Ready to Snap: Dating

Remember in Pulp Fiction when Vincent, Jules, and Marvin are in car? Jules is driving, Vincent is in the passenger seat, and Marvin's in the back seat. They're coming from the apartment where they retrieved the briefcase of undisclosed shiny content, and, even though two men shot at them, neither Vincent nor Jules were hit. In the car, Vincent and Jules are debating whether they escaped death due to coincidence or divine intervention. Vincent turns around to ask Marvin's opinion and the loaded gun in Vincent's hand goes off. Marvin gets shot in the face. Blood covers the rear window, the back side windows, and, well, the whole back seat of the car. Jules freaks out. Vincent says "I shot Marvin in the face!" To get off the road, Jules and Vincent go to Jimmie's house, they call in "the Wolf" - the man who cleans up other people's messes - and then Jules and Vincent clean the inside of the car. Jules' is cleaning bits of Marvin's brain from the back seat and he's giving Vincent a hard time for getting them into this situation. Vincent feels like he's stopped at a red light and ready blow, to which Jules angrily replies "I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain, I'm Superfly TNT! I'm the Guns of the Navarone!" Well, today I felt like Jules: ready to explode at my inner Vincent for creating my current romantic plight, albeit not as gory but perhaps as messy as shooting someone in the face. Damn romantic life! Well, my romantic plight isn't that messy but I can't say the same for my accompanying thoughts:

Spending too much time with Ethan - Friday, Saturday, and Sunday this week and most weeks. Spending so much time with Ethan was okay before. Is it okay now? Wanting to spend more time with Andy. Waiting and hoping for Andy to contact me. Wanting to contact Andy. No, I will not chase Andy. I want to be chased. Men like the chase, right? Ethan is unintentionally monopolizing my time because he knows I'm seeing someone else. No, he's not trying to monopolize my time. Is he? Does Ethan actually think I'm seeing anyone else, since I spend so much time with him? No more making plans with Ethan for all available dating nights. But I like spending time with Ethan. And I don't want to hurt Ethan's feelings. How does Ethan see me anyway? Friend? Potential lover? No waiting around for Andy. But I want to see Andy and his work schedule is crazy. Can I make plans with Ethan a week or more in advance, and cancel them a day or two in advance to spend time with Andy? Does Andy even want to spend time with me? Is this even something I need to contemplate? Will I ever see Andy again? Bobby. What about Bobby? He's coming over on Wednesday to cook me dinner. Sweet! But I don't like Bobby the way he likes me. When Bobby kisses me, it feels like I'm being licked by a dog. Yuck. I like the way Andy kisses me. I have no idea how Ethan kisses because he hasn't kissed me. Why the fuck not? He sees me as a friend? He's afraid? Do I even want him to kiss me? I feel like his mom. Would it feel like incest? How would I know...I've never had an incestuous encounter. Unlike people in some cultures who marry their cousins. No, I'm not judging. Just observing. The Egyptian...giving me dating advice. Humph! Why should I listen to the Egyptian? What does he know about dating? They have arranged marriages in Egypt, and he was supposed to marry his cousin. If he had the balls to tell his family about me, I wouldn't be experiencing my current romantic plight. It's all the Egyptian's fault! He thinks it's his fault too, and he feels bad about it. But it's not his fault. Shit happens. Shit especially happens in my romantic life. Why am I a magnet for weirdness? What I'm doing now (dating two or three men) seems like it should be normal. Is that why I'm freaking out? Normalcy is descending upon me? Ahhhhhh! No. I need abnormal in the normal. Andy provides that. Will he continue to provide that? Where is any of this going? I hate these stupid chick thoughts. Go away chick thoughts! Sing Imelda May's Bury My Troubles Away. Breathe. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Yes. Right. Where. I'm. Supposed. To. Be. Thankfully went to the gym today. Burned off some energy. Why are my thoughts being so mean to me? Shut up stupid thoughts! Breathe. Why do I want to have sex with Andy? I don't want to have sex with anyone until I'm in a committed relationship. I don't want casual sex. I'm too old for that shit. I'm confused. Just go with the flow. Enjoy. Sleep will be good. Then I won't think. Stop thinking. Just feel. Yeah, feel like a crazy woman. Breathe. Relax. Enjoy. Damn Beatles and their stupid lyrics from Tomorrow Never Knows: turn off your mind, relax, and float down stream. Yeah, they were all on drugs too. Maybe I need to take drugs? No, I can do this. Did I just reference the Beatles? I'll have to confess my infraction to my dad. Crap. Wait, he's the one who told me about these lyrics specifically when I started stressing about Ethan and Andy. Thanks dad! When I was in England, I visited Abbey Road. Does that mean I'm a Beatles fan? No. How does that relate to men? Oh yeah, because of my London-based ex-boyfriend who loved the Beatles. What's with me and long distance relationships? I've been in a few. Why am I thinking these things? Ignore my thoughts, relax, go with the flow because I don't know what tomorrow holds. I'm not Vincent. I'm not Jules. I'm both Vincent and Jules. Nope, I'm me. Where's the Wolf? I'm my own Wolf. Only I can clean up my mess. If there was a mess. And there's not. Just the mess that my thoughts spatter throughout my mental landscape. I wasn't feelin' sadie (see What's in a Name post) when I started this, but now I'm feeling better. I'm thankful to have a dissertation to distract me from my romantic life. Earning my Ph.D. seems to have a higher purpose than merely earning a degree I'll never use: it's helping me keep my sanity as I navigate the rough and stormy waters of my thoughts relating to my romantic life. What will I do when I'm finished with my dissertation? Gulp. I hope my thoughts and romantic life sort themselves out by then.

Ethan and Andy...+ Bobby Makes Three?

Ethan and I have been hanging for about 5 months, and officially dating (sans commitment) for about 1.5 months. Andy and I have been seeing each other for about 2 months, not including our first encounter which doesn't count in the time frame because he had a girlfriend at the time and I thought it was a one-night stand. I'm not sure if Andy and I are dating; maybe we're just friends with benefits? But when we go out he pays for me so it seems like we're dating. But when I go to dinner with my dentist / friend he pays for me too, and we're not dating. Right now, everything is uncertain but with Andy in the mix I don't want to commit to exclusively dating Ethan (Ethan and I had our dating conversation about 1.5 weeks after my second encounter with Andy), and I'm guessing Ethan doesn't want a committed relationship either given his mental health issues. And because Ethan and I haven't crossed any physical boundaries (not even kissing), I view him as a friend rather than a potential lover - I've been in the "friend zone" too long. This is all so weird for me. I can do one-night stands. I can do committed relationships. But anything in between is weird. I've gone from committed relationship to committed relationship (I was even committed to the Egyptian even though he was supposed to marry his cousin, because I'm more loyal than a damn dog when I'm in love), and now I'm seeing three men without commitment. Yes, three.

Andy canceled one of our Saturday night dates (for good reason but he groveled and apologized sufficiently, and I saw him the following Friday night so he's not on my shit list) so I used that time to work on my dissertation. It worked out well because I had a meeting with my advisor a few days later and I needed to work on my dissertation as much as I could anyway. Even so, my thoughts were running amok that night and I got antsy. I'd been inside all day and, more to the point, I was disappointed that I wasn't spending my evening with Andy. My little feelings were hurt. :( So I ventured out around 9:30 to drive to Alki, crank up the music, and sing to my heart's content - my favorite escapist thing to do when I get antsy. My car was out of fuel, so I stopped at my favorite fuel station to fill her up. Expecting to remain in my car during my mini road trip and singing adventure, I wore my yoga pants, a t-shirt, a black hoodie, and my pink Crocs - the same Crocs I wore the night I met Andy. I was waiting to get my change from the attendant when a man struck up a conversation with me about my Crocs. I returned to my car. A few seconds later, there was a knock on my driver's side car window. I opened the door, and the man who asked me about my Crocs was standing there. He introduced himself as Bobby, and asked if he could take me to coffee sometime. Why not? Bobby took my number, then I was on my way to Alki. He sent me a text so I'd have his number, then we talked while I was on my way to Alki. I was taking a break anyway, so he met me in Alki. We sipped wine in a bar, and talked for about an hour. We walked along the beach, he gave me his coat (awww), and he kissed me. I didn't feel any desire stir within me. Oh well. It was windy and cold, so we went to my car and made out for a little bit. I didn't enjoy the way Bobby kissed me - it reminded me of another date about two years ago where I felt like I was being licked and drooled on by a dog, and his tongue felt pointy. I wished I was making out with Andy. Then Bobby read my palm - awesome! Apparently, I'll have a long life but a I'll have major medical issue when I'm 50 that I'll pass through successfully; I've suffered a lot in my life but am better for it (this is true); I'll have two healthy children (really? I'm 43 and my eggs are mutating and dying as I type this); and I'll have money because the man I end up with will have money. I had my palm read in Hawaii about 2 years ago, and she said the same things so it'll be interesting to see how my life unfolds. I'm not sure that I believe in this stuff, but it's fun to contemplate.

I explained to Bobby the circumstances that led to my meeting him: Andy canceled our date, I got antsy, and went for a drive. Bobby believes in karma and that he and I were meant to meet that night. In some ways, he thinks we belong together. He wants children and he has money. But, the main thing is that I didn't feel any connection to him. We saw each other again two nights later, and I still didn't feel a connection, but he feels a strong connection to me. Man, it sucks when that happens. Bobby wanted to see me each night that week, but I had plans every night. We saw each other again one week later; I thought I'd give it another go to see if I felt anything. Nope. I knew he wanted to have sex with me, so before he arrived I told him I didn't want to have sex and that I needed to get to bed early because I hadn't had much sleep in about 2 weeks (which was true) and would be going to bed early with the help of sleeping pills. Bobby and I had sex the second time we got together, but it was snoozeville, I wished I was having sex with Andy, I already knew I didn't want to have sex with more than one person at once so I was frustrated with myself, and it just felt creepy to me. I only want to have sex with Andy, which is sort of lame because Andy's probably seeing and having sex with other people - men usually do that yet women are demonized for doing it. Yay for double standards, especially ones I even buy into myself! But seeing more than one person at once is outside my comfort zone and I'm already navigating that, and having sex with more than one person at once is so far outside my comfort zone that I don't want to do it at all. Again, I confound myself. Anyway, my third date with Bobby consisted of sitting on my sofa, drinking wine, talking a little bit (I told him about Ethan and Andy), him trying to get into my pants, and my continually thwarting his advances. Bobby viewed my non-sex request as an obstacle that he wanted to overcome. It was exhausting and disrespectful but I can't blame the man for trying. But I grew tired of it so I popped my sleeping pills at 9:15, chased them with a large glass of wine, and sent Bobby on his way...my virtue in tact. I use the term "virtue" loosely.

Bobby texted me throughout the week. My replies were generic and non-conversational. He picked up on it, and last night he assumed I was making progress with the "other dudes" because I wasn't really communicating with him. I explained that was feeling stressed by the situation with Ethan and Andy and elaborated thoughtfully on the matter, so Bobby felt it appropriate to ask who fucked me the best. Really? My answer: Andy. Probably not the answer Bobby wanted. Then Bobby explained how he wants to "pound" me (his penis is small and I can't really feel it so there isn't much "pounding" to be done) and "touch my heart with his heart" because he thinks I'm a warm and good person. Wow...I suppose I should swoon from these grand statements, but I'm just not feeling it - perhaps because I continually have Andy-on-the-brain. Damn him! Ethan and I swapped neck massages on Friday night, and I kept thinking about how I wanted to be touching Andy. Ugh. Andy's been sick since last Saturday but wanted to see me this weekend depending on his health and work scheduling, but I had plans with Ethan this weekend and Andy and I didn't connect. Double damn!

I told Bobby that I obviously don't know what's going to happen with Ethan or Andy, so I want to leave myself open to other opportunities. Now Bobby wants to take me for a weekend trip to Vancouver, B.C. What the fuck? Do I want to give up an entire weekend to spend with Bobby? Not really. We settled on him cooking me dinner on Wednesday. Why am I even spending time with him? I guess it's because he's like an eager-to-please puppy dog who keeps sniffing around. It feels nice to be wanted, but after seeing him three times I'm just not feeling any romantic, emotional, or physical connection. Bobby believes we have a hidden sexual chemistry. It must be so hidden that I don't feel it. Perhaps he'll make a good friend. We'll see what happens on Wednesday.

When I started seeing Andy after he broke up with his girlfriend, some friends asked me who I'd choose if I had to make a choice. I don't know. I don't have to make any decisions right now, and I may never have to as they could make them for me. Ethan knows that I'm seeing Andy but doesn't know any details, but Andy doesn't know about Ethan but there's really nothing to tell. Hanging out with Ethan is like hanging out with a girlfriend who happens to have a penis. I've told neither of them about Bobby since I have no interest in Bobby, but Andy might find it funny that I met Bobby on the night he canceled our date. I might share that with him, but probably not. Ethan is a source of stability and security, and he provides me with an emotional and non-sexual intimate connection that has become a main staple in my life. Andy may be more of a wild ride; he's quick witted, sexy, smart, ambitious, fun, kinky, and brings out my feisty, sensual, and sexy side that's laid dormant all of my life. In a sexual sense, Andy's helping me learn to fly. When I think about what I want most in a relationship, being able to explore and express my sexuality is at the top of my list. Of course, there are other important factors but my ability to express my true sexual nature has been repressed forever, and it's finally coming out with Andy. I'll be sad when and if Andy clips my wings, because I doubt I'll find another person who brings out this side of me. For example, I was talking with Andy about a paper cut and that turned into a conversation about the thrill of him slicing me shallow and quickly with a knife. Intrigued! Then on Friday I rode my bike to work and my bike pedal gashed my leg and blood was gushing out. I fantasized about Andy, me, and a knife. So I texted my fantasy to him along with a photo of my bloody leg. Andy found it sexy. Who gets off on this type of stuff? Andy and me. It doesn't mean he'll actually use a knife on me, but a butcher knife (that was my cake knife for my second wedding) on a metal knife rack now decorates my bedroom wall...just in case. I feel like a demented sick fuck for being turned on by these types of things, but Andy is equally demented as well as receptive, and I feel normal when I'm with him. Yay for paraphilia!

Sigh.

Okay, I just need to keep reminding myself to go with the flow and enjoy myself. But it's also challenging, stressful, and nerve wracking. At least I'm learning a lot about myself in the process, right?

Erotic Asphyxiation

In the context of a sexual encounter, I'd never been intentionally choked before. Actually, I'd never been intentionally choked ever (just accidentally choked by a random piece of chicken or while performing oral sex), but being intentionally choked by Andy was surprisingly erotic. I guess that's why it's called erotic asphyxiation, eh? Reflecting on my encounters with Andy, I'm not sure what I felt when he choked me. Perhaps a little lightheaded and obviously unable to breath. I wasn't sure how or what I was supposed to feel, but I guess it doesn't matter since it was my experience and I could feel however I damn well pleased. Mostly I felt exhilarated and aroused by giving up control and entrusting Andy with my safety - it was paradoxically liberating and surprisingly healing given the abusive nature of my first marriage.

Geek that I am, I did some quick internet research. What do people usually feel when they engage in erotic asphyxiation? Maybe they're supposed to learn what they're supposed to feel? According to Howard Becker's 1953 study of Chicago jazz musicians, people learn how to become marijuana users so perhaps I need to learn how to be a gasper? What's a gasper? Well, here's a little lesson: erotic asphyxiation (aka breath control play) is the "intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal" (Wikipedia, a source I would never let my students use). A person engaging in this activity is called a gasper. Erotic asphyxiation is classified as a paraphilia in the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychological Association). Paraphilia is sexual arousal by objects, situations, or individuals that are not part of normative stimulation. I won't launch into a lecture about the social construction of normative and deviant behavior, or normative stimulation in this case; we'd be here all day. Paraphilia is not diagnosable as a psychiatric disorder unless it causes harm to others or distress to the individual. So it seems that Andy and I are healthy people who enjoy deviant sexual behavior and are not afflicted with psychiatric disorders. Sweet. I knew deviant sexual behavior lurked inside me - it just needed to be coaxed out by Andy. Sweeter.

Erotic asphyxiation may cause giddiness, lightheadedness and pleasure which may heighten orgasm, or could lead to a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia. The rush of hypoxia + orgasm is allegedly similar to that of cocaine, and highly addictive. Now that I've learned some of the feelings associated with erotic asphyxiation, I'm excited for my next sexual encounter with Andy (assuming there's another one on the horizon) so I can see if I notice any of these symptoms. How I love experiments!

It seems erotic asphyxiation could be a consciousness-altering experience. According to Dr. Andrew Weil, humans attempt to alter their consciousness in various ways. Children exhibit this behavior by whirling, spinning, hyperventilating followed by choking, and tickling. Remember what it felt like to spin around on the merry-go-round? Dizzying, but also nauseating? Or riding on a roller coaster or carnival rides? Even laughter and dreaming alter our consciousness, as do legal and illicit drugs, exercise, music, and sex. Chocolate is one of my favorite drugs. Yes, chocolate is a drug. Just expand your definition of "drug" to include any substance or behavior that alters your physical, mental, or emotional state. Sex with Andy is now my favorite drug, although it's not available as often as I'd like and I'm having withdrawal symptoms. Hee hee.

If you try erotic asphyxiation, please be safe. Andy is experienced, so I was lucky in this regard. Even so, I have my mom's number on my fridge in case something goes awry. My step-sister's would-be-fiance died in December of autoerotic asphyxia. He was alone, tied a rope around his neck to asphyxiate himself presumably while he was masturbating, the chair he was standing on gave way, and he accidentally killed himself.

On that happy note, until next time...

Ethan + Andy = Color of Sin

I've never been religious let alone a church-goer but Ethan is involved with his church so I attended services with him during the Christian Holy Week. I wanted to see what these services were like, and share the experience with him. I attended the Tenebrae service on Wednesday night and the Easter service on Sunday. I loved the Wednesday night service, which represented movement toward darkness symbolized by candles that were gradually extinguished throughout the service, followed by a loud noise symbolizing an earthquake that occurred after Jesus' death, and then followed by a single candle being lit to represent Jesus' resurrection. The service on Easter was festive and celebrated the rebirth of Jesus, and the church was packed. Prior to attending these services, I didn't know the Christian meaning of Easter, but what I did know was that I felt like a sinner among the attendees.

Andy and I had our third encounter the Thursday night / Friday morning before Easter. We had a difficult  time connecting after he returned from Chicago, so he stopped by on his way home from work that night. After he returned from Chicago, he'd been busy working two jobs and getting his new business up and running so we hadn't seen each other in almost three weeks; we lounged on the sofa and caught up. Just before Andy left for Chicago, we had our second encounter - which involved us, two dildos, and my initiation into the world of "double penetration," after which I developed a UTI. I paid a visit to my doctor and wore my UTI like a flashing button that said "I finally had sex!! And it was great sex!!" My doctor shared my joy, gave me a prescription for antibiotic which eradicated my UTI a few days later. So it was good that my orifices and other body parts had a break from Andy. By our third encounter, the bruises on my calves from our second encounter faded but the welts remained (and still remain - I rather like them, demented girl that I am). Our third encounter involved only our bodies, and we rocked it for 4.5 hours. My left calf had a bruise the size of the bottom of my foot. Literally. I wear size 9.5 or 10 shoes (see photo below). My right calf had a much smaller bruise about the size of a fifty cent piece; just above my right breast was a small quarter-sized bruise. Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. I love it when Andy bites me, and I have anemia and bruise more easily than usual these days. And the pleasure I derive when he bites me while he's fucking me is incredible, but these bruises were difficult to hide for a girl who had her heart set on wearing a particular dress to Easter services...

It was a pretty, colorful spring dress that would make June Cleaver proud: a 1950s style with a light blue background spattered with small yellow, pink, white, green, and purple polka dots with green spaghetti straps. I paired it with a pink cardigan sweater, chunky rattan heels, and a pearl necklace and matching earrings. My long hair laid softly below my shoulders, with soft swoopy bangs off to my right. I looked sweet, innocent, and - dare I say - angelic. My make-up was soft: mascara, light eye-liner, eye shadow, and pink lip gloss. But as I was choosing my eye shadow, one color caught my eye almost solely by virtue of its name: a very light golden peach color called "sin." Sin! While I don't believe in the idea of "sin" per se, I was feeling a little sinful because I'm not used to dating two men at once. Ethan knows about Andy, but Andy doesn't know about Ethan, mostly because there's nothing to tell. About two weeks after my second encounter with Andy, Ethan and I agreed that we were officially "dating" sans commitment but we haven't crossed any physical boundaries so I still view Ethan as just a friend rather than a lover, which is good because I only want to be physically intimate with one person. All of these thoughts and more were floating through my mind as I was getting ready for church. Wearing eye shadow named sin seemed befitting of my mood and perhaps a bit blasphemous given that I was going to church where people believed in sin. Satisfied with my preparations, I grabbed my bamboo handbag and checked myself out in the mirror. The pink cardigan hid the bruise on my chest. But the hem of my dress rested just below my knees. Andy's bruise was not visible straight on, but it was clearly visible when I walked. Oh well, I'd figure it out, right?

I arrived at the church and found Ethan. He saved seats for us near the front of the congregation. I was home sick Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday and developed a cough on Saturday, so Ethan suggested I sit to the right of him and closest to the end of pew so that I could leave if my cough became too loud or uncontrollable. Perfect - Ethan sat on the other side of Andy's bruise. It was like God himself was watching over me. Well, not really...but it was fun to write. As I settled in, Ethan leaned into me and commented that I looked very pretty (he usually sees me without make-up and in yoga pants, t-shirts, or other comfy clothes); I blushed and thanked him, then whispered that my eye shadow was called "sin" which brought a smile to his face. He appreciates my dark side, and knows that I don't like organized religion but was pleased that I wanted to attended these church services with him. I was excited to share in Ethan's joy about Easter, but after the service began, my thoughts repeatedly wandered to my encounters with Andy. I crossed my left leg over my right, and pulled the hem of my dress down to cover the bruises on my calves. I couldn't help but think of Andy - my nipples were perma-erect and sore for several days, so much so that it hurt to wear a bra; even the water trickling from the shower head was too much. So there I was, sitting in church with Ethan on the holiest day of the Christian year, daydreaming about my clothed and unclothed encounters with Andy, actively concealing from Ethan the marks Andy left on my body, becoming increasingly aroused as I continued to think of Andy, and feeling confused because of my very different relationships with these two men.

I love Ethan, but, again, I see him as more of a friend than a lover, and I want to get to know Andy better. It's weird to have feelings for two men at once. Not that it's at all the same, but I finally understood Bella and her love for both Jacob and Edward. I think Ethan is my Jacob, and I'm looking for my Edward. It's not about the men; it's about me and how I feel when I'm with them. Who brings out my best qualities? I could see myself falling for Andy - he's as whacked and demented as me and it feels normal for both of us because it's what we both know, and I'm not gonna lie and say the fucking fantastic sex doesn't matter because it does - but we're still getting to know each other inside and outside the bedroom. You know how it is when you experience heartache, and you think you're never going to have feelings for anyone ever again? After my tumultuous relationship with the Egyptian, it felt wonderful to have feelings for Ethan and Andy because I thought it would be a long time before I had feelings for anyone again. My thoughts were running rampant, and I resigned to go with the flow, enjoy the moment, cut myself some slack, and laugh at my predicament. Better this than the alternative of no men at all, right? Ah, but the impending heartache...sigh. I can handle it. I'm virtually bulletproof in that regard.

During the service, we sat and stood a lot. It was like a Catholic wedding. We sang with the congregation - fortunately the church provided a program with lyrics. People dunked tree greens into holy water and sprinkled us with it. I was thankful I didn't shriek in pain like a vampire, but I felt cleansed of my alleged sins. I listened with intrigue to the pastor's sermon. He talked about chocolate, bunnies, eggs, wine, and technology and used it as a segway to discuss the Christian meaning of Easter. I took communion and cried the whole time. I felt like a hypocrite for participating rather than just observing, but I felt like participating. Rather than accept belief in Jesus Christ at communion, I accepted the in-a-nutshell meaning of Easter: rebirth and new beginnings. Could I do this? Not accept Jesus Christ and accept my own meaning of Easter? Many would say no, but I say yes and I did it. I was venturing down own my path rebirth and new beginnings. Who knows where my path will lead?

I'm glad I attended Easter services, I liked the message I gleaned, and Ethan was happy I was there. We wrapped up our Easter festivities with bunch at my place with my dear friend Bun Bun. I made waffles, we ate chocolate, and dyed and decorated hard boiled eggs. I tortured some bunny peeps. But before any of that, the first thing I did when I got home was change into sweat pants and a t-shirt because I didn't want my path to take me down the road of explanation about how I acquired the very large rigor mortis looking bruise on my left calf. For now, I owe no one any explanations, but I also don't want to lie about anything if I'm asked. I'm committed to no one, and neither of them is asking for my exclusivity. Maybe neither of them will. And if one of them does, who knows if I'll agree? I'll cross that bridge when and if the time comes. Perhaps I will have no decisions to make, as they'll make them for me by kicking my ass to the curb. What I do know is that Ethan is on his way over now, and I cannot wait to see Andy again.

Bruise of Concealment

Dating My Dissertation?

I've been off track with my dissertation for a couple of months now and knew I needed to get back on track. It's paradoxical because I want to finish it, yet I don't want to do the work required to finish. Sometimes I see my dissertation as an obstacle, so I constantly have to remind myself that earning my Ph.D. is something I want to do - no one is forcing me to do it. Yesterday, my dissertation coach challenged me to have more "dates" in April with my dissertation than with men. Given my various boy-related challenges right now, I accepted her challenge...but took it one step further which I explained below in my email to her:

"Well, I took your suggestion to date my dissertation quite literally. Last night, I took a bath and then put on my sort-of-sexy-but-never-leaves-the-house peach strapless cotton floor length loungey-type dress and a lovely slender and soft lavender boa. Then I put on some Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (dark and relaxing music for me, especially their Murder Ballads CD), made myself a skinny cocktail (spiced rum on the rocks), sat down at my computer, and made out with my dissertation. To add a geeky flair to my seduction, I wore my reading glasses and my retainer. :) Committing to an encounter of only 15 minutes, we made out for 1.5 hours with some caressing and massaging here and there. Then I rewarded myself with some pleasure writing.

Thanks again for the ass kicking!

Warmly,

Phelan"

Her reply?

"Phelan, finish that dissertation then start your writing career. Fund it on Kickstarter. I'll contribute--and extra if I get to choose the author photo for the cover of your first book...

Laughing my head off,"
after which she included this image:

http://www.etsy.com/listing/33762577/boa-for-barbie-made-with-lavender

It's all about the mindset. Tonight I get to go home and molest my dissertation some more. I feel comfortable being the dominant in this relationship. Score! Sometimes it fights back and I get a paper cut, or my data doesn't cooperate when I try to organize or analyze it but there are specialists who can make my data and analyses conform to my will! Muah ha ha ha! Otherwise, I'll leave the dominating to Andy. Wouldn't it be funny if I go through the whole process of earning a Ph.D. only to become a non-academic writer? It's all about the journey rather than the outcome, right? At least that's what I keep telling myself: just enjoy the journey...and sometimes I take Xanax to help me believe it. Hee hee.

Dildo Decor

Before I continue with part three of Three Shades of Andy, there's a bit of other information I'll share first that relates to my encounter with Andy. In August, I met Matt by replying to an email my cousin sent to everyone in her address book warning us to be weary of people throwing eggs at our car windows and baby carriers on the side of the road, and to call 211 or some other number instead of 911 in case of an emergency - things that seemed to be dead ringers for urban legends. I did some research (academic dork and lover of urban legends that I am), and the information was indeed the stuff of urban legends. So I replied to my cousin's email and explained that these were urban legends and that we should still call 911 in case of an emergency. Matt replied to me and we exchanged emails for a few weeks, then we finally met at our mothership - Trophy Cupcakes. It was like Matt and I had known each other for ages. Even though we only hung out a few times, Matt invited me to his birthday party where I met Ethan. Ethan and I hit it off and had several things in common, but I was still in a relationship with the Egyptian so I wasn't looking to meet anyone. Even so, Ethan and I exchanged some emails and eventually hung out in early December. I hadn't broken up with the Egyptian yet, but that was only because he'd been avoiding me since Thanksgiving - he knew my wrath was coming which it did in mid-December. In the interim, Ethan was busy but we eventually hung out again a few days after Christmas. Neither Ethan nor I were in the mindset to date anyone, so we had non-date dates. Despite this, our relationship quickly developed into an emotional and non-sexual intimate connection, with a lot of playful sexual banter but no behavior to make that banter, well, anything but lighthearted and silly sexual banter. We spent New Year's Eve watching Dexter, then Friday nights became "Ethan and Phelan" nights, which has now spilled over into Saturdays and/or Sundays too as our schedules allow.

On our fourth Friday night, we made a pizza together. After the pizza was in the oven, I went into the bathroom. I closed the door, sat on the toilet to pee, and noticed that there was a big black dildo perched on the counter top next to the sink. I thought "What the fuck?! Did Ethan bring his dildo here?! Why would he do that? Does he want to fuck me with it? We haven't even kissed yet!" Then I started laughing and yelled through the closed door, "Ethan, there's a black dildo in here!" Ethan played it off. "I don't know what you're talking about...a black dildo?" he replied in faux shock. "Yes, a black dildo! There's a black dildo on the counter! It's staring at me!" I yelled as I cracked up. He'd obviously planted it there as a joke, and I welcomed and loved it. I'm sure some women would have been mortified, but Ethan knew me better than that after only a few weeks.

The pizza was still in the oven, so I joined Ethan on the sofa. I removed the center back cushion (like I always do), climbed over the back of the sofa (like I can do as an adult, but never as a child), and plopped down next to Ethan. But there was something hard poking my ass. I jumped up to investigate - there was another black dildo on the sofa! I started cracking up again, then faked like I was riding it like a cowgirl and moaning like Sally in the orgasm scene of When Harry Met Sally. Ethan couldn't contain himself, he was laughing so hard. We both started laughing so hard that we were crying. He thought I'd enjoy discovering the black dildos, and he was right.

When the pizza was ready, I fetched it from the oven, served our food, and then we sat down at the table to eat. Ethan explained how he got the dildos from the "free table" at work (he works for a company where the employees can get free personal products once in a while), how he had to stealthy hide them from me while we were preparing dinner, and how he thought I needed two - one for each orifice. It was hilarious. What does this say about me? Hummm. Don't answer that.

I shared this story with my mom and one of my friends, and they gave me some good ideas of what I could do with these two dildos on my next Friday night with Ethan. Ethan wanted sweet potatoes for dinner, so I mashed them and shaped them into a vulva and put the black dildo in the center - thanks for the idea Mom! Ethan and I laughed and ate around the dildo. I stood the other dildo in the center of a bowl of nuts - thanks for the idea Bun Bun! - and poured sweetened condensed milk (which Ethan always puts in his tea) all over the head and shaft so it looked like it had man jizz all over it. Ethan grabbed the dildo and worked it like corn on the cob, using his teeth and tongue to remove bits of the sweetened condensed milk from the dildo (no, he's not gay). When it came time to drink tea, Ethan dunked the tip of the dildo in his cup so the remnants of the sweetened condensed milk would melt into his tea. Too funny! This man cracks me up.

Eventually, one dildo found its home on a corner of the bathtub, next to my squeaky seahorse bath toy I recently brought back from Scripps Aquarium in Chicago (I love seahorses!). The squeaky seahorse and dildo had a relatively short-live torrid affair; the squeaky seahorse liked to mount the didlo and the dildo like to ram the squeaky seahorse in his squeaker or butt. They did all sorts of lewd things to each other. I dressed the other dildo in a tiki mask and grass skirt; it lives next to my real tiki which sits atop my entertainment center. The dildos were part of my normal decor...until I met Andy.