Worth Pouting Over

The Winner, who I have gotten closer to lately after choosing to stop hiding within myself, and I have spoken for close to 9 months.  I have a webcam, and have used this when speaking to her on multiple occasions.   She has, in the past, whined and pouted and complained and cried about the fact that I don't want to be exclusive with her.  

Exclusive with someone I have never seen in person.  

Never seen smile in real time, don't even know for certain if she is who she says she is.

I don't believe in exclusivity to begin with.  

She's off her nut.

When she told me a few weeks ago that she was buying a webcam, I was immediately happy. Not because I wanted to see her naked or any of that stuff, because, I don't have those intentions immediately in mind.  Instead, I just want to see her laugh, her smile, her eyes respond to my jokes.  I just wanted to connect. To see how my words could be read in her face. 

I still haven't seen her face. She told me the shipping has been delayed on the product, due to some labor dispute on the West coast.  

I'm sure most of you are thinking what I am, "She's lying, she isn't who she says she is.  She could go to her local Best Buy and get the webcam without any shipping worries."

I have to believe her. Because that's what people do, they trust.  I continue to trust in what she says. I don't think I should anymore.  I don't think she's earned my trust. 

I think for all her bitching about my hesitance to be exclusive, she has not given me any reason to want to.  

I think I should give her something to pout about.  

I want to know what everyone else thinks.

The Winner's Exclusivity

The Winner, believer in exclusivity, and champion of faithfulness decided she was going to show me a thing or two.   She and I had not talked for some time, and when she got on the phone, her mood was subdued.  Our conversation previous to this had ended with her in tears and me refusing to give in to her demands.   Therefore, I was not surprised to hear her acting less than happy with me.  I began talking to her, telling her how I witnessed the drunkest girl I have ever seen, and how someone I know had proceeded to get this girl's number while her knees bled from multiple wounds suffered from multiple falls.  She reported that she had gotten pretty drunk also, and she had done other stuff she wasn't proud of. 

I asked what she meant.  She said she got hammered, smoked weed, and then fooled around with some guy.  A few weeks ago, she told me how she was never going to drink again after watching how her parents had behaved under the influence of alcohol, citing her aversion to following in their footsteps.  I asked her about why she changed her mind, and furthermore, why she proceeded to take it too far, like past just a buzz and into hammered.  Then I was curious as to why she felt like smoking weed would augment her experience. 

I have never done any of that, so I wanted to know, to gain perspective, and to see life through her eyes.  She told me that she did it because she was mad at me and wanted to "not care." She told me she felt guilty about what she had done. I don't care, and I don't know if I buy that, the interesting thing about all this was my new perspective.

I have a few friends who I talk nasty with every now and then; relationships that are organic.  The Winner is the only girl who I have declared and felt more deep intimate emotions with.  When my ex told me, while we were still dating, that she had cheated on me, I knew it before she told me.  I just knew.  I knew her, I knew what she was, and it was clear. With The Winner, I knew what she did once she said she got wasted.  I didn't know how far it went, but I knew what had happened. 

I felt slightly betrayed.  I felt like she had said something to me and then did another.  Strange, that after crying and yelling at me about how she needed someone to care for her, she would do that.  I don't blame her, because she did what she wanted, and I practically told her to go fuck with someone else.  I just don't like how I felt, I don't like that I briefly revisited my feelings of inadequacy from long ago.  I guess I am not as smart as I would have guessed, and she's not as true as she might have seemed. 

On Jealousy, Cheating, Exclusivity,

I was having a conversation with the Winner.  She was telling me that she thinks dude on dude action is hot.  As disturbing as I find the idea personally, I played the game and asked her if she was telling me she wanted to watch me with a dude. She said yes, that she did enjoy the idea of watching some man receive it from me.  

Now, a brief side bar before I continue,  The Winner is under the delusional notion that we are in an exclusive relationship.  I have told her we aren't, I have reminded her as best as I can we aren't, but she persists nonetheless.  Also, how does it make sense that people think it's ok for their partner to do sexual things with someone of the same sex?  If a girl kisses a girl, despite what songs say to the opposite, most men I know wouldn't care, they might applaud it.  And this girl just said she would also applaud it to watch me do something sexual with a member of my gender.  How does the sexual orientation of the act make it not only forgivable, but celebrated?  Logically, getting head from a man is the same as getting it from a woman.  If someone can offer a sound argument for why this is ok, I would appreciate it.

Back to the story.  I told her that I think it would be sexy to watch her with another guy.  She immediately freaked and a conversation ensued about how I didn't care about her, because no one who cared about someone else could watch something like that.   I brought up the admission she had made 30 seconds prior regarding watching me with someone else, and she said it wasn't the same.  The conversation was carried on for hours.  A friend of mine and fellow blogger ran into some jealous-ish issues lately, and I got inspired to write my thesis.

When I dated my ex, at the wise age of 17, I was a jealous boyfriend.  I did not tell her so, I did not let her know that I cared about where she went or who she might talk to.  I kept it all inside.  My mother had convinced me that infidelity was the reason for my parents' divorce when I was 6.  This isn't the truth, but I feared that my relationship could be dissolved by the same thing.  Additionally, my gf had actually cheated on a bf of hers with me as the other guy, so I knew she was capable.  

For months I lived in fear: Fear that she would find someone who would be better sexually than me.  I am an incredible catch for any woman, but I doubted myself sexually.  I was inexperienced, especially compared to her, and worried about it.  I gave into the fears that she was dating down, that I wasn't as pretty as her.  I was worried often.  

Eventually, she cheated.  I knew what was going on while it was going on, and when she admitted it to me the next day, I wasn't surprised.  We eventually broke up, and I was alone while she was with the cheatee (sic?). In the four months between the split and her coming back crying to take her back, I learned a lot, maybe one of the greatest growth periods of my life.  I thought, "All I did for her, all I was, none of it mattered, she still cheated."  I suppose many people feel like this, some people are right to think they were incredible, some aren't, but I was right (she told me so later). 

That thought is the crux of jealousy, of cheating, of all of it.  You can see cheating as your fault, ie "I wasn't good enough, that's why she cheated.  I will never measure up well enough," or you can see "No matter what I did, she cheated, therefore, she is the failure." Those are the facts of cheating, of exclusive boundaries.  People cheat.  I spent 22 months with a girl who I gave to boundlessly.  She cheated.  She was the lonely one, she was the broken one, she was the scared one, and I was just the sucker that made her go longer than anyone else without doing it.  

Relationships are voluntary activities.  If you don't want to be with me, then I hope you will be a strong enough person to live your life.  Exclusive relationship boundaries are superfluous and unnecessary in a relationship between two honest and courageous people.  Think about the first month or two of any great relationship: the swooping heart, the endless idiotic smiling, the junior high conversations of who should go to sleep first.  No exclusivity is declared because none is needed!  You couldn't imagine wanting anyone else except that man in front of you, end of story, leave it at that. 

But the romance fades, the discovery and growth that existed at the beginning fizzles, and now you are left with this person... 

"We are exclusive. You only kiss and sex (insert particular rules here) with me, and I only whatever with you." Another sidebar on this thought- Where does emotional infidelity fall? I have connected far more deeply with people I have never touched than with some people I had sex with, and isn't that the betrayal of cheating, connection? The idea that you might connect with someone better than with your significant other, physically? And if sex is an expression of emotional intimacy, as it is supposed to be, and that sex can be had as a mindless superficial experience not involving any closeness, then wouldn't it seem that emotional intimacy, which cannot be faked or done mindlessly, is the greater betrayal, the truer hurt and infidelity?  Yet people do not consider it cheating when a woman has a great deep talk with her friend (be it man, woman, or gay).  

Back to the point, the locks are on, the path is fenced in, no longer is it a relationship of choice, but a relationship of obligation.  You go to the party for her little sister because you have to.  You go to see him at his house because you're his girlfriend, despite your desire to go out to the bars with your friends.  You go on dates because you think they want to, and they are thinking the same thing you are: "I wish I was at home watching a movie with my friends right now instead of here talking past someone I'm really sick of right now."  Your life has become not yours, but someone else's.  You resent the relationship, which leads to resentment of your partner, the manifest of that hindrance of your life.  Instead of hating yourself for giving up who you are to be who you think they want, you hate them and say they are making you do it.  You cheat, you break up, whatever.  The very arrangement that you put in place to protect your love destroyed it. 

Let's play with some hypotheticals here.  If a person were rated on a datability scale from 1-10, with 10 being the best, think what you have to have in order to leave your partner for them. We will refer to this number as the F.  This is more than just what it would take to have sex with them, it's more general than that, but you can apply that too. If I am dating Jenna exclusively, and Tammy, who is a 7 comes into my life, I am not allowed to date her.   The fact that I can't date her ups her rank to about an 7.5 (some people will see more of an increase due to the forbidden fruit thing).  Let's assume I think girls need an F of 8.  Jenna is an 8, at least, but doesn't want me to go spend time with Tammy because we are exclusive. 

But if I had gone on the date, I would have seen that Tammy is only a 7, and I wouldn't want to date her anyway.  No harm done.  However, let's say that Kelly is a 9.  Kelly thinks I got mad funny jokes, and wants to hang out.  Forbidden fruit factoring in, as well as me getting tired of Jenna nagging at me for flirting, and suddenly, I leave Jenna for Kelly.  This is a little scientific for laughs, but you see that if it takes a certain quality person to leave your current partner, then your relationship is not going to protect you from that person leaving.  Trust me, they will leave regardless.  

What exclusive relationships do is handicap people.  They limit their life.  I may have become great friends with Tammy, made a good business contact, learned something really fascinating, but I did not have that chance.  That breeds resentment. People have a right to do what they want, to explore life, to go Dead Poets Society on it.  Any attempt to limit their natural rights to pursue their happiness will breed resentment. If Jenna and I were not exclusive, I could have spent time with any of the three woman, and made a decision, a decision to leave Jenna for Kelly or not to.  Jenna would have the same opportunities, and the relationship, as well as the decisions about it regarding the people in it, would have been fair and would have been informed. 

The greatest thing of a relationship is it allows us to share life with someone.  We can tell them the crazy shit that happened to us that day, advise them not to let their landlord fuck them over like we were fucked over, to comfort them in their grief.  So, why not tell someone to live their life in the way they want, and to agree to do the same, and then you can experience all the wonderful things they do when you sit down over dinner and relate the stories to each other? How you felt, what you thought, the laughter, the shock, the sadness, whatever!!  Now you are experiencing the discovery all over again.  The freshness, the newness, the virgin territory, the pure longing to be around one another because you cannot get something so great anywhere else.  It's back, and you have created it by living honestly, you go to the wedding because you love watching her make fun of her brother-in-law, you skip girls night out because listening to him talk about that shed he built reminds you of the passion he has that made you love him from day one.  Now you are with a person, not in a relationship.  You are living naturally in the space of existing, and everything else is just bullshit.  You get to make the first two weeks last as long as you want, and you get to learn more than you ever thought you could: about yourself, about the things you never saw, about things you saw but didn't realize.  Grow exponentially, and face things you thought were impossible, all while doing it in the company of someone you care illogically about.

People don't do that.  They are scared, scared of themselves.  Scared that the inadequacies and worthlessness they hold will betray them. Scared that the person will get to know you and that weird clicking noise your jaw makes when you eat, and they will leave. They are scared that if they don't have a bf/gf, they will have to spend an evening alone with the person they hate the most: the one in the mirror.  They want someone to hold, to relieve them of their loneliness, to fill the void in their heart.  Exclusive relationships exist for security, for safety.  Like tape, fencing, nets: they keep the relationship contained and together, but they also trap you. They make you take drastic measures to leave, they make you waste countless breaths in a place you are unhappy in.  Exclusive relationships are the structures we build for ourselves; the result of walling out perceived unhappiness, walling in the person that you "cannot live without", and winding up alone in a dark cell with those walls keeping you company. 

The fear is jealousy. Think about when an animal attacks another animal.  Apart from food needs, the only reason this happens is for protection.  Protecting your young, your food, your habitat, your claim to a potential mate, etc.  Attacks and aggression are the actions taken to protect your species' survival, the very core of evolutionary behavior.  Jealousy is no different. A person is scared, scared of all those things they think will happen if a person breaks up with them. Some people take it farther than others, and some people are left silently suffering every day with demons that torment them to tears.  "I am not worth enough for this person to stay with me, and if they leave, I will be alone, and they will be happy with someone else. If they leave, that means I am the inadequate one. They mean more to me than I do to them, I have to make them stay with me.  They cannot look at anyone else, they cannot talk to anyone else, I will aggressively move to protect my interests here."

Sounds pretty primitive and animalistic, because that's exactly what it is. Anyone who has experienced a jealous person has most likely tried repeatedly to reassure them of their value, that you don't want anyone else, that they know better.  Nothing you can say will change their mind. Nothing.  Their emptiness is a black hole for your affection, and the only person who can fix it is them.  I am reminded of a song by a favorite artist of mine, I recommend you listen. Unfortunately, the more they admit their jealousy, the more you want to go have sex/pursue intimacy with someone else.  You lose respect for them, the imagined power/attractiveness gradient they see becomes a reality, and you set out to find someone who you aren't with because you pity them.   Again, the things they have put in place to make sure you stay with them are the things that drive you away, despite your best intentions to the contrary.

I have been that guy, the guy who said those things.  I have been the one who had to realize that she cheated because she wanted to, not because I had failed.  Now I have become the one to hear that I am too good for her, that she'll never find anyone like me.  I have seen this from both angles.  People's inadequacies motivate their self-doubt, which motivates their desire for company and surety, which motivates their need for exclusivity, which leads to resentment from partners, which leads to the end of relationships, which leads to further feelings of inadequacies.  The cycle is self-reinforcing and perpetual, like an avalanche of fear and hopelessness. The only way to stop it is to break the chain, and they have to do this themselves: they cannot be saved from the poison they brew.  

To be clear, I believe in marriage, exclusive marriage. I am talking about boyfriend girlfriend type relationships in the sense that most people think of.  Discourse is always welcomed. 

I'm a Toys 'R' Us Kid, Continuation

The fun in her laugh as she jumps like a youth infect me, my grin turn to laughs of my own.  I can't jump on the bed without breaking it or the ceiling, but I can wrestle her to the ground.  Pillows are sacrificed, the pawns in our epic conflict for bedroom supremacy.  My size and strength are useless, she is making me laugh so hard, my muscles turn to useless weight.  We tumble and turn and roll and squeeze and bite and tickle and laugh.  The laughter is honest, guttural, mirthful.  

Eventually I win out. My abilities overcoming hers as we wind up in a breathless heap.  I pin her and announce my victory in her trademark fashion.  The Winner immediately starts touching herself, rubbing her moisture on my body, making me taste what she had been vicariously teasing me with all day.  It's so unfair of her to do.  She is fully aware that tasting that will garner the response she is looking for.  

I make my way down to her knees, out of reach of her devilish hands, and I rest my face upon her thighs.  As I catch my breath, she continues to rub herself, and I continue to take in the view.  Eventually, my self-control and feigned disinterest fail.  I place my strong, able hands between her knees and make room for myself.  

The scent is the first thing to assault my senses.  Full, round, individual, and incredibly arousing.  My eyes find hers while I collect the wetness making its way down her thighs.  My tongue glides across her skin like raindrops down a window.  Silent and effortlessly I make sure to enjoy every possible moment of teasing her.  Coming closer and closer with every pass, I pull with lips and teeth as my warm breath rolls over her waiting lips.  I take my time, slowly migrating towards the center of all things.  

I push her legs in opposite directions until they will go no further, and I look at what I will soon be enjoying.  A woman, in all her complexity and intricacy, shows her vulnerability before me. The pads of my fingers begin rubbing on the outside of her lips, keeping their grip despite an abundance of lubrication.  I open her to the waiting lips and tongue.  A full and deliberate breath rains upon her, followed by a pulsating flat tongue.  

Using concise and firm pressure, I begin manipulating my mouth around her clit.  While my tongue makes its presence known, my hands remember the skin I enjoyed earlier on her breasts.  The taste is intoxicating, each moment of enjoyment causing its own pulse within me. After making sure to suck, flick, lick, and all other verbs known to a pussy-enjoying man like myself, her clitoris, I shift my oral attention further down.

As much as she enjoys what I had been doing up to that point, she prefers to feel my tongue as far inside as possible.  I am for that as well, since it gives me the chance to taste her at her warmest place.  I start slow, tracing the diameter of her as I make my way in.  She draws breath more quickly as my pattern of attention follows a progression inward.  Eventually I enter her fully with a pointed tongue that presses upwards.  As my nose and lip exchange places rubbing her clit, I look to her with my eyes and see the pleasure spreading in her countenance.  

I want her to cum. Not for me, but for her.  To feel her pussy be rewarded with release while I taste and engage with the most tender part of her.  I close my eyes and keep my face in place as her thighs press my head.  The vice holds me, her back and hips pushing into me, I push back with the effort I can give, and her moans grow more audible.  Fingers grasp my hair, nails digging into my scalp, and I am now at her mercy as she is at mine.  Tightening around me, underneath me, I can feel the orgasm travel through her.  

I make my way into a more intimate position as she enjoys the warmth of my body holding hers.  She kisses me deeply, and giggles. It's not a laugh, it's a giggle.  I ask her what's so funny, and she cannot seem to help herself by responding with more giggling.  Eventually she manages to tell me that she had won again, and that she had done a good job of getting what she wanted that morning.  Just like a little girl tricks a little boy into doing what she wants, I had fallen victim to her games.

I don't wanna grow up, though. 

I'm a Toys 'R' Us Kid

When I was a young fellow, being a toys r us kid meant you didn't wanna grow up.  As Peter Pan as that sounds, it makes sense.  I still haven't grown up, and I am not in a hurry.  There are grown-up aspects I possess, but I don't ever want to really grow up.

Talking with the Winner the other night, I realized how cool it will be to be and adult male who can come home to a woman at their residence.  It sounds silly, I know. Think about it, I implore you.  As a child (or someone living under someone else's roof), you never know that feeling of someone being in your house waiting for you to come home and have fun with.  I'm not talking about playing with your dog, either (although that will be cool too).  

As a professional business person, I would enter the house in my full suit.  Losing the jacket at the door, I would take a breath and absorb the comfort of being home.  All day I would have maintained my sanity and control while remembering just how soft her skin felt that morning.  How her cherubic hair fell like a river delta, flowing and nurturing, across my chest as I woke up.  The way she grabbed my hand on my way out the door, trying to tempt me to remain in bed with her for the remainder of the day.  Now I would be home, in the place I had made for myself, and for her.  In that thought, a man can take pride.  

My shoes would not allow me to sneak up on her, but I would try nonetheless.  As I track her singing down to the kitchen sink, I devise my strategy.  She greets me without turning, without looking to see that I was up to mischief.  She should know better, I haven't grown up that much.  My steps get closer and closer, and upon her finally looking to see what I was doing, my hands would be on the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up without hesitation.  

She doesn't wear a bra around the house, especially when she just got out of the shower and is waiting for me to come home.  The temptation is her fault, those supple, bountiful pieces of her have been in my vision every time I closed my eyes today.  The shirt off, my mouth on her breasts, teeth drawing closer to each other upon her exquisite nipples, hands tactilely consuming the skin about her sides and back.   She really enjoys having her breasts cared for, and I really enjoy our mutual pleasures.  Skin is skin, but the soft, virgin skin of a woman's breasts stands distinct from its integumentary companions.  

She begins unbuttoning my shirt while I rise to kiss those lips that had called me at 3 to remind me of how unfortunate my departure was earlier, how the articulate hands unfastening my collar had been forced to give pleasure intended for me to the only person still in bed.  The tie is pulled off in a hurry, and I stop her wandering palms to pick it up off the floor.   Now she can finally remove my shirt, which is thrown onto the counter, and begin the effort to return my torso to its natural state.  Once we both find ourselves in a state of northern exposure, she starts removing my pants.  Belt, clasp, zipper, in order, before my very aroused reminder of a long, throbbing day makes its appearance.  

The tie in my hands is placed around her neck, with either end covering up her nipples.  A woman in a tie is so sexy, and there is something I find irresistible about the idea.  Taking the initiative to give her a nice windsor knot to wear around her neck, I make sure the length of the tie is just right.  Now when I unbutton her jeans, the chevron inverts itself in the most directive of places.   We spend a fair amount of time pressed against the sink, the feel of her skin and the silk of my tie pressed against my body.  My height overwhelms her at times, and I make an effort to ease the bend in her neck by changing my body's position.  

Eventually the tie is taken hold of, and the woman is led to her bed.  As I remind her of the turmoil she caused me throughout the day with her explicit communication, that little girl appears in her smile, in her eyes, in her body language.  The woman then removes her jeans and gets on the bed.  Her form in the bed, a woman on the pedestal, is worthy of note.  

"Model that tie, sell it for me."

She shows me the sultry, Calvin Klein advertisement.  Curved back, fierce stare, carnal communication.  I ask her for fun, cute, All-American girl.  Her blonde hair, blue eyes and picturesque smile respond.  She jumps to her feet, and jumps on the bed, letting her hair dance around her in the most honest way.  I think I am sold on the tie, I'll buy three.

To be continued...

Those little red panties they passed the test...

The Winner and I talk often.  She lives in Chicago, and is a few years younger than me.  Of all the people I've had phone sex with, she has the sexiest voice.  It's feminine and soft and petite, almost squeaky.  She also can be quite insatiable.   Last night I set out to fulfill her, to coax all the orgasms she wanted from her.  For most females I make sure they peak before me, hopefully more than once.  Last night was no exception.  She and I talk a lot about a possible visit to Chicago, and oh the places we would see.  Last night it was about a hotel room.  While most people associate it with the trysts and interactions mostly forbidden, I tend to think about it as an arena for crazier activity.  Call me lame, call me whatever, but I live at home with my parents.  I am still in college, I go to school 15 minutes from home, and it saves a HUUUUGE amount of money.  Why would I pay when I can get it for free? Plus, my parents are pretty cool, and I am close with them.  So there.  

I guess I'm saying the same thing, maybe crazy activities are forbidden since I live at home. Whatever, back to the story.  

She arrives at the room and knocks on the door.  Since I can usually be found relaxing in a pair of basketball shorts without a shirt on, that's how I answer her call.  The door opens and she is happy to see my attire, quick to make herself comfortable against my chest.  Females are nice in their ability to be so damn soft: the smell, the hair, the clothes.  Even their bodies are designed with an uncanny softness. I hug her back, wrapping my larger body around her frame.  The anticipation of waiting for her, and finally seeing those mile-long legs climb up to her cute ass, and the feeling of her statuesque stomach and breasts pressed against me have pulled a rapt attention from me.  My shorts do a poor job hiding it as she makes her way into the room, as I shut the door behind me.  She wore the little jean shorts she brags about owning.  She was right, and I am hooked.  I don't allow her to sit down before I approach her from behind and begin kissing her neck, in all the intersections and creases.  Below her hairline, behind her jaw, down the side of her neck to her collarbone I proceed with lips and teeth.  The biting gives the chance for her to feel a small pain in contrast to the tender warmth of my affection.  My hands on her sides lift her soft little t-shirt and cami (she is adamant that I use the right word) off her warm skin.  They follow the natural lines of her muscle to the front of her body, rolling back and forth between the inside and outside.  My mouth reaches her cheekbones as her hand pulls my head down towards her mouth.  My soft voice rumbles in her ear about how I want to see her panties.  The Winner tells me to take off her shorts so she can show me.  My fingers make their way inside the waist, and trace the circumference of her hips.  I release the first button and unzip (why girls even have those inch and a half zippers on their pants is beyond me).  I instruct her to pull them off without turning around.    The feeling of her barely-covered rear inside her little red boyshorts makes my flesh sing.  My hands reach to the front of her and pull her as close as possible.  Standing with her body against mine, my hands on the meeting of her panties and skin, I want to make her cum.  My deep voice resonates in both our chests as I question when the last time she was fingered without having her panties removed.  The Winner says it was junior high. "Exactly," I thought.  My deliberate movements bring my three greatest fingers to light on the wet spot developing on her boyshorts.  The first two joints used as one consolidated unit are quite effective at applying firm and constant pressure where needed.  The right hand may be busy on the fabric, but the left wastes no time in pulling her leg open. My touch seems to facilitate a clenching of the thighs that makes access a difficult issue.  I continue undulation, allowing my hard excitement to rub against her little red boy shorts.  As her breath is drawn faster and faster, my stimulation moves in turn.  More and more pressure, accelerating pace, pushing myself into her more and more.  Her voice begins reaching out. She's getting close and I push through the pain in my wrists so that the ultimate pleasure will be hers to express to me.  She approaches.  I wait in selfish anticipation. For the second her breath comes in without going out and her neck stiffens, I see complete exposure.  Beautiful.  Then she releases.  And I am so happy.