…sometimes almost magic…

Funny how accurate these things are (though I do hate the heterocentricity of it all)…

Half-Cocked Random Brutal Sex Dreamer (RBSD) Fiery. Hungry. Blatant. Sexual. Christ. You are Half-Cocked. There’s a lot of wild lust inside you, banging around, that much is obvious. There’s also a lot of untamed emotion. When either escapes, look out. One minute you’re completely together, the next you’re a howling gale of hormones and opinions. Outside relationships, your intense, mercurial personality makes you a charmer. You can be fiercely devoted, and it’s likely that many of your friends will be friends-for-life. Of course, your enemies are likewise certain and zealous, especially your exes and their therapists. You will find the right person. In the short term, he’s someone virile who won’t sweat your imperfections. In the long term, he will be someone mature and caring who will grow to love them. ALWAYS AVOID: The Slow Dancer (DGLD) CONSIDER: The Playboy (RGSM), The Billy Goat (DBSD) Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid – free online dating.

My horoscope in the paper today says:

“Gentle evolution was never your favorite kind. You are more of a jump-off-the-high-dive-on-the-first-swimming-lesson kind of person. So try not to be too bored with the slow learning process you’re currently going through.”

Newspaper horoscopes are total bullshit of course, but I love the occasions like this when they’re so astonishingly accurate. (Kind of like the thing where they say if you put 100 monkeys in a room with 100 typewriters, you’d end up with Shakespeare. Or the fact that if a meteorologist predicted rain every day of the year, they’d still be 30% accurate. Or something like that.)

http://blog.blowfish.com/culture/the-first-good-one/

The First Good One

We talk a lot about The First Time. As a society we’re a little bit fixated on it. Losing your virginity, and the person you lost it with — it’s a rite of passage that we’ve made important to the point of making it a fetish.

But as rites of passage go, the loss of virginity can be dicey. It was for me, anyway. Sure it was important; but it was also awkward, depressing, and anticlimactic. Emphasis on the “anticlimactic.”

And I think that experience is not uncommon.

So I want to talk about something else. I don’t want to talk about the first person I had sex with
I want to talk about the first person I had good sex with.

And on the wild off-chance that he’s reading this, I want to say Thank you.

His name was Adrian. I honestly don’t remember his last name, although I do remember that he was Number Four (at least according to how I was defining “sex” at the time). He wasn’t a boyfriend, or even a friend; he was just someone I smiled at on the street who stopped to talk, someone I had ice cream with that afternoon and went home with that evening.

It could have been disastrous. I look back on it sometimes and think, “What the hell was I thinking, having sex with a guy I picked up off the street?” He could have been an axe murderer.

But he wasn’t. He was amazing.

He was the first person I had sex with who liked to experiment and try lots of different things, just for the fun of trying them.

He was the first person I had sex with who was playful about it; who didn’t think being passionate meant being deadly serious at all times, and who was willing and even eager to find humor and laughter in what we were doing.

He was the first person I had sex with who was sexually knowledgeable without being arrogant, pushy, or assuming that his greater knowledge meant that we should do things his way. He knew a lot about sex and sexual variations, but if I didn’t want to try something or if something wasn’t working, he accepted it with good grace and moved on. And he was the first person I had sex with who was just as happy about trying the things I wanted to try as he was about the things he wanted to try.

He was the first person I had sex with who made sure that I was having a good time. Not just that I was coming — I’d had at least one sex partner before who tried to make sure that I came — but that I was feeling happy and relaxed, excited and curious, safe and taken care of.
He was the first person I had sex with who didn’t make me feel like the fact that I was having sex with him meant either (a) that I was a skank, or (b) that we were in love. He was the first casual sex partner I had who made me feel respected, and who acted like my horniness and eagerness were appreciated.

He was the first person I had sex with who wanted to keep having sex — and having it and having it and having it — even after he’d come.

And when I look back on it now, I think he had a much greater impact on my sexuality than the guy I lost my virginity to.

Because after Adrian, I knew. I knew what was possible. I had my sexual ups and downs after this, of course; but after Adrian, I knew what the ups could be like . . . and I knew that the downs didn’t have to be that way. I’m sure that door would have opened for me eventually — I’m a very sexually motivated person, I wasn’t going to put up with bad sex for long — but it opened early for me, and that made a difference.

And I’ve always wanted to say “thank you.”

Adrian, if you’re reading this: You were a grad student at the University of Chicago, and in the summer of 1979 you met a girl on the street, a girl who had just graduated high school and was about to start college. She smiled at you and you stopped to chat; you bought her ice cream and invited her home; and you fucked her brains out in sixteen different ways over the course of about three days.

You asked if I’d pose like a Penthouse photo that you liked, next to the photo so you could see us both, and I said yes. You asked if I wanted to try being spanked, and I said no (a decision I’ve always regretted, by the way). We played out a rape fantasy that I’d asked to try, and I got freaked out, and you immediately picked up on that and backed off. And we just did it, with me on top and you on top and from behind, in the bed and on your desk and in the bathroom, with our mouths and our hands and your cock and my cunt, until the skin of your dick was rubbed raw and I could barely walk.

You were great. It was almost thirty years ago, and I still remember you, better than I remember most of the people I’ve had sex with.

Thanks.

Greta Christina, copyright © 2007

Kitn and I have always held hands and been otherwise affectionate in public, and I’ve rarely really thought anything of it, other than to be glad that we live in a place where we don’t have to be afraid of being beaten up by homophobic hicks.

When I was out with N last month, we were very affectionate, kissing and holding hands and being obvious lovers. After a while I realized that it felt totally different than when I’m out with Kitn. When she and I are being a couple in public – even when I’m not afraid of being literally attacked – there’s a pervasive feeling of disapproval, which I never really even thought about until I noticed the relief of its absence. (Is it that we’re lesbos or are they clocking her as trans? “What brand of hostility are you directing at me today?”) I realized that when she and I are holding hands or whatever, I have a very defensive feeling, a kind of “Yeah we’re two girls kissing, so what? You gonna start some shit?” mode of being.

So… Wow, it was nice to be part of a heterosexual-seeming couple (which is funny in and of itself, as we are probably two of the most queer people you’ll ever meet). It’s not something I’m used to, but I guess it does feel nice to conform. (Ha! Just like Evangelicals say it feels so good to sin. That’s funny.) Really nice, actually. No need for defensiveness! just a feeling of being happy lovers with the world looking on and smiling in approval. Seductive. And maddening. *sigh*

Well, finally heard from N. Sent him an email Friday, and he responded today. The prompt response was nice, but the content was a little bit disappointing. Apparently he’s just been busy, dealing with some unpleasant stuff and “It’s been pretty tiring and [he hasn’t] really had much time for [himself].” Or me, clearly.

Ah well. My ego would like him to be a bit more enthralled (well, ok a lot more. and more attentive with the long distance contact, while we’re at it…), but I guess I’ll just have to accept that he’s not.

We’re going to get together at the end of July. ^_^