It’s time to talk about a perfect man again. Not a perfect Dom or a Master or some sexual fantasy. I’m not even getting laid right now. I haven’t been actually getting laid since Ray and I stopped having sex over a year ago. P rarely came through and that one cum withholding motherfucker barely even counts.
I wrote about this guy a few times in a row in 2013 then I ran into Ray and he just happened to be that very man. I’m having these weird fantasies about P that have just popped up out of nowhere but I think they sat in the back of my head while I put up with that whole impossible disaster. So here. I’m going to write it out again. It hasn’t changed much. Only this weird influence from dating a child who pretends to be a fully formed adult.
I want a man who will walk up to me at a bar with no fear in his eyes. If he’s shitting his pants at least I can’t see it. He drinks a lot, is tall, really tall, and has a loud voice that he uses often. I want a story teller, a good story teller because they’re exaggerated and often lies. This not meaning he’s boasting – but that he’s entertaining. I want a man that will dance with me in the kitchen at 2am in his underwear. Maybe just after dinner. Or even just fucking go to Logan Disco at East Room the one night a month they have it. I want a man who knows how to fuck me. If it’s aggressively it has nothing to do with his feelings, or aggression he feels towards women or his own mother or deep seeded revenge fantasies on anyone or anything – it’s only because he knows I like it. And sex is about pleasure, because that’s what sex is – pleasure – and so in aiming to please me he does what he knows I like. He gets off on me getting off. Because he’s a giver. That’s all it is. It’s fucking giving it to me.
I want a man who is an expert, and who knows when I’m an expert. We have different brains. We’re not going to do the same work or look anything alike. We were probably much different people in High School. I want to learn new shit. I’m sick of knowing everything. I don’t know everything. I just hang out with idiots. Or men who are so stumped they just assume that I know everything. Mutual exchanging of information is key. Someone who understands how that works – key.
I want a man who doesn’t need things from me that I can’t give. Or who can at least understand what my limits are. I can learn how to fake some things. I already learned how to fake most of my social skills at Rush and have had enough practice that it comes naturally now. Feels almost genuine. But for a lot of things it’s too obvious that I’m just not capable. I need someone who doesn’t ask for more. I need someone who is confident enough to know that the feelings are there I just don’t know how to show it. You know fuck that. I need someone who notices how I do show it. Because I do. It’s just subtle. And indirect. And in ways that are totally devoted and submissive that no one would ever pick up and Ray probably didn’t even understand when I tried to tell him. He was the best example. Socially, in groups, parties, which were basically always, I set him up to tell the best stories or jokes – I would say things under my breath or quiet enough for just him to hear then he’d basically yell it not knowing he had heard me and everyone would die. I’d keep an eye on him and just steer him away from saying his stupid autistic shit that could really offend people sometimes. I just protected him and built him up. I wanted him to feel proud and in control all the time. But shit I mean I wrote his cover letters when he was applying for jobs last year. I cleaned his apartment after parties when he rushed off to work and I had a couple hours. I supported him emotionally – so subtly – because I’m subtle – but in a way that I counseled him constantly whenever he came to me because I knew how much he trusted me and respected my knowledge, I genuinely wanted what was best. I care about people. I do. I just have limits. The best way that I know how to take care of people is to keep the mood light, counsel immediately when there’s a problem but with pragmatism and insight rather than empathy or affection, and by trying to put people in positions where they will feel empowered. I do that with both men and women, in different ways. I give a fuck. It’s just hard to make it clear. And since I met Ray it’s been hard to leave him and find someone new worth giving a fuck about. I grew up a little with him. As scary as that sounds knowing where I still am now. I don’t know why P has suddenly resurfaced, and in a totally different way than he’s ever existed in my mind. I think that I’m feeling all of this torment over what a fucking bitch I am and that because I was so incredibly hard on him I want to somehow make it better. There are bits and pieces of him that run parallel with my ideal man. And then he totally fucking ruins it by being so damaged and self-important and insecure and full of shit. And just stupid. But I don’t mind kind of stupid men if they’re only stupid like a 14 year old boy is stupid. That’s my sweet spot. He may only have brilliant recall and be good at telling jokes and that’s just fine. Stop pretending to be smart and care about feminism and all this political shit that I just know you have to consciously seek out in order prove your point. Just like… run around the apartment in your underwear and pretend you’re a velociraptor. That’s all I want. Then fuck me like a normal man with some power. Someone who is 100% comfortable with himself. That’s what I want. Security. I want a man who is fucking secure. Ray is secure and it’s killing me to accept that he was smart enough to finally let go of me. There have to be more men like him. More men. I feel like I haven’t talked to a new man in ages. Me. Look at me. This is bullshit. I’m suddenly untouchable. Shit your pants whatever be as afraid as you want but have the balls to say something. Because once initial contact is made I’m pretty fucking awesome. I’m only mean when I smell weakness. I dote when someone deserves it. I’m not affectionate or nurturing but I give a fuck. I want everyone to be happy and everyone to be ok. It just makes for a better life for me and everyone else in the room. Fuck.
So what does this mean that I want to be in a relationship? I am naturally monogamous. Though I’m being encouraged to I really don’t think I can date around. I’m able to sleep around but not spend time with more than one person. I lock in. When I like someone I think about him and I consider him and I want to learn about him and teach him about myself. And I want that fucking face time. This could be romantic or not, I have that BFF formula that I’ve been missing for a few years since Ray sort of played a mixed role. I like having a man in my life, a central male with whom I am emotionally connected or at least intellectually. I’ve just always had a hard time including sex in that relationship. Aside from AHEM, Ray. And then he wanted the real shit and I wasn’t ready. He wasn’t either but that’s on him. Let’s get real, life would be easier if I could get everything I wanted from one person. I mean that’s why people settle. Because it’s hard work and fucking complicated to spread that shit out. I don’t know. I like companionship. I like a central figure. I like a best friend. I like sex, a lot of it. I just don’t know how to be what everyone wants me to be, and I panic when I feel the inevitable shift that means I’m supposed to start being that thing.
I’ve been so focused on sex lately because that just feels like step number one. I can’t take it anymore. I had to fucking go take a group trip to buy new vibrators last week because I hadn’t had one in a fucking year. A YEAR. I’ve been shut off to the world. No wonder no one wants to fuck me. I don’t even want to fuck myself. I think what I got so lost in for a while was that sex was a power trip for me and I forgot about the fact that I enjoy it. That it actually feels good. The one thing that I missed out on when I used to write about sex with Markley which seems to be the philosophy that I’m talking about again lately even though it applies much less.. is that I actually feel erotic pleasure from pain. Not just sexually – but when I have injuries I enjoy the pain that’s there. I mess with bruises or fractures or tweaked nerves, etc. I get pleasure out of pain. It feels good to me when I’m being hurt a little bit and also experiencing someone intimately. That’s fun, and it’s pleasure. I’ve gotten that from both Charles and Ray. Men who don’t have sex like that with any other women, but they know that that’s what I’m into, so it makes them feel good to make me feel good. That’s what I’m looking for. I’d like to try new shit. I still think weird sensory deprivation would be cool, a little bit of psychological domination might be fun to try, but overall it’s the pain that I like. It’s why Elsa hitting me with that crop was the best sexual experience I’ve had since Ray and I were fucking 2 years ago. That’s really fucking sad. But the lady’s a professional.
This is so lame of me but I think P’s physical size is something that is keeping him present right now. It may actually be that this mothering I’m feeling for him is actually just wanting a huge man that can hold me back. I’ve been in a pretty weird place. I’ve been sick of scaring everyone. I like such tall men because I like feeling small. I like those loud voices because I’m fucking loud and talkative and I need someone who can shut me up and take the spotlight. I like sitting there like a beautiful doll who has all the answers but everyone just knows it without having to hear me prove it. Every once in a while something comes out, it blows everyone’s mind, then I just change the record and the music keeps playing. I don’t like being the star of the show. I was placed in that role my whole childhood. I was constantly the center of fucking attention. Not just in my family but in that whole goddam town. I want a man who can outshine me socially. It’s that give and take power dynamic. Those couples, I feel like Julie and Peter are like this but they’re the opposite. Betty and Alex are like this too. Interesting both females are in the role I would like my man to be in. Because I see it as a very masculine position. But he is the eccentric one, the center of attention, the fucking ham. He’s the velociraptor, but like, after they evolve and learn how to unlock the doors to that lab. I’m the stoic one. I’m the support. My presence is my power. I chime in when it works. It’s teamwork that works from two very opposite ends of the spectrum. I don’t know how I’m describing this. I used to talk about it how from the outside it looks like the man is all powerful and dominating and pervy etc but everyone knows how much he worships this woman and how much control she really has. And just leave it at that. Brainfucking is key but that’s private. Brainfucking is constant. Apparently that’s unsustainable. But I’m sorry I’m never doing no fucking Sudoku and bagels and lox #slowsundays #women.
My love life seemed so much more promising when I thought I was moving to London. I don’t know why I think British men are so much more up my alley. This weird stereotype I have and British Adam from Nick’s business school and Jim’s ex roommate British Jim. But I was writing a lot about opening a hat shop in London and how I would just wait until I got there to meet my drunken underwear dancing man then got picked up by Ray a few nights later. Made him dance in his underwear with me the next weekend at 2am and then kept him on friendship hold for a few months until I found out the sex was promising. Well really until he manned up because his fucking lame attempts at making out with me every time before that were just not working. Well that was the cool thing about him – he didn’t know how I liked to be treated until that one night when we talked about sex. We started sharing stories. Suddenly everything changed. He totally changed. And he became everything I wanted in a sexual partner. I wasn’t pushing him antagonistically. I wasn’t daring him. I was saying however indirectly – hey, this is what I’m into, this is the experience that I’d share with you. And he was down, and we both really enjoyed it. Aggressive and fucking real as it got. Like.. bruises, marks and all that crap. It was funny to us. The fucking medical bracelet mark on my neck from him choking me. We were dying. That was the healthiest roughest sex I’ve ever had. And it was in a way totally juvenile, organic. Not dominating.
I’ve been in a weird psychological space lately. I’ve been really mad at men. Yeah really fucking mad. I was really mad at Ray. For giving up. For what he did last Christmas. I’ve been in a kind of depression ever since. I’m pretty sure that’s when I threw away my vibrator. Part of that mini about page on my blog mentions the attitude I’ve had about sex since I was 15 years old and that’s that it’s fun, frivolous and inconsequential, as long as it’s only always on my terms. And that sex is Pleasure. That’s all it is. Pleasure. I’ve turned it into a power thing recently, maybe because I’m suddenly becoming aware of how much overwhelming power I have, and forgotten that really the only thing I actually want from men is for them to make me feel good.
I’ve got to chill the fuck out. I’ve got to smile for fuck’s sake. The megabitch thing has got to stop. I have to get over losing Ray. Because I’m not getting him back. And like. Get off more. I have this new vibrator. It’s a good one. Be an actual sexual being again and not expect men to just wake me up from the dead.
I quit this is so long this day sucked I refuse to online date I have to work Brunch tomorrow and I still think I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I looked hot as shit last night and didn’t get to talk to one man. Not one. I got my friend’s female lover to spank me a few times with the crop that I brought to the party then I went to an empty Late Bar which is always fucking empty and terrible with the worst music ever then home and posted a picture on Instagram. That’s fucking weak. Shit needs to get better soon. I need a fucking velociraptor. They still exist. I am convinced.