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Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Random Thoughts About Sex

No major point to this post. These are just some things I've been thinking about.

I never cared for sex in the morning, right as I wake up.
Oh, sometimes when I awaken I'm sportin' wood, but that just means I have to pee.
It takes all my effort just to force myself into conciousness, sex is the last thing on my mind.

Plus, I don't feel attractive in the morning. Part of wanting to have sex is feeling sexy, and I just don't.
I know my hair is a big mess, I've got eye boogers, my eyes are probably puffy (especially if I've been drinking the night before), and my breath is foul enough to kill a rhino.
It's not pretty. At all.

G. says I'm sexy no matter what, but he has to say that, he's my husband.
I don't quite believe it, though. Not that he means it (or thinks he means it) but that I actually am. Sexy no matter what, that is.

'Cause it's all about how you feel.

It's like this:
If I've got a great hair-do and I'm having a good hair day, I don't have any breakouts or spots on my face, and I'm wearing my favorite shrink-to-fit Levi's that make my butt look great and show off the bulge in the front and the shirt that accentuates the positive but eliminates the negative, I just know I look sexy.
"Ooh, baby, I am one hot tamale! Yowza!"
Therefore, I feel sexy.

When I'm feeling sexy, I don't walk, I strut. Like a rooster in a henhouse.
And it's not arrogance.
It's not like I'm all "I'm so sexy -- and you're so not." or even, "I'm so sexy and you're not getting it! So there!"
It's just that you know, wothout having to be told, that you're desirable and worthwhile.
Not for what lies beneath -- or perhaps in spite of it.

The only way I'm feeling like that in the morning is if I'm still up and haven't gone to bed yet.

Another insight (almost, but not quite, totally unrelated to the above):

As someone in a long-term relationship (and I hate starting scentences like that, because it feels like I'm lecturing - which I'm not) you begin to notice that strokes from your partner (boyfriend, lover, signifigant other, whatever) don't come as frequently or as often as they did in the beginning.

Oh, you know they love you and all that. And you know they're still attracted to you.
But they don't grab your ass when you bend over to pick something off the floor anymore. They don't want to rip your clothes off and do you right there in the foyer when they come home.
They love you, and they might want to make love to you, but that element of lust, that primal urge to go at it like a dog in heat is, for the most part, gone.
Of it still raises it's head now and then - sometimes when you least expect it -but not nearly as often as it used to.

This is perfectly normal.
If you expect that you and your partner are going to have the same sex life you had at five years as you did at five months, you are bound to be disappointed.
Trust and believe.

This is part of the reason why mean cheat.
(The main reason is that men are pigs, and we love bacon, but you knew that already.)

You want an example? OK, picture this:
I'm at a nightclub, and for some reason the husband either didn't come out with me or he's in another part of the club. (This hardy ever happens, but just suppose, for the moment, that this is the case.)
OK, I'm just standing here with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other (minding my own business) when someone walks by and grabs my ass.
OK, the major part of me will be offended, "You dirty dog! How dare you grab me like that!"

If I find the guy to be sexy, there will be another, totally different, part of me that's strangely excited by it. Him grabbing my ass, the look in his eyes, feeling his desire.
Desire is a big aphrodisiac. If somebody wants me bad enough, it triggers something in me. Something primal.
Now if I were the type to cheat on my husband (which I'm not -- this is just an example) I would possibly consider doing something about it. Either going home with him, or arranging something for another time.

(I'm not a cheater, so grabbing my butt at the club is not really an option, no matter what you look like. And if you do and the husband is with me, I hope you know how to fight.)

As I said, no major point to all this.
I'm just letting some stuff out of my brain to make room for even more bizarro thoughts.