576: Penthouse Episode

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If you are in a committed relationship, your man thinks he has finally given up his last chance at ever having a Penthouse Episode. You know the ones….they used to appear in the pages of that magazine,  and factual or not, they were a glimpse into the fantasies of the average man. To have a woman so crazy for him that she would pretty much just attack and overwhelm him with her physical desire and her deep, inescapable need of his amazing, devastating masculinity.

Ladies – if you are in a committed relationship, give this gift to your man. Choose your time and place, since nobody wants to be arrested by the law (major passion killer, that), but pick a time and place and let him know in no uncertain terms how much you want and need him in that basic, elemental female-to-male way. He will be amazed, surprised, incredulous – and grateful, proud, and manly. Show that man you love above all others that you want and desire HIM – above all others.

Trust me, even if you are bashful when you do it, he will be thrilled. Every man wants to be loved and adored – show him that you are the woman who does love and adore him.

Give him his very own, personal and private Penthouse Episode. Doesn’t he deserve it?

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499: Inevitable

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You are the man.

The drive, the force, the strength.

I am the woman.

The receptacle, the pliable, the resilient.

You are mine

in the way that I am yours.

We blend

magnificently.

What I am complements what you are.

What you need, I seek to supply.

What I need, you supply.

We feed each other

in a daily dance of respect and honor.

You lead me to the great I Am.

I lead you to the well.

We share, each other.

We share, worship.

We share, sacrament.

We share.

483: Online Dating

download (1) I understand that you have an 87 % chance of meeting a psychopath on an online dating site, and that 93% of statistics are made up on the spot. Given that constraint, I believe that I am firmly in both the majority and the minority of that equation. The 87% of weirdos are definitely out there. I met one guy who wanted to exchange photos – of unmentionable body parts. Ummm…..NO, thanks just the same.

I also met one guy who pledged undying love and exclusivity to me….in the first e-mail, in about six pages of flowery, verbose, over-the-top text. Then, a few days later, as he is offering to give up his idyllic existence in another state about 800 miles distant from me and move to be with me, I discovered that he had an alternate profile on the same dating site, just a different name and persona. The first iteration of him was the preppy, family oriented guy, complete with fetching photo in front of the decorated Christmas tree. The second iteration was the consummate bad boy, muscle shirt, shades, tattoo prominently displayed. Made me wonder if he was conducting experimental research at the graduate level into the psychology of women who join online dating sites.

See, people want to be paired. We all want that intimate, emotional and spiritual connection (not to mention the physical connection) with another like-minded person (usually of the opposite sex, but hey, I’m not judging) who does not freak us out too much on a daily basis. Most of us have been around the track in face-to-face, traditional relationships, and have found that meeting and dating process to be somewhat lacking (!), not to mention extraordinarily time-consuming.  HAS to be a better way, right? For me, the better way included being far, far away at my new job in Kazakhstan when I joined the site and started getting responses.

I figured my previous two marriages were mostly based on the hormones/pheromones of physical attraction (not that you could have told me that at the time), so I figured, THIS time, I would meet someone via text, and communicate that way to see if we had similar goals, interests, morals, and values, where the whole physical attraction thing was conspicuously absent to gum up the works and shut off what little common sense I possess in the first place. Figured it was worth a try – doing things the same way was obviously not working, so a change in tactics was in order.

So, I clicked on an advertisement featuring a man/woman/other who was fairly attractive, and decided to take the online dating plunge. Some sites, from what I am told, have an extensive questionnaire designed to better weed out those individuals you would run screaming from on the public street if you met them face to face. Kinda reminds me of the Purity Test http://www.puritytest.net/test/500/. The purity test is an EYE-OPENER,  and let’s just say, I scored fairly poorly for someone who actually is not into bodily waste as a sex object. I am NOT kidding…..absolutely and totally boggles the mind, some of those questions. Opened up whole vistas that you just can’t mentally un-see, ya know?

Some sites, like the one I joined, simply ask you to self-promote. Marketing yourself is difficult, because let’s face it, it’s just bragging. Period. How do you brag about yourself and make it sound humble and attractive? Yeah – see what I mean? Still, I tried to be honest about my intentions, mostly honorable ones…mostly. I included some photos that actually looked like me…you know, the FLATTERING ones that still actually managed to look like me.

As I got flirts, invitations for contact and other messages, I added bits to my profile to more accurately indicate what I was NOT looking for. Pretty much men with extremely suggestive nicknames such as stallion4U or longhotrod fit into that category, as well as anyone without the self-confidence to post a photo. You could be a little green man from Mars, I just don’t know.

I mentioned that, along with the 87%, I also found the 13%. Yes, they do exist, Virginia. One sharp individual asked me a question that led me to do some serious introspective thinking, and he made me realize I had been intellectually dishonest with myself. I had some work to do on that one, and I “came clean,” and owned up to my mistake.  Another one might, just possibly could, hopefully is, I believe, be the one. We are taking it slowly and discussing every topic under the sun, delving and exploring each other in pretty much perfect safety, if you don’t count the scary business of opening up to another human being as being unsafe.

See – all of us want that intimate relationship – without having actually to get intimate, confess to our faults and flaws, and generally bare our souls. That is scary, and he/she/it might not like me if I bare all, because not everything has been lipo-suctioned (or exercised) into shape.

But, guess what?

You are not gonna get there (where you want to be) if you don’t go there.

441: Want

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I WANT.

I want five days of peace and quiet, a good night’s restorative sleep, my significant other, a ceiling fan, Egyptian sateen cotton sheets and a good supply of dark, bitter-sweet chocolate.

Then, I want about six uninterrupted hours of mind-blowing games that have absolutely nothing to do with a computer. Give and receive. Rode hard and put up wet. I want to be so tired after, that it will be all I can do to sleep. So tired there are no dreams. And no snoring, either.

I want at least two hours in a 104 degree scented, jetted hot tub, with wine coolers, or hot brandy toddies – either way. Cuddle buddy and some more chocolate. And no swimsuits, either. Terry cotton robes and slippers, massage oil and warmed hands.

I want a sparkling blue day by the pool, with a thick, thirsty towel on the lounger, and deliciously silky water with that thick hot layer on top and the cooler layer underneath.  Strong arms towing me around and sleek limbs intertwining in that perfect, bathtub water. And sun tanning oil. Lots of coconut-scented tanning oil, even if we are not tanning.

I want fresh-cut and ground pesto with whole wheat crackers, jalapeno jack cheese cubes and sliced Granny Smith apples, honey for dipping and whipped cream in the can for fun. Maraschino cherries with the stems.  Jack Daniels whiskey and Amaretto, sangria with orange slices.  No ice.  Honey-baked Virginia ham, spiral-sliced.  Hot chocolate a la Simone Evans, with Benedictine and cinnamon. Fresh, unsalted almonds.

I want hot beach sand, cool ocean waves and a cooler full of iced beer with lime. An ocean-pearled sunset and a campfire, with marshmallow S’mores and both red and yellow-meat watermelon slices. Ten pounds of sweet black cherries, fresh and crisp, tart and juicy. The salt taste of man on my tongue, and the dark scent of musky, warm man all over me. Slow, nibbling kisses that taste of me. That mustache.

I want gentle fingers that tickle and tease, and have no concept of time passing, merely cognizant of pleasure given. I want to bury my nose in the scented places and breathe in that glorious, signature scent that no one else has, and that cannot be bought in a bottle. I want a shower of warm water and thick ropes of soap, slippery hands and steamy mirrors. The shock of ice and the gentle heat of second-hand hot sauce.

I WANT.

396: Womanhood, dammit

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I did not get the preferred choice in the gender lottery. Thanks, dad. You all do know already that it is the sperm (therefore, dad) who determines the sex of the child-to-be? Yep – mom just takes it (literally and figuratively). However, I am one of those women who has a disproportionate amount of testosterone. Yes, we exist. Explains a lot, huh?

Testosterone aside, being female sucks sometimes. Most of the time. The part I still have issues with, even after 54 years and a total hysterectomy (with bilateral oophrectomy – I read doctor’s reports), are the stinking hormones. I weaned off the HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) a few years after the surgery, because the stuff costs money, and I was about the “proper” age for menopause, anyway. Plus, I was living in Morocco, and could NOT get the replacement testosterone. It was the testosterone that made me normal, not the estrogen or the progesterone, which I could get.

The problem then, and now, and from what I am told by older women who have been through this crap, too – is that this will also be the future as far as I can see into the distance – is the freaking hot flashes. At least a dozen times per night, regardless of the temperature of the room (I have conducted informal research here) I have hot flashes that cause me to fling off the covers (all sweaty and disgusting), and then, usually within the half hour, I chill down (sweat can NOT be helping this) and have to cover up again because I am cold. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. AAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh.

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An eighty-year old woman I complained to about this, and then asked, “When does it ever STOP?” answered, “I’ll let you know when it does…..!” Never ask a question if you are not prepared for the answer. I was not prepared for that answer, dammit.

Men do not have this crap. Unless you count having to sleep next to a woman who does.