Tuesday, November 19, 2013

And kissing. Definitely kissing.

I know I haven’t met you yet. At least I don’t think so. But this letter should help you with some of the things I am growing to expect. Expect from you, and expect from myself.

I am a real woman. I am an adult, which means I have a history. And since I don’t expect you to be fresh from the womb, I am going to grant that you have a history, too. This does not mean baggage. It means you have done some things and I have done some things. We have grown up. I am happy to hear about them, and will tell you my stories, probably over a drink or two (or a blog or two, whichever) but I don’t let them define me in the present. At least I try not to. It is a work in progress. I don’t regret them, because they got me here. Unless your history makes me nauseous, I have already decided to not worry about where you have been. Not like I could change it even if I wanted to, so let’s move on.

Although, I have done some things that might shock you. But if I hadn’t, I would think I was boring.

And I am not boring. You might not be able to tell, because I tend to diappear behind dark clothes, and no make up. There have been times when I didn’t shave those parts that some men have come to expect to be shaved, but I am over that. Not the no shaving part, I still rarely do it, I just don’t care if you expect it. I always shower. I always brush my teeth, but still have morning breath sometimes, and will not really want to kiss until there has been some minty thing involved. This is not boring. This is hygiene. I expect both of us to have the basics down by now. I think someone along the way taught you to do your laundry. Wear clean clothes, even if they are not the most exciting. I hope to spend time with you not worrying about boring clothing.

Speaking of kissing, it is the one sure-fire way to turn me on. Yes, my clitoris is important, so please don’t allow your tongue to neglect it, but if you skip the kissing, I might not care what my other body parts are doing. Come to think of it, I might forget about them at all as it relates to you and just take care if it alone . Kissing is the one thing I can’t do to myself. But if watching me take care of myself turns you on, I am all for it. After we have made out on the couch, that is.

As a matter of fact, I am open to just about anything that we could enjoy. I have a list. I have probably already done most of them at least once. I still own some of the equipment. I won’t even discuss some of the really, um, “non-mainstream” (read that as disgusting) acts, so if that is your thing, we should split up now. No judgment, I assure you, but if they don’t turn me on, you and I will both be happier now if you just went ahead and found someone else to enjoy them with. Some other things have been eliminated as “never trying again”, sorry, because they involve pain. I don’t mean the fun kind of pain from play that involves rough sex, or spanking, or even denial of an orgasm as a form of control, but the actual pain that would involve blood, or stitches, or bruising. Play-pain, good. Emergency-room-at-3am-pain, bad.

This isn’t just a rule when it comes to sex, either. Any form of physical pain that is inflicted on purpose is not the best choice. I have been hit before (remember that history thing) and I didn’t like it. I have one scar from it. I was hit just the once, in the face, with the receiver of an old house phone, grabbed out of my hand because the guy thought I was ignoring him when I answered it. The flowers he sent the day after as an apology broke the paper shredder I used to destroy them, and probably ruined his car’s intake manifold from where I dumped them, but I wouldn’t know since I never spoke to him again. I guess the note I left on his windshield telling him I would call the police and show them the cut went well with the shredded roses. Don’t be that guy. I won’t be that girl. I won’t hit in anger or to inflict pain, because that is just worthless behavior. And I really like roses, and prefer to keep them. I like tea roses the color of apricots. They look very pretty in a vase next to purple irises.

But, you don’t have to bring me flowers. I mean, they are nice. I won’t turn them down, and might even thank you with a blowjob, but if you are going to spend money, can you pay my property tax instead? My water bill or electricity bill would be good, too, since I suspect that you and I might be showering together and watching movies together at my house. Contributions are welcome.

Money, however, is not important, unless you don’t have any. I work for mine. I have a full-time job. I spend my money wisely, and splurge when I want to on things that make me happy. I hope you do the same. If one of those things is you, and one of your things is me, then we can call it a draw. If you ask me, even once, to buy your drugs, pay your back due child support, or fund your girlfriend’s abortion, you can be fairly sure the answer is no. Having a job or a way to support yourself makes you sexier. Sexy is good.

It is not the only thing that makes you sexy, though. Supporting my choices is higher on the list. I don’t regret my choices along the way that were mine to make. I have had sex with whom I wanted when it was a choice I could make. I have participated in parties and multiple partner adventures, and public displays. I have always been disgustingly safe (condoms are your friend) and know I have never done anything that put my health in danger, sexual or otherwise. Without giving you a number, that is saying a whole bunch about my world and expectations. I have been tested, usually for peace of mind and to be respectful to new partners. If you want to go together, I am all in. But so you know, I have only had purposeful unprotected sex with two men in my life, and both were men I was trying to have children with and were long-term partners. I have been pregnant four times, resulting in a miscarriage, a stillbirth, and two amazing kids that I am raising on my own after splitting from their father.

Support of that choice is a must. Again, history. I don’t however expect you to be my children’s father. They have one, and would probably not like you if they thought you were getting in the way of that relationship. And besides, I am really looking for someone to fit with me long before you will ever get introduced to them, but being there for me as I travel the parent road is desired. Maybe you are on the same road, and need me to stay the hell out of the way as you figure out your own parenting shit. I am good with that. Especially since I won’t be having any more biological children. Yep, that one is not negotiable.

I have also always been faithful inside of my relationships, and it never occurred to me to cheat on my partners. What I have done outside of a mutual relationship is no ones business but mine. I will tell you if you ask, but mostly just know that I consider sex as trust-based, no matter how quickly that trust is offered. Hours, days, weeks, whatever. I hope that is part of who you are, too, because it would really suck if I couldn’t trust you. It is not a forgiveness type thing either, just a place I would rather not go. If you have cheated on a previous commitment, that is a character flaw, and I have had partners cheat on me before. All of them had a history of doing it before they ever got to trashing me. So it is a lesson I learned, and you just have had to have been loyal. I will always be that. So hopefully, even if one of your past relationships ended badly (history, remember), as long as it ended before you took up with the next ex, we will have something to work with. Oh, and we will need to talk about all this shit, just in case you were wondering. Yeah, that way you won’t have to become a subject in a blog post.

Here is one more thing you will have to support me on to make this work. You will have to understand that even though I love you, you will not become my entire world (been there, done that). I have children. I have friends. I have work. I have a blog to write and a novel to finish. I pose nude and nearly nude with the help of other women who share their clothes and do my makeup. Say one nasty thing about any of it, and you can go away. Actually, say anything nasty and hateful to me that demeans me or tries to belittle, control, or use me, and while I like to think I would me a snarky bitch back, I will more than likely just walk away, shaking my head, wondering what I saw in you and why you couldn’t really man-up.

I hope I recognize you when I meet you. And give you even a glance if you are really a good guy (for me), because admittedly, recognizing that has not been my strong suit. I have picked based on old criteria and societal expectations. I am changing that, and it has been a while, but partnership is like that, right? Partnership and kissing. Definitely kissing.