Sunday, October 26, 2008

crushes: the danger that lurks

I got an email a few days ago from my friend Waspy. A cry for help. Waspy is my well-to-do, white, yuppie friend from law school who works at a big firm and lives in the suburbs (the most elite Portland suburb, in fact) and has a husband and a kid and in-laws and the whole, mainstream thing. In a lot of ways we're very different, but we've managed to forge an unlikely but strong friendship that has lasted into our post law-school lives.

So I got this email from Waspy asking for my "expert" advice about a crush. She's had a very safe crush on an older guy at her firm for nearly two years now. It's "safe" because it can't possibly ever go anywhere, there isn't the slightest risk or danger of anyone taking any action, so she gets to enjoy it even as it tortures her. It's a sort of guilty pleasure she indulges in, like ice-cream for lunch. It's harmless.

That's not what she needed advice about. She needed advice about a *new* crush, a crush that is not so safe...

Unfortunately she didn't give me any more info than that. All she wrote was that this crush has "the possibility of going somewhere..." -- which, she claims, she really doesn't want. "But on the other hand..." she writes cryptically. And that's where she leaves it.

She didn't want to give any more details on email and we weren't able to meet up for drinks before she left for a weekend firm retreat in Washington, presumeably WITH the crush-guy, but who knows. The best I could do was text her the advice "be careful" on her blackberry. She texted back "I will." I guess we'll see.

A year ago, in the same situation, I would've been vicariously thrilled for Waspy. She's been married to the same nerdy guy for nearly 20 years now. The thought of my frigid little Waspy going up to Seattle and getting crazy with some hot guy from work would have tickled me to pieces. You go Waspy!

But that was then and this is now. NOW, I just feel vicariously anxious about the whole thing. I used to revel in the excitment and scandal that crushes involved. I used to indulge in excessive crush-behavior and I would have urged Waspy to explore her feelings, take risks, do what she had to do. That was before I came to accept the reality that I have terrible boundaries. All my crush-mongering was just immature rubbish -- avoidance, melodrama, projecting.

Now I recognize that crushes are not these magical blessings from the universe that have to be treasured and explored and fully exploited. Crushes can be fantastic inspiration when viewed through a different lens, but the way I treated crushes in the past was nothing but sexual opportunism. Some kind of romantic permissiveness not only allowed but practically required me to throw caution to the wind and risk everything to follow every urge and impulse.

Now I see crushes as flirts from the universe, pulls in certain directions with a deeper significance than sex. A crush can be explored psychologically, can be taken inside and examined: am I attracted to this person because I want to be more like them? I want to have things that they have? Is this crush telling me I want to grow in a new direction? Crushes don't have to be about connecting with someone sexually, they don't have to be a threat to existing relationships.

When I look back at my former relationship with crushes, I see that I allowed myself to engage in a whole host of voluntary crush-behaviors. Some examples of crush-behaviors: indulging in fantasies about the object of the crush, engineering interactions with the object of the crush, subtly communicating your interest to the object of the crush, and ultimately creating situations in which the crush can move to the next level: adultery.

Of course crushes and crush-behaviors can be fine if you're single or in a non-monogomous relationship. But if you're trying to be monogomous (and for some of us it definitely takes effort), you can't just let yourself run willy-nilly into crush-behavior. It's a slippery slope and if you're not careful, you'll find yourself tumbling in a big crashing heap to the bottom where you will probably land alone.

My advice to Waspy, if we're ever able to finally sit down and talk about it, will be to tell her husband. Am I crazy? Keeping it a secret from him will continue to enforce for her the idea that it's her own little private indulgence, it will give her the ongoing sense that there's nothing wrong with tending her fantasies and keeping them alive. It will drive a deeper wedge between her and her husband, it will invite resentment and contempt and maybe -- am I being an alarmist? -- maybe it will speed her in the direction of cheating.

If you want to stay married, if you think of your relationship to your partner as your primary, number-one, important relationship, you can't keep those kinds of secrets. You have to talk about it. Telling your partner about the crush is a new kind of crush-behavior: it closes the door on the object of the crush and opens the door back up to the primary relationship. It says "I know you're not going to like this, but you're my person, my one-and-only, and I will make myself vulnerable to you now by sharing this feeling and then we can process it together. Even if it's painful, it keeps things in the family.

I know from plenty of experience that secrets and lies can only end in destruction in relationships. Crushes can and must be managed responsibly, good choices must be made, or relationships will suffer and eventually end. This used to be a risk I was willing to take and eager to watch others take. Not anymore. Maybe I've just gotten old...

Saturday, August 23, 2008


Surfing YouTube a few months ago for episodes of South Park, I found a really hilarious and surprising video of Butters singing "What What (In my butt)" -- which apparently is an actual song that other people besides me have heard before. I was amused and scandalized, and so enthusiastic when I saw Mera later and told her all about it, but Mera, who works with precocious queer youth at a drop-in-center for that population, just rolled her eyes and "Oh *that* -- the youth were all over that, like, two years ago..."

Well it was news to me. I guess I'm a little behind the times...

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is to introduce the topic of anal pleasuring. I don't have the time to devote to a full post about it right now, but it will be my next topic for exploration. And to prepare you all for it, I have created a new poll to gauge my audience's proclivities and preferences on that topic. Please participate, and feel free to elaborate in a comment. Then keep your eyes peeled for the blisteringly awesome post that will (eventually) follow.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

home sweet home

Sorry I fell off the planet. Mera and I spent the first of the month moving from the tiny studio apartment and into the not-so-tiny house that Mera has owned for 8 years. It's a long story why Mera was living in a studio apartment instead of her house when we met, but I won't tell it now. We're still working on unpacking and setting up the place, but Mera pulled her soas muscle again and that's knocked her out of commission these last few days.

I'd like to say she pulled it with all the hard work we've been doing in the house: all the heavy lifting, all the tedious manual labor. And I know that was definitely part of it, but the straw that broke the camel's back was the fucking. Woops. Sorry sweetie. Fucking when your soas is already a little tweaked is, it turns out, a pretty bad idea. It's a good thing I don't mind waiting on her hand and foot...

Anyway, I promise to write more as soon as things get settled down a little more and as soon as Mera's back in action. Getting laid helps keep the creative juices flowing... especially where this blog is concerned.

Friday, August 1, 2008

it's a small (awkward) world

Mera and I are moving this weekend and I took today off work to pack and start cleaning. I've got soooo much to do, but instead of jumping right in, I'm going to sit here for a few minutes and blog. Because blogging sounds a lot more fun than packing and I just haven't had time to do much of it lately.

So Mera and I might have a "sex bed" made for us. I have fantasized often about having a bed specifically constructed with sex in mind. It could have any features I want: bars to hold onto, rings for attaching bondage gear, special drawers for the toys, a headboard with shelves and hooks for lube and accoutrements. The possibilities are endless.

Mera and I got this idea last weekend at a picnic in a nice sunny park with all Mera's coworker's from the queer youth organization where she works. Someone was leaving, there was a going away picnic, and we all convened on a North Portland park for bbq and daytime drinking. It was obviously a fun time.

We were sitting for a long time chatting with one of Mera's oldest coworkers, Xena, when the sex bed topic arose. Xena's girlfriend is a woodworker, among other things, and in the nine months they've been together, they've started building sex beds for people. The bed they made for themselves is probably their fanciest yet and Xena told us about it in great detail.

Which was cool, but also a little weird, because unbeknownst to Xena, I already know her girlfriend and their bed. Biblically...

I met Xena's girlfriend, Sam, last year online during my "swinging single" phase. I met a lot of women during that phase and had quite a good time. Sam was a quiet, brooding rugby player of the overly-masculine variety and I had a very brief fantasy that she would become my big, butch "boyfriend" and use her woodworking skills to help me build my own kayak. We went on three dates: the "meet 'n greet" coffee date, the "real" date in the evening at a nice restaurant which is when we made out for the first time, and the "seal the deal" third date, which ended with a roll in the hay, that is, a roll in what would eventually become her and Xena's "sex bed." (For the record, she and Xena weren't yet dating when I had this experience with Sam. They met shortly thereafter.)

My experience with Sam ended on a sour note. She's got terrible social skills, though she's quite good at getting the ladies into bed. She turned just enough charm on me to get my clothes off, but otherwise, she was a dud. In the end, the sex was anticlimactic and she emailed me the next day and informed me that, in her humble opinion, my hymen was probably still intact (because I protested her immediate insertion of three fingers into my snatch without any warning). Unfortunately, she informed me, deep penetration was her favorite thing about sex, so having sex with me wasn't really gonna work for her. Sorry.

Sorry indeed. It was a disappointing and humiliating experience to say the least and it never occurred to me that, nearly a year later, I'd find myself sitting in a park, hearing stories about her from her new girlfriend who was utterly clueless about the whole thing. And Mera forbade me to tell her! I felt so weird, sitting there listening to Xena open up and tell me things about her relationship, I found myself right on the verge of saying "I know," when she would divulge some juicy info about Sam. It felt so wrong to keep quiet, but Mera insisted that it wasn't my place to "out" Sam like that, that the information had no value to Xena and that it would be more inappropriate for me to bring it up. I trust Mera's judgment, so I buttoned my lip and kept up the charade.

Now it looks like we'll probably have Xena and Sam make a sex bed for us. This promises to be as awkward and disastrous as any Seinfeldian misadventure. I have vowed to steer clear of Sam and to conduct all the sex-bed business through Mera. I am horrified to imagine the moment when Sam and Xena walk in and Sam and I are "introduced." Will Sam say "hey... don't I know you?" Will she react clumsily, will she gasp or stare? Or will she play it off like we're really just meeting for the first time?

Or will she not even recognize me or remember fucking me last year?? After all, she's a total player, she probably fucked a lot of women last year. Maybe she can't keep track of them all?

I just don't want to have to look Xena in the eye and say "Yeah... sorry... that whole time you talked to me at the park about Sam...? I knew all along who she was. Ha ha. Small world, huh?"

Monday, July 21, 2008


Ok, meet my REAL new best friend, the Laya Spot. It's the awesome ergonomic vibrator I got to replace my old standby that finally kicked the bucket. I know I said the Lonestar was my new best friend, and it's true that he and I are very close, but I have a feeling it's the Laya that's really going to be there for me when the going gets tough.

Anyway, the very helpful and awesome woman at the sex toy store was unwilling to effusively recommend the Laya because it doesn't hit her clit hard enough. She's a woman who needs intense clitoral stimulation to orgasm and, fortunately, I am not. Which made the Laya a perfect fit. I brought it home and tried it out and let me just tell you: it works. I like the way it spreads a diffusion of vibration all over my labial area without completely destroying my over-sensitive clit. I also like the varied power-settings. It is very easy to crank up a notch... and up... and up.

However, once you pass the highest setting, it begins a program of pulsating vibrations that I haven't yet had a chance to fully explore. I imagine they will seem kinda moot to me. I don't know why, I just don't think they'll work for me, but I'll be sure to let you know.

What about you guys, any new toys? Any favorites you'd like to share with the class? I'm all ears.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

and now for... the REST of the story!

**Yes, both my blogs have the same title today. Pleasant coincidence...**

So... it turns out Vicodin is really good at masking the pain that might, say, accompany being fucked by a massive, silicone cock...

I neglected to mention in my glowing review of the Lonestar that I had taken a Vicodin almost an hour before the toy came on the scene. I took it for back spasms I've been having since my extreme kayaking trip that ended last Monday. I don't have a prescription, Mera just happened to have one pill laying around and she gave it to me for the pain and... then... well...

The Vicodin worked so well, and I was so excited about the new cock, I found myself engaged in some seriously strenuous and nearly acrobatic manuevering that certainly didn't help my back in the long-run but that was extremely enjoyable in the short-run.

Unfortunately, while I loved every minute of it and was chomping at the bit to go at it again the next day, I failed to take into consideration the role of the Vicodin in all that hot, steamy fun. It's a powerful painkiller, for christ's sake! It couldn't help but dull some of the natural pain response that might be generated by getting fucked by something enormous!

I learned the error of my ways the next night when we used the Lonestar again, this time without the aid of Vicodin. I mean, I'm no dummy, I knew the med probably made some difference, but on the second night I had taken a muscle relaxer prescribed by my doc for the muscle spasm, and I thought it might have a similar effect on my poor little body. I was wrong.

It wasn't exactly miserable, but there was *definitely* pain this time and soreness afterwards. Oh well.

I still stand by this toy as a favorite, I'm just realizing that I wasn't as ready for it as I thought.

How about you? Those of you who use dildos, have you tried this VixSkin stuff? What do you think? Despite the role of the Vicodin in smoothing out the bumps in that first ride, I still believe the VixSkin is a lot more user-friendly than regular silicone. It's softer, warmer and somehow more exciting. What do you guys think?

Sunday, July 13, 2008

two thumbs WAAAAAAY up!

Meet my new best friend, The Lonestar. This much better picture will, hopefully, give you a better idea of the glory that is my newest toy.

This is a Vixen product made from ultrarealistic Vixskin silicone material that feels as close to the real thing as you could imagine. I've wanted to try this stuff for awhile now and I have to say: I'm a convert. As a "born gay" or a "puro" depending on who you ask (in other words, having never actually fucked a guy) I barely know what the "real thing" is supposed to feel like and that's certainly not a concern of mine.

However, the Vixskin feels sooooo much more organic than regular hard silicone. It's got a soft outer layer covering a much firmer inner core. I don't need it to feel like a real cock (which it does), I just want it to feel like something that should be attached to a human, not a hard hunk of cold plastic.

One added bonus to the Vixskin is that the extra layer of soft makes it very, very easy to take. And let me tell you, there is a lot of this monster to take. It's a very comfortable insertable length (six and a half inches), but the diamter is one and seven-eighths, just under two inches. That's fat, people. Really fat... for *me* at least...

I don't know what came over me -- Mera and I have been slowly working our way up to fatter and fatter cocks, but this one was off the charts. We popped into It's My Pleasure yesterday to replace my vibrator (which finally died after nearly seven years of steady service) and we spent some time fantasizing about potential new cocks. I was mesmerized by the proportions of the Lonestar, and very intrigued by the Vixskin, though it seemed too fat to imagine using.

For some reason, though, the pull was very strong. We didn't buy it yesterday, but I kept thinking about it. At some point in the middle of the night I made up my mind to get it. Mera had a two hour study-date today, so after I dropped her off at her classmate's, I drove straight back to It's My Pleasure and snatched it up. Of course I immediately texted Mera "I got you a present..." and I was thrilled at what a surprise it would be.

She, of course, was beside herself when she saw it. She's been wanting to get a big fat cock inside of me for awhile, but she's had to settle for relatively little guys. This one seemed like the mother lode! I made a grand pronouncement that I was going to give her head tonight, then sit on it, which made her immediately suspicious. "Are you sure you can take this thing?" She kept asking. "Do you really think you can do it?" She was so skeptical. I think she was afraid of getting her hopes up only to have them dashed.

Not to worry. I don't know how, but I managed to get myself onto that thing in no time. It was AWESOME! I could not believe how perfect and comfortable it felt, even though it was so much bigger than our previous big cock (which is a meager one and a half inches in diameter). I thank the Vixskin for making such a fat cock feel utterly comfortable.

Granted, it was tight at first, but after the initial burn wore off, it was like nothing else. Mera, completely shocked by the success of the operation, was in top form. I sat on her cock and bounced up and down for awhile (her special request), then eventually she flipped me over and pounded the shit out of me. The room was so hot and she was working so hard, sweat was pouring off her and dripping all over me. It was awesome.

Now I think I'm in love with the Lonestar and in serious danger of becoming a sex-addict. I only hope I don't wear Mera out, or scare her off with my enthusiasm. Yee-haw! Ride 'em cowboy!!! When can we use it again...?