Month: June 2015

Somewhere, somehow, my life has gotten a little off track. Sure, I made a huge career change when I went back to school, not for the LLM in Taxation at Wayne State, like I had planned–but for the MSW that I had always wanted to pursue. 

I am more temperamentally suited to be a social worker and therapist–or so I thought. Once I had gotten into the swing of classes, although I loved it and felt like this is where I finally belonged, if I were being honest–I’m more temperamentally suited to be a litigator–even now. And I am fine with that. I have to be–it’s who I am. Why is this relevant? 

Because, while I have more than enough love and empathy for anybody who wants some–I run into problems–interpersonal problems–when I let my inner litigator take control of my brain–especially in the this-is-what-we’re-going-to-do sector. To understand this and me, you should know that my litigator writes these posts, my social worker edits and makes sure that they are kind. My litigator drives, my social worker navigates. My litigator is a shark, my social worker is the dolphin that chases the shark away. It works–most of the time–until I decide to let the litigator crash through what should be the domain of the social worker–and I am still cleaning up that mess. 

A few weeks ago, I began the process of writing the book that I’ve always wanted to write. The topic is covered in depth in the post about Jack, if you care for a more involved treatment. In a nutshell, I set out to find a few men to interview about their sexual predilections to explore how misogyny is expressed within the context of Internet anonymity. Which brings us to my current predicament. 

You know how Chris Martin writes massively popular love songs for public consumption? Well, somewhere, there is a woman who inspired him–she hears, “A Sky Full of Stars”, and probably swoons or something. Well, she gets a sky full of stars–I get an inbox full of dicks. I am a post-modern muse (according to a couple of friends), and sadly, dick pics are de riguer. I wonder if this would have happened if I had let my social worker write my bios, my intros and my chats? Probably not. Despite the dicks, I still think I made the right choice about doing things as I did. I’ve found several worthy interview subjects–and currently have enough material to start writing–which was the goal. But how do I let the most current subject down easily? He has made it pretty necessary by being somewhat of an ass–but I still feel pangs of guilt about using another person this way. This guilt exists in spite of his willingness and eagerness to use me for sex. And I guess that this is part of what the book is about also–the idea of feelings like guilt–is there a place for it in anonymous interactions? Should there be? Here is a man who is happily cheating on his wife, in her home and in her bed–should I feel guilty about telling him to get lost now that I have the material that I need from him? And how do I get him to stop sending me so many pictures of his dick? xo

I know that you hate the phone–and I do too, but, I really want to hear your voice. And you, mine. I want to stay up all night talking like we have before (wel, kind of). I want to know you and you, me–I mean, better then we already do. If you’re down, so am I. And most of all, I don’t want to feel like a pest–like a burden on you. xo

Today is a huge day for our nation–it is the day that SCOTUS issued their landmark ruling affirming the right of all Americans to marry. I can’t stop crying tears of joy, thinking of all of the people that I love who will able to marry now–who will never have the indignity of being left out of end-of-life decisions, who will never have to surrender a home to the uncaring family of a deceased life partner and who will never have to be excluded from the tax breaks given to heterosexual partners, etc. Today, gorgeous friends, is a very good day! xo

**This was originally intended to be the basis of a book. The first several paragraphs of this post will be as dry as anything you can imagine. It will get more interesting, I promise. Well, only if you find extreme misogynistic fetishes interesting. And even if you don’t find it interesting–you will likely find it salacious and titilating. And who doesn’t want to be titilated? 

This is my first post since I’ve started interacting online with a man who I will call, Jack. Jack responded to a post that I made on an app that allows its users to remain anonymous while posting, responding and chatting with each within the platform. I had decided a while back that I wanted to explore online misogyny within the context of anonymous, highly personal/sexual one-on-one interactions. Yup, you can take the girl out of academia… .

It’s not nearly as dry and technical as it sounds. Even if it were being used as an academic exercise, the best I could ever hope for would be very subjective, qualitative research that held little to no validity/reliability outside of the narrow parameters of these particular individuals. 

Plus, if I’m being entirely honest, my methods would never, in a million years, withstand IRB (internal review board) scrutiny for human subjects research. That would require me to ask permission to interview my subjects after identifying myself as a person doing research. And that is not exactly how things went down. 

To access the people I was hoping to speak with, I posted that I was looking for anonymous, sexual hookups. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer volumes of responses that I received–and will readily admit that this method of gathering interview subjects was a colossal mistake. And that is putting it mildly. Basically, it brought out every type of person that you could possibly imagine, including Jack. 

Jack is a white male, age 45, who claims to have a cuckold fetish. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, he receives sexual gratification from observing (or being told about) his female sexual partner’s unfaithfulness. 

Throughout our correspondence, he kept emphasizing that it was his dream to have, “a slut for a wife”. He also claimed that he makes a million dollars a year at his job in finance. I tell you this because he seems to like to use his money as bait in hopes of pitting one greedy woman against other greedy women. His hook is that he wants so badly to get married and care for his “slutty wife”–and I believe that he holds this out as a means of keeping women around and interested. He admits that he is having a very difficult time finding a suitable wife because he tends to attract, “drug addicted gold diggers and hookers”. Because who could have seen that coming, right? 

**Stay tuned for more of Jack’s story in my next post. It is certainly worth the wait. 

I should probably start by saying that I really hate having pictures taken of me–I always have. For as long as I have been able to run from the camera–I have done just that. Why am I telling you this? 

Because tonight I voluntarily took some decidedly naughty pictures of myself and sent them to J–mainly because it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, because I need to get more comfortable in front of the camera, I feel relatively safe with him emotionally and he is so clearly over it. Done. Finished. Past it. Can you guess what happened? Nothing. Nothing happened. Crickets chirping, dead air, no response, nada. If you want a sizable blow to the ego–do this. Right here. This. Take X-rated pix of your parts, send them to a trusted consort and wait for the response that never comes. Now, I’m not the vulnerable type. I may overshare about certain aspects of my life–but this? To share my physical self, in picture form, with another in a meaningful way? It’s pretty uncommon. 

As you can imagine, I’m kind of mortified and really, really REALLY embarrassed. And I don’t embarrass easily. I can only imagine his mother and stepfather seeing what I sent. It gives me the blushes just thinking about it. And no, I will not post them here. I will probably delete them and forget the whole episode–or try to. Seriously, who gets lady-bits pix and has no response?! Not even a whoa or a thank you for the spank bank fodder. 

So, I guess that I’ll just sit here being embarrassed. And feeling like shit. I mean, hell, I’m not the prettiest girl in the world–but I can definitely hold my own. But should I have to when the recipient of the pix is in my orbit? xo

So, I’m expecting some fallout from my last post–mainly from J, who claims that he isn’t going to read this anymore because I always say bad things about him. I don’t, but I’m of the mind that if you want good things said about you, then your behavior should reflect that. In other words, if you don’t want people to call you a dick–don’t be a dick. It’s pretty simple, right? Plus, he gets insecure, but don’t we all? 

And let’s be honest, I’m kind of a nympho. Not in the sex-addict sense (if there even is such a thing)–but in the I-have-a-very-healthy-sex-drive sense. I love sex–alone, with a partner(s), in a group, in private, with an audience, during the day, at night, vanilla, kink–you name it–I’m probably willing to give it a whirl. Or not. It just depends on my mood. And I could be kidding about some of my limits–but maybe I’m not. Get to know me, as me–as a person, human to human. You’ll find out. 

So what is there to say about today? Not much–it’s Monday and it has been relatively uneventful so far. I have a meeting today, with the designer and the tile guy (he probably has an actual title, but Idk what it is)–a fireplace meeting. I used to try cases in front of juries–I used to be in court every day defending people, their civil liberties, the Constitution–and now?

 Now I attend meetings about tile. I spend hours picking out faucets. I’m not at all comfortable with this new role–I like to be…busier. More purposeful. What I did had meaning–both as an attorney and as a therapist. I made people’s lives better. And now? Now I make things pretty. I exist to inspire and encourage. I’m a muse for whomever takes inspiration from me and because of me. I really hope that it’s enough in the long term. 

It’s hard to know where to pick up from my last post–a lot has happened, and not much at all has happened–it all depends on how you look at it, I suppose. 

My BP has been way up the past few days–topping out at 170/90 or so. I attribute it to feeling unsettled at my parents’ house, feeling stressed about the progress on the house reno, my ex husband being an absolute psychopathic stalker, being so freaking horny it is beyond ridiculous, not being able to let my kink out, keeping J happy and occupied, feeling resentful over having to keep a grown-ass man happy and occupied, arguing with J about the progress of the reno and arguing with J about my meds. 

In case you missed it, or if I forgot to mention it–J is convinced that I don’t need to take any of my heart medications–based on no discernible facts whatsoever. He is against taking medication of any kind (except for the copious amounts of booze that he drinks–that is okay, mainly because it is for him). Yup, I think that it’s ridiculous also. But we have actually had major fights over this (which also drives up my BP)–and I walked in to find him discussing it, just this week, with my mom. He had been drinking, of course.

 My main argument–aside from the ridiculousness of it all, is that had he seen me in the ICU last year, as sick as I was and as near death as I was, he wouldn’t be arguing about this. But, he didn’t bother to visit–so, I’ll never know if it would have made a difference. I’m not sure that I even care anymore. He can have all of the stupid, ill-informed opinions that he wants–as long as he keeps them to himself, we’re good. And if I end up needing a new heart? Well, assuming that I survive the transplant, I will be on even more meds to keep my body from rejecting the new organ. But, we can fight across that bridge when we come to it.

This is yet another bump along the way. His drinking and cheating with Laurene (and God knows who else) has obliterated my trust in him–and while it can be rebuilt–it is an uphill climb. Things are likely to stay open for the foreseeable future. Thank goodness that I still have an infinite amount of love for him. I always will. 

What else is new? I made a couple of new friends who I adore and love hanging out with either online or in person. I’m excited that they are in my life. One lives a little far away, but he intrigues and impresses the hell out of me–so I hope to be someone who he enjoys talking with and spending time with. It is seldom that I meet people who broadcast on the same channel as I do–and when I meet one, I am smitten. I sure hope that I inspire the same/mutual feelings–and that I inspire him in general. The muse in me needs and craves that–the knowledge that I am inspiring another. I live for it–and it is my reason for being. Inspiring others is my oxygen. 

Aside from new friends, I rejoined, Fetlife. I enjoy maintaining a connection to the life, but it won’t go anywhere. I accept that side of myself completely, but have not indulged it in so long–and probably won’t. A good top is hard to find and I am not inclined to do scenes with strangers–not as a sub. And trying to teach J or anyone else to top me? Yeah, no. Either you have that dominance or you don’t. I’m a natural alpha–and I need a natural alpha top. You can’t teach that. I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable–I really needed to get it out. 

And my exhibitionist side? We’ll see what happens. It’s far more vanilla than my other proclivities, and easier to get a partner on board. Although you don’t hear it nearly as often, a good voyeur is hard to find. But, let’s be honest–if you put on a good enough show, someone will watch. I just regret not fighting harder for an exterior wall of glass in my bedroom. xo

So tonight, my friends, I am going to get a bit serious–well, more serious than usual–because tonight, tonight will be about a truth that I seldom talk about in a narrative way. Most of you have bits and pieces of the story of my marriage–but very few of you know the down and dirty details.

Legal Disclaimer:  It is important to note that these details are a reflection of my opinions regarding the recollection of events that happened over the course of my marriage. This is a matter of my opinion. Truth is a defense to liable and so is opinion.

Tonight, during dinner, I had noticed an envelope on the table and the handwriting on it made me sick with just one glance–it was from my ex husband. As my dad was droning on about his ridiculous right-wing nonsense, I asked my mom what the letter and card said–and she told me the basics–that he was claiming to be disabled due to his stint in the military and that he was trying to sue the school district which employs him. I really don’t know what that means or why he’s doing it, but he is a litigious person (IMHO), so it wasn’t too surprising. All of this is pretty ordinary for him–school must be out for summer, so he has all kinds of free time on his hands. 

My main concern is that he does not journey west to here. He has threatened that a few times–but his family lives in the Twin Cities area, so I live in fear that he will turn up on my parents’ door step. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be that terrible–they’d kick him out–but I am living here now–and it would be very bad if he were to find me. You see, he knows that I’m out here, in ND, somewhere. But he doesn’t know how to find me–and that is what has kept me safe. 

This will be sufficiently short as to not really go too deeply into the abuse dynamic in my former marriage (that’s for another post)–but I can say that I honestly have lost track of how many times during the course of the marriage that I was forced to have sex with him against my will. He also killed my dog when I left–to get back at me. He is, in my humble opinion (IMHO), a monster. He has pointed loaded guns at me on a number of occasions and has threatened my life in very graphic, well-thought out ways. I am afraid of him–and I don’t want to die. I didn’t live through all of that business with my heart to be killed by this clown. This time, I will fight back. But again, I get to spend another summer living in fear. My BP is already showing it–170/90 tonight. I will never be rid of this guy. I have accepted that. But I will, upon learning of his death someday, be the happiest woman alive. xo

Moving to the FM has not made any difference in my strange ability to draw every weirdo in the tri-county area to me. Just this morning, as I was being dropped off at my hair appt, there was a guy who stopped what appeared to be his morning constitutional and waited for me to exit the vehicle. He then serenaded me with a few bars of a made up tune and smiled as I said hello and waked into the salon. It was very sweet. Hopefully all of my encounters will be like this one–cute, quick and easy to walk away from. xo

Here’s another question for y’all–I was asked this by a very good friend, who apparently is in need of a thorough fucking (I’m paraphrasing): In a long-term relationship, wherein one party wants sex a lot more often than the other party, at what point does going outside the relationship become not only feasible, but acceptable?

Although I have run into this in my own relationships (from both sides of the equation)–each situation is very different and could be rooted in medical problems and/or psychological problems. Those should be checked out by a doctor, btw. Consider that your most-obvious pro tip ever.

Let’s face it, by a certain age, a lot of women are warming up as men, typically, are slowing down. It sucks, but it does have its basis in our biology. I can’t really speak to that because I’m not a doctor and the doctor that I tried to ask about it snapped at me and told me to go sit in my room and not bother him. Snappish-ness tends to be his natural state of being–so, I’m not too bothered by it. But yeah, I need to find another doctor to ask about these things because his attitude is a real bummer and not at all helpful in the least. 

I guess where I’m going with this is as follows: I totally agree with Dan Savage when he said that one person should not be able to hold the sexual health of the relationship hostage. Harsh? Maybe–but consent is EVERYTHING. If one partner doesn’t consent to sex very often, and won’t work on communicating his/her reasons for it, s/he should not be surprised, or even angry, when the other partner goes elsewhere for sexual gratification. Easier said than done–believe me, I know. But what other choice is there? If s/he won’t consent to sex and won’t communicate why that is or what can be done to fix it–then, in my opinion, the other partner should be free to look elsewhere for sexual gratification without guilt. xo