Hi Diddly Dee, the Single Life for Me...

Or, I Really DO NOT Have Time for this Shit...

*heavy sigh*

So, Saturday's post ended on a really positive note with a lot of good stuff happening that day, one of which was supposed to be a date.

Guess which thing didn't happen? Yep, you got it--the date.

I really had hope, y'know? It looked like things would finally come together with The Captain, but he has disappeared again. *slams head on the desk* (And yeah, I know I owe you guys Part 3 of Adult Toy Story; sadly, it's not half so amusing as Part 1.)

So, I'm taking my hat out of the dating ring for a while. It hurts--really looked for a couple of weeks there might actually be a little ray of sunshine, something to balance out all of the bullshit. I'm not really asking for the Love of My Life at this point; I don't know that I really believe in that any more.

Is it stupid to be looking for a damn good friend with whom I can have amazing sex?

Seriously. That's all I really want--someone I can hang out with, talk to, possibly share some music (I'm getting my drum set in November) and art with (comedy or theatre, either one would work), a few laughs, and some good fucking (making love would be even better; before bed AND first thing in the morning would rock; during the day, too... ). I don't care about the kink (I mean, I like it, I want it, but I can live without it; after all, that's what wanking is for). Someone I could cook for would be even better. I really like cooking for people, and there's something special about being able to make a meal for a man (yeah, I'm a bit old fashioned in weird ways). And I CAN cook, dammit. Someone to watch a movie with--and make out on the couch. Someone to play the damn Wii with because it's no fun playing Rock Band & Guitar Hero alone. Someone to playfully bicker with. I don't even need someone who's around all the time--I'm a writer, fer fuckssake, I'm anti-social half the time and don't want to be bothered. Except when I'm horny, of course.

I miss that, and the longer I go without it, the more I fear it's never going to happen again. But I'm also not willing to settle. I'm not willing to be dicked around and led on. Third strike, Captain, you're out. It hurts; there was a connection there I hadn't felt with someone for a long time, a camraderie and commonality that I've missed. I'm still a kid from the neighborhood--still working class and "common as muck," as Nanny Ogg would say, no matter my Imperial nickname and bearing at times. And I really wish I was going home to someone with whom I'd be making dinner and chatting about the day, and later cuddling up and maybe even making love with...

And yeah, I know the other option is going home to an asshole who doesn't help and whose looking for a fight. I've been there, too.

I know relationships and marriage are no bed of roses--I know it's damn hard work, and you have to make compromises and deal with shit you rather not at times. When things don't work, it's hell, but when things DO work... The payoff... the payoff seems worth it from this outsider looking in.

As long as what you're compromising isn't yourself.

Don't EVER Call Me "Cute"

So, I posted Part 2 of the Captain Strap-on Saga earlier tonight, and, of course, it's got me thinking.

Today is a national holiday up in Canada--Thanksgiving. Unlike the U.S., Canadian Thanksgiving is actually a harvest festival that falls during the harvest. They're a little less commercially-oriented than their neighbors to the South, the socialist bastards. ;-) Well, I had something that doesn't happen at home for Thanksgiving--I went to a family dinner. Not a huge one, but a three-generational dealie. And, of course, it was lovely. Good food, good company, and just a nice time.

Now, yesterday, I was in touch with Captain Strap-on, and he has reiterated that he's serious about this. I set the rules before I left, but you know they haven't been followed. This has become more of an experiment at this point in time, a failed one, really. I'm just fascinated by it, in this really horrible way. It's like watching a 50 car accident on a slick highway that also involves three oil tankers, a garbage truck, a bullet train and a truckload of live chickens. It's utterly horrible but somehow, very entertaining.

Something's gone wrong--I can feel it in my chest right now, this awful hollow feeling. I always know when something's wrong with someone important because that feeling hits me. I hate it.

Anyway, of course, I'm thinking about the two very different situations I'm dealing with--two men with very different approaches and desires.

I don't know if I want either one of them at this point.

All this talk about wanting a family--you know that even if the sitch comes to fruition with Captain Strap-on, it's not going to be a lasting relationship. As for Potential Paramour... argh. I've finally figured out why I'm hesitating. It all has to do with the word "cute."

I hate it. As a friend pointed out, puppies and kittens are cute. Baby bunnies are cute. Forty-two-year-old women are NOT cute unless they are dressed thoroughly inappropriately (and then, they're not cute--they're fucking WEIRD or mentally ill). I realized why, too, I hate it--it's a bastard word that makes something dangerous safe.

It's why I coo over baby tigers--they ARE cute, but the little fuckers can kill you. Ditto for polar bears--adorable as hell, but one of the single most vicious predators on the planet. Don't fuck with 'em--they CAN lop your head off with the swipe of a paw.

Now, I'm not a polar bear (although I'm currently insulated like one--working on reducing that, but it's still going to take a little time), but I am pretty deadly. I mean, I won't pull out a sword and decapitate you physically, but I will verbally kick your ass if you cross me. I hate being diminished--made safe. I'm not safe. I never have been; I never will be.

No human being is, nor should they be. We all have edges, secrets... dark places that don't need to see the light most days. I have a lot of those places in my soul; to be expected with the life I've led. Now, I'm sure my therapist will have an interesting time dissecting why I feel more drawn to Captain Strap-on than to Potential Paramour.

Captain Strap-on is familiar--I've known guys like him forever. Plus, there's the added dimension of crazy sex, something beyond vanilla. Now, honestly, I have no problem with vanilla sex. I like it--it's fun, it's joyful, and it's good. Ideally, I'd rather this whole strap-on adventure be happening a part of a normal relationship--another dimension to a committed relationship, something added to a repetoire of healthy adult play. Ideally, but ideals are for dreamers.

Potential Paramour... he's not familiar. He's something new, from a different culture and background. He's definitely traditional in his views. The IM sex has been interesting--fairly vanilla but with a few twists that I'm good with. The whole "cute" thing was OK until he threw another word into the mix that sent up a red alert of klaxons screaming, red flags springing up like dandelions on the lawn... "daddy."

I didn't use it. I don't. I went through that phase of need a long time ago and got past it. The closest I ever get is a playful "big daddy" said with a thick Southern accent and a glint of mischief. I don't use it during sex--I think it's creepy. Well, he said something to the effect that "daddy knew what his girl needed."

SKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVVVVEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *shudder* Really? REALLY? I don't fucking think so, I really don't. I mean, REALLY?

Of course, if I had a brain, I'd dump both of them and say to fuck with it. I have enough shit to deal with ATM, I don't need this silliness. Is it so bad that I want to be an equal partner in a relationship? I don't want or need a sugar daddy, I don't mind paying my own way (been doing it for so long now, I just don't even think about it), I don't want a "manchild" as one of my friends puts it, I don't want any of the stupidity I've dealt with in the past. I want a partner--I don't give a rat's arse about baggage--I come with a matched set--I don't care about anything but being with someone I can actually share my life with without having mine taken over completely. Why is that too much to ask for? A little acceptance, a little compassion, a little understanding, good sex, good company, and no bullshit.

Why is this so fucking impossible to find?