Recently, fairyhedgehog had a post about sex. Oh, damn! I just lost my reading audience.
Most of us are fascinated by sex to one degree or another. I know I am. There's something about sex which seems to get to who we really are. I think when we're engaged in lovemaking we have let down our final guards. We do if we really give ourselves to the experience anyway. Some of us are so inhibited we can't really enjoy sex as much as we could.
But that is not where I intended to go with this post.
Fairyhedgehog began her post with a quote from on Russell Smith. In that quote Mr. Smith makes a statement about "not truly understanding a character unless he knows how they are in bed." He adds that that is true of his real life friends, too.
Personally, I find Mr. Russell to be a sick sick man.
I mean, I have talked about sex and sexual activity with some of my friends. I even remember talking with my best friend a few days after I had my first encounter. But you know what? I didn't go into any great detail. At the time I was very upset with myself (I liked being a virgin) and so I focused more on why I gave in and how I was seduced more than the details of what actually took place.
Some people probably do get into the nitty gritty details with their friends about what they do. Mr. Russell apparently is one of them. Personally, I don't think I could do that. Nor do I want my friends doing that with me.
Not that I think it's "dirty" or "bad" or anything like that. As long as it isn't rape and it doesn't involve children, it's probably just fine.
But sex seems to get right to who we really are. It's the final guard to our spirits. I think that's why it's used by rapists. I seem to recall that most rapists don't actually enjoy the experience either - even if they do cum. But having consentual sex with another person is probably as close as we will ever come (no pun intended) to actually touching their spirit. We are all locked inside our bodies. We can't get out without dying. Hence the old phrase, "I'm trapped in a woman's body!" Or a man's. The spirit inside is at odds with the body nature gave them, and now they want out. With modern medical science those who can afford it can actually do something about it. The rest remain prisoners.
I don't talk about the details of my sexual behavior. Not even with my closest friends. (And they are SO grateful to me.) I don't think many people do. Especially across gender.
This is because I think if a woman starts telling a man the details of her bed behavior he's almost certain to assume she's coming on to him and wants him in her bed. And if a man starts telling a woman she's almost certain to think the same thing. Generally, in neither case is it all that comfortable conversation.
I don't talk about the details of what I do in bed because I don't like exposing myself (maybe it's subconscious, but I don't think I mean to be cute with the double entendre) like that. I have not had that many lovers in the real world. Had a few more in online fantasy. What I discovered is that lovers are easier to have online. I think it's because, unlike the real world, you can have sex online and still keep the separation of spirit. I don't like that. It's touching the spirit which makes the sex more meaningful to me. But more so online than in real life sexual partners are often only interested in pleasing the body.
Nobody likes to just cuddle anymore.
I could do that without ever having sex.
Well, maybe not ever. But you know what I mean.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
It Never Was But it Never Matters
Losing friends is part of life. All life on this planet ends in its time. People, animals, plants - relationships. Ultimately, they are all doomed to death.
Some things die in natural course. Some die before their time. But all things die.
There were people who lived hundreds or thousands of years ago. Not a single person on this planet today knows they were ever here. But they were.
There was a time when they were alive and living. And when they died their life continued in the memories of those who knew them. But then those who knew them died, and their life could only live on in those who had been told about them. And then those who had been told about them died. Fewer and fewer people talked about them. Until nobody remembered they were here. All that become known was that someone was here. But nobody knew who.
The physical death of a lover is devastating. Some people never actually recover. The best they ever manage is to continue in their own life. But they don't really live it anymore. The grief just doesn't go away.
They are lonely.
I won't say it is more or less painful, but when the lover lives but the loving has died it is very much like physical death. There is grieving. And some people never actually recover.
We're lonely.
I have been told by many people recently that if someone truly loves me, then in time they will let go of anger/hurt/whatever negative feelings they have and return to me. And if they don't ever return to me then they probably never really loved me in the first place.
I know they mean well, but does making me think they never loved me in the first place supposed to make me feel better? The only remaining joy I have of my lover turns out to be a lie? That means there are no happy memories.
When Blue-Eyed Boy was very young - couldn't walk or use many words - I had him with me in a store. He was fussy. Life gets awful samey when you're sitting in a shopping cart. And for people that young samey can get bad in a hurry. But before his fussed too much he saw something fantastic: a giant wind-up jumping Tigger toy. It was being demonstrated. Wind it up and it would bounce its head a few times and then do a big flip. Blue-Eyed Boy thought that was pretty cool. And by letting him hold on to one and play with it I was able to complete my shopping in peace.
I had no intention of buying the toy, so it never really belonged to Blue-Eyed Boy. But you all know what happened when I finished shopping and finally put Jumping Tigger back on the shelf? Blue-Eyed Boy was upset.
Now I have been lucky with Blue-Eyed Boy. He has only thrown one tantrum in his whole life. That was a difficult time, but we got through it well enough. It took the most difficult time out I've ever experienced. I sat with him. We were BOTH in time out. And maybe that's why he never had a tantrum again. He knew he was not alone.
But losing Jumping Tigger was hard. Blue-Eyed Boy had come to believe Jumping Tigger belonged to him. So having it taken away was not a matter of him not getting his way. It was like losing something he already had.
He didn't throw a tantrum. But he cried. He cried a cry he had never cried before, and only repeated since when we lost animals due to illness. He was grieving.
Did it matter to him that the toy had never really been his? That poor communication on my part had helped him misunderstand? No. That didn't matter at all. What mattered is that he had believed he had something precious. And now it was gone. It broke his heart.
There are those who probably disagree with what I did next. We were actually more than a mile away from the store when I stopped the car to try and talk with him. Then, crying myself, I turned around and went back to the store and bought Jumping Tigger. Blue-Eyed Boy still has it. Hasn't played with it in more than ten years, but he still has it.
That was the only time anything like that ever happened with Blue-Eyed Boy. Since then I have been careful to be more clear about what is - and what is not - his.
But why is it so wrong for me to feel the same way about a lover?
Does it matter their love was never actually mine in the first place? No. Because there was a time I was convinced it was. There was a time when I sat in my shopping cart content with what I believed was mine. And now that it has been taken away - - - - -
I'm grieving.
So go ahead and tell me I was never loved in the first place. The proof is that my plea for reconcilliation has been ignored. Not even a "no" answer. Just silence. Like I don't exist.
It doesn't matter if they never loved me. Because I believed they did. And now they don't. And it hurts. And I always feel like crying. And I don't know how long it's going to take to recover.
I'm lonely.
Some things die in natural course. Some die before their time. But all things die.
There were people who lived hundreds or thousands of years ago. Not a single person on this planet today knows they were ever here. But they were.
There was a time when they were alive and living. And when they died their life continued in the memories of those who knew them. But then those who knew them died, and their life could only live on in those who had been told about them. And then those who had been told about them died. Fewer and fewer people talked about them. Until nobody remembered they were here. All that become known was that someone was here. But nobody knew who.
The physical death of a lover is devastating. Some people never actually recover. The best they ever manage is to continue in their own life. But they don't really live it anymore. The grief just doesn't go away.
They are lonely.
I won't say it is more or less painful, but when the lover lives but the loving has died it is very much like physical death. There is grieving. And some people never actually recover.
We're lonely.
I have been told by many people recently that if someone truly loves me, then in time they will let go of anger/hurt/whatever negative feelings they have and return to me. And if they don't ever return to me then they probably never really loved me in the first place.
I know they mean well, but does making me think they never loved me in the first place supposed to make me feel better? The only remaining joy I have of my lover turns out to be a lie? That means there are no happy memories.
When Blue-Eyed Boy was very young - couldn't walk or use many words - I had him with me in a store. He was fussy. Life gets awful samey when you're sitting in a shopping cart. And for people that young samey can get bad in a hurry. But before his fussed too much he saw something fantastic: a giant wind-up jumping Tigger toy. It was being demonstrated. Wind it up and it would bounce its head a few times and then do a big flip. Blue-Eyed Boy thought that was pretty cool. And by letting him hold on to one and play with it I was able to complete my shopping in peace.
I had no intention of buying the toy, so it never really belonged to Blue-Eyed Boy. But you all know what happened when I finished shopping and finally put Jumping Tigger back on the shelf? Blue-Eyed Boy was upset.
Now I have been lucky with Blue-Eyed Boy. He has only thrown one tantrum in his whole life. That was a difficult time, but we got through it well enough. It took the most difficult time out I've ever experienced. I sat with him. We were BOTH in time out. And maybe that's why he never had a tantrum again. He knew he was not alone.
But losing Jumping Tigger was hard. Blue-Eyed Boy had come to believe Jumping Tigger belonged to him. So having it taken away was not a matter of him not getting his way. It was like losing something he already had.
He didn't throw a tantrum. But he cried. He cried a cry he had never cried before, and only repeated since when we lost animals due to illness. He was grieving.
Did it matter to him that the toy had never really been his? That poor communication on my part had helped him misunderstand? No. That didn't matter at all. What mattered is that he had believed he had something precious. And now it was gone. It broke his heart.
There are those who probably disagree with what I did next. We were actually more than a mile away from the store when I stopped the car to try and talk with him. Then, crying myself, I turned around and went back to the store and bought Jumping Tigger. Blue-Eyed Boy still has it. Hasn't played with it in more than ten years, but he still has it.
That was the only time anything like that ever happened with Blue-Eyed Boy. Since then I have been careful to be more clear about what is - and what is not - his.
But why is it so wrong for me to feel the same way about a lover?
Does it matter their love was never actually mine in the first place? No. Because there was a time I was convinced it was. There was a time when I sat in my shopping cart content with what I believed was mine. And now that it has been taken away - - - - -
I'm grieving.
So go ahead and tell me I was never loved in the first place. The proof is that my plea for reconcilliation has been ignored. Not even a "no" answer. Just silence. Like I don't exist.
It doesn't matter if they never loved me. Because I believed they did. And now they don't. And it hurts. And I always feel like crying. And I don't know how long it's going to take to recover.
I'm lonely.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Would the Real Me Please Step Forward
I think I've mentioned before that I have played a few online games in which I get to be a whole new character other than myself. Some of them can be quite fun. Some not so much so.
What I find most enjoyable are the people I meet. Yes, we're all telling fantastic lies about ourselves - mostly with regard to our appearance. For even if we confess our age (which I kind of do - I give a decade) our visual images are generally young - and quite good looking. Mine is compared to the real life me anyway.
I've met people from a variety of occupations and countries. And ages. One of the people I've met is a young psychology student from somewhere in the eastern side of the United States. I actually know the state, but will grant her further anonymity by not revealing it. She said she read about people and their online behavior in one of her classes. There have been studies made. (Of course there have been studies made. There's always a study.)
Not surprisingly, the studies reveal that people are often more the way they want to be when playing these online games. Shy people often find themselves with arm loads of friends. And I suppose weak and powerless feeling people become dominant in the war games. (She didn't say that one. I'm guessing.) Followers must become leaders and I bet some leaders even become followers. And then there are the gender swappers.
I asked this question of her: So, if being online removes the barriers and fears I have in real life which prevent the real me from displaying to the world, does that mean I'm more real online than in real life?
Her answer: In way, yes.
What online has done is remove the visual aspect of who I am - which ultimately has little (nothing) to do with who I really am.
I believe this. Kind of.
For what I look like, and my physical gender, both directly affect my behavior in real life. If my body has limitations then I have limitations. There are places women and can go but men can't, and places men can go but women can't. There are socially accepted behaviors for women which are unacceptable for men, and the same in reverse.
She asked me to close my eyes and envision myself. Who do I see when I look at the me inside my body? In a cooperative mood, I began to list about six to eight character qualities I think I have - but rarely display - in my real life. As I listed them I felt a chill on my arms. Why? Because many people online have used those very words to describe me - without prompting of any kind from me. In real life I don't often get these compliments, even with prompting.
That conversation made me feel happier about myself online. And I realized just how many people online actually seem to like me. And if all of this mumbo jumbo about the real me showing up online more so than in person, then perhaps I am as kind, caring - and likeable - as I wished I was in real life.
Also makes me wonder about the people who are complete assholes in these games.
What I find most enjoyable are the people I meet. Yes, we're all telling fantastic lies about ourselves - mostly with regard to our appearance. For even if we confess our age (which I kind of do - I give a decade) our visual images are generally young - and quite good looking. Mine is compared to the real life me anyway.
I've met people from a variety of occupations and countries. And ages. One of the people I've met is a young psychology student from somewhere in the eastern side of the United States. I actually know the state, but will grant her further anonymity by not revealing it. She said she read about people and their online behavior in one of her classes. There have been studies made. (Of course there have been studies made. There's always a study.)
Not surprisingly, the studies reveal that people are often more the way they want to be when playing these online games. Shy people often find themselves with arm loads of friends. And I suppose weak and powerless feeling people become dominant in the war games. (She didn't say that one. I'm guessing.) Followers must become leaders and I bet some leaders even become followers. And then there are the gender swappers.
I asked this question of her: So, if being online removes the barriers and fears I have in real life which prevent the real me from displaying to the world, does that mean I'm more real online than in real life?
Her answer: In way, yes.
What online has done is remove the visual aspect of who I am - which ultimately has little (nothing) to do with who I really am.
I believe this. Kind of.
For what I look like, and my physical gender, both directly affect my behavior in real life. If my body has limitations then I have limitations. There are places women and can go but men can't, and places men can go but women can't. There are socially accepted behaviors for women which are unacceptable for men, and the same in reverse.
She asked me to close my eyes and envision myself. Who do I see when I look at the me inside my body? In a cooperative mood, I began to list about six to eight character qualities I think I have - but rarely display - in my real life. As I listed them I felt a chill on my arms. Why? Because many people online have used those very words to describe me - without prompting of any kind from me. In real life I don't often get these compliments, even with prompting.
That conversation made me feel happier about myself online. And I realized just how many people online actually seem to like me. And if all of this mumbo jumbo about the real me showing up online more so than in person, then perhaps I am as kind, caring - and likeable - as I wished I was in real life.
Also makes me wonder about the people who are complete assholes in these games.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Complicated Characters
Lonely people can make fascinating stories. I think so. Maybe that's because I kind of identify with lonely people, being a lonely person. But the Sad Clown act always appealed better to me than happy clowns. Happy clowns annoy me. Never liked them. Not even as a child.
A few months ago I stumbled across an old Jackie Gleason movie on our local PBS station: Gigot. It was a movie about a mute man living a pitiful life who befriends a woman and child down on their luck. Apart from the humorous aspects of the film, of which there were many, what I especially liked was the sensitivity of Gigot. Not that every lonely person is automatically sensitive. Some are lonely because they're so creepy nobody wants to be around them.
I remember seeing the movie "Lili" when I was young, starring Leslie Caron. She played a lonely young women who becomes part of a circus troupe. I haven't seen the movie in years but I remember it pulled at me.
There was a scene in a Burt Reynolds move (The End) which just made me cry. It was near the end, right after Reynolds' character realizes he doesn't want to commit suicide after all. He makes it back to shore only to find Dom DeLuise's character there - ready and willing to help him die. There is a struggle scene which ends with Reynolds throwing DeLuise to the ground and screaming at him that he doens't want to die and so "Quit trying to kill me! Do you understand?"
It was DeLuise's reply which makes me cry. He chokes up and says, "Yes. You don't like me anymore."
There is something in those words put together in that sequence and uttered from the heart that tears at me. It was at that moment that DeLuise's character, who had hitherto been annoying to me, endeared itself to my heart. Suddenly, I felt I understood this character. And in understanding, I found I liked him.
Sad characters are not so easy to write as one might think. For one thing, they have to have a reason to be sad. Seldom do single events turn people into sad people. Single events can make people sad, but unless that event is completely devastating it probably won't have the effect of turning that person sad henceforth. Humans tend to recover. Especially if we have support of people we care about.
The sadness I'm trying to talk about seems to result from a person seeing their self-worth as no longer a part of themself. The two have become disconnected. You will notice - in real life - that sad people often are very giving. Why? Most likely because the times when they have received what they want have resulted from when they gave.
And so they give.
Money. Food. Possessions. Sex.
What makes their situation even sadder is that there are a lot of people who recognize the signs of such people and will take complete advantage of their giving nature. They will take every penny they have. Eat them out of house and home. Steal possessions. Make them their sex toy instead of their lover.
These are the stories that are hard to write. They may seem fairly straightforward, but they're not. Not if one is to make them believable.
A few months ago I stumbled across an old Jackie Gleason movie on our local PBS station: Gigot. It was a movie about a mute man living a pitiful life who befriends a woman and child down on their luck. Apart from the humorous aspects of the film, of which there were many, what I especially liked was the sensitivity of Gigot. Not that every lonely person is automatically sensitive. Some are lonely because they're so creepy nobody wants to be around them.
I remember seeing the movie "Lili" when I was young, starring Leslie Caron. She played a lonely young women who becomes part of a circus troupe. I haven't seen the movie in years but I remember it pulled at me.
There was a scene in a Burt Reynolds move (The End) which just made me cry. It was near the end, right after Reynolds' character realizes he doesn't want to commit suicide after all. He makes it back to shore only to find Dom DeLuise's character there - ready and willing to help him die. There is a struggle scene which ends with Reynolds throwing DeLuise to the ground and screaming at him that he doens't want to die and so "Quit trying to kill me! Do you understand?"
It was DeLuise's reply which makes me cry. He chokes up and says, "Yes. You don't like me anymore."
There is something in those words put together in that sequence and uttered from the heart that tears at me. It was at that moment that DeLuise's character, who had hitherto been annoying to me, endeared itself to my heart. Suddenly, I felt I understood this character. And in understanding, I found I liked him.
Sad characters are not so easy to write as one might think. For one thing, they have to have a reason to be sad. Seldom do single events turn people into sad people. Single events can make people sad, but unless that event is completely devastating it probably won't have the effect of turning that person sad henceforth. Humans tend to recover. Especially if we have support of people we care about.
The sadness I'm trying to talk about seems to result from a person seeing their self-worth as no longer a part of themself. The two have become disconnected. You will notice - in real life - that sad people often are very giving. Why? Most likely because the times when they have received what they want have resulted from when they gave.
And so they give.
Money. Food. Possessions. Sex.
What makes their situation even sadder is that there are a lot of people who recognize the signs of such people and will take complete advantage of their giving nature. They will take every penny they have. Eat them out of house and home. Steal possessions. Make them their sex toy instead of their lover.
These are the stories that are hard to write. They may seem fairly straightforward, but they're not. Not if one is to make them believable.
Friday, April 2, 2010
So What Have I Done Anyway
Fairyhedgehog, who has some of the most adorable, humorous, and clever posts has another one: Have You Had Sex.
She links to another blog in which study results are listed. Included in those results is the statistic that 95% of respondees considered penile-vaginal intercourse sex. So what do the other 5% think of that? God knows. lol
What I find most amusing about that statistic is I have struggled with the definition of sexual intercourse myself. (Oh. In case you're wondering, this is one of the few times I go with the majority. I DO think putting a penis into a vagina is having sex.)
But then there are the cases of rape. Is that sex? Unfortunately, yes. It's just that sex has become a weapon and not a means of love making.
But enough about that.
One of the the comments to fairyhedgehog's post mentioned "phone sex" and "cyber sex". IS that sex?
And what about this scenario:
A woman goes online. She takes on a male personna. (Why doesn't matter. She just does.) She meets a female personna. They get to chatting/texting and find they are attracted to each other. So, unable (and unwilling to take the risk of) to be together physically, they begin talking about what it would be like if they could be together. IOW, they have cyber sex.
Is this woman a lesbian? Did she engage in sexual activity? I mean, she knows she's not a man. But she really doesn't know if the woman she's been pretending to have sex with is actually a woman. What if it's a man pretending to be a woman?
This whole gender/having sex thing online is very confusing to me.
No wonder I say I'm gender confused.
She links to another blog in which study results are listed. Included in those results is the statistic that 95% of respondees considered penile-vaginal intercourse sex. So what do the other 5% think of that? God knows. lol
What I find most amusing about that statistic is I have struggled with the definition of sexual intercourse myself. (Oh. In case you're wondering, this is one of the few times I go with the majority. I DO think putting a penis into a vagina is having sex.)
But then there are the cases of rape. Is that sex? Unfortunately, yes. It's just that sex has become a weapon and not a means of love making.
But enough about that.
One of the the comments to fairyhedgehog's post mentioned "phone sex" and "cyber sex". IS that sex?
And what about this scenario:
A woman goes online. She takes on a male personna. (Why doesn't matter. She just does.) She meets a female personna. They get to chatting/texting and find they are attracted to each other. So, unable (and unwilling to take the risk of) to be together physically, they begin talking about what it would be like if they could be together. IOW, they have cyber sex.
Is this woman a lesbian? Did she engage in sexual activity? I mean, she knows she's not a man. But she really doesn't know if the woman she's been pretending to have sex with is actually a woman. What if it's a man pretending to be a woman?
This whole gender/having sex thing online is very confusing to me.
No wonder I say I'm gender confused.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Experience Makes for Good Stories
It never ceases to amaze me how stupid I can be. I mean, by many standards I am actually an intelligent person. In school I always got As in classes I liked, Bs in classes that were interesting but not my favories, Cs in the other classes.
When confronted with problems at work and school I would usually come up with a creative solution that worked. I remember the one place I worked I redid their entire coding system. Spent three months doing it. I found out that fifteen years later they were still using it.
And my ideas for improving efficiency were all implemented with great success.
No, I am not a stupid person.
So why do I behave so stupidly?
It's desperation. You know?
That feeling of extreme panic when I realize what my life has turned into. And so when someone likes me, I put reason and caution aside and leap forward, hoping to find something that just isn't there.
I can make use of my stupidity. In my writing.
My characters can be just like that. Intelligent. Until it comes to a matter of the heart. And then - like the flipping of a switch - foolishness reigns supreme.
Except I have a difficult time not writing happy endings. Too much reality for me, I guess.
I guess I can't find what I'm looking for because it's beyond my having in this life. Or maybe I just don't know what it is.
Whichever, I now have another painful experience to draw from when writing a story about a character I want to be real.
When confronted with problems at work and school I would usually come up with a creative solution that worked. I remember the one place I worked I redid their entire coding system. Spent three months doing it. I found out that fifteen years later they were still using it.
And my ideas for improving efficiency were all implemented with great success.
No, I am not a stupid person.
So why do I behave so stupidly?
It's desperation. You know?
That feeling of extreme panic when I realize what my life has turned into. And so when someone likes me, I put reason and caution aside and leap forward, hoping to find something that just isn't there.
I can make use of my stupidity. In my writing.
My characters can be just like that. Intelligent. Until it comes to a matter of the heart. And then - like the flipping of a switch - foolishness reigns supreme.
Except I have a difficult time not writing happy endings. Too much reality for me, I guess.
I guess I can't find what I'm looking for because it's beyond my having in this life. Or maybe I just don't know what it is.
Whichever, I now have another painful experience to draw from when writing a story about a character I want to be real.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Different Mes
It never ceases to amaze me how pain and loneliness seem to bring out the greatest in artistic effort.
Some of the best songs were written through tears. Comedians draw upon past pain to make us laugh. And the anguish of a heart inspire great poetry and prose.
Not always, of course. Some of the funniest comedians admit to happy childhoods.
I guess I can't speak to that.
I do know my best work - the writing I've done which I enjoy - stems from great sadness and loss. Rejection. That feeling - knowledge - that I never fit in.
At times it seems like a friend. You know? But I know it's warped me. Why else do I not know who and what I am? It's why my "about" section uses the word genderqueer. To be honest, I don't even know that THAT means. But I know what I wish.
I wish I could put on and take off what I am like clothing. Some days I could be physically strong. Some days I would be petite. Some days I would be a leader. Other days I would follow. Some days I would be beautiful beyond words. Other days I would be down and dirty, actually getting something done.
But whatever I wore, this would be true: I would be me. And I would have value.
Some of the best songs were written through tears. Comedians draw upon past pain to make us laugh. And the anguish of a heart inspire great poetry and prose.
Not always, of course. Some of the funniest comedians admit to happy childhoods.
I guess I can't speak to that.
I do know my best work - the writing I've done which I enjoy - stems from great sadness and loss. Rejection. That feeling - knowledge - that I never fit in.
At times it seems like a friend. You know? But I know it's warped me. Why else do I not know who and what I am? It's why my "about" section uses the word genderqueer. To be honest, I don't even know that THAT means. But I know what I wish.
I wish I could put on and take off what I am like clothing. Some days I could be physically strong. Some days I would be petite. Some days I would be a leader. Other days I would follow. Some days I would be beautiful beyond words. Other days I would be down and dirty, actually getting something done.
But whatever I wore, this would be true: I would be me. And I would have value.
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