tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60255391029709337892024-03-19T05:08:51.769-07:00Other Side of Mamapaying homage to the foul-mouthed, floozy withinOther Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-976543161495069422011-09-08T20:26:00.000-07:002011-09-08T20:26:51.928-07:00Bi the Way: I am bisexuality at it's finest!I'm not entirely sure how to start this topic so I'll just say flat out: I'm a bisexual woman. For me this means I enjoy emotional and physical relationships with men and women alike. Let me tell you what, for me, this doesn't mean:<br />
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It does not mean I'm confused about my sexuality.<br />
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It does not mean I like 'playing gay' to turn men on.<br />
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It does not mean I'm promiscuous.<br />
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It does not mean I haven't found the right man or woman to turn me definitively one way or the other.<br />
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It does not mean that I'm going to cheat while in a relationship because if I'm with a woman I MUST be thinking about sex with men or if I'm with a man I MUST be thinking about sex with women.<br />
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It does not mean I need a religious conversion to fix me.<br />
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I am a proud, confident, self assured bisexual woman. I love people and I see the innate beauty in both genders and have a deep and profound appreciation of that beauty. I have had loving relationships with men and women, I've lived happily with men and women, and yes I've had great sex with men and women. And since I love both I have no strong inclination towards one over the other. <br />
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Physically and emotionally both genders offer things that the other doesn't obviously. There's no point delving into what these things are because this could quickly deteriorate into a list of stereotypes. But to say that because I'm with one gender I'm going to miss being with the other (or end up cheating) is idiotic and small-minded. EVERYONE offers something emotionally and physically that someone else doesn't. If we all had the same things to offer there would be no compatibility issues, no relationship issues, no reason to ever date anyone but the first person you ever dated. Hell, there'd be no reason to date at all, we could just pick someone at random and stick with 'em for life.<br />
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When I in a relationship I don't feel compelled to be faithful to that entire gender just that one person. <br />
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I have no confusion about my sexuality and tend to gravitate to people who have no confusion about it. Men who think I just need to get laid by their somehow magical woman straightening dick are typically dicks themselves and have no place in my world. Women who thing bisexual women are nasty for wanting dick sometimes, they're pretty much dicks too so again, not in my world. Open minded, understanding, intelligent people are my friends (you can't pick your family but you can pick which family members are your friends) so rarely do I have to explain the concept of bisexuality.<br />
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However to those delusional men and women who think their ultra potent sexual skills are just the thing I need to make me forget getting laid by any other sex but theirs, please believe I've had good and proper, mind blowing sex with both genders! How good? So good I wanna keep fucking 'em both, thank you very much! And no, that doesn't mean I wanna cheat on one with the other (*eyes rolling*). Get off it, why dontcha, geez.<br />
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Occasionally I'm put in a position to defend my sexuality and this irks me because most often it's to religious zealots who aren't generally very understanding or tolerant of anyone who doesn't follow their book so it's like talking to a self-righteous brick wall, or, oddly enough, members of the gay community who spend all their energy and breath fighting for equality for everyone but bisexuals. There was a time when I hated seeing the acronym LGBT because the 'B' was rarely represented and usually outcast. Now I say screw 'em for hating on their own and will happily attend Pride celebrations with my lovingly supportive male fiancé and our son.<br />
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<center><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/116673076927562005401/BloggerPictures?authkey=Gv1sRgCJmHtqPQzu2QqwE#5648901160282540530"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1LGIMHVL4-SQIFh8hyphenhyphenpK7ox48cUMQWfHgiHj3ObxLrCv9HaChjPp0FuCSjl7R5x0QK0sN_mqFLxo1RvfmYKwHO7gCr_Ls_4sBuIJ6L9Kgcb81OVQ3tgCKwd_LFLlqsX5wyflAG8bnhIO/s288/iphone_photo.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" width="281" /></a></center><br />
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So that's who I am as a bisexual woman. Despite all the stereotypes, hypocrisies, and negativity heaped on me by even my 'peers'. Or maybe because of it all. Maybe all the outside confusion and hatred has given me the opportunity to truly think about who I am in the face of all the bullshit. Conclusion: it's all bullshit and I rock! The end.<br />
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<div class="bhbadge" id="bhbadge_Featured" style="display: inline;"><a href="http://www.blogher.com?from=bhfbadge" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.blogher.com/files/edbadge_Featured.jpg" border="0" alt="Featured on BlogHer.com" title="Featured on BlogHer.com" width="120" height="100"></a></div><!-- END BHBadge -->sOther Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-46720568077479899632011-08-27T16:03:00.000-07:002011-08-27T16:03:29.066-07:00WHAT NOT TO WEAR Season 7 - Miriam (full episode)<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/03eztwo0UY0?fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" width="425"></iframe>
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<br />"What Not To Wear" is sort of a guilty pleasure of mine and this is my FAVORITE episode!! I especially LOVE LOVE LOVE the fabulous blue dress she rocks at the end. FRIGGIN LOVE IT!! i would have such a crush on myself in that dress, i'd be tryna holla at me like 'Dang big girl, can i take a ride down those curves!!'
<br /> Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-43702341601316215182011-08-26T12:20:00.000-07:002011-08-26T12:20:09.041-07:00Carl & Kenya Stevens on Gender Harmony<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eF-2L7rBdmo?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe>Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-43253958182776249122011-08-26T11:43:00.000-07:002011-08-26T11:43:17.966-07:00Timothy Bloom - 'Til The End Of Time ft. V<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ctaFP8DQ5W8?fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="295" width="480"></iframe>Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-73258383582412209142011-08-26T11:39:00.001-07:002011-08-26T13:19:22.146-07:00celibacy and the bitter barrierSome people should not be celibate for too long. Yea you heard me! Has anyone else realized that some people really just shouldn't be celibate too long?<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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Now hear my words: <i>Some people</i> and <i>too long</i>. I don't mean everybody all the time, so simmer down and don't get ya self righteous panties in a bunch before you hear what I'm saying.<br />
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Many times we choose celibacy for completely noble and honorable purposes. Whether because of the desire to cleanse and purge our heads and hearts of past baggage, to open our souls for present experiences, to prepares our spirits for future encounters and unions in hopes of recognizing the good, the bad, and the ugly the next time around, or all of the above. This is a brilliant endeavor that we all should possibly engage in periodically.<br />
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However, in an effort to purify and nourish head, heart, soul and spirit we neglect the needs of the body. We can feed if food, exercise it, and allow it to meditate; for many people, blessedly, these are more than enough to sustain them through a period of brief or extended celibacy with grace and even enlightenment. But for some, and I said some, celibacy is different. Veeeery different.<br />
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First, it ain't a choice. Or at least is doesn't start as a choice. It starts as a break up or a lonely couple of weekends, then stretches into a drought, then mutates rather angrily but with dogged acceptance into a conscious decision of "well, as long as I'm not getting any, I might as well make the best of the experience." So, there's already a certain bitterness connected to the experience in the first place.<br />
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Second, after an extended period of sexual deprivation the whole purpose behind the celibacy gets twisted. The wonder and beauty of the inner spiritual enlightenment all of a sudden makes them a tad bit too enlightened for their own damn good. All of a sudden, lack of sex has made them a greater being, sainted, surely more wise than those hopeless fools wasting brain cells on orgasms and certifiably more knowledgeable than those hapless idiots that they actually wish to have sex with!!<br />
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Some, not all, but some people who remain celibate for too long develop what I call the Bitter Barrier. It's the force field of general nastiness and pheromone and cock-blocking hostility that develops around some of them after they have passed the point of enlightenment, leaped over a 'higher level', and now their siditty asses are just perched up on a pedestal of their own monastic creation. Now they do not just feel better, they are better; better than you or me, at least that's what their horny little heads tell them. Exerting the deliberate strength to deny the lust of their loins makes them superior humans and they should be worshipped and groped, uh I mean coveted.<br />
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Which makes it that much harder for them to understand why those they wish to one day have sex with by showing them that they are stronger, smarter and better than them, DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH THEIR NEUROTIC ASSES! "<br />
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<i>"Alas, damn this celibacy and the exalted, ultimate being it has created in me and the fact that others simply cannot clench up, sinch up and understand me!!!"</i><br />
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Hhhmmm..... The Bitter Barrier in full effect. You are now the crazy friend when out with the crew and you don't even know it. People aren't sensing confidence, sensuality, clarity, intelligence, or any of the things that you intended to glean from this period of celibacy.<br />
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People come around you now and five minutes later they walk away saying, "Mmph, that mothafuckas craaaazy! They need to get some ass like quick fast in a hurry!"<br />
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And I'm not a hypocrite; I am one of those people who has learned that it is not too smart for me to go too long without a proper physical release. Granted, it is much more preferable, and the likelihood of mass homicide is dramatically decreased, when something other than my own imagination and battery operated devices are involved, but I do have a damn good imagination and I'm not scared to shop for bigger, better and more creative toys should the need for chosen celibacy arise again.<br />
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Soooo, if anyone out there might be thinking of your recent behavior and realized you might have developed a Bitter Barrier, I recommend either visiting your local XXX shop and seeing if anything there tickles your fancy..... literally, or picking up some literature on Tantra and self pleasuring, or learning about the benefits of 'friends with benefits'. Do something! Because I can assure you that some friend or prospective date out there is, while to your face commending your noble, leg-locked choice, they are secretly begging you to <b>just bus' a nut and shut the fuck up already!!</b>Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-74270145464570814752006-12-15T11:33:00.000-08:002011-08-26T13:25:47.117-07:00Carnal Conclusion; My Sexuality Self-Help Session in CyberspaceAt thirty, I thought I would know everything that I should know about my sex and sexuality. I don't mean, I would know every way to please and pleasure a man or a woman, or hell, even myself. But I thought I would have discovered everything about my emotional sexual composition. Who I am as a relatively confident, rather attractive bisexual being. However at thirty, for a little while, I found myself mentally deadlocked, stuck and confused.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>I never thought this would happen to me. It's not supposed to happen to me. I mean, seriously, it's only supposed to happen to middle aged married couples, with 2 kids, a mini-van, a mortgage, and a decade or two of marital grief under their belts. It sure as hell is not supposed to happen to sexy, same-sex couples in their thirties, with no kids, and barely two years into their relationship. And what's most important here, it is not supposed to happen TO ME!! I am not supposed to be in a sexless relationship! Are you kidding me? I've been in relationships where the biggest problem was one or the other of us was on the verge of losing a job because we hadn't been to work recently due to too much sex! And now, at the, what I consider to be quite tender, age of 30 I am in the second year of a relationship with a 40 year old woman, and we only have sex about twice a month. TWICE A DAMN MONTH!<br />
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At the beginning of the problem, I didn't think it was a problem. I think, "All right, I'm a sexual being, I've seduced my share of women and men and I'm damn good at it, if I do say so myself. I know how to perk up somebody's sexual interest, and I've never even had to use Viagra! I have lingerie, I have toys, I have sweet and sticky food in the fridge, I have videos and DVD's, and best of all, I have me. I have only been sleeping with this woman for a year or so, we haven't done nearly everything we could do just using our own bodies and stamina. What the hell am I worried about?"<br />
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Very quickly I realize my, then 39 year old, woman is also a pretty damn conservative woman. Hell, I honestly didn't know there was a such thing as conservative lesbians. Politically conservative, of course, even a lesbian that dresses conservative is allowed. But a Black butch dyke that's shy about shopping for a strap-on dildo or watching lesbian porn.....WHAT THE HELL!?!<br />
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To only compound an already complicated development, at that time, each weekend I had the pleasure of being directly exposed to my lover's extremely over-active past sex life, by means of her part-time job (which was actually the way we met) as a bartender at a gay night club. It was the only gay night club at the time in Nassau, Bahamas, and before I came along, she was apparently one of the hottest commodities in it. I'll save the long and romantic story for how we met for another time, but once we started dating, her club became my regular Friday through Sunday night hangout. I became like Norm from "Cheers" ; when everybody else had to be searched by security guards to get in, security just waved me by, and knew me by name, when everybody else paid the cover charge, the front door people waved me by, and knew me by name, and of course, I drank free all night. The other bartender also knew me by name. Yeah, it was cute and that attention I liked.... a lot.<br />
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What I didn't like, and what got real old, real quick, was that at least once or twice a weekend my lover had to 'play sly'. You know what 'playin' sly' is- when you are in the middle of a conversation with your significant other, until their eyes catch the eyes of a certain someone who just walked in, so they have to play sly and excuse themselves real quick, then a minute later the other bartender appears with a fresh drink and a cocktail napkin with a note scribbled on it, "I used to mess with that girl n red n she might want to talk to me. B cool, will xplain later. Luv u." The drink is tall and strong, I don't complain.... much.....at first.<br />
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After months and months of faces and faces from the past, but a steady decrease in the open-mindedness of our own sexual experimentation and frequency, my ability to be persuasive is deteriorating. Due to her frequently visiting teenage niece, she has now forced me to discard any sex material that the teen could get to, which was damn near all of it. I refused to get rid of certain toys, on sheer principle. On occasion, I tried to get her to look at various things I found online, to see what would spark her interest, but nothing seemed to. It was so odd and disheartening to me. She had such an active sex life prior to meeting me, and when we do make love, have sex, and even just fuck, I've had this woman crawling up the headboard backward screaming my name! I know she's fucking into it! But getting this ultra-conservative woman to talk about sex is like....well.... getting an ultra-conservative woman to talk about sex.<br />
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It's like pulling teeth.<br />
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With tweezers.<br />
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But I'm stubborn. And horny. So I pull, and pull, and eventually some long buried and deeply torturing childhood issues begin to surface. While the actual experiences that she had endured themselves were not buried, we had discussed them on more than one occasion, as it was one of the things we unfortunately had in common and connected on, how those experiences impacted her relationships since and her views on sex was something that she had never broached. We broached it, delicately at first, then not so delicately. Many tears were shed over several weeks, and still are periodically as the topic comes up every so often, but painful as it was, we both hashed out hideous sexual emotional trauma, and came out stronger, wiser, more able to talk about our feelings and past, and more connected on several levels.<br />
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And I didn't expect sexual miracles to take place, I knew there would be a transitional period that she would need to integrate this new information into her life. And I was perfectly willing to make the first move, and begin again with my powers of persuasion until we once again found our physical harmony. But months pass, and nothing changes. Our lives continue to get more and more settled into the patterns of a committed couple in every aspect except for this one. If any sexin' is to take place, it is at my initiation, or, even worse, if she does initiate it, the most she gives me is usually a two-minute 'hand-job', which I'd just as soon do without (because on most days I'm doing that myself).<br />
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I can sincerely say that at no point did I question her loyalty. By no stretch of the imagination do I think that I had some sort of magical influence that made her want to be faithful, since she hadn't done so with another woman so far. But when I met her, I was at a time in my life that I was trying to shed certain unhealthy personality traits and so was she, and I would have been a hypocrite had I believed that such a change was possible in me but not in another. It was yet another thing we connected on, and luckily on that I have yet to be proven wrong on.<br />
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As I mentioned, in all other aspects we are a settled, committed couple, living together, joint bills and bank accounts (some serious financial strain at times), caring for pets, attending doctors appointments and family engagements together. And our sex life became my running joke. I couldn't help it, my patience wore very thin so that at times I could tolerate the occasional hit-and-run hand-job and once-a-month marathon sweat-up-the-sheets session, that usually occurred sometime around the time for her period to start, when her hormones are high (but we can only do it once and then shit is off limits for at least a week anyway) that was supposed last me until next month. But sometimes I just could not take it and my cynical ass mouth got the better of me and I can honestly say that I regret some of the things I said. She is very sensitive and I was hurtful and occasionally hateful.<br />
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But dammit I was horny. And I was now no longer questioning her. She seemed perfectly content with the physical arrangement we had, what felt to me like dear friends who took care of each other and cared for each other..... with occasional benefits. And it made me worried that maybe all this time I was looking at this from entirely the wrong direction. Maybe all this time, I was trying to figure out how to make my woman more attracted to me and trying to find ways to increase the frequency in which we have sex, but what if it wasn't her...... What if it's me?<br />
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What if I'm just over-sexed and too fucked up to see it? I mean, I know that I've had more sex than the average woman my age, and I don't say that to brag as I don't see it as something to necessarily be proud of, it's just something that I've come to learn about myself by talking to a lot of women from various backgrounds over the years. And a lot of men. And by obviously doing a hell of a lot more than talking to them. It just never occurred to me that I could be over-sexed by 30.<br />
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It has to be me! She is happy and has not a single complaint about our relationship, but I am this raging horny toad, nagging and whining and persuading and initiating..... why? I am putting too much emphasis on the importance of our sex life when apparently it does not have to be important. This is commitment, right? This is 'the long haul'. But I had been in relationships for longer than this and the sex still never dropped below a 4-5 time a week limit at least, and that was during fights!! STOP IT DAMMIT, IT'S JUST SEX!! I am a grown ass, strong Black woman, I am greater than my sexual needs, I am not some lusting child! I can suppress my urges for now and eventually, I'll adjust to her 'schedule of needs'. Just like a diet. Right?<br />
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Ah, HELL, NO! This was a bit more than I could fathom on my own. I had to go global. I had to go to the web.<br />
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I finally decided the problem might have become slightly bigger than my head could hold alone. I needed to get it out, into the open, to someone other than just the two of us, because it didn't seem to be going anywhere in my head. And my hands were mutating into wretchedly sore and inflexible limbs from the massive nightly overuse. So I figured if I was going to abuse my hands anyway, it should be in a slightly more constructive way.<br />
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I took my problem to the web and posted it on my blog on MySpace. I poured out my heart and other organs and outright asked whoever read my blog, should I hide my sexual side. Had I, in essence, overwhelmed my partner sexually or was I just expecting too much? Was this just what a long-term, devoted relationship meant? I probably gave way too much information, or way too little, I have no idea, I just needed to externalize this crisis. Holding is was doing a number on my ulcer.<br />
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While I was in the process of purging my soul, I thought it might be a good idea to try and replenish some of the emotional nutrients I had to be losing. First and foremost, I needed to read something uplifting or out-lifting. Feelin' a bit like a life-long sucka, I decide to peep that weeks issue of Hanifah Walidah's e-newsletter and blog "Sucka for Life". I read several newsletters, journals, and blogs for several reasons. Hanifah's self-actualized, empowered, and passionately female infused advocacy for the arts and the people always fill me with a light of focus and confidence no matter what her topic of discussion. I feel more confident approaching tasks and situations in my life because of the ease of comfort in which she seems to tackle each of her situations and tasks and just life in general, as just another sister like me.<br />
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Background music..... I go to Neo Soul Cafe, and turn on the music player, to get my head right. I roll a tree, light up, sit back and read my "Sucka" with mellow tunes playing, and wait.....<br />
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It's less than 20 minutes before a little box pops up in the corner of my screen; my email signaling me that my good friends on MySpace had begun responding to my plea for help.<br />
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I hit my spliff long and hard, then go to my email. There were messages telling me that not only had someone posted a response, a few people had emailed responses. Maybe they were too sheepish to respond where others could see. I started reading. Then I started dialoguing and conversing. Then I think for the first time in weeks, I started breathing. Because while I was getting more tips on how to woo my woman, and websites to go to for hints on new positions and places to purchase paraphernalia (most of which I had done already) I was also getting heaps upon heaps of words of encouragement and support. No one shunned or belittled my concerns or needs or made me feel stupid for having my concerns. I was shocked! I was expecting at least one stray person to say that I was being a dick and I should just shut my pie hole and quit my bitchin'! But not a single person said a harsh word.<br />
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What was even more shocking was the abundance of messages I received from women and men who simply thanked me for being so willing to openly discuss my sexuality and my relationship. Women and men who are just coming out of the closet, or bisexual like me and having problems dealing with the stigmas, or who just are new to same sex relationships and happy to see a friendly face, so to speak. Woah, I was not expecting this at all. I read them all, then took a moment and to process what this could mean. This means that it's not me.<br />
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IT'S NOT ME!<br />
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So, I am not an lustful, oversexed slut, I'm a normal woman, with normal needs, and not a freak of nature! I had asked the masses and the general consensus was that I did not have to feel as though I was a sexual deviant, or at least any more deviant than is healthy. For a few days I read caring and warm messages from people on MySpace, women and men alike. I stopped feeling quite so abnormal. However, what exactly do I want to do with that little tidbit of information? Do I really have the motivation or inclination to again direct my energy outside of myself and onto my partner? No, that didn't seem like the most effective strategy. But there were aspects of our relationship that I did need to look at; one aspect in particular. Who I had become in our relationship.<br />
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I looked at Me. My style, my possessions, my clothing, my environment. I looked at the things on my computer including my website, I looked at my reading and music material, or lack thereof, I looked long and hard at who I was. I looked at how I had filtered myself and censored myself and slowly become sort of a 'soft-touched', not-quite-Stepford-ized but almost, Republican-esque alter-ego of myself, that I found none to appealing! This simply did not work.<br />
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One morning after my partner had gone to work, I stood drinking my second cup of coffee and smokin' my second spliff, staring at my pitiful wardrobe in my closet. While she had been encouraging me to get new clothes because I had not done so in years, lack of money and disputes over what we each thought was in style meant that not much had been purchased in the past couple years. What had been bought, was not only now too large for me (both of us lost over 20 pounds on a very strict regimen of diet and stress), most of it looked like stuff that I would buy for my mother. It was what she wanted to see me in, and actually, when I looked at her side of the closet, some of it was the same.<br />
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EEEEKK!! I had always told her that she dressed 10 years older than her age, with oversized wool blazers, pleated slacks with lining, and loafers, tons and tons of loafers. But this meant I was dressing 20 years older than my age! I could see it, a few pairs of pleated slacks with lining, some blouses that I would have never purchased. I made a decision: I have to put a stop to this before she buys me a pair of loafers!<br />
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I start to sort through stuff. I don't want to hurt her feelings or throw away perfectly good clothes. I mean, some of this stuff is good for a job interview or some other equally uptight situation. I just don't want it in my face, as the first thing I see and immediately reach for when I go in my closet anymore. So, I take the slacks and all things 50, and neatly put them on hangers in the furthest reaches of my closet, while reaching for usable, comfortable, good, 30 year old woman clothing. Luckily, I also come across some damn cool 'don't forget you were once 25 too!' rags that I apparently never discarded.<br />
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What the fuck, I try some of the stuff on, just to see what my new, trimmer body looks like in my old duds. WOOHOO! What the fuck!?! I look damn hot, if I say so myself! Hhhhmmm, I don't want to just say so myself. I find and hit my spliff a few more times, pointed my cursor to one of My Own Playlists, grab my digital camera, and play around with the self timer to get some rockin', sexy ass shots! I go back to my MySpace profile and revamp the entire look. What was just a white background with an Aum in the middle is replaced with a full-sized picture of the sexually restored Rashida sitting on a barstool, sporting nothing but a flimsy off-the-shoulder blouse, pulled down to conceal my dignity, and a pair of strappy stilettos (oddly enough, the shoes were a gift from my partner).<br />
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Yes, I should anticipate that being 'half nekked' on the web, for all of the world and my honey and her family to see, would not go over great with her. I'm aware this is not something that she would be totally supportive of, but I am also aware that for the first time I don't really care. I love it, and I love the responses that I've gotten from it. Of course any woman would expect the typical amount of rabid attention from hungry, hormonal boys, panting and typing (probably with one free hand) "Yo, u fine shorty, u shoud holla so we can see wat truble we can start. I bang dat ass good." I can't even imagine who that flatters. But there is remarkably less of that than I expected.<br />
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I am again pleasantly surprised and damn near blown away by the genuine props and rush of mad love I'm from friends and strangers alike who don't just look at the picture on the profile, but read the blog and the replies and take the time to write me messages of support or actually ask for my advice! Would you believe it, asking a neurotic for advice on neuroses? Oh the irony. All I can do is try to offer the same honesty that makes them want to talk to me in the first place. All they are looking for is the same open mind and shoulder that I was looking for.<br />
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I am taking more steps, daily, regain my sexual identity. To not necessarily reclaim who I was 5 or 10 years ago, because I'm not that person either; I'm wiser and better, stronger and, well, better. But I'm a far stretch from the person I was becoming. It's a subtle change, in fun little ways now. I'm remembering how much I like good porn (I really do) but since she doesn't I confine my porn to my computer. I'm playing with sexy li'l clothing and outfit ideas in my head that don't require purchasing anything right now, that I can spring on her at various times. It's the holidays, lots of engagements and shindigs. Lots of opportunities for yuletide cheer!<br />
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I went back to my Blog to let everyone know what my personal status report is. Where I am, as a more secure, more promising, steadier and happier in my skin, woman as a sexual being. I even added a little Jill Scott to drive the point home.<br />
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Where does my sex life with my partner stand? Exactly where it was. Nothing has changed. You didn't realize that I had switched to the present tense. It's the here and now and we still have sex about twice a month. I just don't really complain about it anymore. It doesn't feel any better, or worse, I just got tired of complaining. I hope you didn't expect some sort of resolution on that front, after all, this is titled "Carnal Conclusion" meaning a sexual resolution not a resolution to the relationship. And even further is the subtitle, "My Sexuality Self-Help yada-yada-yada". Get it...sexuality...I'm just sayin' I don't want there to be any confusion about the purpose of this. It was not to say that anything has been resolved, but we are still together and that's something.<br />
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But at least I feel freer, clearer, lighter and less burdened by an issue that should have never been, but had to be, because if if had not been, I might not have been the one to have kicked off what turned into a pretty cool Sexuality Self-Help Session in Cyberspace.Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025539102970933789.post-23601883826431189912005-09-05T11:36:00.000-07:002011-08-26T11:46:12.190-07:00the second time i lost my virginityBetter than the first time? Can a second time actually be so much better than the first time, that is just kind of knocks the first time out of the running, sort of by default? Oh, I do believe so.....<br />
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For several years I actually had a secret crush on him. A real live, batting my eyelashes, try to be witty, push up the boobs, and get butterflies in my stomach crush. But I was introduced to him as a friend of my boyfriend, so a secret my crush had to stay. I don’t know how well guarded the secret was, since my boyfriend once asked me if I liked his friend, and I played it off and said he wasn’t my type. Lie of all lies, because he was so much more my type than my boyfriend was, but my boyfriend was the hostile, thug type, so you don’t tell him the truth in these types of situations. You coddle and coax his over inflated ego, and fantasize about his friend.<br />
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Now let me tell you about him, and let’s just call him He. He is no thug at all though He has his edge. He has a deep, satiny voice that doles out infinite knowledge; that is to say He has some serious intellect going on. He has a dry and cynical sense of humor to rival my own, and a chiseled and solidly sexy form to boot. Damn, I was crushin’!<br />
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I was with my ex for about 5 years, and over the course of these years I considered it one of the few perks of being with him, that I occasionally got to see He. Once I came to my senses and liberated myself from him, the opportunities to see He became fewer and farther between, but no less rewarding. Now, we had gotten to the point in my ‘secret-crush’ relationship that when we ran into each other in a random time and place, it wasn’t inappropriate to exchange warm hugs as a greeting. Never having a strong sense of self, I couldn’t bring myself to make the first move. So each time, I batted my eyelashes, tried to be witty, pushed up my boobs, and got butterflies in my stomach. And he never said a word. <br />
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Not a word. It was a blow to my ego, but like I said, my ex was a hostile, thug type, and He is a good guy, so I just told myself that he didn’t want to cross a line with his boy. That kept me from being completely disappointed and still aroused by my secret crush.<br />
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Six degrees of separation is a bitch sometimes.<br />
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A couple years down the line, I have a new circle of friends and relationships. Only the old and faithful few remain, the friends that are now in the picture are new, but we have formed very strong and steadfast bonds nevertheless. I’m renting a funky little old wood and exposed brick row-house with my best friend, working at a hippie-like non-profit organization that let you burn incense in your office, usually regularly connected with weed and liquor and spend most evenings and weekends indulging in both with my friends. We congregate at each others apartments, pool our resources, cook or order pizza, smoke and drink. We’re in our early and mid-twenties and it’s usually at least 6, at most 12 of us. It can be a bit chaotic.<br />
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But on occasion, one or two of us go off on our own little adventures. My sister has given me some tickets to a baseball game and knowing that my sister has friends with money and usually gets very good seats to any event, I am happy to take them off her hands. However, not many of my all natural, weed smokin’, dred sportin’ friends are big sports fans and I have 4 tickets, so I only invite one friend and tell him he can bring 2 friends. He says cool, he knows two people he can call right now; his roommate and another guy, who he actually thinks I might hit it off with. Side note: At this time, I have been single for about a year having come out of another bad relationship with a woman, and I’ve been abstinent for just about the entire time. This is my choice, and I am very clear about this to all of my friends, but it hasn’t stopped them from trying to set me up with every single person they know.<br />
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Two days later my friend and I walk from my funky little row-house to the light rail station 2 blocks away to meet up with his friends. The whole walk he talks about his friend and how he is mad at himself for not thinking to introduce us sooner. <br />
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I walk down a flight of stairs, and there He is.<br />
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There He is.<br />
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And I play it so cool. And I’m so glad I had that joint before I left the house because my nerves are bad. My first social event with He and I have to make sure it isn’t the last. <br />
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The night before the non-profit that my friend and I work for had a fundraiser and at the end of the night I convinced the bartender to let me smuggle a few bottles out. A few very large bottles of expensive liquor. That morning before leaving home I picked a clear rum and filled a water bottle with it. When we get to the baseball game (sweet box seats, by the way) we get some sodas and munchies, quickly drink the sodas to about half full, then pass the ‘water’ bottle amongst us to mix our drinks. We are tipsy by the 3rd inning, buzzed by the 5th, drunk for the 7th inning stretch and we leave at the 8th. It’s not like we’re watching the game anyway. The day is young and we are feeling good, we decide to keep the party going, so we go to pick up the car of He, grab some more liquor from my place and head back to the house of He. <br />
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Now I’m going to his house. I was so unprepared for this day when I woke up this morning.<br />
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It is so much damn fun! We play drinking games and sex games and get high as hell and laugh for hours and the butterflies in my stomach dance and get high with me! He plays the slickest music mixes at just the right moments and the chill ass mood of the afternoon and evening and night is never broken. <br />
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Well, as is the case when huge quantities of alcohol is usually involved over extended periods of time, periods of time tend to get misplaced. <br />
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The sun is up and it is morning. Yawn and stretch, I sit up in bed……BED!!!! This isn’t my bed!! <br />
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AAAAWWWW, DAMN!! I mean, I would have absolutely no problem if after all the years of anticipation and fantasy He and I had finally consummated my ‘imaginary’ relationship, but not when I’m too damn drunk to remember it!! Wait, He isn’t here. Wait, my clothes are still on and in their proper places. Deep exhale. So where is everybody? I find my friend and his other boy sleeping upright, back to back on the couch in the living room. It makes me think of men sleeping in a foxhole in war. I realize I’m still pretty drunk. I wake them up.<br />
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We are rolling a wake up joint when He comes walking down the steps from upstairs, where he has apparently spent the night. The four of us smoke ourselves awake and contemplate who’s going to go to work and who just got the flu. I’m on the fence. He says he’ll give us all rides home.<br />
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I probably should sit in the passenger seat, being the only girl, but chivalry isn’t big amongst my crew, so I end up in the back. He drops the fellas off first, since they live together, then I’m going to get in the passenger seat but the combination of leftover alcohol, weed, and anxiety of being left alone in the car with him makes me stay right where I am. <br />
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We don’t talk much and it is a short drive. I am not hopeful that there will be another social engagement with my secret crush. We pull up in front of my house and he double-parks. I thank him for the whole day and for dropping me off, He says He had fun and I am welcome and He, being a gentleman, gets out of the car to open my door. We say goodbye and hug.<br />
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And hug.<br />
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And hug.<br />
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I realize our bodies have sort of melted into each other and it feels just like another part of me. He pulls his head back and lets his cheek run along mine, and as his face turns to meet mine our lips barely brush, for just a second, before his full sweet mouth is on mine and I am falling into the softest darkness that I have ever known. I don’t know how long we are standing there with the car double-parked kissing, but then He asks me:<br />
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Maybe I should come in?<br />
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And you would think that I would leap out of my skin, turn summersaults down the street, pick up the car with one hand and place it perfectly in a parking spot, then carry him over the threshold to my bedroom. However, there is one, tiny, huge problem.<br />
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I am on my GODDAMN period!<br />
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Did I forget to mention that? Well I am, and I’m aware how much it sucks. I’m also aware how much it sucks to have to say to him:<br />
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"I would love to have you come in, but it might be the wrong time of the month for certain activities."<br />
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I want to curl up into a ball and die. But what does my secret crush say?<br />
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"That’s okay."<br />
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That’s okay. Well, okay. He parks the car, I shakily unlock the door and show him into my funky little house. I think I point things out to him as we make a quick path to my bedroom. We hug another long and juicy hug, and kiss another long and juicy kiss. I have to take a quick break and run to the bathroom (I have to make sure everything is in order, if you know what I mean). When I come back into the bedroom He is sitting on the bed, I close the bedroom door behind me, and when I come to join him on the bed He does the cutest thing. He takes off his shoes and places them nicely side-by-side by the nightstand.<br />
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And then He completely overwhelms me.<br />
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He takes my face in his hands and his magnificent kisses breathe life into me and suck the breath out of me at the same time. I forget that I’m supposed to try to be sexy, I forget that I’m supposed to try to be witty, I forget all of my masks and pretenses and I am weightless.<br />
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He lays me down and his lips continue to massage mine while his strong hands identify and rename every part of my body. There is no part of me that is the same after He has touched it. He stares into my eyes, He strokes my hair, He nuzzles my neck, He pays such attention to each inch of flesh that spontaneous combustion seems a definite possibility.<br />
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His muscular body is laid out against mine and I can feel how much He wants me. His restraint makes me desire him even more. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra, gently sliding the cups over my breasts. He moans from low as he opens his mouth wide and takes a mouthful of me. As He uses his lips to massage and his tongue to stimulate, I can’t help but to wonder if his oral skills carry over into other areas. I think I just squealed.<br />
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His hand reaches down and I get a bit nervous. I don’t want him to forget what time it is, and even though I’m not averse to getting some action during this time of the month, it can be disturbing for some guys. I reach to stop him, but his beautiful voice whispered in my ear:<br />
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"It’s okay."<br />
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I let him do anything He wants. He reaches for my crotch, but He never goes beneath my pants. He isn’t just using his fingers, He is using his entire hand, forearm, and biceps. I can barely describe what is happening but by the time He really gets me where He wants me, I swear I’m riding his whole arm, and I’m so close to orgasm I’m going blind! <br />
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But He doesn’t want that to happen yet.<br />
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He climbs on top of me and I’m reminded of the perfect jigsaw that our bodies created. Again our lips meet and lock and He instantly finds a slow, marvelous rhythm. Oh this is just too good. I am in awe of this entire experience. He makes me feel more splendid than I could have ever imagine, and I spent years trying to imagine this. His hands move over me like a blind man’s over braille text and I use my senses to try and memorize exact sensations that I know I can never possibly have again. I’m sober and high all over again.<br />
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We dance. We dance the tango of the secret crush, the crush that’s been drawn through years of torture and denial. The dance of the secret crush is so slow it barely moves it times, it just pulses, but it is in constant motion. The dance makes it’s partners euphoric and dazed and sometimes it leaves it’s partners so elated that for a brief moment fear is chased from their souls and they are left completely fulfilled.<br />
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His low, guttural moans in my ear makes every hair on my body jump to attention and do the running man! He makes love to me like no man has ever made love to me before, without ever making love to me, or even taking off all of my clothes. The orgasm I have that morning, the orgasm that He gives me, might as well have been the first of my life. As far as I’m concerned all the other times had been practice. This is finally the real thing.<br />
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I cum from my toes to my eyelids, screaming all the way. I reach up and brace myself against the wall and I wrap my legs around his waist and He holds my hips and rocks me to my core! My back arches to welcome him and he wraps his arm around me for support. I am absolutely amazed. And He doesn’t stop when He makes me scream just once, He just keeps going until I just stop moving. I just can't move anymore. <br />
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And afterwards, He doesn’t pull away, He doesn’t jump up to leave. He lays down next to me, pulls me against him until we find that perfect jigsaw position, holds me, kisses and nuzzles me delicately. He stares at me and I can’t keep myself from kissing him over and over and over until we start over, and over.<br />
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What tragic romance to say this was the one and only time our long time yearning bodies and souls were meant to melt into each other in such bliss. That would be a tragic romance to say, wouldn't it? Though I am blessedly delighted to say our bodies were meant to meet many, many, many more times, you have no idea what actual tragic romance He had in store for me over the next few years.<br />
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I had no idea. Other Side of Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12682751796762576851noreply@blogger.com0