Exquisite Torture.... (pen-pals from across the pond, part2)

Exquisite Torture

McDreamy and I made a date for the night he arrived in the states.  I have to admit I was half wishing that the chemistry wouldn’t be there and my Catalyst would be right, “British men ARE Tossers.”  Yeah, Catalyst isn’t a big fan of his fellow countrymen.  We agreed to meet at a restaurant downtown, neither of us had been there of course, but I had heard about it from a Friend.  It turned out that it was a quiet, small and groovy kinda dive with a very eclectic venue and crowd…it was perfect!

I walked in the door and McDreamy stood up when he saw me…all 6 foot, 4 inches of him! I try not to be a height snob, I really do, but a tall man just does something to me…I think I like being towered over and I have no idea why.  Oh, he was so much dreamier in person, in fact, his hair was different than his pictures and he looked even more handsome and younger than portrayed.  His fitted tshirt and jeans, his glowing perfect skin…oh, I digress…anyway, after some British-English to American-English menu translations we figured out what we wanted to order and could now concentrate on just each other.

Before the drinks were even served, the chemistry was the most intense of any date I’ve been on, yes, even better than with Catalyst!  There was a lot of flirting, a lot of referring to past emails and also a lot of heartfelt conversation too.  His eye contact was captivating…it astounds me how poorly some men are at it in general.   I have to be honest, by the end of the meal, I was literally having the inside shakes you can get from something other than being cold.  I’ve had them after a really good orgasm or a highly emotional event but there was no sure explanation from these except the intense connection and chemistry we were feeling.

He paid the check and we walked around downtown, neither of us familiar with where we were actually going.  Suddenly we happened to look at each other, stop walking, all of that pent up desire through dinner just poured out and we were kissing passionately before we knew it. It was a great kiss, it was delicious and I wanted so many more.   We found an English pub on our walk and he wanted to go in, which was kinda cute since he had been in Britain just a few hours before.  It was not a popular place that night, just us and another couple, but we didn’t care and acted half our age.  We were so into each other, couldn’t sit close enough, or in that moment, experience enough of each other…mind, soul or body.

Before we knew it, our time was coming to a close and Jet lag was starting to set in on poor McDreamy as it was nearly 2am his time.  We got in my car so I could drop him off at his hotel and well, it was on.  The most impeccable kisses I’ve had in such a long time, hands everywhere and a keen awareness of how aroused we both were.  I didn’t exactly keep my first date/first base rule, our situation was so unique, but I did not go into his hotel with him which took tremendous restraint, I assure you.

When we got to the hotel, we both got out of the car to get a proper hug and kiss goodbye. His long, lovely arms just wrapped right around me. Being an arm and eye gal, those arms were perfectly how I like them.  We both talked about the torture and temptation we were feeling…wanting something so badly but realizing there are obstacles between us, like the Atlantic Ocean for one. 

There was such a bittersweet awareness that we only had THIS time and THIS place and THIS amazing chemistry, such a secret treasure we’d found.  It was all somehow beautiful, despite unmet desires and possibilities we could not entertain.  Although there are no adequate words for our unique experience, “exquisite torture’ is the most accurate description I can find.  Yes, exquisite torture both erotic and arousing, pleasing and yet, frustrating too.

He sent me an email the next morning telling me his first impression of me and said “I thought you are lovely, with SUCH sensual eyes and this loving caring nature which felt like you would REALLY look after my sexual needs .... does that make sense??”   It made perfect sense because it IS who I am and who I truly aspire to be!  It’s also proof positive that these wonderful British creatures I find so irresistible, with seemingly little time together, just “get me!”

So once again, an Englishman fits me so much better than local friends, therefore, I really must start saving for a trip to London to further my “purely academic" research.   Knowing it was well worth it, I’d happily take more days like this perfect one…. yes, sign me up for more days filled with possibilities and desires that can only lead to exquisite torture.

Pen-pals from across the pond

Pen-pals from across the pond 

It started innocently…I was trying to get through having my heart a little broken and wasn’t quite ready to go out and date a lot even though I am really looking for a full blown relationship. So I thought it might be fun to place an ad for a pen-pal in London.   I don’t know why I can talk to Englishmen so easily about most anything, but it just is.  Granted, there are some American men that I can do this with, but they seem to be needles in haystacks and who has the time for that when you know you have Brits just waiting to send emails?

The ad read something like this:

“I am looking for an email friend only. I am an American southern belle who has previously dated a couple of expats. I find they really know how to speak to a woman's mind and I miss the type of great conversations I've had with them.   I'm a divorced business owner and mom and enjoy talking about any and everything. I even like it when someone thinks the opposite of the way I do bc that is how I learn.

So if you want some quality conversation, fun banter and a friend, please reply.

Put your favorite drink in the title.”

I got a bunch of replies, but eventually it was weeding down to three, then two.  One was a slightly older gentleman who truly makes a great, platonic pen-pal from another country. I will call him “dear John” as he is sending me long and copious emails each day, detailing the current happenings in the UK, whilst giving me history behind so many things.  He’s a lawyer, an avid photographer and cleverly includes all sorts of links and pictures for me to learn more.  Sometimes the emails are quite long, given my much shorter replies, but for me but they are fun because he puts so much into them. 

The other man I continued to chat with, I will call him “McDreamy”…if Grey’s Anatomy can have one damn it, I can too.  Boy was he dreamy…absolutely gorgeous, especially for a British man, and quite successful too.  We sent a few emails back and forth before exchanging pictures and I honestly thought he was too good-looking to be real, so the picture must be a fake…hey, I watch “Catfish!” 

After another few emails, he stated that he was coming to my state soon for a conference and was it near where I lived.  Turned out it was just an hour away.  At this point, I was still fairly certain he was not who he said he was, but we continued to chat about life, work and then, my favorite subject, sex.  I will admit it wasn’t long before our emails got quite steamy. 

With the time difference, both Dear John and McDreamy had a typical pattern to when they would email, but my favorite time started being 3:30pm when I knew McDreamy would start emailing me for the rest of his night.  Before the end of the our time together that day, we would find ourselves in a highly aroused state and I think we both enjoyed this element between us. Okay, I have proof we did.

Now, when I ran this ad, I entertained no thoughts of actually meeting anyone from the ad unless some year I decided to conquer my dislike of long flights and fly across the pond to fully immerse myself in Englishman bliss! But as McDreamy and I continued to email knowing he was soon visiting my state, it meant that I could further my “purely academic” research on my chemistry with Brits.  But I was also more nervous than even when I’ve meet online American men.  I guess feeling more removed (proximity wise) I wasn’t sure I could read how sincere he was, if he was a con artist, if he was just after sex, if he had a girl in every city he traveled to and finally, if that picture of this beautiful man was actually a picture of the McDreamy I was getting to know through email. 

Thanks to watching a lot of the ways Nev and Max check people out on Catfish, I did a google image search.  I found another picture of the same gorgeous man to what seemed like a legitmate twitter account with a first and last name.  I googled his full name (which I did not know at that point) and found his LinkedIn account. Ding-ding….my favorite form of online positive ID!   

He had a very impressive resume and I told myself this was still too good to be true.  LinkedIn has a feature where you can see who has viewed your profile and I noticed he had looked at mine too. However, because he didn't mention my savvy detective skills, I convinced myself there was a strange man in London who clicked on my profile, puzzled that a girl in the US, in a completely unrelated line of work had been viewing his profile. In fact, I even tried to trick McDreamy into taking a pic of himself during our regular chat during his lunch time. I explained how I loved  a man in a suit and asked for a snapshot so I could see a spur of the moment pic and if it was really him.  He resisted several times but when I pushed, he said “you’ve already seen me in a suit today…on LinkedIn!” 

Did I win the Englishman pen-pal lottery? Was there such a thing and I was unaware? Oh there really should be a lottery like that…I’d go poor buying up tickets!

Was he really McDreamy in person?  To find out, read tomorrow’s blog...

My real-life episode of Sex and the City

This experience could totally be an episode of Sex in the City.  It was one of those times that you are scrolling an inner dialog thinking, “Did this just really happen, or have I been slipped a mickey and imagined it all?”

For whatever reason, I tend to attract and get on well with British men, my BFF says I’m a Brit magnet.  My own theory is because they know HOW, and more importantly, WANT to get to know a woman’s mind.  Or at least find out what you really think about things and then say great lines like “You have a brilliant mind!”  Hey, it works on me.  I find most American men don’t care at all what we think and it drives me crazy.  If I could find a way to only date expats I would be a happy girl, no not because of the accent, but let’s be honest, it is definitely a bonus!

I happened upon “Brit2” online.  We actually had sent long and frequent emails and texts off and on for weeks.  He was more reserved as all Englishmen are,  and therefore took his time before setting up a lunch.  (I now have my own policy not to talk to anyone longer than two weeks online before meeting in person, but hey, I was still a rookie.)    He, like catalyst, requested we not exchange photos, which on the upside makes you feel like a kid on Christmas morning when you are about to meet. 

I asked him to meet me at my Indian restaurant for lunch.  He was extremely laid back, very British-looking, very interesting to chat with and we were having a brilliant time.  He suavely came over to my side of the booth and sat next to me and that’s when I started feeling sparks. 

Unfortunately, I had an appointment with my trainer about an hour and a half after we met so there wasn’t a chance to linger.  However, he did a very sweet thing, followed me to the gym and then we talked and kissed in the parking lot for a couple of minutes and went our separate ways.  Overall, I felt we had a very good date and I was looking forward to seeing and kissing him again.

We texted more that day but I actually had a dinner date too.  My dinner date, who I will call Mr Green, had met online just a couple of days before.  He had been honest enough to tell me he hadn’t quite left his wife yet and seemed to be a big mess.  Call me a softie but I remember feeling helpless at first so I offered to meet him for dinner, but made it very clear I was just paying it forward and wasn’t interested in anything more than being his friend.  He agreed and then picked a very nice restaurant for us, actually.

Honestly, I let him do most of the talking.  And boy did he spill his guts, including telling me he had barely had any sex in 15 years because he couldn’t get it up because he might be attracted to men and was confused.  This was a little more than I bargained for...this man didn’t need a friend, he needed a therapist!

My safety friend checked in and I replied “I’m fine…he’s harmless.”

We were about an hour into it when I say “I really wanted to go ahead and meet you b/c someone paid it forward to me, he was my catalyst and I want to be able to do the same for other people.”   Then I happen to mention right after that my Catalyst was British and he immediately hops on it and it says “Your British friend doesn’t happen to be named ‘*******’ does it?  He’s in a science occupation and lives in a xyz town?”  He perfectly described Brit2…my lunch date!

I’m an open book, an honest gal, as real as they come so I replied, “No, catalyst name is ****, but I had lunch with ****** earlier today!”  I sat there, mouth gaping at how odd this was turning out to be…I mean I was already inwardly gasping at all the crazy personal sexual stuff he shared and now this!

Mr Green then says “Oh, well my wife had a fling with him {Brit2} years ago!”  Then he went on to tell me details of that and he and his wife’s situation and that she also might be gay.  I’m not a judgmental person…the only time I tend to have opinions is when people won’t just be who they are and own up to their flaws and mistakes. 

Shortly after this, he went to the restroom, during which time I did what ANY girl would do…I texted my two best girlfriends and said “Meet me for coffee at 8:45…I am having the craziest experience and will ONLY tell you in person!  You are NOT going to believe it!”

We ended the date and Mr Green wanted to know what I was going to do about Brit2.  I said I wasn’t sure yet, but told him I would not tell Brit2 any of what he told me. 

So I sped to where both the gals were waiting for me with coffee.  I was about to burst because I wanted to laugh and roll my eyes at myself.  We get through the preliminary hi’s and they had all kinds of grand ideas about what I had to tell them but of course, who the hell could guess the truth?

I start relaying the story of the date and then I said “And then he tells me that Brit2 and his wife had an affair years ago!”  They gasped and then guffawed!  This could only happen to me.  What are the fucking chances that I could meet two men in the same day, from two different dating sites, and end up going out with men who had that kind of coincidence?  Life is stranger than fiction.

As we sipped our coffee and ate our blackberry cobbler while laughing at my day, that’s when I knew I was in my very own episode of sex and the city, only I was wearing slightly more comfortable shoes.  

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!   

How I learned to use a condom from a cute, happening, 28 year-old blonde chick

After my first date was under my belt and I continued to see Catalyst, I started to think about having sex again!  Honestly, despite my high drive, because I wasn’t looking to date when I stumbled upon Catalyst, I had not given it much thought.  But here it was, staring me in the face!  When you’ve only been with one person and you’re going to have sex with someone new after 20 years of the same ole thing, you can have some odd thoughts.  There’s the crazy things like, “Does everyone do it basically the same?  I mean, my husband taught me all I knew, what if he didn’t teach me right?  What if my best move with my ex is actually laughable to someone else?  He taught me how to do a blow job, too, what if the way I do it is a turn off to another guy?  How covered up can I stay the first time I have sex with him?  Do I really have to let him see me completely naked?  Will he laugh?  Will he be sorry?  Will he just not care?  Will he be one of those men I’ve heard about and its over in 10 minutes?  Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?  Men our age have plumbing problems, what will I do with that little surprise?  What will it be like to have sex with a condom on?  Wait, I could possibly get pregnant with someone with different swimmers?  What I am going to do about birth control?  Oh dear, STDs are pretty high among folks our age, what is it I have to do about that again?”

I live in a close facsimile to a “Stepfordville” community.  I knew I could find out about birth control from my friends, but they had all been married for almost as long as I have and none of us know anything about today’s safe sex.   When I got married in the early 90s, we were just learning about STD’s, especially ones like AIDS.  I mean, some of them have been around forever, but those were only for the promiscuous and I certainly didn’t fit that category.  In fact, they were still trying to figure out if you get AIDS from kissing when I was walking down the aisle.   As you may know, I was a virgin, I trusted my husband and I never had to give safe sex a single thought.  Fertility did not run in my family so I never even prevented pregnancy…like ever!   (Sidebar…anyone else hear Taylor Swift when you see the phrase “Like Ever?”)

So I decided to go see my a happening, young blonde chic I knew who could “help a sista out.”  I scheduled an appointment with my cute, perky, YOUNG doctor…it was time for an annual checkup anyway, kill two birds with one stone as a bonus, great!  Let me just say, with all this positive change in my life, I was glowing!  I had lost weight, I was finding myself, I was having a blast with Catalyst, I was woman—hear me roar and I could light up a room.   So Dr A walks into the exam room and says “Whoa…what happened to you?  You’re radiant!”  I told her I had gotten a divorce since I had last seen her (I’m one of those go-to-the-dr-once-a-year types) and she immediately changes her bright smile to a serious face.  She then said “I’m sorry!”  I said, “No,no, no it’s a good thing, that’s why I look this way!”  She then said “You lost 200 pounds of dead weight?”  EXACTLY! 

She does her thing…All the normal things like checking skin, listening to my chest and then all the somewhat embarrassing lady-part things that you have you to give yourself a pep-talk through.  Once I’m no longer spread eagle, trying to pretend that the little paper gown does anything at all and regain my composure, I tell her I really need some guidance.  I explain I am hoping to have sex with my new friend and I have no idea what to do about safety or birth control.  Dr A was so funny, she literally jumped up and down with excitement, like five or six times even!  Who knew doctors could have that much cuteness and personality?

She gives me my birth control options, a prescription, a talk on safety, a little how-to education and leaves the room.  Let me also share with you that I went to a private school. ..An independent Baptist one and not so much because my parents were as strict as the school was, but because it was cheap for a private school.  We had a rather rotund headmaster who made it the rule that guys and gals had “To stand as far apart from each other as Brother B**** is wide!”  So I wasn’t even afforded the awkward safe sex talk in high school, in fact I’m not even sure those people knew that people have sex.  But that was a whole host of scientific knowledge ago, so it wouldn’t matter now anyway, although I would have loved to have seen them put a condom on a banana!   So here I was, getting my first thorough sex talk at 40-something.  And although, I’m the friend that everyone sends the dirty jokes to that they wouldn’t share with anyone else, I’m  also the friend that is known for saying something totally unexpected and sexual, and I’m the open book person, even I was slightly embarrassed! 

After talking, she even convinced me I should get tested for STD’s just in case my husband had done anything I didn’t know about, which I agreed to do.  After I get dressed and ready to leave Dr A’s office, I see her in the hallway.  She has a huge grin on her face and says “Now you have a GREAT time and don’t do anything I wouldn’t’ do…oh, who am I kidding?”

And that’s how I learned to use a condom from a cute, happening, 28 year-old blonde chick, minus the banana!  

Why buying the Cow was the biggest mistake of my youth

I’m a southern gal, I was raised in the “buck of the bible belt” by a wonderful mom.  My mom was sweet, honest, caring and well, naïve.  Any time I met any of the friends of her youth, they would tell me how innocent she always was, therefore it’s no wonder that she would attempt to raise me in much the same way. 

Additionally when I was young, my family found religion, so I was raised in the church and taught from both, my parents and church leaders, to save myself for marriage.  While it kept me naive, it didn't keep me altogether wholesome as I had my first REAL French kiss in the backseat of the church bus…gasp!  And I felt a penis for the first time in a car in the church parking lot…double gasp!  I have to laugh now…he stuck my hand down his pants, but I had NO idea what he wanted me to do with it!  Oops!

However, the “waiting until marriage” teaching somehow kept me from doing much more than first or second base throughout private high school and Bible college.  By the time I had met my husband, a popular book was taking Christian dating by storm. It suggested “courting”, and all of my friends were subscribing to its methods.  This included being friends first and only dating if you already felt you could marry the person, while the second tenant was not kissing until your wedding day.  I signed up for both of those ideals for SOME reason. 

So when my ex-husband and I started dating, I told him my “rules” and he agreed to it.  Needless to say, we had a very short courtship before getting engaged and then planned a wedding for less than six months later.  About a month after our engagement, we ACCIDENTALLY kissed!  While I loved kissing, I had a nagging dialog in the back of my head, followed by guilt.  We went another month without kissing and did it again, only this time there was a little more than kissing, but not too much. 

So went our whole engagement…back and forth between a few stolen moments of passion, then the guilt would follow, then we would make a promise not to "slip up" again.  We were rarely alone due to roommates, church groups and family events so that seemed to help keep us straight and distracted most of the time.   

Then we got married and while we had a great time sexually the first week or so, I soon learned we were not going to be one of those newlywed couples who were having sex every single day.  I had been a virgin (he was not) and guess what I found out about myself?  I love sex!  I had no idea I would love sex so much, but yeah, I did.  I thought it was the best thing in the world and I wanted it all the time!

And guess what else?  My new husband didn’t care much about sex at all.  In fact, it was fairly low on his priority list, falling down somewhere between clean laundry and organizing his wallet.  It wasn’t that he didn't find me attractive, or the sex we had wasn’t good (even if it was all I knew at the time)...I knew he did and I knew it was.  Actually, how we were as lovers seemed excellent compared to what my friends were saying about their own bedroom activities.  While in the throes of passion, he was giving and selfless much of the time, but having sex more than once a week was beyond what he expected of newlywed life.  I was ready to go any minute, any time, any place, so you can imagine this set me up for years of rejection, and also made me always the initiator, which to be honest just sucked! 

Now that I have talked to many men about their sexual experiences, and know that men find me desirable and beautiful despite my body flaws, I am now confident the lack of sex in our marriage had nothing to do with me.  I do know it was peculiar that my ex husband never "took care of himself" and admittedly, that is often the way I personally coped with his low libido.  Regardless of the reason, I have been able through the divorce, to free myself, to find ME!  The true sexual, authentic and sensual being that makes me, as my BFF puts it, the best kept secret around. 

So imagine, in my early 40s realizing that I now had sexual freedom that I had never experienced before!  Also imagine me having to go see my 28 year old doctor about birth control and safe sex (ok, that’s a whole other blog post.) And knowing how much I adore sex while also balancing the fact that I’m a mother and can’t go crazy! 

I have had an epiphany though, on one hand I feel it’s a blessing to have not known how much I liked sex when I was at a more impressionable age.  Imagine if I had known really what to do in the church parking lot...it might have set me on a course for some crazy teen years where I acted on my sexual appetite and ended up in a very different place in life.  I just might have been spared when I think of it in that way.  However, I was also frustrated, dissatisfied and probably grumpy too, through 20 years of a marriage with little-to-no sex.  The last year we were married we had sex 2 times, I would say even in our best years, we probably only got together 20 times a year…I’d like that much a month, please! 

So I have decided I will not teach my children in the way I was taught.  I will teach them that sex is one (wonderful) facet of a relationship that MUST be explored this part before marriage or a serious commitment.  Maybe they will listen, and if they don’t, that’s okay too…I believe in letting kids be themselves.  Regardless, encouraging my children to marry under a pretense that I fed them would never be something I considered a parental accomplishment.  I hope they will discover who they are far earlier in life that I did, regardless of what that means for their sex life.  

I’ve decided a few other things, too…I will never “buy the cow” before trying the milk…okay, well, I’m not sure I will ever buy another cow again, but I know I wouldn’t commit to any kind of relationship without trying the milk first.  Also, with my sexual appetite, there is no shortage of men who want a woman like me.  By the way, I’m not a big head-turner, but most men have related to me because they were also sexually deprived during the end or maybe even all of their own marriage, so we both have a goal to make up for lost time, too. 

Finally, I’ve learned through my own sexual journey that no two partners are the same, there’s a variable dairy case with different types of milk to try and thanks to a couple of key men, I’ve already found that I really do look great in thigh high nylons, although I’m not sure what they have to do with cows!