Yesterday was not a day. It was a day and a half packed into 24 hours. Too much to retell in full, so I’ll limit it to a single comment.
While being pinned to a table by my acupuncturist, I mentioned that I was a Gemini, Scorpio rising with my moon in Pisces. Veronica burst out laughing and said, “You must really love good sex!”
I mean, who doesn’t? Blanket statement there. But she could have said “You must really love good food.” Or “You must really love to travel!” And those things would certainly have been true. But never as true as what she actually did say. I don’t write much about travel or food, but sex is so central to my identity.
I’ve never not been sexual. Before I even knew what sex was, I knew the feeling could be connected with touch. And, for the record, I was never molested. So, let’s just forget about that.
I had this intellectual curiosity about the act, yes, but more the idea of being led by someone. Discovered by someone. Explored by someone. Maybe even at the mercy of someone. Typical repressed girl fantasy.
And always the library stacks fantasy. Sex in a library. What a little nerd I was.
Yes, people have sex in libraries because it is taboo, but this wasn’t that. This was about finding someone just as intellectually curious as I was who was turned on by being around books. I never told anybody that. And then the Israeli and I had one of our many discussions, this time about how we both knew we were sexy from very young ages.
And he mentioned his library fantasy. I knew immediately what he meant because I’d had it too.
He and I had great sex. The kind that happens when two people just click. Same with Dan. Same with Samy. Same with J. I don’t remember the sex with D very well. But I can tell you that I did a disservice to that kid by faking it all the time. And I can tell you that, in the beginning, when he touched me, I was already missing Michael, who was much better at all the stuff, even when we were seventeen.
When I started hanging out with J, he asked if I was some kind of nymphomaniac because we were having sex three to five times in a night. I laughed at the question. “Are you saying this isn’t normal for you?”
He said it wasn’t.
But it wasn’t as if I was pushing him to have sex. It was that we were both constantly in a state of arousal around each other. It was on an elemental level. Innocuous touch could send me reeling. And we brought out the best in each other.
When I left him, he reached out to me with his theory of why. He said it was because he wasn’t adventurous enough. “What a strange idea,” I thought. If anything, he was adventurous. He had all the fun gadgets and tools. Things I’d never even seen before, let alone experienced. Leave it to a carpenter to have the tools. And he thought me a maneater?
I guess it’s possible. While I try to always let a man feel like a man, I think they know when they haven’t been enough and they recede into the shadows, feeling inadequate.
But that wasn’t it. I’m not a nympho and I’m not out to make anyone feel less than good. I can, in fact, be satiated. It’s just that sex for me starts and ends in my mind. It is fueled by curiosity. It is propelled by intimacy that leads to deeper understanding. It does not have to be kinky. I told Mikey the other night how much I appreciated vanilla sex.
He questioned the premise, so I gave a cook the analogy that would hit home. When you interview with a master chef for a place in his kitchen, he doesn’t ask you to cook something sous vide. No, he asks you for the simplest, yet most elegant thing you could make: a plain omlette.
All the technique you will ever need comes from that genesis.
Some guys can make the sounds and say the words and touch the places and it feels like nothing to me. I’ve already dismissed them in advance for lack of cerebral stimulation. It doesn’t matter how hot or rich or successful or built they are. They didn’t revv the engine. So now it’s just coasting.
On the other hand, the greatest crushes of my life have all come from stimulating my mind. Brilliant, fiery genius with a sense of humor and a profound soul. Boys I’ve never even kissed who still make me go all gooey inside. Boys who’ve sat up with me late at night on the same bed as I willed them, dared them almost, silently to make the first move. Stubborn Mars-in-Taurus girl that I am, I won’t do it myself. And in most cases, these guys have never known how much I died inside as we chatted away, me just begging to be touched.
So yes, I love great sex. But it isn’t what one would think. It isn’t mindless sex. It’s mindful sex. Soulful sex. I’ve never had those in one offs. Those partners spanned weeks, months, years because, in each instance, we were called to one another.
And the one way I knew I was in love with someone else is that I’d revisit these relationships, and they’d lost their luster because I was already in love with someone else.
Sex this weekend felt like dust. There was nothing there. Why? Because, for one, I’m impervious to Latin charm. You can call me all sorts of names and even say mine over and over again, but I’m not going to be romanced by that. And while this guy was smart, he was just so conventional while thinking he was so open-minded.
But what I want, and I can wait for it, is to feel shooketh, in my mind and in my heart. The physical won’t interfere. If anything, the physical will demure to the spiritual and existential. I know because it always has.
I just wasn’t into it. My mind was elsewhere. And I don’t get a choice where my mind goes. I can only follow it to its natural conclusion. And, right now, where that is, is a bit of a precarious mystery around a bend I cannot spot. I spent so much of this year trying not to trip on a crush and spill all the beans that I’m a little burnt out from all the energy expenditure. I don’t read minds. I will give the benefit of the doubt. I have no complaints. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t take a toll in its own way.
And as for the rest, well, maybe I did chew them up in the past. But not anymore. If someone thinks they’re going to get anywhere with me, they’re going to have to put in the work and light my brain up. I’m not going to submit easily.
And really, submitting is my favorite part of sex. And you know that’s all in the head and the heart.