We'll call it a win

Within three hours of being informed that the cute and fun girl with whom I thought things were going just swimmingly and felt no need to changed informed me that a) She did not want a relationship, to 'move forward' and in response to my telling her that I did not want that either that b) she could not continue as things were, I had secured a date for this weekend.
Maybe I'm not completely hopeless.

It still feels like an unbelievable revelation when I find out that someone thinks I'm sexy.

Comprehending that more than one person might think this at any given time is like a brick to the head.

That's all.

Happy whatever you celebrate.

actions and identity, or a consideration of love

I'm going to give a vague Glee spoiler alert here if you happen not to have watched any of season 2 or season 3 thus far. Okay?

Santana is in love with Brittany. She's come to the conclusion that she is gay/lesbian. Now, these two things could very well both be true, both in the world of brilliant television musical dramadies, and life, but the first does not necessarily make the second true.

What do I mean?

I mean that who a person loves does not encapsulate and define all of, or even most of their sexuality. Sometimes, a person just falls in love with a person, or for that matter, is just attracted to a person and that person may be of a sex and/or gender that they have never before or never again been attracted to, collectively or individually.

This is a tricky thing to talk about. "Okay Kinsey, so if who you love and who you fuck doesn't define your sexuality, what does exactly?"

The answer is: lots of things. Those included. Right now, for the sake of brevity, I just want to talk about this one person idea.

A person can be a revelation. I always had some sense that I was attracted to women and really didn't think much of it until I had been given a vocabulary and context for those attractions: lesbian, gay, dyke, and, the women with whom I wanted to get all dykey, or, specifically here, one woman. At the start of grade 11, when I had not yet turned 16 there was this new girl in my English class. It may have taken all of five minutes being in vague proximity to her, without her even flashing that heart-melting smile at me, or becoming my friend and cuddling with me while we watched movies to turn vague sense in to,

"WHOA BABY DEFINITELY DO I LIKE GIRLS!!!"

or at least "WHOA BABY DEFINITELY DO I LIKE THIS GIRL OH MY GOD SHE'S LOOKING AT ME WHAT DO I DO WHATDOIDOWHATDOIDO???"

That single revelation allowed me to understand that there were a whole lot of other women in the world who were going to make me feel and act like a complete idiot. I was right. There were, they did, I did.

It didn't take much time, maybe 3 years all told to go from crazy about the girl from English class, for whom I would carry a torch during the rest of high school, which included: her dating a boy with whom I had a brief flirtation thing the year before and him being super weird about our friendship and me thinking it was so funny how backwards he was on the matter that I almost told him, both of them getting expelled, her coming back the next year, me marshaling all my courage and asking her to go to the prom with me and her telling me she didn't want to be my date to the prom because she wanted to go with a boy, and later turned out also to be queer and is some roller-derby superstar now. I digress.

We were talking about some time later when I had mostly come to the conclusion that I was only interested in women. I solid in my identity as gay, BUT, even then, I did hope and believe that I was capable of loving people as people and not just social constructs and bodies. (again, tricky stuff)

This change was a little more gradual, but the big, HOLY SHIT, MEN! moment came again with an individual first. I was so unbelievably head-over-heels in love with this man that I didn't really consider for a while whether or not other men might possibly be appealing to me, because I was in a place in which I couldn't imagine ANYONE ever being interesting except for him ever again. Well, life happens, and as I mentioned Mon Amore and I went our separate ways over a year ago now, and I have found out that, yes, men are, if you will, 'on the menu' for me, they held appeal. I believe what I discovered somewhere along the line was that BOYS held no interest for me, where as MEN sometimes do.

Being as I am now one of those confounding fence-sitters who will not even allow themselves to be called 'bisexual' because it is a label that, for me, does not fit. I am frequently asked to explain myself in this regard, or break down my attraction into ratios or fractions. I believe I have addressed my annoyance at this point ad nauseum in the past. I like people, I love individuals for who they are, not 'what'. People are 'whats,' they are 'whos'

In brief review: loving a single person does not define a person's sexuality. Individuals can help personify and clarify desire. Identity is complicated. Love kicks my ass.

Yep.

worries

He didn't say that I worried too much.

He didn't tell me to stop worrying.

He said " You're an amazing person and you don't need to worry as much as you do."

That was new.

me time

One of my absolute favorite things about spending time alone where I live is the freedom not to wear any more clothing than I want to or is necessary due to temperature.

I just took a shower after trying to plant some things. I may have put the sprouted avocado upside down, and that potted basil may have been too late in meeting the garden. That's entirely beside the point. The point is, that I am sitting here bare-ass naked, save for my glasses. I do not even have my nose-ring in and am not wearing the lucky Japanese coin which seldom leaves my neck.

There is a delightful breeze coming through the window, my bedroom door is open, and as I am not expecting anyone else to be here for another 24 hours and the downstairs door is locked, that is all just dandy.

I think I came late to appreciating nudity, relatively speaking. Little kids seem to love to be naked, and having worked with youth a lot, I can tell you some take a lot longer to pick up the social conventions of when/where and how much clothing they are expected to wear in various circumstances. From what I remember and have been told, I was not one of those kids. I was on board with being fully clothed just about as soon as I could get clothes on with minimal assistance. I didn't want to change without a lot of privacy, which was difficult given how many sports I played. When I got involved with theatre I started to loose some of those boundaries. When you've got to do a quick-change, you've got to do a quick-change, but that was only ever down to my skivvies, which were pretty modest and uninteresting at that point - I once had to do a quick change in an alley for a show that I did when I was 14. The same truck drove by 3 times in the minute it took me to change from a full male military costume into a tea dress, matching hat and shoes.

When I became sexually active nudity in that context never seemed like a big deal to me. Of COURSE I have the hang-ups about my body that people have but I guess I always figured that if someone thought I was sexy enough to get to that point with me, what they found underneath my clothes wasn't going to send them running for the hills. I embraced well (not harshly) lit sex almost right away. Otherwise, I stayed pretty clothed. My beloved Alma Mater was, to put it mildly, a pretty naked place. I would take off my shirt and leave on my bra at parties, or go to underwear themed parties, in boxers and tshirt, not lingerie, and not just barely lingerie like some of my dear, darling classmates.

A few years ago I read from some very authoritative source, as in, some womens' magazine or other, that part of the reason that women tend to like their faces more than they like their bodies is because they SEE their faces all the time, and do not often really see/look at their bodies. I immediately took up the practice of looking at all me naked in the mirror at least once a day, and HEY! It's true. Having a better idea of what my body actually looks like made me like it more, and feel more comfortable being naked - alone, around other people, just for the heck of it. I don't feel as though my body needs to covered when it does not actually need to for the sake of social comfort or warmth. It's great. I am not suggesting even a little bit that I no longer have my hang-ups or any such thing, I just like chilling out naked now. That's all.

Naked Kinsey Out

add it to the list

In theory, intentionally avoiding relationships should prevent one from finding one's self feeling as though one has been dumped. In reality, this is not entirely true.

Let's get over this

My darling wife reminded me of the conventional wisdom that it takes half the duration of a relationship to 'get over it' once it has ended. Mon Amore and I were together for 45 months, meaning I should 'be over it' in April of 2012. You know, if the world hasn't already ended by that point.

Disorientation

Not long after my split from Mon Amore, some friends from the world of fringe theatre was consoling me over a drink. They began pondering who they might fix me up with 'What guys do we know that are good enough for Kinsey'? I told them guys weren't the only or even necessarily the primary market for me, of which they were apparently totally unaware before. This led to the inevitable question of identity and labels. What I came up with on the spot was that these days, I am:

sexually disoriented.

there's an app for that!

I recently pontificated that if my Kobo, iPod, and vibrator were all one magical device that could also tell me how great my ass looks in those jeans and that I'm way prettier than my ex's new flame, I would pretty much never have any need for a Significant Other again.*

Listener's response: There's got to be an app for that!

*except for the part that a magical literary/musical/film/orgasm inducing/self-esteem device can't hold you at night or go to the pharmacy for you when you're sick.

just that time and that song

I should probably start by saying, because I don't believe that I have yet, that Mon Amore and I went our separate ways back in June.

In August I moved from Colorado back to my home town in Nova Scotia.

Yeah, I know, I never post, one more excuse, I probably have zero readers. Whatever. I write because I can't help but write, I'll try once again to do more of it in this forum than on paper or never going past my personal screen.

The next thing that I'm going to say is how not being in a relationship, and specifically not being in my relationship with Mon Amore has sort of re-opened some questions for me about my own sexuality. I used to be fairly solid in my gay-ness, but always allowed for the possibility of being attracted to or loving anyone. Then I found myself in a relationship with a wonderful man with whom I'd been friends for many years. At first I had a certain sort of defensiveness about my sexuality, some sort of need to justify myself or prove that I was still queer 'enough'

"Queer enough for whom, Kinsey?"

Queer enough for all of the Lesbians with a capital L who glared at me for holding his hand at GLBTTQQIA spaces and events, that's who. I never expected to experience discrimination and dirty looks for being a 'hetero' couple. I'd also like to add that, quite honestly, my relationship with Mon Amore was far more queer than any other I've been in, if we are going to use that term to indicate non-normative in some manner, challenging established and binary systems.

I came to a point at which for the most part I would pretend, in the majority of casual company and situations, to be straight, and always to have identified that way in an attempt to protect every other queer person from the old 'oh well they just need to find the right man/woman' bullshit that so many spout. I wasn't going to be used as evidence of that. I would put part of myself out of the public preview for the sake of the community. It might sound noble, it might sound stupid. It probably was a bit of both. I think largely I just got tired of explaining myself and seeing that 'I told you so!' look on people's faces.

So, now I'm single. I am very adamantly single. I have in fact made the decision that I will continue to be for at least the rest of 2011. I will not be anyone's someone during that time.

I have already reached the bench mark of having been single for the longest period in my adult life thus far - having only really been in two serious relationships. I have decided that I need to be me, on my own, without the influence, however positive, of anyone else in that way. I need to be completely my own person, because people are different in relationships. They just are. That doesn't mean that they necessarily cease to be themselves, but we are different when we are with different people, sometimes it's good for us, sometimes it is not.

Being single does not mean being alone at all times, by which I mean, I'm not a monk. I have been left with much to ponder about loves and lusts past and present regarding exactly who interests me and in what ways, and what that suggests to me about my own identity now. I'm sticking with 'queer.' I am not enjoying how frequently I have to define that word and what it means to/for me, especially to health-care providers, but there you have it.

Kinsey: on my own, still here, still queer.

Get used to it.

Revelation

Hi internet,

I know I've been more conspicuously absent than usual, but then, only if you were ever paying attention in the first place.

I just had something to share: I just made myself ejaculate without being high for the first time ever. Ejaculation is not unknown or even uncommon for me, but very, very difficult to manage by myself, and on the rare occasions it has happened, it has been after smoking.

Here's yet another pledge to post more and actually update you (few, and valued) readers on where the hell I've been and what my excuses are this time.

xo, Kinsey

You want me to kiss you after that!?

I have a hypothetical vampire-sex question. (Shut up, I'm watching 'True Blood')
So, there are those people who, for reasons I completely fail to understand, are unwilling to kiss their partner after said partner has performed oral sex on them, at least not before they gargle or brush their teeth or whatever. In the case of vampire-human sex in particular, because I assume this would be kind of a non-issue with vampire-on-vampire action, would there be those who after being bitten (presumably during sex) would refuse to kiss their blood-sucking lover prior to that lover cleaning their -the human's blood out of their mouth/off their face?
OR, is it possible actually that there would even be those vampires who would be unwilling to be kissed with their own blood on their partner's mouth?
OR, is it completely ridiculous that I'm making blood and sexual fluids analogous in this situation?

Vagazzle (NSFW)

Folks,
apparently the latest trend in very personal grooming is VAGAZZLING. It is more less exactly what it sounds like, the application of crystals to one's vaginal area. YEAH. Said area is, of course, completely denuded of hair. It seems to be that this is assumed for vagazzling - no one has pubic hair anymore.


IF PEOPLE JUST LEFT THE DAMN HAIR WHERE IT WAS MAYBE THEY WOULDN'T THEN NEED TO ADD RHINESTONES. just a thought. Are people really so terrified of the vagina that they need to make it look like a tiara? I can only imagine vagazzling being a SERIOUS turn-off. Naked pussy is bad enough, but excessively decorated pussy? My dear friend who alerted me to this trend made the excellent point, "What if they fall off when they shouldn't? Do people choke on them?" Any man or woman I encountered who, after removing their underwear was covered in crystals down there (because apparently the upscale places only use swarovski crystals, thank you very much) would have me laughing and then immediately running in the opposite direction. Rugburn is bad enough, I don't need my face, hands, or naughty bits getting chafed and cut up by fucking crystals.
It's like turning the vagina into a museum piece, locked behind plate glass - look, but don't touch because I can't imagine possibly being able to have any kind of sex comfortably with someone who's man or lady bits were bedazzled. And, oh year, penazzling is also apparently a thing.

I almost forgot

I also got the P-style, which I am in the process of learning how to use!
AT LAST, I will be able to pee standing up!!!

let the sunshine in!

It was definitely sad to see Hysteria go. Another small, locally-owned business pushed out of the market.
My darling wife and I went to their going-out-of-business sale*.
I picked up, wait for it....

A SOLAR POWERED VIBRATOR (at 60% off!)
It is difficult for me to express how much this thrills the eco-geek in me. Basically, as you can see, it's a bullet with a control attached that looks kind of a like a cell phone. You flip the control open so that it stands up at about a 45-degree angle, and it charges in the light! ALSO: It does not necessarily have to have direct sunlight. The electrical lights inside the store were enough to charge the floor model. Understandably it is not waterproof, due to the solar-panel and cells I think. I have not charged mine up or tried it out yet, but am super excited to do so. Mon Amore saw this while at the store for a bachelor party last spring, and told me about it and that it seemed like something that would be perfect for me, except for being a little pricey as compared to similar battery-powered toys.

I'll let you know how it works out.

*unlawfully gay married at Boulder Pride '08, not the same person as Mon Amore.

Goodbye Hysteria.

Hysteria in Denver is closing. Sad times.
I'm checking out the going-out-of-business sale with my darling wife tomorrow.*

*who is not the same person as my partner (Mon Amore), just for clarification.

the other kind of pussy

Finally watching 'True Blood' for the first time.
Sookie telling her cat to stop purring and watching her masturbate: priceless, and so painfully life-like.

And things you never want to hear

I was conceived many years ago last night, or next Thursday: either Christmas or New Year's Eve of the year in question.
Why do I know this?
Lots of people know when their conception occurred, because a parent went away for business, were on leave from service, lots of reasons, some less pleasant than others.
Why do I know? I know because my parents felt the need to have an argument as to the exact date in my presence when I was ten years old, I believe it was Christmas Eve.

I then choose to believe that my parents only have sex on bank holidays.
"But Kinsey, you're sex positive, don't you want your parents (who are still together) to have a happy, fulfilling sex life?"
In theory, yes. Of course I do. I want my parents to have the marriage that they want to have, whatever that means, provided of course all things are safe and consensual. In reality, they're my parents. I don't want to think or know about them having sex. I think that's natural. Finding the idea of your parents getting down disgusting is a built-in safeguard against incest. Parent sex = gross = not having sex with your parents. I think the same basic principle applies to all close relatives.
There was a study in which men wore the same shirt for several days, with no fragrance or deodorant of any kind and those shirts were then smelled by different women. The scents that women rated the most appealing were those of the men with whom they shared the fewest genetic characteristics. Hybrid vigor, folks. Being the most attracted to the people the least like themselves decreases the likelihood of many genetic disorders- genes that make things go wrong have a harder time finding each other. An awesome argument for diversity and integration.

Better Left Unsaid:

Thank you notes which would be unwise actually to send:

Mere de Mon Amore, Cherie*,
Thanks for sending us home with those excellent cookies as well as the other fantastic leftovers from dinner this evening. The cookies made a really satisfying snack after the incredibly satisfying sex that I just had with your first-born.
Thanks a bundle.

Love, your child's partner.

*Dear the Mother of My Love

like a sex machine

I subscribe to fitness magazines. I found SELF immensely helpful after I graduated from college and was trying to make-over my life and body from the excesses and abuses to which I had been subjecting myself. I got a free subscription to Women's Health thanks to a fabulous eyeslipsface (e.l.f) offer - a free magazine subscription with orders over $20.00.
I'm generally pretty pleased with the attitudes that these publications take towards sex - its positive, and relatively open-minded, if a little heterosexist and not super inclusive. They promote healthy sexuality as part of over-all well being: sex is good for your health, and good health = good sex. I could have told you that, but its nice to see science backing it up.

There seems to be an assumption that sex is always available to women, and by implication that men are always up for (forgive the pun) and available for sex. There's this implicit idea that men's sex drives are always roaring full-blast, and that they'll be happy to service the needs of a woman whenever she feels like, as though they don't have bad days, headaches, deadlines, and are always in the mood. That's not fair to men or to women. It suggests that there's something wrong with a man who doesn't want to, or can't have sex all the time, and/or that there's something wrong with a woman if a man does not, or she can not make him want to have sex with her whenever she feels like it - that something is medically or emotionally the matter in either case.
Not being at the ready all the time is not the same as E.D.
Encouraging women to be open and unashamed of their sexuality is great, making them feel as though they're undesirable by this kind of thinking about sex is not. Maybe there ought to be more consideration in these articles of ways that women can take care of their own sexual needs and how to navigate that within their relationships, how to read their partner's sexual cues, or how to facilitate communication between partners about what makes them feel like its a good time or not.

Just my $.02