Archive for September 24, 2013

I’m okay

But it’s not good.

See, I was planning a trip. I didn’t get very far. I did not buy plane tickets, did not make hotel reservations. But I wanted to.

I ran it by Mark yesterday morning. I told him I wanted to visit family (true). I did not mention that I wanted to meet a Twitter friend in actual, three-dimensional reality (also true).

Somehow, Mark had a sixth sense. He knows me. He knows that I have a tenuous-at-best relationship with my family. He knows that I don’t schedule visits of my own accord, ever. So he checked around. Read my email? Read my Twitter feed? Read whatever he could find until he had some proof.

Listen, I love Mark. I want to be with him. Without him, all of these other questions that I have about myself and my sexuality are meaningless. Today is our anniversary, and I’d like to make it to celebrate another one. So I’m giving Mark a gift. I’ve shut my Twitter account. I’m going to take a break from being Jenna. I’m only going to be me.

I just can’t do both at once.

Down By The River

I took a trip camping with friends this week. And I had a dream Friday night. Jenna and I shared a kiss. Warm, soft, sweet, it was dream-like. And it was not with my Jenna, but the real one. [I’m going to call her just J to avoid confusion here.]

I am ruined.

For almost two years I worked with J, finding myself oddly attracted to the girl who had almost none of the qualities I thought were my “type”. She’s friendly, but so are lots of people I work with. That’s what I like about my firm. Besides even if she did like me, we’re both married, and I love Jenna far too much to cheat on her with J or anyone else.

Then early this year, Jenna got me to admit to her my affection for J. And Jenna insisted she could tell J felt similar. It made me feel more self-conscious around J; I worried that it would make our working relationship uncomfortable. I held back, not even sure how I would ever approach disclosing my feelings if I even wanted to without making things a mess

Last Sunday, we had dinner with J and her husband. And though I didn’t notice it, Jenna claimed later that J had been checking me out. Which makes me feel both sexy and self-conscious.

Friday afternoon I turned my phone on to send Jenna a text, and a few minutes later one came through from J. She was planning to take her kids to the fall festival in a few weeks, and asked if I had ever been.

Then Friday night I had the dream. And Saturday, all the questions, all my feelings, all Jenna’s ideas this year – they all spun around in my head throughout the day, distracting me, gnawing at me. Maybe Jenna’s desire isn’t so bad?

Then, unrelated, my friend, E tells me some old co-workers we knew were getting divorced. She had been fucking a co-worker, and he finally got tired of being ignored and neglected by her. “Guess an open marriage didn’t work for them” he said.

And I can see that, because, despite the sexual desire I have for J, or even the thought of having both Jenna and J together, the idea of Jenna being with another man still pains me. I know, it’s a complete double standard, and its completely wrong for me to feel that way, right?

And the only way I could feel worse about it would be if I acted on this and hurt Jenna or J, or was somehow the catalyst for ending either marriage.

I am so confused.

So after a few days away, I’m heading back to be with Jenna and my kids. And I’ll honestly be thrilled to kiss Jenna, to hold her in my arms again tonight, even as thoughts of J tug at my conscious occasionally this week.

Your birthday

Although I so want it, I’m having trouble visualizing the specifics of this one. Here goes.

 

You sent us the invitation by email, almost jokingly.

“Come meet me,” you said mentioning a nice hotel downtown. “Room 909. I’ll be waiting. Wear as little as possible.”

She and I meet in the lobby. I’ve been sitting at the bar with a glass of wine, wondering if you are watching from afar. Imagining your face.

When I see her – she’s unmistakable – I abandon my wine and head slowly toward her.

We hug, kiss on the cheek, like old friends. She’s in a short black dress, a gray sweater, and knee-high black boots. She’s beautiful.

“Should we go upstairs, or do you want a drink first?” I ask. We are both a little anxious to discover what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she says, cheerful, breathy. “Room 909, right?” she asks.

I nod. We head to the elevator. I half expect to find you waiting inside. You’re not.

We get out on the ninth floor – You’re not in the hallway, either – and turn right, heading down the hall. The hotel is lovely. It’s so nice that I feel a little guilty for being here under these circumstances.

We find the door slightly ajar. She pushes the door open and we go inside, expecting you to greet us. The room is large, with a huge picture window overlooking the glowing nighttime city. There is a king-sized bed, a desk, a lounge chair in the corner, a mini bar. Music oozes from the speakers. Everything we need except you. You are strangely absent.

I close the door behind me, and we stand still for a moment, wondering what to do next. My phone buzzes, and I find that you’ve texted me.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Get undressed. Pour us some champagne.” I notice the bottle cooling on the counter of the mini bar. Three glasses sit next to it.

“I’ll be along soon,” you follow up. I show her the texts. We smile.

“Weird that he isn’t here,” I say. “After all, this is his birthday celebration.” We laugh. I take off my heels by the door, and briefly check the bathroom in case you’re hiding in there. I don’t find you behind the door, in the glass-walled shower, or in the enormous bathtub.

I head over to the dresser, and take off my dress, putting it away. I leave on my ivory lace bra and panties. She is already undressed, her black bra and lace thong outlining her curves, pronouncing them. She’s left on her boots, and is lying on her side on the bed with one leg at a right angle. She has her champagne glass in her hand. I want to take her picture like that, freeze her.

Just then my phone buzzes: “Put your heels back on,” your text says.

I do.

 

Honesty

When I was a kid, I a relative of mine happened to be way into kinky sex. Don’t worry, this relative never did anything even vaguely inappropriate to me or in my presence.

I was about 10 years old when I picked up on my mom talking about this relative’s sex habits. I didn’t understand the specifics, but like any kid, I wanted to be in on the gossip. Now, my mom had a strict honesty policy. She was honest to a fault. She loved to tell a secret. So, after my prodding, she told me all about this relative’s sex life. I was 10 years old.

Parents, do not tell your 10-year olds about bondage. Just resist the urge, okay?

So, for years, possibly decades, after my mom filled me in, I was terrified of sex. No, not sex, just dirty sex. My mom did not judge the stuff she told me, she only gave me the basics. But the simple fact of getting too much too soon built a wall inside me.

The fact is, we adults sometimes do things that make no sense to kids. We break the rules, our own rules. We’ve learned enough to know that we can fuck up without ruining ourselves. To us adults, this can be exhilarating and life-affirming. But trust me, kids are not prepared for the truth.

When my kids come to me for information, I want to be truthful. I want them to know the facts. But I will keep it simple. Start with the easy facts, let those sink in until sexual exploration is a real part of their lives. Don’t crush them with too much too soon.

And when the time comes? Let them know that sex can be very, very fun. And complicated. Let them know where to find out more, and then give them the space to figure it out.

Mark, do you agree?

Thirty-thirteen

He’s dragged her to the cliff’s edge.

She came willingly but now she clutches him as he forces her to peer over the edge into the gloom.

She cries as he pushes her.

I like

Faces
Shoulders
Hands
Chests
Fabric against skin
Just a hint

More specifically,

Your lips
Your hand, in your pants
Your hand, pressed to your chest
You, partially undressed
You, completely undressed

I can’t decide

Which of these I like best.

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The interview

Let’s make it as sketchy as possible. This isn’t the typical job anyway, is it?

Text me the name of the hotel where we’ll meet.

I’ll dress professionally, but look closely. I’ve put a lot of thought into the details.

Will we have a drink at the bar first? Or will you send me your room number minutes before I arrive?

I want you to be firm, rigorous, thorough. Instead of questions, I want to feel your hands on me, directing me. I want to taste your mouth on mine. Let’s communicate through kisses.

You will find me receptive, hungry. You will be surprised by me, by my desire to please you and by my determination to succeed. You will find my mind open and my skin ready. Teach me. Mark me.

You will have only a taste of me, but I will leave you wanting more.

Dear Mark

Go ahead, feel what you feel.

I know that you have good reasons to avoid doing it. You don’t get hurt, you won’t hurt others. You might avoid rejection. You’ll never be uncomfortable.

But trust me when I tell you that until you feel your feelings, you’ll be partially incomplete. You won’t really know yourself, and your life will be less interesting.

And I want to add that feeling doesn’t mean doing. It doesn’t imply action of any sort. It only means acknowledging your body’s reaction to the world.

Try it. It’s scary at first, but it gets easier.

Love,
Jenna

Thoughts on the real Jenna

We had dinner with the real Jenna tonight. (Her husband and her kids, too.)

Her house was beautiful, the food delicious. Her kids stress her out a little, especially the little ones.

She does like Mark. I caught her looking at him. Well, he is hot.

Mark, on the other hand, hides his feelings really well. If I didn’t know, I’d never suspect anything. He’s good.

In any case, I like her. You would, too.

So my question is, is it working? I mean, befriending Mark’s crush. At first I thought it would somehow protect us, stop things from going too far. Then I thought it might be hot to be around her, knowing how Mark feels about her. Now I wonder if my presence changes everything, makes the situation somehow less sexy. I don’t know.