Perhaps You Are Mistaken

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 5 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

"Dear __..."

It was submitted by: https://crazymamallama.blogspot.com/

I don't expect this sentiment to be shared by everyone here reading but I also don't care about that.

Sexcapades.

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My prompt is: Start with the sentence "If only I could remember where I left my pants..."

It was submitted by: http://mybrainonkids.net

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If only I could remember where I put my pants, I could get out of here with some semblance of dignity, I might have thought.

Okay, so I wasn’t wearing pants that night but the sentiment is still the same. Actually, I had on a gray corduroy skirt with a teal, thin sweater and gray and black argyle tights. Knee high boots completed the outfit. It wasn’t exactly up to my current standards (this was several years ago), but I definitely looked pretty fucking hot that night. Some asshat at a gas station I stopped at before I drove over even offered me his phone number… which I politely declined with “hell no, fuckface” before sliding right back into the driver’s seat of the car. Apparently, I was also full of sass that evening.

So now, here I was without skirt and trying to find it without either A) waking this dude up or B) injuring myself in a dark room I was unfamiliar with. Why do single guys keep all their dirty clothes on the floor?

I know someone else out there has to know the difficulty in tracking down a garment of yours in a dark room full of haphazard piles of clothes belonging to a man you just banged.

This guy also happened to live in a house with 2 other guys and I really didn’t want to wake either of them up either. I mean, I wasn’t ashamed of what I had done, and I had a pretty fucking great time doing it (pun intended), but it would still be kind of awkward making eye contact on the way out the door considering their extensive knowledge of just how I sound when I do the deed.

I am forever a loudmouth.

It took some time, but I finally managed to crawl around in the dark feeling through dirty man clothes to track down the skirt, the undies, and the tights. I was able to get the skirt and undies on there in the dark, but I said fuck the tights…and the boots. I wadded up the tights, shoved them in a boot, made a stop in the bathroom to make sure I didn’t look too fucking crazy, and made my way out of the apartment into the misty, gray morning. The asphalt in the parking lot was dewy and cold, but it wasn’t freezing out. It was a good kind of cold that refreshed me even as it gave me chill bumps. I made it to the car thoroughly chilled, cranked the heat up, and pulled out of the parking lot. It might have been 7 or 8ish in the morning and I had been there all night; the exact way home was a bit fuzzy, so I navigated on my phone, put on some tunes, and got a little lost in thought about the evening before.

The sex had been good. Great even. And the guy was pretty gorgeous as far as my standards go. Beard. Longish hair. Big. No, not that kind of big. I mean chubby. But he wasn’t bad in the other department either. (insert heart-eyed swooning emoji). Intelligent. Witty. Slightly strange. All the things I like in a dude, right? Right. But like me, he was also a tad bit socially awkward. Okay, maybe saying a tad bit is a little generous. We were a wreck.

It had me laughing all the way home in that way that comes from deep down in your bones because you can’t believe what the fuck you said to another human being. We didn’t just have sex, we talked, we fondled and made out and had sex more and talked some more. That kind of night. And in those times, we talked about life and moving on and the past and movies and music because always.

He said: I wish I had done more things in life, traveled more, seen more… Like what if I stopped at a truckstop on a road trip and blew Michael Bolton the bathroom?

I said: Even *I* wouldn’t blow Michael Bolton in a truckstop bathroom….. wait….

Wtf.

I said: Phone sex is pretty good if that’s all you’ve got.

He said: I don’t know…I feel like I might get all weird during phone sex and not know what to say then suddenly I’m there saying “I want to fuck you on a goat, girl…..” and things just downward spiral from there.

I died.

He said: what if we get freaky with it a church bathroom one day.

I said: Maybe I can get on my knees and pray for forgiveness.

He said: We should do this again sometime.

I said: Maybe we can do more than fuck next time.

He said: I can probably put up with you.

I said: Same.

I don’t know if it counts as a one night stand since we have technically remained in contact over the years, but we never really hung out again. Life intervened and any time we reconnected the cards never fell in such a way that we were brought together again, but for that one night, that one night only, that little single serving dose of human connection made a lasting memory that still makes me feel a whole lot of weird and lust all at once. And for a girl like me, that’s as good a place in my brain as a dude can hope for.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



http://www.BakingInATornado.com Baking In A Tornado

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/ The Bergham Chronicles

http://thelieberfamily.com The Lieber Family Blog

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade

http://www.renasworld.com/ Rena’s World

http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com Not That Sarah Michelle

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch Confessions of a part time working mom

http://www.southernbellecharm.com Southern Belle Charm

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com Someone Else’s Genius

http://mybrainonkids.net My Brain on Kids

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/ The Angrivated Mom

There Can Be Pleasure Without Guilt

Chuck Klosterman has taken a hard stance on the phrase “guilty pleasures” calling it counterproductive to feel the need to be embarrassed by something you love. If, in fact, you watch cheesy 80s movies like Sixteen Candles and gorge on candy every time you feel awful like I do, according to his logic, you should never feel guilty about doing so because you did, by all accounts, enjoy yourself.

I have come to the conclusion over the last few years that Klosterman, though entertaining, is pretty fucking pretentious and full of shit.

Is it really so unbelievable that a person can recognize how terrible something is yet love it anyway? Take the Rocky franchise, for example. The acting is terrible. The plots are, well, terrible after the first one and basically just a repeat storyline that just keeps happening over and over again. But, I still watched them all back to back over the last week. Somewhere, some part of me knows how fucking godawful these movies are in terms of their artistic value but I can’t help myself. They HAVE to be watched.

As a feminist, I know with every fiber of my being that music that objectifies women is inherently a bad thing and contributes directly to certain aspects of social inequality between genders (normalizing negative attitudes), but I still know all the lyrics (almost) to Dr. Dre’s The Chronic 2001. Even the song about not making a ho a housewife. That one. yeah. And, yes, it’s a bit fucking embarrassing that at times I still listen to it.

So, by definition, if I feel guilty for something that I simultaneously enjoy, does that not make it a guilty pleasure? I’d have to say so and that maybe, Klosterman, King of the Hipsters, just likes bucking mainstream trends enough to make an asinine comment about something that everyone experiences but that, in his pretentiousness, he thinks he can rise above and apply some sort of new logic-defying spin on.

Chuck, it’s okay, man. Let us have our guilty pleasures. We kind of like that phrase. Deal.

But, that leads me to another question. What happens when our feelings of guilt about something we want or something we want to enjoy gets in the way of pleasure? I think that’s the problem with women and orgasms.

According to meta-analyses of 80 years worth of research on the subject, only about a quarter of women consistently have orgasms during vaginal intercourse. One fourth. That’s all. About half of women have orgasms some of the time. 20 percent or so have orgasms never or rarely during sex. 20 whole fucking percent (no pun intended). And 5% never have orgasms period. 

It doesn’t matter the size of the man’s penis, how attracted the woman is, the relationship the two have, or what feelings she has for him…these stats still apply across the board when these factors are controlled for.

My brain can’t even begin to comprehend what life would be like for the rest of the world if I couldn’t have orgasms. There is no known apocalyptic scenario which could compare to the sheer amount of destruction and rage that would rain down on this place if I didn’t have the ability to achieve that sweet, sweet release in multiples during sex or on my own. That’s just the way it is.

The difference between the small 25% of women who do have regular orgasms is in the brain.

There’s a major nerve running from the brain to the cervix connecting female sexuality directly to brain activity. This “superhighway” of nerves is unique to each woman and changes what each individual is stimulated by…but the thing that remains the same is that the brain is directly related to the way a woman experiences sex. For men, it’s quite a bit more simplistic. There is a similar grid of nerves in the pelvis that creates a web of pleasure that circulates the penis. No brain to dick direct connection.

There have been many theories based on such statistics and the findings about female sexual anatomy. Women need more mental stimulation, she needs more foreplay, she needs to be touched, she needs clitoral stimulation, she needs this, she needs that. We’re not all the fucking same, okay? The science tells you that. It’s right there in black and white—we each have our own maze of nerve connections that is different for every women. We don’t have the same wants and needs and desires. Every female expressive person doesn’t suddenly became one big blog of Stay Puft vaginas called SHE that can all be tickled the same damn way just because some “professional” wants to write a shitty little article for The Huffington Post.

The problem, to me, runs deeper than figuring out what women want, and I suspect it’s inherently cultural.

See, when we live in a society where women’s sexuality is demonized, where women live by this double

standard where they are prudes for not fucking and sluts when they do fuck, where women are called sluts for sleeping with a man while the man is awarded with status and praise, the brain to vagina connection is warped, distorted, severed for some apparently… Social norms dictate that women are not supposed to enjoy sex. It’s a running gag in sitcoms and movies—wives don’t enjoy sex; they don’t have sex. It’s a common joke on the Internet. Our entire belief system has put so much pressure on women to live by this strange, morbid way of thinking that says we’re obligated to have sex but we’re sluts when we do.

Is it no wonder so many of us have issues with having sex? How is a person supposed to get over that mental roadblock that tells them they aren't supposed to enjoy what she's doing because it's "naughty" or "dirty" or "slutty?"

It’s a cultural mindset which is not going to phase itself out anytime soon, but it starts with ourselves. By “ourselves” I mean with women, but in the same grain, it is with all our partners and our friends and everyone reading this blog. The idea that a woman, to put it bluntly, a woman who loves to fuck is simply that—a woman who unabashedly loves sex (or making love if that’s your thing). There’s nothing wrong with that no matter how much society demonizes and victim blames and backs us into a corner where we are “supposed” to and obligated to give ourselves but not supposed to love it, to really feel ourselves let go and let our toes curl, to nurture our fantasies.

There’s nothing wrong with making love to your partner.

There’s nothing wrong with a one night stand as long as you’re safe.

There’s nothing wrong with having a friend with benefits and loving every minute you spend naked and sweaty together.

There is absolutely no guilt at all that should be inherently tied to sex for women. I would hope that every woman has the chance in her lifetime to navigate her own labyrinth of sexuality and discover every little nuance of herself…to find that direct connection to the brain and figure out how to make that superhighway light up over and over and over again (4 or 5 times in 15 minutes is a great goal. trust me).

I love Ash over More Than Cheese and Beer for putting up with the crazy way I interpret these prompts some week. Who knew I'd be talking about the female orgasm this week? I didn't until I sat down and the words came (no pun intended). Thanks for reading and I hope you'll read the rest of the link ups today.

Push It Real Good

Sex. Given this subject, I could go on for days about awkward memories, the immense love I have for sex, the potential health benefits, and all the reasons why people should be having more of it, but I think, a Klosterman hyperthetical is in order this Sunday.

Here’s the question:

Every person you have ever slept with is invited to a banquet where you are the guest of honor. No one will be in attendance except you, the collection of your former lovers, and the catering service. After the meal, you are asked to give a 15-minute speech to the assembly.

What do you talk about?

Ok, first of all 15 minutes is ludicrous. Having taken several speech and drama courses in my lifetime, I can tell you that there’s a lot of writing involved with a 15 minute speech or monologue. Also, I sort of need to know if phone sex and strictly oral sex qualify people as former lovers and whether or not people will be brought back from the dead to attend. If so, that changes things. As it is, with my limited information, here goes:

“Well…I don’t know if your invites, by chance, may have mentioned the reason you’re all here, but apparently someone thought it would be a good idea, or perhaps hilariously awkward, if all my former lovers and I were thrown together for a dinner in my honor. All I can say is the person responsible is either incredibly stupid or the kind of evil genius that deserves my utmost respect.

I hate public speaking, so making this little speech could be completely miserable for me, but I’ve already seen all of you naked so I don’t even have to imagine what you look like without your clothes. Now that we have the obligatory corny speech-joke out of the way, we can proceed…

Some of you may be looking around the room marveling at the number of you in attendance today. To those of you who are, stop trying to count heads. It won’t change the fact that you’re all here for the same reason, and no one needs to know a specific number. I stopped keeping track of it a long time ago when I figured out that I could have as much sex as I wanted without feeling guilty as long as I did so carefully. I totally shattered that fucking double standard that vilifies women for doing what they want to do and applauds men for the same actions. (pun intended)

There are some of you I enjoyed. The memories of some of you still make me cringe. Some of you I completely forgot about until right this moment when I just saw your face but now that I remember, I can see why I forgot. And, some of you should most definitely give me a call. But regardless of the quality of the time we shared together, let’s make the best of the night. I don’t harbor any ill will toward any of you which is understandable since there was never any sort of relationship with most of you that would invoke any emotional reaction upon seeing you, and for the ones I did try the whole relationship thing with, I truly believe we’ve moved past any awkwardness or ill will except maybe you *points* who still grosses me out.

We shared a moment in our time together. Life is short and for whatever reason we chose to spend some of our precious moments with one another. Let’s raise our glasses to that…to the shared enjoyment of each other’s time, to the intimacy we shared. I’ve had some of the best conversations of my life with many of you just preceding the ultimate act of the night, and those are moments I have kept close and relished over the years—the talks, the shared laughs, the deep engagement about everything from childhood cartoons to religion to politics to books. One of the best dates of my life involved a traded movie list over a slice of late night truck stop pie. The sex afterward was great, but it never would have happened if that conversation hadn’t been so genuine and fun—a moment that could never be recaptured. Being sniffed in a pool hall wasn’t a bad night either and has been the gift that keeps on giving for over 4 years now. There was the night I shared a 6 pack on my couch with a date, one of you, who kissed me for the first time in the middle of a conversation about my bookshelf. I’ve never let go of the awesomeness of the conversations we had that night. It wasn’t just the sex with most of you…it was a memory, a part of my story and yours. And, that is never cheap.

If nothing else, I hope at the very least, you will all take a drink with me to celebrate the awesomeness of sex if not necessarily that time that *we* had sex.

I don’t want the night to be a total waste of anyone’s time, so if you’re feeling awkward or jealous or weirded out, it’s probably best for you to leave. There’s no time to dwell on negativity in our lives and no one is required to stay. I’m not going to ask you to share with the group our memory, and I’m not going to call anyone (else) out, so let’s shed the worried glances and dance.

Who’s going to do karaoke of Salt ‘N Peppa’s Push It???

Check out the rest of the Confessions this Sunday over at More than Cheese and Beer and check out her Facebook page for anonymous confessions! Thanks for reading. 

10 Things We Don't Wish Guys Would Do More Often

Despite the name of this blog post, I have problems when people write an article/essay proclaiming to understand what every woman or man wants out of the group to whom they're attracted. I cannot claim to know what every woman wants out of men, and I think it's pretty silly to make that assumption. I read such an article today on Elite Daily entitled The Ten Hopelessly Romantic We Wish Guys Did More Often. The basic premise is that in these days of modernized, technology-fueled relationships where texting is more common than actually dating, romance can and should be part of the dating process. I agree. Romantic gestures can make quite an impact. When I read the list, however, I was quite literally aghast at the suggestions included. The article would have been so much better had it been written solely from the author's perspective instead of taking on the voice of an entire gender.

It also would have helped had the author actually had any real idea on what constitutes romance versus hygiene.

So, here's the list. My responses have been included and are highlighted in gray.

1. Hug us from behind

That initial surprise the moment we feel your arms touch that spot on our waist where our curves meet is always welcomed. It’s cheesy and we know it, but sometimes it’s nice to be enveloped in a man’s embrace. Wrapping us up against you is the body language equivalent of saying “I’ve got you” and it feels really, really good to hear.

Wait, what? It's not cheesy as much as it is fucking creepy. "I've got you" is the equivalent of kidnapping talk. It's the kind of things I imagine a stalker would say as he clasps a gloved hand over my mouth and puts a gun to my head. No, thank you. 

This is the kind of guy who would hug you from behind. 

2. Call before bed

Even if it’s just to make sure we’re not passing out in the hallway, a bedtime phone call is affectionate and thoughtful. You want us going to bed dreaming about you and not Lip from “Shameless”? You’ve got our numbers. #CallMe

For one, there are some people (me) who absolutely despise phone calls. I've worked in a retail pharmacy long enough that I would be perfectly fine if I never had to make another phone call for the rest of my life. For two, if I'm passing out in a hallway, the last thing I want to do or need to do is talk to some dude on the phone. For three, #don'tfuckingcallme

3. Give us your worn-in sweatshirts

Or if you can’t part with those, vintage t-shirts will do just fine as well. When you’re not around to cuddle, we like snuggling with your clothes instead. And we’re not going to pretend like we don’t feel cute wearing your oversized garments. Bonus points if they still smell like you.

I have my own clothes. I really don't want to go to bed in someone else's old pit-stained throwaway shirts. I mean, really... If it smells like you, it probably smells like your funk. I'll pass. 

4. Have sex during the game

That’s why they invented halftime right? After watching the Giants take 20 minutes to get a first down, we’d appreciate at least some heavy petting – which we’d like to note doesn’t require any attention except from your hands. So you can do it while Russell Wilson completes his pass. Think of it as a play for play.

I don't really date anyone so obsessed with sports that this would actually be an issue, but I mean, can't people do their own thing? I would be using game time to work on my own projects and get a little me-time in. Also, I don't feel the need to compete with a game or a sport. I'd prefer any sex I have not to be distractedly squeezed into a break between game periods while someone sings the national anthem in the background. Besides, if you end up staring at the tv over my shoulder, you're going to regret it. 

5. Pick us up

A spin really completes the move, just saying. Do you remember the last time someone lifted you up? I mean this literally. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s a dramatic moment that reminds us of your strength and your ability to sweep us off our feet, quite exactly. There’s nothing wrong with wanting the prince charming – he still comes with a sword.

Pick me up and I will fucking punch you. End of story. 

6. Keep your creepy porn fetishes a secret

We’re not saying we don’t condone indulging in whatever turns you on, but if you are getting off to anything we wouldn’t remotely try (like, I don’t know, say humping Ferris wheels or something) then it’s best to keep that information to yourself. We’re not judging, but telling us you liked watching “2 Girls 1 Cup” kind of stays with a person.

I mean, "don't tell us about your fetishes?" Really? Well, those fetishes may be a dealbreaker but not getting satisfied sexually eventually leads to infidelity doesn't it? I'd rather know now than really get hooked on someone only to find out he or she was humping Ferris Wheels with someone else because I wouldn't. That would sting. Badly. This is just sheer ignorance. Does this mean I, too, have to hide my fetishes? Or is this author operating under the assumption that only dudes have these sorts of odd fantasies? 

7. Wear suits… and then give us their jacket

Men in suits are the equivalent of women in oxford button downs. It’s just plain sexy. And when you give us your coat, it’s pretty much like foreplay.

Okay, I concede that suits are sexy. I cannot agree that having a guy's jacket is going to lubricate my vagina, however. It's not foreplay. It IS a bit romantic, but let's not get carried away here. 

8. Go for it – romantically or otherwise

We’re all for a woman making the move and feeling confident, but the high of being wanted by someone else is equally important. Don’t hold back anymore. If you’re feeling it in the moment, whether it’s confessing your attraction or pushing back a strand of our hair, just go for it. In such an impersonal world, we crave that flicker of human connection.

This is called being assertive. I don't think assertiveness qualifies as hopelessly romantic. Of course both sides of an attraction desire feeling wanted. It takes everyone involved, though. And, quite frankly, I haven't met a guy yet who really holds back on showing his attraction. I have the pics on my phone to prove it. 

9. Notice the small things

Maybe it’s the placement of your favorite freckle or the arch of your back when you’re lying together. When someone takes the time to appreciate your little features, it means something much bigger.

Let's be honest. This is only going to be romantic as long as the little thing being noticed is not something you're self-conscious about. As soon as that tiny little mole on your nose gets pointed out, you're going to go from "awww" to "pissed off" in 3 seconds flat. 

10. Wear a signature scent

The power of olfaction is a real thing. We’re all animals on some level and it’s in our nature to sniff you out. And even if it’s only for a night, we’ll always have your smell to remember you by.

Since when did being clean and smelling nice go from hygienic to romantic? If that's all it takes, I am romancing the fuck out of people all day long. 

Here is my own list. I only wanted to make my own to show that one person cannot speak for the attractions of an entire group of people. I invite you to think it over seriously and make one yourself in the comments. 

1. Make a mixtape. 

Nearly every memory I have is attached to a song or band. Attach a song to my thoughts of you. Every time I hear it, you'll be all I think about. 

2. Write an actual note. On paper. 

Handwritten letters are a forgotten art. Even if it's just a few sentences, it's a tangible compliment that can be kept and cherished. 

3. Brush my hair. 

Best thing ever. Enough said. 

4. Plan a picnic. 

That's right. Make me a goddamn sandwich. But, seriously, the effort will be appreciated even if said picnic takes place on the living room floor. 

5. Give me your arm to hold onto in public.

I think this speaks to itself. It's more dated than just holding my hand, but it feels secure and I love the way your arm feels in my hand. 

6. Read what I write. 

My actions say a lot about who I am. What I say will tell you more. But, my passion is writing, and unless you read what I write, there's no way you'll get to know me on the same level as someone who does all three. 

7. Remember what I take in my coffee. 

It's just a small gesture, but it shows you pay attention to those small things...that you care enough to do so. 

8. Read a book with me. 

The only thing about delving into a phenomenal story is sharing it with someone awesome. 

9. Tell me about your fetishes. 

Because two people need to be real with each other. I want to know these things even if I don't exactly jump on the bandwagon. I want to know the real you  not the facade people show in the early stages of dating. When the best-foot-forward version of you can no longer be maintained, I don't want to be left with a complete stranger. Being vulnerable by revealing these things IS romantic. Don't offer to jizz on my glasses on the first date, however There's a fine line between romance and being a douchecanoe. 

10. Slow dance with me in the middle of a store, in the kitchen, on a sidewalk...

wherever the mood strikes you.