Dance me to the end of love

I have never been a fan of fairground fun or rollercoaster rides with their plummeting see saw motions. And yet this brief affair has pulled me down and left me weightless with butterflies and mosquitos flitting and fighting for space in the pit of my stomach.

It’s over but what a thrill it has been. I think I got carried away and stayed too long. I looked up and then was surprised to find everyone gone and myself alone. The walk home will be a little hard but at least I don’t think I’ll get lost. And there’s always music. It was a love affair of sorts but this time instead of being paralysed by heart break I’m dancing to the end of love. Swaying and spinning my way home until the fair is back in town with a new attraction.

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The era of non trust

How do relationships work these days? I mean what are the actual mechanics that make it tick along?

Let’s look at the order of things.
A. You meet someone online that isn’t repulsive that is actually interesting that you fancy to whatever degree.
B. You exchange telephone numbers.
C. You arrange to meet in real life.
D. You get on
E. You have sex
F. You arrange to meet again
G. You get on
H. You have sex.
Repeat C-H for a couple of weeks
And then you discover that actually no one minds fucking other people right in front of or behind the back of the person they are meant to be primarily fucking and that instead of relationships we are all involved in one huge fucking orgy. You sort of suss out that the guy you are seeing is disposable and that you too can partake in the delights of this mass fucking bonanza. And that is exciting because it brings that variety and summons the spice that is so crucial to human life.
But who on this planet has the time? I have a demanding job. I have a social life that due to a Lazarus style resurrection is pretty healthy. I have two children. I have things to do damn it! So where I wonder am I supposed to fit in the juggling of sex partners? How the hell do I message the guys that I’m interested in without getting sacked, without my kids turning into Oliver Twist extras, without losing my mind?
I have considered getting a PA. But can’t afford one.
I have considered checking messages once a day. But it’s too addictive.
I am wired. Hooked on and into the system. And I quake.
Maybe having kids screws up my chances of success in this cut throat business. But I refuse to let motherhood define me or my sexuality. I wanted to have lots of amazing sex forever. That’s why I got married. And now? I must whither and die consigning my vagina to a lifetime of mechanical toys? Forget it. Nope. No way. I need a man between my legs with his heart beating fast not Duracell batteries operating an imitation. So what to do? What. To. Do?
Well no point in letting a good ride go once you’ve found one is there? I’m going to use this one until the sex ceases to feel fresh and exhilarating. And until I can no longer fathom the idea that it is a relationship only of sorts. When those moments present themselves, I will ask again for exclusive rights. If it’s a no no from Mr F then, like Ciara, I’m Out. We are all disposable in this era. And to a certain extent that’s no bad thing. We learn to let go of each other and accept that we own and control no one but ourselves. It’s all rather Buddhist actually. As long as we are all honest with each other. Lying, cheating bastards like my ex don’t deserve a place in the house of free love. The trouble is, I think people like him provide the foundations on which the house is built.

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A friend with many benefits

Shit. Shit. Shit. So Mr F is actually fucking awesome. We meet for drinks and talk on and on. I love staring at him and letting my eyes speak my thoughts. I say I want to fuck you right now. I say I love that you tower over me like the two sphinxes that Atreyu must face in The Never Ending Story but I hope you will not destroy me. I say you are a gift from God even though you do not believe. I am not sure you see the words tumbling around my head.

Later in your living room, as we lie on the rug, in the centre of a street lamp lit lull, I smile at you. You catch traces of the upturned corners of my mouth and ask what I am thinking. I am happy. I am mystified that we have so much in common. Sex with you is an awakening. Like a defibrillator you bring me back to life. I do not tell you these things. Somethings I keep for myself. Control clutches at my throat not wanting, not ready yet to let go. You are still distant. Despite you rocking me, despite the undulating waves we make, there is no orgasm. That vulnerable firework, the feeling of a pulse echoing inside is mine and I do not share it. I hold it back. Wrap it up and lock it away along with my heart. You can not have all of me. It is too soon.

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Sex in the City of London

Ok so I have begun to refer to my new bed friend as Mr F. Partly because I am channeling my inner Sex in the City Samantha and because I always liked the brevity of Carrie’s Big. And also because when I asked for exclusive rights to his dick he said he didn’t want to put all of his emotional eggs in one basket. So he is now without a personality. Devoid of characteristics that might make me care. He has become for now at least just someone to fulfil my sexual desires. I do still keep abreast of developments on Tinder and now also Okcupid but goodness it’s a lot of work! Mr F may wish to keep his options open but I’ve got better things to do than to search for fresh meat. All I need is someone to tide me over until the end of the summer. For now I’d like to think that what I’ve got is a pretty efficient system.

He wants to sample all the dishes on offer at a cheap Chinese buffet while I like to order exactly what I like from the a la carte menu. But I guess when it comes down to it there’s no accounting for taste when both of you are just really fricking hungry.

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More than a hook up

A month or two ago the reality of motion came to me. Could see clearly that if you so wished it the universe would deliver. Back then I had to step back for I was not ready. Men zapped in and out of my life and I watched wondering. Like those underwater highway currents that carry life around the world’s waterways, the motion was too immediate. I was stuck outside. The world just kept spinning and I had to just keep swimming. Legs were sinking, arms flapped; it was not a graceful technique but I propelled myself nonetheless. Eventually what I so desired in the purest of moments found its way to me.

The law of attraction has brought this man to me. And I relish him. Taste him. Knowing that he is for a reason and perhaps also for a season. He will help heal me in the way only sex can. It is a healing that I could not do on my own. It is the laying of hands. Of touch. Of communion. It’s is the rise and fall of being consumed. It has begun. But there is no going back on desire to shift the gift into something of substance. The use of mirrors and mirage is a false magic. The universe can not be tricked. Only time and the natural contradiction of chaos can manipulate. He will go soon. Best to be greedy. Take all the opium. Snatch it without hesitation. Give myself over to him. To the healing. To the making of a temporary love. I mustn’t worry about throwing doubles and keeping him or claiming him for death might come to claim me and then no one will belong. That’s the reality isn’t it? No one belongs. We are simply gifts. Existing, clashing, nuzzling up against one another. My gift to him is open and bare. It is a surrender. It is new and now. It will no doubt cease with embers smoking down, down. But not to worry. Today the heat is real and there will be another match. The universe and I will command it into being.

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Premier

We meet in the silent whistling
Heads on pillow
Sleepy and narcotised by the heat
Exhausted by the adrenaline of novelty
You find me and we entwine
Like the cords of the vitis coignetiae in the garden downstairs
So easily friends, so swift. We lie lazy and childish
Drifting between half wakefulness and curiosity
I breath in your steady rhythm
Breathy desire becomes an invisible third stem
Twisting and navigating you to me
The windows are ajar and a storm brews outside
We let each other in and meet in the silent whistling.

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Why so serious?

Time for some dating frivolity. So if you’ve been keeping up with me and my one a day for one year blog challenge you will know that the last time I dated prior to Deluded Dick was way back in 1998. Wow that’s actually last century. It was a time when stopping a girl in the street was a legitimate way of meeting someone. It was a time before Tinder.

Now I know there are a lot of mixed feelings about the Tinder app. You know how it goes… It’s just for people looking for sex…it’s a hook up site…guys post pictures of their abs and penises… It’s shallow and based only on appearance blah blah blah. Well ok that camp has it’s opinion and though it’s not a free world, folks can think what the hell they want. But if you are trying to date online those arguments don’t make much sense.

So hmm let’s see. Firstly yes it is for people looking for sex. Yep. Can’t argue with that. I am looking for sex. And…the problem is what exactly? Aren’t we all. I’m pretty sure the guys and gals over on Eharmony want to fuck someone too. Oh. Sorry. My mistake they want to fuck somebody who has a degree or is 5.11 or likes books or (and this is my pet hate criteria) likes to travel. Now to me all of that seems a bit shallow. If a guy is broke and can’t afford to take snaps up a mountain does that mean he is not worthy? If a guy is 5.6 does that mean he is lacking in some area of masculinity? And level of education? There are some smart pieces if shit out there. And what’s more one does not fuck a degree or an MA certificate. And a sheet of paper is no reflection of someone’s character or emotional intelligence. A high paying job won’t stop them from cheating on you. Good character can’t be a tick box quality. I mean who would choose not to tick a box that indicates yes I am a nice human being? So complicated. And then you’ve got to sell yourself! Aaaagghhhh! You actually have to write your own flipping press release. Now one could say that the writing of faux self deprecating nonsense or self grandiose spiel is distasteful and discriminatory. I mean what if you are crap with words but are a kind and talented artist? What if you come across as an awesome catch but the truth is you’ve written nothing but lies?

I think it’s best to just show your best self. Smile at a camera and see who bites? I’d rather have someone who I fancy and who on the basis of a couple of photos fancies me. Not someone who is necessarily an Adonis but someone who whets my appetite. Also truth be told I am lazy and hate with an absolute passion filling in forms online. If too much info is required of me I click the x. Even setting up this blog was touch and go.

Tinder is a nice Luke warm step into the sea of love. There may be sharks out there but at least I don’t have to pay to swim with them or don a full scuba diving outfit to get wet. It’s free and honest. Unless you write up a press release that is make believe. Like my ex, who I happened to see whilst happily swiping one day. And yes before you ask I did indeed swipe left. But not before taking a screen shot and cackling wildly to my friends over the hilarious profile he’d written. Some people are just plain crazy. Don’t believe their hype but do believe in their photo. As long as the person who you end up meeting in real life is the same as the one you’ve been communicating with you’ll be good to go. Then all you’ve got to suss out is whether or not they’re a waste of time or if they’re likely to slit your throat.

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