…sometimes almost magic…

“No one wants to be alone, but everyone wants to be a little more special.”

I called in sick to work and spent the day with Kitten. It was lovely. The kind of day weekends should be and so rarely are. Very relaxed.

The last time we had sex, Kitten got bored in the middle of it. She didn’t say or do anything in particular to indicate that, but of course I could tell. (And she told me later.)

She just lost interest, even though she was the one who initiated it. Calmly laying underneath me, kind of staring at the wall while I was sweating and grunting and trying to be a good, manly lay. I slowed down and asked, “Where are you right now?” She blinked a few times and frowned. “Right here. With you.” Soon after that she rolled us over and took charge, trying to get me to come, I think. (Even though we’ve had conversations about it, she chooses to ignore the fact that penetrative sex orgasms are not terribly satisfying for me.. she figures as long as there’s some kind of orgasm, she did her job.) She didn’t come, and didn’t care. I sort of came, and she might as well have said out loud, “You came right? So we can be done then?” She immediately rolled over with her back to me and went to sleep.

She blamed it on her hormones, but I think it really comes down to the fact that we’re just not sexually interesting to each other anymore. We’ve always been somewhat mismatched, but managed to make it work, sort of. The time before this one was really good. She was all snuggly and sweet and very, well, stereotypically female afterward, wanting to be held and kissed while we showered together. Her being like that after sex made the sex seem ten times better to me. It was the first and only time she’s been like that. Usually she seems baffled at my need for closeness and lovieness after sex.

But anyway. I’m not writing this as a sob story or anything, more as a “god, my relationship is weird” sort of thing.

One of the weirdest things to me is my own attraction to Kitten. It’s very much there in the everyday – she’s beautiful and I love to look at her, I love to touch her. She has a lovely tiny soft belly, the most grabbable little ass, adorable, strong, freckled shoulders. The line of her body when she’s undressing and pulls the shirt over her head… she’s a living, erotic sculpture. I think she always will be, to me.

Last night she had her shirt off as we were sitting at the dining room table, talking about Dungeons & Dragons (I mentioned she’s like the biggest non-tech geek ever, right?), and I couldn’t stop looking at her breasts. Wanting to nuzzle my face against those small mounds and puffy nipples, take the fleshiest part in my teeth.

I could write volumes about her erotic beauty, but let’s not get off track here. The point I’m trying to make is that she’s beautiful, attrative, sexy, and I feel that very much until it comes to actually having sex. And that’s weird as hell. I want to gaze at her, touch her, nibble on her sweet, soft flesh. But I don’t really want to have sex with her, not really. And I think she has a similar, if less intense, feeling about me.

So what the hell does that mean? We find each other attractive in the abstract, but not in the nitty-gritty reality between the sheets. We have an odd, almost non-sexual but very non-platonic relationship. My dad and probably other people think we should split up. They do or would see the lack of sexual compatibility as unhealthy in a long-term relationshiop. Hell, I used to think it was unhealthy in a long-term relationship. But now I’m not so sure. Because even if I don’t care about fucking Kitten, I still want to wake up next to her. Even if we don’t entirely grok each other, we’re still each other’s closest friend and favorite companion. We know each other’s secrets, we know each other’s bodies. We have a closeness I’ve never even come close to with anyone else. Most of the moments that really make life worth living happen with her, and I like that.

I used to think I knew what real, forever love would feel like. Maybe I was right, in part. But there is more than one kind of romantic love, more than one kind of relationship.

I guess I’ve learned that just because something isn’t ideal, doesn’t mean it’s not perfect in it’s own way.

I’ve been sorely neglecting the blogosphere lately. Been spending too much time in the “literary abyss of bad porn.” Shame on me. Even if it’s not particularly well-written, I just can’t seem to get enough of vampire and wereanimal sex. Damn my unnatural lusts.

But anyway. The boy just left and I’m feeling a little.. worked up. Or something. We only had an hour tonight, which was not nearly enough time. I was actually turned on tonight, too. Three cheers for that. Boo to not having enough time to do anything about it.

The eyebolts in the bedroom ceiling finally got a little use. We will definitely be using those again.

Hopefully he will have at least one imprint of my teeth in his back tomorrow. Always have to leave ’em with a mark.

I should know by now that the melodrama always fades with a new day. Kitten was lovey this morning and came very close to calling in sick to work because she wanted to spend the day with me. Warm fuzzies.

But anyhoo.

Two of the people in my group this weekend were a couple who live relatively near by and run basically a pagan church of sorts (Let’s call them Sola and Knight). They invited me to join their online group and come to their Samhain and Yule celebrations. They were very nice. And closer to my age than most of the people I meet at gatherings. It’s very exciting, because I don’t really know any other pagans, aside from the women at the full moon circle, and there’s just no click with them. (There’s also a girl who’s a friend of a friend, but I was kind of an asshole the first time I met her, so she doesn’t like me. But that’s beside the point, really.)

Being part of a pagan group would be so lovely. People to learn from and form bonds with, people with whom I can actually talk about this stuff. I like the way Sola and Knight described their group – a loosely knit community of solitaries who come to worship outdoors together and “meet, learn, and grow.” Good stuff.