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Today: unpacking sex toys, re-boiling all I have, laughing at the collection of cocks I have accrued. When I was little I wouldn’t name my army of stuffed animals because I was afraid I’d forget who was who, and then they’d hate me. Thank god the dildos come with names. Now drying on a towel on the kitchen counter are the following friends: Rex, Randy, Acute, Throb, Johnny, Lonestar, Tex, Little Flirt, Champ 3, Woody, and the Double Dipper (the subject of my next blog; stay tuned). These are the ones that made the cut. Everyone else got thrown away in the move. Lovers long gone cannot be carried into this new (fancy fantastic) relationship, regardless of how much I paid for them and how many orgasms they provided.
When gf called and asked how my day was going (it is my day off and all) I told her I was cleaning. Her response:
“That’s so cute!”
I pushed for an explanation. It’s not like I don’t clean.
“It’s just not something I picture you doing, Jameson. Not something I picture you excited about doing.”
This is true. She is correct.
And yesterday I spilled coffee on my white “Pervert” tank top within four minutes of arriving at the GV booth in the Folsom St. Fair. Thank god I don’t do the laundry. Detergent and fabric softener and folding my socks make gf happy. The same cannot be said about me.
A recent conversation on what makes someone good in bed ended with the decision that you must be willing to accept pleasure, and you must be willing to give someone else pleasure. All else can be learned, all other skills can be taught. Two simple rules that are, for most of us, so difficult to follow.
One of the keys to both rules, however, is knowing yourself. Knowing your desires and your dislikes will, indeed, make you a better lover. You cannot accept pleasure if you’re afraid and unwilling to admit what turns you on. You cannot fully give pleasure if you are unaware of your own boundaries. Knowing who you are and what you want is important in all aspects of life, sexuality included.
I hardly believed it was possible to find a woman so like myself, who would want to watch porn and masturbate and, at times, mimic the sex life of a (highly skilled and mature) 17 year old boy. I was wrong. However, I wouldn’t have found her if I hadn’t admitted to myself that I, at times, have the sexual personality of a 17 year old boy. Pretending to be anything else proved to be useless.
Yesterday at the Folsom St. Fair I smiled big, and said out loud again and again “I love San Francisco.” Nowhere else is there such a community of sex-positive and unafraid beautiful people. (And oh dear lord there were some attractive naked men. So hot. So so so hot.) I never forget how lucky I am to live here.
I also remember how lucky I am to have gf, who not only gives me the sex I want, but does the laundry and the dishes.
You’re so jealous.
…here’s to letting yourself be as nasty as you want, and finding someone (or some ones) who will not try to clean you up….but will totally wash your undies.
yours,
.jameson.
