[UPDATED 30Jun09–this blog post has been updated to include things left out, and new things since it was written, almost 2 years ago]
I’ve become a little harsh. I’m on my last gay nerve about romance, i guess. So when i say to my friends, “Don’t be a dumbass” i mean that in the most loving way. LOL.
Really, i think it all stems from this overwhelming file of evidence i have that 99% of all lesbians and lesbian-wanna- bees, and fence-jumpers are just one big screaming touchstone for FUCKEDUPEDNESS. I don’t recall feeling this strongly about it back-when. It seemed we were all cut from primarily the same cloth, and there were options…dates to be had… relationships to explore….or maybe i was just naive. Maybe i hadn’t gathered enough data until now. Does it take 45 years to gather that data? I think that’s actually what I was doing by writing both Plethora and ISO. Manifestations of the DATA.
Maybe the Mayans were right and we’re headed for that revolution of spirituality and evolution in 2012, and this is merely the precursor…the “getting worse before it gets better” scenario which all caregivers, or mothers with small children and an arsenal of peroxide and BandAids are intimately familiar with. The very fact that sapphists like me, and assorted other friends exist, seems to indicate that while we might be a dying breed, we must exist somewhere…are we just a breed somehow incapable of finding each other? Where are all of them hiding? where are our people?
And what has MY experience with dating been? Aside from my 5 longterm relationships of 9, 4, 3, 2 years, and 1 1/2 years, respectively, and the little trysts in between, in the authentic sense, i would have to say my dating relationships have been limited. A blip on the radar screen. I didn’t date in high school and had only one date in college, and went from that into my epiphany that i was gay, my first girlfriend, and my first sexual experience, all rolled into one event and one person. From there, I went into the mode of serial monogamist. Then, as the relationships got shorter, and my list of criteria longer, I found myself single more often, and had only a one year period where I was actually “dating.” But even those experiences weren’t truly “dating” if we are using the old-fashioned definition. There were no sparkly meetings, evenings out to the movies and dinner, and a chaste kiss by the door before one of us went home alone and called later in the week for another date.
That list of dates was 11…and the one-night-stands and/or one hit wonders and/or DUDS of:
- The one who who visited me, drove an hour and a half home, then called me and said she’d turn around and drive back right then just for a kiss from me–which she did, though i thought she was kidding, and that ended up being a one-sided encounter from whence sprang Justice’s jibe: “The way to get rid of a woman is NOT to give her a mind-blowing orgasm.”…..and
- an agreed upon fuck that was one-sided with me using a toy and then being unable to let her stay the night and making her drive home 2 hours in a thunderstorm because I was so freaked out about it, and
- The one i met online, talked to at length, then drove 5 hours out of town to meet, and her huge horse of a dog jumped all over me and ruined my good clothes, while also ruining the house and leaving presents on the floor, whose house had a layer of dust an inch thick all over it, who seemed to be a hoarder, with stacks and stacks of newspapers, magazines, papers…who was a hard-core diabetic with a dismal life expectancy, and admitted that she often forgot to care for her health, and who had a medicine cabinet full of psych meds, and then insisted i could safely sleep next to her with no hanky panky, and then came to bed stark-naked….
- …the one whom I met once for lunch in MO after chatting on the internet and phone, and with whom I had no chemistry, who was rude to the waitress at our lunch, could not stop talking about her ex, and who lived with her mother who was NOT disabled or bedridden, and who later blasted me for not writing to her or calling, and for my implication that we were not a romantic item, when I thought that was pretty clear, and
- …the one with whom I had one date, and liked her as a person, but had ZERO romantic chemistry with, and
- …the one to whom I felt no attraction, though still I tried to get past that pesky lack of chemical response, fearing that i wasn’t trying hard enough or giving it a fair chance; we had sex twice, then realized it was just not going to happen, while also discovering she was emotionally damaged and also a pathological liar…(see the Sullied Pajamas series).
- …the date that had no longterm promise, but turned into Friends with Benefits, but dissolved when she found someone she wanted to date seriously, and
- ….the date who had absolutely no future with me, as she was about as dumb as a box of rocks; but the sex was good, and it provided another much-needed fuckfest, which eventually could not continue either, because she was a pathological liar, and (she appeared as a character in Plethora, and I didn’t have to change many of the facts for it to fit into the plot).
- the rescue that turned into a sexual encounter, and another Friends with Benefits situation; I knew she could never capture my heart> this was interrupted by dating other people, and eventually moved to just friendship, but then was dissolved altogether by continued delusion and betrayal on her part….(see Herniated Disco: Necessary Scissors)
- The former actress who was now back home in Kansas, who came to visit/meet me, and turned out to be a nutjob. (See Nightmare Dates: Actress with a Bad Vibe )
- …and the one whom I thought was just a coffee friend, as well as STRAIGHT, but who drank too much wine one night and confessed that she wanted me to kiss her since the first time we met, and then wanted me to do other things, upstairs in my bedroom, and who disappeared afterward, reappeared for more of the same and disappeared again…..see Mercy Kissing...
*for another example more recently, see Ditto.
And then there were the two pseudo-relationships that were doomed from the start with Big Eraser (a bad girl, previous drug dealer, alcoholic, cheat and liar, who I convinced myself i could save, and who eventually inflicted some nasty bruises and a broken toe) and
PhillyFilly (a recipient of 3 kidney transplants, who lived with her parents, for whom she had little respect if the condition of her room was any indication, who I tried to convince myself I loved, because i wanted to be in love so desperately, but had to finally admit it was impossible to convince yourself of love; this process was hurried along by her thinking that it was acceptable for me to support her ass for three or four years while she went to nursing school, never honored her promises to me, never seemed to think i was worth fighting for, bored me out of my mind, had a hidden drinking problem, a reality problem, an initiative problem, and delivered even more boring sex which i found numerous ways to avoid…(see the “CircleCircleCircle fiasco“,The Truth is Ever Clear and Et Tu, Brute? ),
And then there was the Angst Ridden Blogist girl, (not an obvious romantic interest, but at least a seemingly profound connection)–with whom I exchanged a novella’s worth of intellectual/ philosophical emails and some phone calls, who seemed to be some sort of cosmic kindred, but whom I never met in person, since she changed her mind after I rented the car and made the arrangements, because she decided she was suddenly dating her best friend. Then she swiftly turned on me like some card-carrying harpy.
Justice and I were discussing our strings of women, and came to the conclusion that NONE of them were good relationships at all. So we’ve not had a single good relationship in our entire lives.
My experiences with dating were all like this::: (1) meet on the Internet or–rarely–in person the first time, (2) make a date (3) get climbed in an amorous fashion the first time we are together, before i had even decided how i felt about them, (4)allow it to turn into some fuckfest, (5) then discover the 27 deal breakers and,(6) then deal with the aftermath.
I talk to my friends about most things, even the personal ones, and they all seem to have a similar story where sexual escapades are concerned. Mine seems no different: In the bedroom, I too heard similar declarations. The most common two being: (1) I have never let ANYONE do THAT before you! and (2) I have never had an orgasm that big, ever! I was also called “a master,” “the best lover I’ve ever had,” and told that they couldn’t get enough of me….(oh, even one of my ex’s new girlfriends was drunk enough at the bar one night to THANK ME for all the great things, sexually, I had taught my Ex; things she was now enjoying).
“Happy to be of service,” I said blandly.
So, I didn’t ever feel like my sexual prowess was in question. (Well, until that “CircleCircleCircle” fiasco with PhillyFilly, which I decided was a fluke based on her inexperience, even with her own body). I have made women open up like they’d never opened before, had them doing things they thought they hated but decided they loved, and willing to be my sex slave at the snap of a finger. And none of them–NONE–did I want in any way other than strictly carnal because I had “needs.” Not one, did I love, Did I for one minute believe I’d want to keep for any appreciable amount of time. And yes, i did make it my mission to study sexual pleasuring until I felt I should have some kind of fucking degree in it. (That would be called, naturally, a Fucking Degree.) I earned those accolades, by god. But i did so thinking it would be one element in making me a good LIFE PARTNER, not just a good lay. What did it matter, if I didn’t want to keep the woman I had just stupefied?
I spent years believing that there must be something horribly wrong with me, until I had my epiphany that it wasn’t me, that all my self-work had actually paid off, and that all this “crazy” or “damaged” I thought *I* was, was really not the case, and, in fact, was represented to the nth degree in THEM. I finally realized that they were all MORE crazy, on MORE levels, and infinitely MORE fucked up than I was. A dubious liberation, to be sure. For awhile I was relieved that I was not so damaged as I had believed. It meant that there were a slew of damaged women out there, who resided in my dating pool. If I had met someone, romantically, who was “normal” and real and self-actualized and financially stable, and say, willing to get tickets to cool events and to spend time with me—why, I would have been in heaven, I tell ya. My suitors were either trying to impress me and buy my love or convince me I should be the sugar mama, as if my own happiness was inconsequential in the equation.
So I ask you: are we left with friend-dates just to enjoy the company of quality women without the perk of sex or romance? Maybe that’s what I’m headed for, along with meaningless one-night-stands to curb the carnal appetites, when and IF I can even find that, without the threat of an STD. (which means I can only have “safe sex” for the rest of my life).
I’m going to dig a hole and crawl in and cover myself up.
Like a turd.