The Discipline of Vulnerability

About a month ago I decided to go back online on my quest to find someone special. I have to say, I really don’t like online dating sites…I feel too often every profile looks the same. Sure, the individual men look different, bad pictures and all, but when you start reading the profiles there's an obvious and frequent lack of substance. Eventually everyone sounds the same…”I am looking for a girl who can feel comfortable in jeans and ball cap but wear high heels for a night on the town. I love the outdoors and camping and blah and blah and blah.” Most of these guys haven’t been camping since 1987!

I hadn’t been on a dating site since March, but soon enough, my phone was blowing up with messages from the site. However, the authenticity I both offer and desire from a match seemed nowhere to be found. Message after message didn’t have more originality than “Hi” or “Hi Sexy” or “You’re Hot!” Punctuation excluded.  But I happened upon a profile with an intriguing name and was instantly intrigued because this man was actually original, transparent and owned his shit. In fact, he had a long list of his lesser qualities which he just owned up to right in his profile. Most women would instantly be turned off by that…not necessarily because his list of faults were shocking but because how many people really do want someone being real with them when they seem convinced they have to polish up their own image in order to find the right person? I venture to say if you could get daters to give you the unadulterated truth, they would say they are looking for perfection, all the while forgetting how imperfect they are themselves.

"Mr Metaphor" was transparent from the start. In fact, he is also a writer and put a link to his site right in his dating profile…how refreshing! Really, him owning all of his shit right there from the start hit my first button. Being that he was a blog writer and loved to discuss theology without being religious, hit my next buttons. I sent him a message offering him a theological discussion and promising I wasn't a Bible thumper. It’s the only message I initiated. He replied back in short order and we began messaging back and forth that Friday night. By Saturday morning, I gave him my phone number and haven’t been back to the dating site since.

All day and evening on Saturday we texted up a storm…he was engaging, open, challenging and not so quick to get to the topic of sex like most men. Don't get me wrong, There was flirting and some banter, but also such probing questions that we ended up skipping over all the general ones you ask first…in fact, I’m still not sure we’ve covered all of those. Saturday night we talked on the phone for over an hour, (he has a great voice) we both admittedly hate being on the phone, yet still managed to have a good conversation absent of those awkward pregnant pauses I hate. We said goodnight and I was feeling excited but also thinking there was no way I could find someone that I clicked with after only a couple of hours being back on a dating site. He called it "Potentially once-in-a-lifetime."

It just so happened that the next day he was leaving town for 2.5 weeks. Before getting back online, I had been doing some heavy duty coaching with myself that I was not going to get sucked into playing a bunch of games. I was going to try really hard to embrace what came my way by abandoning pretense and also staying true to my number one mantra...that all of my dating experiences, teach me something positive or at the very least, make for good blogging!

So I invited him over. To my apartment. I realized I had a few hours home alone, (which hardly ever happens on a weekend). I never do that. I was motivated to do so because I didn't want to talk for three weeks really like him, only to find out that there was no spark in person. I've been there and done that and am trying hard not to start that tshirt collection.

I had read some of his blog and let him read mine…however, since my blog is all about dating, I sorta gave him a cheat sheet inside my brain. He knew the "first date, first base" rule from reading here. He knew all my little tricks should I suddenly put gum in my mouth or grab my purse. But he asked me something before he arrived and again when he got here. Would I be willing to take off my brakes? I love learning about myself and others…and honestly, I love being pushed just a little out past my limits. Mr Metaphor is very intuitive so I’m sure he surmised this about me.

Plenty of chemistry, connection, passion or whatever you like to call it had been building because I was so attracted to his mind. He walked in the door and he kissed me. Right then…”Hello” and then we shared not a peck, but a deep and telling kiss. Inwardly I was thinking…”well, that’s a new experience!” We sat down, we talked, we found ourselves laying in bed talking, still clothed but slowly, I was throwing off the brakes, er rules, that had so carefully been placed around me in my attempts to hide my fears and keep my heart safe. Somehow, for a reason I can’t possibly explain to even myself, he made me feel safe. He was transparent in so many ways, it was damn sexy to the point of almost being erotic to me...and how freeing to not have to play by rules! He asked me for honesty, transparency, openness, authenticity and yes, vulnerability. I know you are thinking he didn’t have the right to ask me this…he surely hadn’t known me long enough to earn it. But, if I strive to be honest, transparent, open, authentic and vulnerable in every other aspect of my life, why would I treat dating and my attempts at finding someone special any different at all.

A lot of people can’t handle someone as open as me…I’ve even had good friends tell me it was too much for them and pull away. So trying to hide behind “the rules” or the carefully crafted boundaries and safety nets I had been convinced I needed was really betraying my authentic self. While by virtue of time alone, maybe Mr Metaphor man hadn’t "earned" those things, however by his simple invitation to be who I really am, without judgment or expectations, without him gawking at my exposure and exploiting it, he had earned my trust.

I continued to take another journey with him that day as I let him see my nakedness, both figuratively and literally. The lights were on, there was no where to hide really, so I embraced his acceptance and his reminders when I unknowingly started to recoil. As he worshiped my body, as only he could (see "Ode to a Leg man"), and as he enhanced the freedom I so longed for in my heart and soul, I found a release. It was embarking on yet another transformation on this journey of mine. It was a new reality I so desperately longed for and I know few men can embrace a woman with this sort of freedom.

Over a week later we were actually talking about freedom via text…Mr Metaphor was out of town but we were heavy in deep discussion and a thorough mindfuck.  He said that the reason he felt free enough to kiss me the second he saw me in person was because of his own freedom. He went on to explain freedom is a life that is authentic and seeks to benefit others and he did it for me, for us. He’s been very liberating for me. He's so very special. He's a beautiful gift. One that keeps giving because a couple of nights ago, there was more intense discipline of vulnerability....

(to be continued tomorrow)

An Ode to the Leg Man

Well, not an Ode exactly because I’m not a poet, we’ll just call it a tribute!   As you know, based on my “purely anecdotal research”, I believe there are broad-based personality traits that accompany a breast man, leg man and ass man.  You can read more about my theories here: http://datingaftervirginityanddivorce.blogspot.com/2013/09/what-kind-of-man-is-he.html

As I stated before, I really needed to have the opportunity to be with another leg man, preferably one who wasn’t British and I finally got my chance.  And you know what I figured out?  I’m a leg-man girl, I mean woman!  It’s not that I don’t completely enjoy being with the Alpha Ass-man, I do.  But if some cosmic force made me choose between a leg man, ass man or breast man for the rest of my life, there’s no question how it would play out.   I would scoff at the thought of being with a breast man the rest of my life…in fact, as much as I like sex, I might become celibate!   Choosing an ass man would be a great option, but from my own personal experience, they like the ‘quick and dirty’ and are more men of action than words which definitely have its place.  Undoubtedly,  I would proudly, excitedly and confidently choose the leg man! 

My recent leg man did amazing things to my body, from head to toe, from hip to hip, from ear to ear, my whole body.  He didn’t just check off the usual actions to get what he ultimately wants, but instead, lavished his touch all over me.   I felt worshipped, I felt all my body flaws were completely unnoticed, I felt beautiful and I felt the most relaxed I’d ever felt with someone the first time I’d been with them.  

I’ve often described that the feeling of being with a leg man is the same for me as that feeling after you’ve had a massage at a nice spa.   You know that calm, quiet, warm, relaxed feeling when the therapist leaves the room…that’s how I feel while I’m with a leg man.  A leg man knows how to seduce my mind far before he starts to seduce my body…and that my friends, is a REAL man!  The relaxation I find is not just from the way he touches me, or knows my mind, it’s also the joy of doing things I enjoy doing to him, getting to know his body, his turn-ons and the collaboration of our creativity in exploring each other.  

It’s like poetry in motion, a beautiful storm, a flight of freedom, a safe place to just BE.  It’s being touched mind and body by a leg man.

What kind of man is he?

Most of my post-divorce dating experience has been a result of online dating.  Generally, I will talk to a man 5-10 days before we meet in person.  I figure if we still are finding things to talk about after texting that long, we should meet because I hate dragging it out.  Once we’ve talked a while and flirted a bit via text or email, one of my favorite questions to ask men is, “Are you a leg man, breast man or ass man?” 

Worst answer?  “I like it all!”  I call them on it right then and tell them it’s a cop-out and they need to give me a REAL answer.  If they say they don’t know, that tells me they might not be very sexual or might be too passive for me in bed.  I love a man with a ‘quick’ answer and ass-men always know!  If they still can’t tell me (chances are they're a breast man), then I ask them to put them in order of preference, but they still lose points with me. 

I’m about to sound narrow-minded but bear with me.  Breast men are the worst…for me anyway.  I’m sure there’s plenty of gals who love a good breast man, but he does nothing for me.  Don’t get me wrong…I have ample breasts…its not at all that I worry they won’t like the size of mine, they will.   It’s not that I don’t like to have them loved on and appreciated, I do.  It’s that Breast men just come off as either make-out-aggressive or immature (dare I say childlike), not to mention of course, that we've all know those men who have trouble making continuous eye-contact.  "Eyes are UP here, dude!" 

I get why men like them…they’re beautiful.  I think both women and men can appreciate breasts for the way they look, not solely their function alone.  Some women choose to have their bodies mutilated just so they can have perfect ones…they’re important to a lot of folks.  Men don’t have any body part comparatively so I understand why they find them intriguing and desirable.  I get it. 

Since I’ve been dating, I’ve asked just about every man this question at some point.  I generally end up with ass men maybe because they are take charge.  However, two of my British guys have been leg men , so I’m not sure if what I love about the way they are with me physically is because they are leg men or because they are British.  I realize the cultural influence might skew my informal research project, so you can take that for what it’s worth.  (Edited to add: read Ode to a Leg Man-- I've expanded my research.)

I love ass men…they know what they want in bed and aren’t afraid to take it.  They are good to their woman and want to please her, but they lead and have a level of confidence I find damn sexy.   When you need a good, crazy roll in the hay, an ass man will give it to you good!  And I love Leg men, too, because they are highly skilled, slow, take time to enjoy every minute, it’s almost relaxing to be with them because they are never, ever in a hurry!  Honestly, I’ve let a couple of breast men slip through, when I wasn't as in tune with this info as I am now, but they are very centered on their own pleasure and its all about what you are going to do for them.  They approach my boobs like a sugar addict in a candy store, it ends up feeling creepy to me.   And what's up with breast men handling them completely different than their non-breast-men counterparts?  

Last night I was on a date with a breast man.  He was a nice guy, very into being a father (which I find sexy), good job, nice car, didn’t text me to death, called me to ask me out instead of asking via text and we talked for two hours, everything looked good.  Except during our phone call he said he was a breast man.  I told him I didn’t generally get on with breast men but I was looking for a man that could change my mind.  I really am open-minded that way.

The date was going fantastic…nice chemistry…touching each other’s hands while we talked…great eye contact…laughing…good food…very positive all around.  He asked me on a second date before paying the check, which I gladly accepted.  We went for a walk outside after to a nice area with park benches. 

Then he kissed me.  Then everything I felt before dissolved like a vapor.  It wasn’t just that he did that awful twirly-tongue thing, or that he really didn’t need me because his tongue was going so fast, I’m not even sure he knew I was there or not.  And it wasn’t that I was thinking at one point that this must be what a car feels like in an automatic car wash.  (True Story.)  No, it wasn’t any of that, it was that I kept halting the kiss and he just didn’t get a clue and kept starting over.  I would move from the kiss and just hug him so he couldn’t go on and then try to start talking, then he’d go back in for more. 

I could have just told him what I felt but I try to respect that men have a certain level of pride and I try not to injure it, (okay and my car was far away so it wouldn’t have been a quick escape.)  He is a super nice guy.  He would treat me like a queen.  He would work hard to put my happiness before his.  He had it all, but after those kisses, he didn’t have me anymore. 

I love, love, love kissing!  I had a three hour kiss once…nothing else, no talking, no other type of touching, just kissing and it was heaven (and a leg man.)  I often kiss my first dates because I can tell a lot about them from just a kiss.  Now if it was just that twirly tongue thing with this guy, I could have taught him what I prefer.  If it was just that he was going too fast, I would have taught him to slow his mouth down.  But there was no give and take…kissing should be a dance… both fast and slow movements, fun and passionate moments.  And it should ALWAYS leave you wanting just one more.

I finally got back to my car where I had to endure two other long kisses before I could get him to leave.   Yes, I know I should have had my protective anti-kiss piece of gum on the ready and I had left my create-a-barrier-purse in the car because when we started the walk I WANTED to kiss him, until he did, and then I didn’t.  He didn’t want the date to end and kept trying to keep me out longer…offering me ice cream, coffee, a drink, anything else.  I felt bad, I was disappointed that it all fell apart and wanted to get home, but most of all, I really just wanted to make sure I didn’t have to endure another kiss. 

As I pulled out of the parking lot, the light bulb went off…He’s a breast man!  He’s a breast man.

Sometimes I wish my theories could be proven wrong…this was one of those times.   But until some breast man shows me how wrong I am, I will keep on enjoying the sexy confident ass-men and the slow and skillful leg men that come my way.   

Sex and Spice and everything nice

I had only tried Indian food one time before I met Catalyst.  I went with one of my friends who is a vegetarian figuring she would know all about I but it turned out that it was her first time too, so we ate some mighty tasty spicy food that we had no idea how to pronounce or interprets!  Even before “meeting” Catalyst in person, he talked about curry coma’s and naan bread so much that I found myself going to the Indian restaurant just so I could have a point of reference.  I would get stuff off the buffet, text him a picture and he would tell me about it with great flourish and detail.   I even got invited to a birthday dinner to a upscale Indian restaurant…he was so kind to look online at the menu and help me place my order.  That was quite a day, now that I recall…not only furthering my Indian food education, but the beginning of so much more for us. 

We texted about everything and yes, we started texting loads about sex too.  We talked about our past experiences, both good and bad.  His ex-wife had been a lot more adventurous than my ex, so he would share about things I’d never heard anyone talk about and sadly, how he had only received one blow job that ended terribly and never had another.  We talked about what we liked and didn’t like or would like to experience.  We talked about safe sex and getting tested for STD’s, birth control and more. 

Eventually, we even sexted…in fact, the first time we did was the very day of that birthday dinner.  It all started when I mentioned that I was going to read a book that everyone was talking about called “50 Shades of Grey.”  He said he had just gone to lunch with folks from work and they were talking about it.  At this point, I genuinely had no idea what the book was about, but he had learned on his lunch break and there, started our natural flow of conversation that led to my first experiences in sexting.  I was noticeably hot and bothered during that birthday dinner because we just couldn’t stop the naughty talk.  If only those gals knew why I was so attached to my phone that day, even I would have been blushing!  Although it was all new to actually type some of THOSE words, it felt exhilarating, freeing and honestly, natural somehow.

  There seems to be a lot of misconceptions about what sexting is and is not, and I supposed it can be different for each person.  For me, it is talking about what you wish you were doing to your guy and him in turn, talking about what he wishes he was doing to you.  Sometimes it ends with mutual satisfaction, sometimes not.  For some reason, sexting is just a little,well, a lot more exciting when you know at least one of you is in a crowded place or meeting, etc.  We’ve heard a lot about “sexting” recently because of Anthony Weiner.  However, they’ve only mentioned sending pictures and being that women aren’t visually stimulated for the most part (no, guys, pictures of your finer parts do not make us want to instantly jump you), I find this to be a very incomplete definition.    Regardless of the definition, everyone should give it a try with your significant other…”try it Mikie, you might like it!”

Finally the day came where Catalyst and I were both ready to make all those fantasies a reality, or something to that effect!  The good point of sexting before actually being with someone new is, you get a fairly good idea of what they really like and what might be a turn off to them.   For instance, I knew what had went wrong with that BJ (too much teeth) and wanted nothing more than to change his negative experience into a positive one. 

Both of us took off from work to have our first time together.   As soon as my kids were on the bus, I drove about an hour to his apartment.  I was so excited, so nervous, but yeah, more excited than anything else.  Okay that’s not totally it, after weeks of sexting  I was also horny, really horny. 

From our sexting, I knew Catalyst liked bra and panties but not necessarily lingerie, so I had bought a very sexy lacy pair of panties and a lacy bra.  It’s funny when you know you are PLANNING to have sex…especially when it will always go down in your history book.  Remember this was my first time post-divorce and second person ever, so there was some pressure building!  

Well, we did a quick little introduction, we were still standing just inside the doorway.  Catalyst gently grabbed my face started kissing me and I believe that it was maybe 4 minutes before he was approving of my lacy undergarments!  Remember it was just 9am…and being a bachelor, he had blinds but not curtains, so it was complete daylight!  There was no way to hide my lumps and bulges, the signs of gravity, all of the imperfection…yikes!   Lucky for us ladies, men have a tell-tale physical sign of their approval, so there’s no second guessing there…whew.  I did have to learn that when a Brit says “Nice” it’s not the same as an American one.  Nice is the kiss-of-death from an American man, but for a reserved Englishman, it means “wOwZer!”  But they would never say that. 

I won’t go through all the explicit details, but it was way better than my honeymoon…way better than even my best experience with my ex-husband…way better than any of that sexting and so much better than I had imagined.   Yes we did a lot of things we had talked about…he introduced me to new physical experiences guaranteed to be added to my repertoire…so again in another way, ever earning the moniker “Catalyst!”

Can we say SEVENTEEN ORGASMS?  Well I probably couldn’t when he got finished with me.  It was like something hidden away for so many years, broke inside of me.  Now, my ex-husband was good to me…I always got one, maybe two orgasms on occasions.  But let me just say, he could never find the g-spot, although I’m pretty sure if I had put a field goal pole there he might have tried harder but nope, he was never patient enough to really try.  However, Catalyst knew just where to find me, he knew just where to touch me, he knew just where to put his hands, use his mouth, make me feel every bit as sexual as I always knew I was and he made orgasms roll out of me over and over again.  I had no idea my body could even respond that way!   

After three hours of intense pleasure, we had to do what any reasonable, curry-loving, post-orgasmic people would do.  We took a break and went to the Indian restaurant.   I sat across from him, enjoying our food, listening to him tell me more about what I was eating, all the while wondering if the other people in the restaurant could see any signs of what had just happened to me.   Could anyone else see that I had just had this life-changing sexual experience?  Did anyone look at my messed up makeup and semi-mussed hair and then give Catalyst a knowing glance or thumbs up?  Wait…what did Catalyst just say about Dahl?   My mind was mush.

Catalyst had coined a term “curry coma” for that endorphine release you feel after eating very spicy food.  We got back to his apartment and lay on the bed…content.   But before we left our happy little bubble where he would return to work and I would go back to suburbia and mommy world, we just had to have more of each other.   There was more kissing, more touching, more all-things-oral, more completion of pleasure and more contentment for both of us. 

I drove home in a blissful daze, giggling and smiling all along the way.  I sat on my own couch with my mind and body completely exhausted in the best way possible.  I don’t remember a lot more about the rest of the day, but I do know this…now every time I have sex, I have this overwhelming and certain craving for Indian food. 

 I’ll admit I’m addicted…to curry, that is, okay and maybe earth-shattering orgasms too!  If only those were as easy to acquire as good Tikka Masala!