I have an incredibly established, beyond any question or doubt, love and fascination with all things boobs. I've blogged about them. Written about them. Commented on and about them. Countless facebook statuses about them. Talked about them probably to the point of tedium for most people. I don't really know though, because in all honesty the topic will never become tedious to me. So it goes.
I am occasionally asked "Why the obsession?", and truth is...I dunno. I just find them more fun and interesting than scrapbooking or basketball.
Still, at nearly forty years old, I have the same love and appreciation that I did at 14. Over the course of my life I've seen hundreds of thousands. It's never enough. It never gets old. It never gets boring. It's a delight...each and every goddamn time.
Allow me a metaphor. I'm fully aware that not all girls have a thing for Unicorns. I know this. I'm not going to be successful at a universal appeal. However, there does seem to be a common Unicorn theme that I do understand has broad appeal. Also...even if you don't particularly care one way or another, I still think this may help illustrate a point. So here goes.
Pretend you love unicorns. Just love them. Everything about them. It doesn't matter how big or little the unicorn may be. It doesn't really matter what color the unicorn is. The fact is, it's a unicorn. Nothing about it can make it less of a unicorn. You love it simply for that sake.
Now pretend you know that I have a unicorn. I keep it. I take care of it. It is absolutely no secret among gods and men, than I actually own an unicorn, and have access to it anytime I want. Don't you think you might want to see my unicorn? You love them, you know I have one, and it would just make your life if you could see it. Maybe even touch it a little bit.
You ask me if you can see my unicorn. You tell me that you would just love to see it. It would make your whole day, maybe even your whole week, if you could just look at my unicorn.
I tell you I can't show it to you though. It makes me nervous to show other people my unicorn. What if it's not as pretty as someone else's unicorn. I'm afraid you may not like it. You do your best to convince me that couldn't possibly happen. I don't know though. I know you've seen thousands of other unicorns, mine can't possibly be all that exciting for you.
Besides. What if someone found out I showed you my unicorn. They might judge me. My unicorn is sacred. I'm saving my unicorn for someone special. I don't show my unicorn to just anybody.
"What about just a picture?" You ask, with hope in your heart.
But no. No I don't feel comfortable with pictures either. How am I to know those pictures won't end up on the internet somewhere. It would be so disgraceful if that happened.
You try to convince me that you're not the kind of person who would do that. You tell me I could absolutely trust you that the pics wouldn't end up anywhere. Just between us. And the thing is...I believe you. I still say no.
And so you walk away. Disappointed. This does not in any way affect our friendship. You don't like me less for NOT showing you my unicorn. In fact...for the most part...we forget about it and move on. We still hang out. We still laugh, and talk, and enjoy wonderful conversations and time together. But still...but still...it's always there. Always in your mind, you know I have a unicorn, and you know how badly you want to see it.
Lets say then, one day as a surprise, you wake up and there's a text message from me. A picture of my unicorn. It makes your day. You love it. It's just as beautiful as you thought it would be. You've seen hundreds of unicorns of all shapes, sizes, and colors...but you don't compare this one to any of the others...you simply appreciate this unicorn for exactly what it is. It's every bit as beautiful as you'd imagined it would be. Sometimes during your day at work, you pull out your phone, and look at the picture, smile, and put the picture away. It makes your entire, typically mundane day, just a little bit better, knowing that your friend's unicorn is now within reach...anytime you want it.
Do you think maybe it would end there? Maybe you'd like more pictures...from different angles.
Really though...what you really REALLY want...is to just see it for yourself. Live and in person. Even if only for a minute. So you ask...can I just come look at your unicorn?
"I'm really not comfortable with that." I tell you. "Besides, you have a picture. Isn't that enough?" And the truth is...yeah...it is. It's enough. The real truth is...it's MORE than enough. It's more than you ever expected to begin with. That doesn't change the desire though. That simple want...to really see it.
One day. Out of the blue. Completely unexpected, I invite you over to see my unicorn. Your heart races. This is the best news ever. You come over, I open the barn door, and there it is. My unicorn. Standing before you. It's breathtaking. It's everything it looked like in the picture, but even better. You can't stop staring. You feel like a fool...knowing how silly you must look, but you simply can't stop. Sure you've seen thousands of unicorns, and each time was just like this. No time was less special than the last. No time was less meaningful. This time, this time is just as equally amazing, as the very first time.
You want to touch it. "Can I just pet your unicorn?" You ask.
"I'm really not comfortable with that." I say. "Just seeing it should be enough. Seems like every time I give you something, you just want more. Isn't it ever enough?"
"He's right." You think to yourself. "I should be grateful for what I have."
And the truth is. You are. So incredibly happy, and grateful...but
but...
but if only I could touch it for just a minute.
I usher you out of my unicorn barn. You can't see it anymore, but you know it's there. Having seen it, now just makes you want to...again...and again...and again.
Seeing it once...or seeing it a thousand times...or even, every day for the rest of your life...it's always wonderful. It's always amazing. It's always...ALWAYS...a goddamn unicorn. Right there. Just needing to be looked at.
I could go on and on with that metaphor, but I think I've probably written enough to pound in the nail. I'm pretty sure, that unless you just have absolutely NO cognizance of metaphor, then you get what I'm saying. Where I'm coming from.
My friendship with you, in no way...EVER...hinges on me seeing your boobs. At the end of the day...I don't care if I did or didn't. That's not why I like you, that's not what my friendship is based on.
But if at the end of the day, I DID...well then...
It was a fucking great day.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Isn't that just selfish...
Polyamory isn't a word. At least that's what the semanticians will tell you. Poly is Greek. Amor is latin. One word, two entirely different roots. It isn't a real word. It's funny how some people get REALLY hung up on this.
Here's what I say. Fuck the semanticians. Right in the ear. You see, I feel that if I say a word, and you know what it means...then it's a word.
Especially a word that is know, accepted, and used by millions.
So although some people will in fact get a huge stick up their ass that Polyamory isn't a word... I strongly disagree.
I also digress, before I even get started.
I'm not here to discuss etymology. As much fun as it is, and as much as I love words, and as much as I love breaking rules, I'm writing this to actually explore the idea of polyamory.
Before I get into that though...
How about a little more preamble...because I really do amble.
I maintain a number of blogs. This one is new(ish) I have one other post, but I intend to have many more. If you also follow my main blog, you already know this, but that one is pretty wide open. I'll write about whatever...wherever the wind blows me whenever I post there. There is no form or format...simply whatever. HERE...well. I've decided to dedicate this specific blog to topics of a more adult nature. Here is where I will post all my thoughts, experiences, ideas, and whatevers pretty much all dedicated to sex. The life of a late thirtysomething bachelor. Kind of whatever tickles my fancy in THAT specific arena. So if reading that sort of thing is up your alley...feel free to keep going, and keep coming back. If not, no offense taken. Today's topic came up for me because it came up in a group I belong on FB. I answered a question on the topic, but felt my answer deserved more words...because words is what I do. So on with it then.
POLYAMORY:
I was 22 when I had sex for the first time. Relatively old by today's societal standard. Not only that, but it was my wedding night. Yup. I waited. Just like all my church leaders, teachers, and parents told me I should. I do not live my life with regret. I am who I am, and all of my decisions in life got me to this point. I like who I am, ergo I CAN'T regret anything. If I did however, that would be it. All that bullshit they preach about how it's worth it to wait, and it's something to be saved, and blah blah blah...is honestly is the most empty and useless rhetoric I ever at one time took to heart.
The main thing though, that keeps this from actually being a regret, is I am glad my first time was with WHO it was with. She occupies one of the deepest, most meaningful spaces in my heart and memory. Even though our lives have since taken us different directions, I will love her til I die.
We were both very Mormon when we got married. We were both very NOT Mormon when we got divorced. Toward the end of the marriage, we sometimes danced around the topic of opening up the relationship. We never really pursued it. Although we were now different people than we had been 8 years ealier, we were still haunted by the ghosts of our previous selves. We still only had the vocabulary that we had developed early on. We learned different words, but we didn't know how to use them with each other.
After the divorce, I no longer identified as Mormon. I went from TBM to atheist in what felt like overnight, although the truth is looking back, it was a relatively long transition. Sort of. But this blog isn't about my journey out of belief, so I'll leave that alone.
Now I was single again, but didn't have any of the "moral" restrictions I had grown up with. So, I did what everybody does (or if they don't they sure as shit should). I experimented. I played. I discovered. I learned. I did all the things at thirty two, that in all honesty I should have gotten out of my system by the time I was 20. I moved about my planet with no grace. No dignity. Tasting all the flavors. Tumbling through ecstasy. I found many many things I liked. I found a couple things I didn't like. Trial and error and error and error.
The thing I found that I didn't like the most, wasn't some act. It wasn't a body type, or taste or function, or response, or niche, or fetish.
I discovered what I didn't like, was the lack of emotional connect. I was just out of a ten year marriage, a new committed relationship did not sound at all appealing...but I missed the something more. The more I engaged in meaningless casual one offs...the more I came to despise it. Eventually, turning down opportunities altogether.
I know this is very unmale of me...but it's who I am, and I'm more than okay with that.
I also found at this time that I had a couple friends who were willing to do the ole throwdown. Turns out...that's EXACTLY what I was looking for. These were people I genuinely...deeply...cared about, was attracted to, and had the same lax attitudes about sex that I had developed.
This was a whole new world of exciting adventure. Exploration. Most importantly...comfort. Ease. Laughs. People I trusted, who trusted me, who were in on the joke of it all...who understood who I was, where I came from.
Then I moved. All of this newfound experience gone.
To a land of strangers.
Starting over.
From fucking scratch.
So that's what I did.
Problem is I make friends slowly. I take time to develop actual relationships with people, and a pretty limited amount of people at that.
It did happen though. I met a few...limited few people here in SLC that I connected with on a similar level. I became quite close to one in particular. She had followed a similar religious path as me. Different originating dogma, but the same path out. She had nearly exactly the same sexual attitudes I had. We laughed together. A LOT. We played. We had sex. Most importantly...we had fun. We became very close. We fell in love.
We talked in the beginning about the idea of getting together...as in boyfriend girlfriend committed relationship sort of thing. I had up to that point thought I was completely uninterested...but as it turned out, she was exactly what I wanted. Monogamy was a mutual concern. It really didn't interest either of us, but on the other hand, neither of us had known a relationship without it. We were very open with each other in the beginning. Very candid. We wanted to make this work, but we wanted to travel this undiscovered country as well. Together. We decided to give it a go.
We stated clearly up front the exact path we figured we'd walk to make this work. We made it clear, that the most important part of being in an "open" relationship, was being open. No secrets. Nothing held back. Any concern. Any fantasy. Any fear or doubt or joy or success...all of it...we would talk about.
We became active in the "Lifestyle" community here. We met people. We lived. We explored. We partied.
And once again I discovered something.
Even though there was a certain excitement. I found myself in old traps. In familiar despised territory.
I still didn't like meaningless sex. Just tossing about with near strangers...really REALLY does nothing for me. In fact it's so meh...it's disappointing.
After four years with this wonderful girl, our journey together came to an end. Many people do, or have speculated that it was the open nature of the relationship that caused it to fail. I will tell you the exact opposite.
The openness probably kept us together longer than we should have been. It was, in the end, one of the most successful parts of the whole thing.
That relationship, in conjunction with my marriage taught me, and solidified some already known though unexplored self-knowledge. Things that are much too personal for a sex blog...but important self awareness things none the less.
I honestly believe that monogamy is a result of centuries of social conditioning. And not even very successful at that. If it HAD been successful there would be far less cheating. Far fewer affairs. If we were programmed for monogamy, then monogamy would simply happen. It really doesn't happen that often, and when it does, it takes considerable effort. If it were natural, it would take no effort at all.
All signs point to the fact that our very nature is polyamory. Society has condemned this, and as such most people in society condemn it. Most people fantasize what they condemn. I simply choose to not fight my own nature. I don't care that I may be condemned. I do not care that most people I know don't agree with a word of this. (or at least pretend not to)
Ultimately, what I have to say at the near end of all of this is..I am polyamorous, but consider that word. Consider both parts, and for me, consider that both are equally important. In other words, I am not simply polysexual. I can't...I won't...I will never again fuck for fucks sake. The amor must be there. It simply must. However, the poly is just as important. I cannot love just one person. I love life, and respect that it's my only one too much, to not experience all that I can, whatever opportunity may arise. I know that if I am to be open...I must be open. Not simply sexually, but my awareness. My perceptions. My expectations.
I cannot live a closed life.
I will, until I die
be open in all ways.
Here's what I say. Fuck the semanticians. Right in the ear. You see, I feel that if I say a word, and you know what it means...then it's a word.
Especially a word that is know, accepted, and used by millions.
So although some people will in fact get a huge stick up their ass that Polyamory isn't a word... I strongly disagree.
I also digress, before I even get started.
I'm not here to discuss etymology. As much fun as it is, and as much as I love words, and as much as I love breaking rules, I'm writing this to actually explore the idea of polyamory.
Before I get into that though...
How about a little more preamble...because I really do amble.
I maintain a number of blogs. This one is new(ish) I have one other post, but I intend to have many more. If you also follow my main blog, you already know this, but that one is pretty wide open. I'll write about whatever...wherever the wind blows me whenever I post there. There is no form or format...simply whatever. HERE...well. I've decided to dedicate this specific blog to topics of a more adult nature. Here is where I will post all my thoughts, experiences, ideas, and whatevers pretty much all dedicated to sex. The life of a late thirtysomething bachelor. Kind of whatever tickles my fancy in THAT specific arena. So if reading that sort of thing is up your alley...feel free to keep going, and keep coming back. If not, no offense taken. Today's topic came up for me because it came up in a group I belong on FB. I answered a question on the topic, but felt my answer deserved more words...because words is what I do. So on with it then.
POLYAMORY:
I was 22 when I had sex for the first time. Relatively old by today's societal standard. Not only that, but it was my wedding night. Yup. I waited. Just like all my church leaders, teachers, and parents told me I should. I do not live my life with regret. I am who I am, and all of my decisions in life got me to this point. I like who I am, ergo I CAN'T regret anything. If I did however, that would be it. All that bullshit they preach about how it's worth it to wait, and it's something to be saved, and blah blah blah...is honestly is the most empty and useless rhetoric I ever at one time took to heart.
The main thing though, that keeps this from actually being a regret, is I am glad my first time was with WHO it was with. She occupies one of the deepest, most meaningful spaces in my heart and memory. Even though our lives have since taken us different directions, I will love her til I die.
We were both very Mormon when we got married. We were both very NOT Mormon when we got divorced. Toward the end of the marriage, we sometimes danced around the topic of opening up the relationship. We never really pursued it. Although we were now different people than we had been 8 years ealier, we were still haunted by the ghosts of our previous selves. We still only had the vocabulary that we had developed early on. We learned different words, but we didn't know how to use them with each other.
After the divorce, I no longer identified as Mormon. I went from TBM to atheist in what felt like overnight, although the truth is looking back, it was a relatively long transition. Sort of. But this blog isn't about my journey out of belief, so I'll leave that alone.
Now I was single again, but didn't have any of the "moral" restrictions I had grown up with. So, I did what everybody does (or if they don't they sure as shit should). I experimented. I played. I discovered. I learned. I did all the things at thirty two, that in all honesty I should have gotten out of my system by the time I was 20. I moved about my planet with no grace. No dignity. Tasting all the flavors. Tumbling through ecstasy. I found many many things I liked. I found a couple things I didn't like. Trial and error and error and error.
The thing I found that I didn't like the most, wasn't some act. It wasn't a body type, or taste or function, or response, or niche, or fetish.
I discovered what I didn't like, was the lack of emotional connect. I was just out of a ten year marriage, a new committed relationship did not sound at all appealing...but I missed the something more. The more I engaged in meaningless casual one offs...the more I came to despise it. Eventually, turning down opportunities altogether.
I know this is very unmale of me...but it's who I am, and I'm more than okay with that.
I also found at this time that I had a couple friends who were willing to do the ole throwdown. Turns out...that's EXACTLY what I was looking for. These were people I genuinely...deeply...cared about, was attracted to, and had the same lax attitudes about sex that I had developed.
This was a whole new world of exciting adventure. Exploration. Most importantly...comfort. Ease. Laughs. People I trusted, who trusted me, who were in on the joke of it all...who understood who I was, where I came from.
Then I moved. All of this newfound experience gone.
To a land of strangers.
Starting over.
From fucking scratch.
So that's what I did.
Problem is I make friends slowly. I take time to develop actual relationships with people, and a pretty limited amount of people at that.
It did happen though. I met a few...limited few people here in SLC that I connected with on a similar level. I became quite close to one in particular. She had followed a similar religious path as me. Different originating dogma, but the same path out. She had nearly exactly the same sexual attitudes I had. We laughed together. A LOT. We played. We had sex. Most importantly...we had fun. We became very close. We fell in love.
We talked in the beginning about the idea of getting together...as in boyfriend girlfriend committed relationship sort of thing. I had up to that point thought I was completely uninterested...but as it turned out, she was exactly what I wanted. Monogamy was a mutual concern. It really didn't interest either of us, but on the other hand, neither of us had known a relationship without it. We were very open with each other in the beginning. Very candid. We wanted to make this work, but we wanted to travel this undiscovered country as well. Together. We decided to give it a go.
We stated clearly up front the exact path we figured we'd walk to make this work. We made it clear, that the most important part of being in an "open" relationship, was being open. No secrets. Nothing held back. Any concern. Any fantasy. Any fear or doubt or joy or success...all of it...we would talk about.
We became active in the "Lifestyle" community here. We met people. We lived. We explored. We partied.
And once again I discovered something.
Even though there was a certain excitement. I found myself in old traps. In familiar despised territory.
I still didn't like meaningless sex. Just tossing about with near strangers...really REALLY does nothing for me. In fact it's so meh...it's disappointing.
After four years with this wonderful girl, our journey together came to an end. Many people do, or have speculated that it was the open nature of the relationship that caused it to fail. I will tell you the exact opposite.
The openness probably kept us together longer than we should have been. It was, in the end, one of the most successful parts of the whole thing.
That relationship, in conjunction with my marriage taught me, and solidified some already known though unexplored self-knowledge. Things that are much too personal for a sex blog...but important self awareness things none the less.
I honestly believe that monogamy is a result of centuries of social conditioning. And not even very successful at that. If it HAD been successful there would be far less cheating. Far fewer affairs. If we were programmed for monogamy, then monogamy would simply happen. It really doesn't happen that often, and when it does, it takes considerable effort. If it were natural, it would take no effort at all.
All signs point to the fact that our very nature is polyamory. Society has condemned this, and as such most people in society condemn it. Most people fantasize what they condemn. I simply choose to not fight my own nature. I don't care that I may be condemned. I do not care that most people I know don't agree with a word of this. (or at least pretend not to)
Ultimately, what I have to say at the near end of all of this is..I am polyamorous, but consider that word. Consider both parts, and for me, consider that both are equally important. In other words, I am not simply polysexual. I can't...I won't...I will never again fuck for fucks sake. The amor must be there. It simply must. However, the poly is just as important. I cannot love just one person. I love life, and respect that it's my only one too much, to not experience all that I can, whatever opportunity may arise. I know that if I am to be open...I must be open. Not simply sexually, but my awareness. My perceptions. My expectations.
I cannot live a closed life.
I will, until I die
be open in all ways.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Ode
I am a breast guy. I am. I've nothing against the ass, or the legs, or any other part of the feminine mystique that is always so alluring. I love eyes, and faces, and shoulders, and pretty much the whole package, but ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you straight out...I'm a breast guy. The problem with this is the immediate assumption that for me its all about the size of the breast, and nothing could be further from the truth.
You see, I LOVE small breasts. This is not to say I don't like large, I do of course, but I would be a hypocrite, (and I'm certain you know what I mean) if I obessed about size. In fact when it comes to breasts the only thing I don't like is fake, but that's a whole different story.
I love, love, LOVE, small breasts. I love the way they feel. I love the way they enhance the nipple. I love the way they feel in my mouth, against my hands, against my chest, against any part of me for that matter. More than anything though...I love the way they look. In a society seemingly obsessed with bigger tits, I think there is nothing on the planet sexier than a woman with small breasts who still walks with confidence. Who knows she is sexy, beautiful, and attractive in spite of certain societal standards that would make her feel less woman.
So please, anyone, EVERYONE, with small breasts, know that out there, in this world, there are men and women alike who could not be more turned on by your beauty.
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