Archive for Confidence
Where Does Fun Go to Die?
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I’m a Leo. A flaming Leo. The descriptions associated with this astrology sign fit me like a glove. Each week I receive an e-mail from Rob Brezsny, Free Will Astrology, with a weekly horoscope that runs from Thursday to Thursday. I’ve always found them to be exactly what I’ve needed to hear, and have even used them as triggers for chapter titles in books I’ve written and as idea starters for articles.
On June 23rd, I received this horoscope for the week starting with June 24th.
Each year, Playboy magazine publishes a list of the best colleges to go to if you prefer partying to studying. In its recent rankings, a top spot went to the University of Wisconsin, which was dubbed “the best beer-drinking school in the country.” As a counterpoint to this helpful information, HuffingtonPost.com offered a compendium of the best anti-party schools. Brigham Young got favorable mention since it has a policy forbidding students from drinking, smoking, and having sex. The University of Chicago was also highly regarded, being “the place where fun goes to die.” For the next three weeks, Leo, I recommend that you opt for environments that resemble the latter more than the former. It’s time for you to get way down to business, cull the activities that distract you from your main purpose, and cultivate a hell of a lot of gravitas.
It stopped me in my tracks. Not so much because I’m an alumna of UW Madison, best party school in the nation, but because I felt like this message had started back in May.
So many things have happened that have “sucked the fun out of my life.” Not being one to write about sad or horribly disappointing situations, I’ve sat on my hands for weeks. Waiting for things to change.
But, I’m afraid they haven’t. Not in the way I would have liked. And, given this horoscope, I’m not expecting the clouds to part any time soon. So, with this note, I’ve committed myself to writing here again. I’ll start with the latest Peyton Place episode (look it up if this doesn’t resonate with you). And then I’ll go backwards and forwards as the situation demands.
Hang I there with me okay? I guarantee the experiences I’ve had aren’t dull. They just don’t make my heart sing.
The Clock Is Ticking: 26 Hours Until …
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dark flowing hair, down to the middle of her back. Eyes that will captivate you in an instant.
“Hey girlfriend. How are you?”
“Great. I’m working again. How about you?”
“I’m doing good. Hey, the reason I’m calling is I need some advice. Ever done a gangbang with eight or more guys?”
“I’ve had five. But no more than that. What’ goin’ on?”
“Well, next Tuesday, I’m planning to play with at least eight men.”
“Where? Can I come watch?”
I hadn’t anticipated her request. But I really kinda liked it. She’d watched me before. And spanked me really hard—so hard my ass stayed cherry red for hours. At a cuckold party she’d set up for her husband. This past January. I went with Meiplé. Two weeks after I’d met Tank. It was my very first party. Once I get past tomorrow evening’s soiree, I promise to tell you all about THAT experience. It was truly one of those unforgettable evenings.
So I told her I’d ask Tank what he thought. He loved the idea too. Thought it might ease any anxiety I’d feel in the moment. Plus, we knew we’d have someone we could chat to about what had happened—someone who’d relish the moment as much as we would.
Tank had to get permission from B4—the host. He agreed immediately. So I texted my girlfriend.
“Good news. You can join us to watch on Tuesday evening. Call me tomorrow so we can figure out where to meet.”
“Cool. It’s where we talked about, right? What are you wearing? What should I wear?”
“Yes, that’s the location. I’m wearing the dress I wore to the meet n greet last month since I won’t be in it long. The one with the zipper down the front. Wear whatever you want.”
“OK. Who will be with us? Tank? You are using condoms?”
“Tank will walk us in. Guys will already be playing. Everyone has to use condoms. You OK with observing only?”
“So Tank isn’t going to be there? You’re not afraid of it getting out of control without him?”
“Tank will be there. I’m not concerned. He knows the guy who’s orchestrating it.”
“OK. Cool. Looking forward to watching. I told my hubby. He can’t wait for the details.”
“It’ll be great fun. I’m glad you can join us. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell him afterwards!”
If Tank thought I had a slew of questions, she certainly had her share of them! Her anxiety level seemed a bit elevated. Although she’d been in the lifestyle a whole heck of a lot longer than me. Never once had I thought about the situation getting out of hand. I’d learned long ago to stay focused on the positive. The mind has this amazing power to bring to life that which we conjure up.
Oh, there’s one other thing. I decided not to tell her we’d probably know one of the guys. I stumbled onto that fact the night before while IM’ing the host of a party I attend regularly. I want to see the look on her face when she makes eye contact with him. And if he doesn’t show, I’ve not set the expectation he might be in attendance.
Who out there in cyberspace has any final thoughts for me? I need to go exercise!
Adding to the Conversation: First Visit to a Swing Club
Posted by: | CommentsOnly, a couple things about the article struck me. The one that jumped out at me right away is this sentence: “The first visit to a swingers club can be very intimidating.” I responded to it with the following comment.
Rebecca,
Based on my experiences, I agree with the comparison that you make between a vanilla club and swingers club. However, there are ways to make the experience less intimidating. First, whether you’re married or partnering with someone as a single (which I do), it’s important to discuss expectations in advance. Things like: What do you want out of the evening? What will we do if a couple or a single man approaches us? Do we want to play in a private room or try out the couples area or an orgy room? Second, there are “rules” for swinging – some spoken, some unspoken. Clubs tend to put their rules on their websites so you can review them in advance. Third, you do NOT have to play. It’s OK just to watch and observe. In fact, many couples do just this. There is never pressure of any sort to engage in sexual behavior.
You can read about my first time at a sex club at http://www.goodgirlsdontonline.com/2010/03/14/the-step-after-next/
Thanks for letting me comment –
Randi
This morning, I went back and re-read the piece. And I must say, I’m also feeling the need to respond to a few other points.
First, swing clubs aren’t just for “married” folks. In fact, depending on the evening (the clubs I go to are busiest on Saturday nights, followed by Friday evenings), you’ll also find a number of single people—like me!—in attendance. Some come as couples; others come in groups. They may show up after the local bars close just to dance in a more intimate setting. And, they may or may not play.
Second, don’t be surprised if you see men openly masturbating. Or a woman giving a guy a blow job, or a man fingering a woman in a way where all can view her physical reaction, in a more public area like the chairs and sofas near the dance floor. I remember Maestro being shocked by these behaviors on our first visit—and a bit uncomfortable with them. Me? I found them to be very stimulating and erotic.
Third, swingers may talk but for the most part, they are very private and discrete people. Other than when I’m speaking to close friends in the lifestyle, I’ve not heard someone refer to another man, woman or couple by name when discussing their experiences with them. I agree that you need to check out club venues and private parties (a whole separate topic) for yourself. We all have different perspectives and needs. Some will fit better for you than others. However, what you get out of an evening is really more about what you choose to make of it. I know I’ve been to some clubs (and parties) that others have labeled as boring, when in fact I’ve had to be dragged out of the place because I was having too much fun!
Care to comment?
What I Did On My Weekend Vacation (Part 1)
Posted by: | CommentsUp until this past weekend, I haven’t spent three whole days with a guy in seven years. And . . . it’s something I horribly miss. Having someone to wrap your legs and arms around on consecutive nights. Getting more than an hour or two to have sex—and fucking more than once a day. Not having to worry about setting the alarm so we can take off in opposite directions.
But I was also scared. Scared that I would enjoy it so much that I wouldn’t want him to leave. Or cry myself home on my five-hour drive. Or, experience the funk that can sometimes happen the day after spending a lot of time with someone you really like.
To help manage my fear, I tried my best all weekend to be present in the moment—even though I’m hard-wired to live life in the future. And, I made it through just fine. No begging him to stay. No crying. No funk. What I do have are some really memorable Kodak moments.
I relished in eating the breakfast that Tank made me one morning. Not any old breakfast either. Yummy Denver scrambled eggs with raisin toast (already buttered for me) and apple slices.
I learned I love being bitten. Hard. On my neck. My back. My shoulders. I felt like a kid in high school using make-up to cover the marks when we ventured outdoors into the warmth of the desert sun. Damn good thing I already had a bit of a tan!
And every day, he’d wash my back in the shower. You know, the spots that are hard to get to on your own, no matter how imaginatively you contort your body.
Saturday, in particular, was memorable. Let me start in reverse—at the end of the day—as I wait for the photo to tell the rest of the story.
Tank wanted prime rib for dinner. There was no argument from me. You don’t grow up in the heart of the Midwest and not be a carnivore. But we didn’t want the chains that were in abundance—Ruth Chris, LG Steakhouse, Morton’s and the like. We wanted a locals hideout. The place no one reveals unless you prompt them several times.
We found it alright. We were the youngest people in the place—by at least a decade—until a kid showed up with his parents. According to the woman who was part of a singing duo that started at 6 o’clock that evening, we got the very best seats in the house. Beneath one of the band’s main speakers. Seated next to each other, we got to see every single person who walked into the joint. The people watching was fantastic. Especially the married guy in his 70s who was fondling and flirting with a single woman at the bar as his wife watched them.
Our meal ended with a huge slice of chocolate cake—the fudgy, moist kind—and a great chat with the female singer whose husband had fingered many a guitar with the Righteous Brothers and other major Motown recording artists.
After this sort of meal, you don’t really have many choices, other than to retire to the sofa for a while. Which we did to watch some of the tennis matches that had played that day at the BNP Paribas Tournament.
Now, one of the things that attracted me to Tank is that he loves to talk. No sooner had I found the Tennis Channel on TV, when I heard:
“Didn’t you say some couples contacted you recently?”
“Yes.”
“Can I take a look at them with you?”
“Sure.”
We huddled over my laptop on the coffee table, reading their online profiles. A few of them interested both of us so I designated them as friends to remind me to write back to them about us. Then, I heard Tank say, “Could you pull up my profile? I want to read it. I think it’s got old stuff on it.”
So I did. It showed Tank being two years younger so it’d been a while since he’d updated it. He placed the laptop in front of him. After erasing his fantasy—to find a swing partner—he started writing.
“I currently have a swing partner and we are totally enjoying playing as a couple. I must say it’s so much more enjoyable and exciting to play as a couple, which I never realized as a single guy, and has given me a whole new outlook on swinging.”
I didn’t say a word.
Is That All There Is?
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“I can’t see you any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were right.”
“Right about what? Are you talking about the e-mail I sent last night after we talked? Where I said I saw you wearing your wedding ring at Rosh Hashanah services when you were with your kids? And your hesitancy in responding to me when I asked you to take me to services at shul?”
“Yes.”
“Are you breaking up with me? Cause if you are, I’ll be damned if you’ll do it over the phone.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by around 7 tonight.”
When Maestro arrived, I was a mess. No make-up. Didn’t even fix my hair. My eyes were red and my face was puffy. I’d been crying all day—hadn’t done that since my last husband had surprised me with divorce papers a decade ago.
We didn’t hug or kiss. Like we usually do. He looked very uncomfortable. Like a kid who’d been caught smoking behind the house. I waited for him to say something—anything.
“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have sex with you. I just can’t be present with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I feel guilty. I realized it at shul when I saw you sitting by yourself this weekend.”
“Guilty about what?”
“I can’t give you what I need to give you. I can’t take it any more. And I’m living a lie to my kids. It’s just not working for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I just have to give this up. I have to work things out with my wife—finish things up. I don’t know where the guilt is coming from. Maybe I fear the future. Formally ending my marriage. Fear of what she’ll say and what people will think of me. You need someone to love you back. You can’t have the whole me at this point.
I can’t keep the relationship with my wife in limbo. It’s not fair to her or me, My family’s been traumatized over the last 18 months—with me leaving and my daughter’s suicide attempts. But, I want to remain friends with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Go to dinner, movies. We’ll figure it out.”
I finally got up the courage to ask the question I knew I needed to spit out. “If you were seated where I am now, what would you tell me to do?”
“Don’t wait. Move on. Can’t guarantee I’ll come back.”
“Should I wait for you?”
“Don’t hold your life up. I have true feelings for you but I can’t seem to reconcile what I feel inside of me. You’re the most amazing and awesome woman I’ve ever met.”
“That’s why I don’t understand.”
He didn’t respond with words. He got up from where he’d seated himself a few minutes earlier, gave me a hug, and walked out.
I stood in my kitchen, tears streaming down my face. How do I get my belly to stop hurting? My entire body ached at a very deep level. Functioning on autopilot, I picked up the phone. I called one girlfriend and told her what happened. Then another.
Around 9 o’clock, I stopped myself. I don’t know how it happened. But I realized I had a choice. I could either continue to do the usual “oh, woe is me” phone calls. And cry myself to sleep. Stay in bed the entire next day. Maybe a week would do it. Or . . . I could do the opposite. Like a girlfriend had taught me back in June. While we were doing some writing work, I’d gotten a phone call informing me that I’d lost a chunk of business. When I told her, she suggested we immediately stop writing and go shopping. And have dinner out with lots of wine. Surprisingly, it worked. snapped me out of my doldrums.
The opposite. Huh. What would that look like? In a flash, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I e-mailed a Pilot I’d met on Craig’s List a few weeks earlier who wanted a woman to take him to a sex club for the first time. I suggested dinner the next night. He promptly accepted.
That’s when I knew that good girls do what’s commonly accepted—and bad girls color outside he lines—they embrace the opposite. I’d crossed over, at least for that moment.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
