everything else can go to hell. he mentions no friends, no other interests other than learning Linux, which i have to take over because his painstaking skill at doing a simple command kills me.
the irony of going from one extreme (living with someone who was apt to be wearing my clothes and being called Kelly and only getting off when images of naked men danced before his eyes) to the other (re: Justin) is irony in its own behalf.
I’ve been spending a ton of time with TJ on talk figuring things out. TJ is not only gay — he is definitely a girls best friend. I’ve spoken to TJ about my predicament (he was one of few to be sure) and he started throwing ideas out on how to loosen Justin up — BUT NOTHING WORKED! I’ve tried the whole flashing of instructions, to moaning rightly to everything in between and I’m about ready to start drawing diagrams (which, rightly, would be called force diagrams. thank you fizics.) to show him the point — but I’ve (am) losing it. I’m only 26?!?! I don’t want to spend my life with someone who is sexually incompatible with me.
(“I don’t want to hurt you” Damn Portishead.)
the predicament is this — and what i thought was the problem — was that i love Justin wholly and completely, but I am not nor was i ever, in love with him. this is a tough bit to swallow. I’ve thought of this through and through — i cannot nor will i ever be with someone who cannot nor is willing to try to meet my needs. (Zinny is lying on top of my monitor! argh — cute cats are the death of me!)
I’ve now had both ends of the spectrum: men who fulfilled my sexual needs with barely touching my emotional needs and now mens who fulfill my emotional needs and not touching the sexual ones.
some people have said worse of me for thinking this — but what the fuck. Again, my whine/bitch has been and always be “it’s about me baby!” cos dammit, if i don’t speak up no one else will. same played out words, but dammit, it’s true.
but you are thinking to yourself — what if the problem isn’t the mens you keep finding, but you yourself?
trust me, i’ve thought about this through and through so many times my damn head aches. but, here is an example:
christmas break 1998, i fly home to Michigan. i meet up with ex-fiancee Danny and sparks are a flying. one night when are in taco bells drive-thru after drinking with some friends at a bar, i grab him and kiss him long and hard. i was too excited beyond words. we pull back, breathless, and he says “do you know what you want?” and i quip “yeah. and it’s not food.”
the whole week i was in town, i saw Danny nearly everyday. i knew he wouldn’t have tried anything (unless i provoked it — damn me) — him being the respectable person that he is, but! i knew the signals were flying left and right. being next to him i wanted to rip my clothes off and do 1000 and one things to him that have NEVER crossed my mind with Justin. Danny is a decadent type of human. as a present one year, he got me a collar. i would have NO problem being led around on it by Danny, with Justin it’s like asking for (“In to your arms” -The Lemonheads) the biggest favor in the world — like donating a kidney — and the guilt i feel for asking him to do such things is worse than actually doing it.
one night, Danny, myself, sherry, and ben were sitting in BW3 drinking. Danny and i were trying -really- hard not to paw each other in public — and just looking into each others eyes thinking about how we could torture each other sexually. Ben quipped “when is the wedding?” and Danny and i laughed because we were handfasted in the summer of 97.
people say that love, being in love, isn’t just about sex. and i can’t agree with that. i think love is about what i describe, wanting to give yourself (mind/body/soul) to that person till you’ve completely exhausted every possible thing. i think that love should allow yourself to lose oneself in that person without fear/shame or attrition.
i asked Jericho the other day (why o’ why is it so goddamn safe to flirt via email/irc/phone then on phone?!?! don’t give me fear of rejection crap, i’ve got an ego bigger than the state of california to believe that) if it were possible to find the perfect man: you know, someone mixed with all these attributes (naming names)? and he said “yeah.” or some such — and the problem was i got so freaking depressed because i dunno if it’s going to happen! i mean, the Rolodex is getting filled and while i don’t feel like i’ve dated everyman in the state of california (hence why i left Michigan 😉 it’s beginning to feel like that they are all stereotypes here. they don’t show anything CREATIVE that catches my eye — it’s the same old shit, just a different day.
if you meet a 6′-ish male, goatee, born in the early 70s, into astronomy, books, music, computers, writing, bod mods and other decadent shit – can you send him my way? also include sense of humor, deep voice, full lips, and a healthy sized ego.