Having my cake

Adventure Girl ponders the perils of wanting it all

‘So, you’re poly?’
‘Um. I am?’

I consider myself a free agent. I like to see more than one person, ongoing but casually, and not always just for sex. Having one F-Buddy, or FB (someone I see primarily for sex) I am okay with and I enjoy, but what about my other needs? I like to go out and do things with people, go on dates. I want lovers I can also hang out with, without being exclusive necessarily, but each having a secure place with one another.

It is more than F-buddies, but not quite an Open Relationship. It is non-exclusive friendship, companionship, romance, affection, sex, honesty and respect, in as large or as small a measure as is required.

In some ways this feels like having my cake and eating it, or at least, looking for something that doesn’t exist. I’m yet to meet someone who I want all those things from in a bundle. Moreover, expecting one person to meet all of those needs seems like a very big ask.

To counter this, I have been trying to get my needs met from multiple partners, where the rules of each engagement are the rules we define ourselves.

The problem is, sometimes the rules I want to define do my partners' heads in.

Take ‘Steve’, a guy who I had met first for sex, but who I began to hang out with, to date. He wasn’t like anyone I have ever seen, and I enjoyed that. But one night, early on, I went over to his house for dinner, and for one reason or another, we didn’t end up having sex. I was actually okay with this; he wasn’t. 

‘This is supposed to be about sex,’ he said.

Through my drunken muddled filter, what I heard was, ‘You’re for sex, and nothing more. Hanging out is a means to get you into bed. Those are the rules of our engagement.’  Back onto the Porn Pile for me.

Never mind that we enjoyed each other’s company. Never mind that we provided each other with companionship and affection, even a little bit of romance. In Steve’s mind if we were hanging out, but not having sex, we must be in a Relationship, and he wasn’t up for that.

Through my tears all I could think was, that’s not what I’m asking for, not even what I want. Why can’t we hang out and if there’s sex, that’s great, and if there’s not, so be it? That’s not a Relationship, is it? Nothing has to change.

But it did. We never recovered from that night. A couple of confused text messages, and we were virtual strangers once again. 

It hurt more, I think, because it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

Earlier that year, I had been spending a lot of time with a particular FB, ‘John’. John and I were spending so much time together in fact, that it felt like we were having an affair rather than just meeting for sex. It wasn’t like a Relationship, because all of our time was spent in the realm of the bedroom, but despite spending three, sometimes four nights a week together, I felt invisible.

In the dark we talked. I counselled John through an unrequited passion, learned about his past, his work, his dreams. He listened to me – to a point. Always, there was a barrier, a place he pushed back: what to him was the Relationship Line.

Tired of butting up against the wall, seeing something on the other side I thought would benefit us both, I suggested we go out sometimes, do things socially. Because in becoming John’s sex partner I had lost his friendship. The sex was good, but I had originally been attracted to him for his mind, not his cock. John told me he was getting all his needs met – similar to me, he was mixing and matching among the people in his life – only someone else had the piece I wanted. I wasn’t asking for him to be a boyfriend or to even like me in that way. I just wanted a chance to get to know him as a person, outside of the bedroom, and see if that glimpse that had been there in the beginning had more substance behind the wall.

At this suggestion, John freaked out. We took a little break, to think about what each of us wanted. Only while I tried to breathe, to think, he began to call. He wanted to meet for coffee, he wanted to chat, to hear about my day; he wanted to make me dinner, lunch. This isn’t what I had signed up for. It felt like he was trying not to date me, but to act like a boyfriend. It was horrible, not because I didn’t enjoy our interactions but because I knew his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t want to see himself as the guy who puts the girl on the Porn Pile, but that’s exactly where he wanted me: the only place left in his life after the other spots were taken.

I felt more invisible than ever.

We quickly agreed it wasn’t working, and tried to get back to the way things had been. We never really did. The pieces that he had been giving me, the adoration, the affection, were withheld for fear that I would ‘get the wrong idea.’ I struggled to express my needs in a way that made sense to him until all I could feel was the unspoken between us: not his, but mine. The gap in the bed as his back faced me – I was expected to be the Big Spoon – was filled with my stifled silence.

Add to this John told me he thought he might be ready to start dating again – but that he didn’t want to date me. His last relationship had begun under similar circumstances, and he didn’t want to go there again. I was very much on the Porn Pile, and that’s where I would stay.

Eventually we ended things. It was very painful. Not because I had wanted more from him, but because he hadn’t wanted more from me. Because he had had to try to want more. 

I could see the double-standard inherent in this, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Meanwhile I met another FB, ‘Adam’. Better than the first in some respects, because it was very clear to me that the rules of our engagement started and finished with sex. We would meet for ‘sessions’ and were open about seeing other people. I was openly on the Porn Pile, but so was he.

I remember one night Adam told me he had a penchant for falling for the wrong people. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t fall for you,’ he quickly added.

‘Should I be insulted?’ I asked with a teasing smile.

‘Um…’

I laughed off his gaff, and never asked him what he meant. Instead I clung to those words, so that every time he showed signs of caring or affection for me, I could tell myself, ‘Just the cock, thanks!’ and continue to search elsewhere for my other needs.

But the more people I encounter, the more apparent it becomes that unless I am signing up for a Relationship, my partners want sex from me and nothing more. Like Steve, dates are a means to get my knickers off, not to spend time together.

Will I ever get off the Porn Pile?

I also realise this is total hypocrisy, because I am yet to meet someone I haven’t put on that pile myself, someone I want more from, someone I don’t portion off behind my own Relationship Line wall. 

Part of the difficulty is that I’m not even sure how to describe the rules of the type of engagement I am looking for without setting off alarm bells. Because if I tell my partner I want more than ‘just sex’, they assume I must also want a primary Relationship. 

In the rules of my engagement there is openness and honesty. Of course it hurts to know that you are shared, but on some level jealousy is a part of most relationships. It is much easier to cast your jealousies aside when you know in advance that you are shared, and they are shared, and you can keep your expectations in check. At least, it is for me.

Is this in-between grey space the realm of Polyamoury? 

Perhaps if I give it this label my partners will be able to understand, to not freak out, and maybe I will have a chance at the kind of engagements I am seeking without being discarded onto the Porn Pile, because someone who is prepared to date and sleep with multiple partners must be good for sex and nothing more. Or perhaps I will end up staring at one half eaten plate after another.

--AG

Whose threesome is it anyway?

Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover if three can ever be less than a crowd

Ever had one of those drunken hook-ups that somehow end up with three of you in a bed? Or maybe you've arranged to meet with two singles or a couple to have a bit of fun? Only when the heat dies down (and you begin to sober up) you’re left in a crowded bed feeling completely cold?

Take the following examples:

Scenario A: Susie and Lara have been dating for a while. While drinking a little too much at a party, they end up in bed with John. The three of them enjoy a very steamy night and then fall asleep in the same bed. When Susie wakes up she realises John has ended up between her and Lara. She’s not sure, but thinks the two of them might have been getting it on while she was asleep. In any case, they are now spooning. All she can see is this man, an intruder, being intimate with her lover. She starts to feel sick. What if Lara decides she prefers being with John?

Scenario B: Grace and Mick, a long-term couple seeking a new experience, decide to advertise online for a man to join them. They recruit Robert, a single guy keen to explore. During the encounter it becomes apparent that Mick is attracted to the new recruit. In the heat of the moment, the guys get it on, until Robert tells them both he’s fairly sure he’s straight. The problem is Mick thinks he might actually prefer men.

Scenario C: Jodie has been seeing Steve for a few months, but they aren’t exclusive. Jodie has expressed an interest in having someone join them. Steve finds Cindy, a girl who is similarly keen. Steve arranges the meet up. Part way through the encounter it becomes apparent that Steve and Cindy already know each other. In fact, Cindy knows Steve a lot better than Jodie does. Jodie feels a little jealous, and a lot insecure. After all, Cindy is, well, kind of smoking. Things could be about to get a whole heap of ugly.

The point is, fantasy and reality can be very different things. Does anyone really know what they are going to feel going into something like this? Each person comes to the party with certain expectations, some known and some not, until it’s happening there in front of them. Suddenly you find yourself watching and participating in something you don’t normally see: your lover making love to someone else. It is likely you will see them doing something new with someone else and will respond to that person in a way they don’t respond to you. What if he/she has something you don’t? What if he/she does something better than you, or differently? What if he/she does something to him/her that they’ve NEVER done to you? What if you can't cum and she can cum like crazy, and who gets his cum in the end?

Being prepared, being aware, and stepping into the realm of fantasy – accepting that it IS fantasy, becomes a necessity if you are going to come out the other end unscathed.

Some things worth considering before you get busy with getting busy:

• How much interplay should there be between each of you?
• Where the threesome involves people of the same gender, how much homo-erotic interplay should there be?
• What is it going to feel like if you’re left on the outer?
• What is it going to feel like if you’re not?
• Do the others involved know each other already, and if yes, how intimately? Are they dating, or a couple?
• If you are dating or in a couple and have invited someone to join you, how will you feel if they get more attention than you? 
• If two of you are involved with the same person, how are you going to feel if they are more intimate with each other than with you?
• How are you going to feel around each person afterwards?

Perhaps the catch-all question to ask is whose threesome is it? Where are the boundaries, and who sets them? In some ways having a Dom/Sub situation can help, because the Dom(s) will set the rules and boundaries for the Sub(s). A lot of the time this won’t be the case. So how can you make sure your encounter remains as hot in your memory as it was in the moment? You want to be sure you know what the deal is in advance and also feel secure in yourself and in your relationship(s) before setting foot anywhere near this type of activity.

As in all things the most important part is communication. No matter how drunk or stoned or lost in the moment you are, try to check in with all parties. Keep an eye out for changes in body language. Has someone gone quiet, or stopped participating? Be mindful and respectful of each other’s existing relationships. If a couple has been generous enough to invite you into their private domain, keep to their boundaries. Take your cues from them (and perhaps more importantly in a hetero/bi-situation, from the person of the same gender; you don’t want to be a perceived threat). In a sense, you are their guest. Similarly, if you are in an existing couple and have invited someone to join you, be a gracious host and make them feel welcome.

If the encounter involves a sleepover, for instance, ask where you should sleep. If the others are having a private moment, give them that and wait to be invited back in. If you’ve initiated the encounter, make sure the third party feels welcome, and keep your jealousies in check.

To my mind, if you can each walk away thinking, “We all owned that,” your threesome has been a spectacular success.

--RP

Perky Commandments

1. Thou shalt not stalk
2. Thou shalt live thine own life
3. Thou shalt let thy partner live his/her own life
4. Thou shalt keep thine crazy to thyself
5. Thou shalt be responsible for thine own happiness
6. Thou shalt not dump all thy mental baggage onto thy Significant Other but also have a friend network
7. Thou shalt bone safely 
8. Thou shalt not bone thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour’s without  honesty, hygiene and respect
9. Thou shalt permit thy lover his/her freedom
10. Honour thy lover: that thy days in his/her bed may be awesome and plentiful

Open, poly or just friendly?

Tiger Tale shares his views on sharing himself

Let me start by saying I am ‘polyamorous’ (‘poly’ for short). According to Wikipedia:

Polyamory (from Greek πολύ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor[love]) is the practice, desire, or acceptance of having more than one intimate relationship at a time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved.

A lot of people assume, particularly when a guy says he's poly, that it's really just an excuse to fuck around. At best I would call that an Open Relationship (1) and at worst not much more than glorified Fuck Buddies (2).

Personally I define polyamoury as having meaningful connections with more than one partner, however not all of these connections have to be sexual. The important thing is that each connection is had with the "knowledge and consent of all partners concerned".

I realised some time ago that I'm not good at monogamy. For starters, I love women so I tend to surround myself with people I find enchanting. My social circle is composed of several close male friends and a constantly varying number of women. Some stay, while others are fleeting -- just to clarify, I'm talking friends here, confidants, rather than bed partners. The problem is, not everyone is comfortable with having their partner spend large amounts of quality time with people of the opposite sex.

I have often heard women say the thought of their husband confiding in someone else is more of a betrayal than if he had just been having sex with them. Over time I've found that I struggle to have one person meet all my needs, be they sexual, intellectual or emotional. It's a pretty big ask to expect one person to be so shaped that they are everything that I (or anyone else) requires in a life-partner. Polyamoury is about trust and honesty; it's about surrounding yourself with a support network of people you love and cherish, effectively like choosing your own family.

I believe that humans are traditionally tribal creatures and that today's society has stripped a great deal of that away. Living a poly lifestyle takes us closer to our tribal roots. Yes, there are problems, including jealousy, accommodation, and prejudice. In fact a fully-embraced poly lifestyle is no easier than any other relationship, but for me it has its own unique benefits. You develop a strong support network, sharing the burdens of cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing if several of you live together, and you always have someone there when you need, knowing your partner/s also have someone there for them when you can’t be. For your children, it’s like having a big extended family of uncles, aunts and cousins who are always around to help and console and simply enjoy life with.

People worry that if their partner also loves someone else, they in turn, will be loved less. Love is not a finite resource. We all need it, but it doesn't ‘run out’. Instead I have found that the more I spread my love, the more love I create. Yes there are issues with time management, and sometimes I do feel a tug of jealousy, but ultimately I feel I am creating something beautiful, bringing love and companionship to others, while taking love and companionship in return. 

I'm poly because I choose it, because I choose love and support and I refuse to burden one person with all of my needs when they can so easily be shared. I've chosen this lifestyle because it works for me. After failed relationships and dishonesty I'm happier and more settled now than I have ever been.

--Tiger 

(1) According to Wikipedia “An open relationship is an interpersonal relationship in which the parties want to be together, but in which they agree that a romantic or sexual relationship with another person is accepted, permitted or tolerated.”

(2) "A casual relationship, colloquially known as a fling, is a physical and emotional relationship between two people who may have a sexual relationship (a situation colloquially called friends with benefits or fuck buddies) or a near-sexual relationship without necessarily demanding or expecting the extra commitments of a more formal romantic relationship." 

The 'Perfect' Relationship

 Adventure Girl searches for her perfect match

‘I have to keep telling myself that while this relationship seems perfect, it’s an illusion.’

Like most people, when I first meet someone, I try present my best. I hide my fears and insecurities, my frustrations, my limitations. I present the fun-loving sexy side of me: the person I want to be. This phase can last days, weeks, months, depending on the situation.

While I’m not ‘in love’ with the person I’m dating, or when I don’t want anything more, I like the person I am. I’m fairly relaxed, I enjoy my own space, I don’t make too many demands, and I keep things fun.

The moment I start wanting more, seeing this person as a potential primary partner, I become needy, demanding and picky – or worse, if I’m ‘in love’, I become insecure.

Insecure Me is every lover’s nightmare. I turn into HER, that jealous, psychotic bitch. Suspicious and questioning, I’m the girl who wants you to tell her over and over that you love her, that she’s sexy, that no one can replace her. But no matter what you tell her, it’s never enough. Never enough, because she had to ask first, because you used the wrong words, because the need in her is too great for you to fill.

I become someone I don’t like and don’t care to be.

On the other hand, if I’m with someone who makes me feel secure – either because I am not ‘in love’, and therefore not invested, or because they have managed to tame the jealous, psychotic bitch ME – I can not be needy or clingy. I can give my lover all the space in the world, but just as importantly, take the space that I need.

When I’m with someone who makes me feel comfortable, I don’t need to adopt euphemisms. I can be direct and articulate. I can have the difficult conversations without fear. But if I don’t feel comfortable, I struggle to hear my lover’s needs and to voice my own.

It’s the same with sex. I love being crazy, losing myself completely, but if I’m with someone inhibited, or someone whose opinion matters too much, I close up, and suddenly it’s all vanilla, or worse, there is no action at all.

These past six months or so, I have been exploring a more casual type of relationship, one where I don’t invest too much, where I actively choose to keep things fun and sexy, where I can offer friendship and support, where I can build my lover up, and only bring issues into the bedroom when I absolutely have to. I have been able to keep my jealousies and insecurities in check; I don’t allow negative emotions to activate; I have trained my brain to shy away. I have no right to feel this emotion; this is not my place. If I even start to feel jealous in a casual relationship, my internal dialogue turns the emotion away, rationalises it, and keeps it in check.

If my lover needs me, I am there, but in a casual situation, they will not demand too much. Similarly, I will ask the minimum from them, but take comfort knowing they are there when I do. While in this situation I have sought friends to support me, rather than demanding all my support from a single primary partner, and I have found strength within myself simply because I have had to.

This is the ‘perfect relationship’ my F-Buddy described: ideal, perhaps, but also, an illusion.

For some reason, when I am in a primary relationship, the same check-and-balance mechanisms seem to fail. They are bypassed by the part of my brain that says, ‘this is my partner; this is the other half of me, they must share and share all; I am entitled to more.’ I need them to love the other sides of me – see me at my worst and still want to be with me, love me unconditionally.

But why should a partner have to see me at my worst? Why should they have to pick me up again and again? I am not their responsibility. They are not a parent-figure who can put the band-aid on and kiss it all better. They are not my ‘other half’; they are their own person to whom I happen to have chosen to commit. Don’t they deserve to see the best in me, not only the worst?

I start to wonder if it is possible in a ‘full’ relationship to make the same choices I have made in casual ones, to keep the insecurity checks and balances in place, to make a commitment to bringing the best of myself to the relationship, to keep the space fun and sexy, and only bring the serious when it is needed. I wonder if it is possible to be less co-dependent, to maintain the strong friendships, self-reliance and strength I’ve established while being single. Because don’t I deserve to see the best in me, too?

Some people write lists and have images in their minds of their ‘perfect’ relationship, their ‘perfect’ partner. I’m not one of those people, but lately I’ve been wondering if perhaps I should be, mentally noting the types of people who bring out the best in me and the kind who bring out the worst.

But how does that translate into a list? And should it really be up to a partner to provide this?

That’s when I realise I am not looking for the perfect partner, the ideal relationship. I am not making a checklist of who I want them to be, but of who I am when I am with them. In a long-term relationship, a partnership, it's impossible to keep your worst at bay. It's part of who you are. But if I can make a commitment to being a person I want to be, and find someone who encourages me to be that, surely I am most of the way there?

Because it’s not just about choosing a partner, a relationship; it’s about choosing who I want to be, regardless of who I am with.

--AG

When the truth lies

Adventure Girl takes stock of a toxic truth

‘Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw five fingers. Do you remember that?’
     ‘Yes’
     O’Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the thumb concealed.
     ‘There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?’
     ‘Yes.’
     And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there was no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and the old fear, the hatred and the bewilderment came crowding back again. But there had been a moment – he did not know how long, thirty seconds, perhaps – of luminous certainty, when each new suggestion of O’Brien’s had filled up a patch of emptiness and become absolute truth, and when two and two could have been three as easily been five, if that were what was needed. -- George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four.

‘For a compulsive liar, telling the truth is very awkward and uncomfortable while lying feels right.’ -- The Truth About Deception.

'Even when confronted with the cold facts, a true compulsive liar will never admit the truth. Attempts to make the person do so will result in further lying and perhaps even emotional outbursts designed to deflect attention from the lying.' -- Love to Know, Symptoms of Compulsive Liars.

It started with small things. We met and exchanged stories. He seemed open and artless, confiding a lot in a very short space of time. I opened up in return, drawn in; it was like I already knew him, or part of him, from somewhere before.

His history was touching and incredible. Perhaps too incredible. The way he spoke reminded me of a child who needs to exaggerate in order to feel special, to feel needed. The child in him spoke to the child in me.

He wasn’t much to look at: brown hair, brown eyes, generally innocuous; it was his wit which caught and held me. I guess you could say we bounced. His energy matched mine and his flirtatious banter had me wanting more.

As we spent more time together I noticed he would forget things. Things we’d done together, things he’d told me. A memory problem, he explained, from a childhood spent on Ritalin; later he blamed various injuries he’d sustained, injuries that also explained his chronic migraines and mysterious aches – symptoms I have since identified as withdrawal.

He admitted to having taken drugs in the past, but not for a long time. His medicine cabinet told another story. I quickly learned not to take anything from his ever-evolving store without examining it first – that box of ‘Panamax’ was as likely to contain OxyContin as Paracetamol.

We continued dating, exchanging more stories. I was having trouble reconciling the person he described then with the person he presented now. Trying to see the path his life had taken was virtually impossible. It wasn’t a progression, an evolution; he appeared to have been Person A at the same time as being Person B, and also Person C, when each personality was entirely incompatible. I didn’t need a timeline, I needed a Venn diagram!

Anytime I questioned him, an explanation toppled forth. Whatever the circumstance, he was always the victim; his name change (witness protection), his scattered work history (avoiding child support for a child he later ‘proved’ wasn’t his), the estranged family (responsible for his messed up childhood), the list goes on. He presented himself in one way, but behaved in another entirely. And another. And another. I joked that I would never know which ‘him’ I was going to see, but putting up with the anxiety his unpredictability caused, his extreme shifts of mood, wasn’t all that funny.

Still I stayed. He excited my imagination. He was crazy and sensitive and fun.

He was also selfish, vain, and a vindictive coward.

Over time I saw the many different faces he presented to many different people. He took care to keep his friendship groups separate. I was the exception, allowed to meet a selected few people from different circles of his life. It was enough for the cracks to become gaping holes. Stories he’d told me about them, and that they told me about him, didn’t add up. And it was little things, sometimes, things that shouldn’t even matter, like the cost of a ticket, who had said what, or where he spent his Sunday afternoon. Other lies were more significant, evidence of cheating, of misrepresenting our relationship, or the type of relationship he’d shared with others. Social networking made matters worse. I could see his interactions, his activities online: a picture at odds with his version of reality.

By now my gut was constantly screaming. A part of me knew it couldn’t last. I kept forcing fights, picking at old wounds like scabs. It wasn’t a question of whether I would leave, it was a question of when.

I could see how messed up he was, but more importantly, how messed up I was. It was as though he had this wound carved somewhere so deep in him, that was somehow so familiar in me. In his damaged psyche I found the mirror I had sought.

He threw tantrums and had violent meltdowns. I was at once repelled and drawn further in. Somehow this was fascinating. Always there was just enough to keep and hold me. It was as though he could sense when I was about to leave, and so tossed me a treat, a glimpse of the ‘him’ I knew to be in there somewhere, if only I could convince him to let it surface.

When things got too bad I would pull back, and he would say, ‘You’re the only good thing in my life.’ He had a way of making me feel that if I didn’t stay and be exactly what he wanted, another would quickly take my place. I knew no other could take his place with me.

Friends would want to know why, why did I stay? When he was at his worst, I would reply, ‘As soon as I get him to a psych, I’ll leave.’ When I was at my worst, it was, ‘I’m scared if I walk away he won’t follow.’

‘In some ways, you’re the better, more rational part of me,’ he once wrote. I know now it was partly self-hate that kept me there. Loving the worst parts in him was a way to accept those parts of me. If I could forgive the liar, the cheat, the histrionic, narcissistic, selfish, wounded, hurtful, nasty him, see those traits and love in spite of them – even because of them – I could forgive and heal those parts in me. But how could I explain this to my friends and family, that the worse he treated me, the more I loved him, when I didn’t even understand it myself?

I only knew that something was keeping me there, and that as long as I was there, I had to reconcile the fragments and the lies that simply didn’t add up. And so I went digging, trying to find independent sources that verified what I knew to be true. I needed the facts to line up, to turn my Venn diagram into something that worked.

It was dangerous and thrilling, fuelling an intense anxiety that became like a drug. I was searching to find the missing pieces that would somehow make sense of it all. I became the detective who can't rest until the mystery is solved. He was my mystery.

Afterwards, in my shame, I confessed my discoveries. He made me feel guilty and irrational for questioning things that were patently untrue. Yet I could be holding hard evidence that proved his lies, that showed who he was and who he wasn’t, and still he would explain it away. Because in his fractured mind he could hold multiple identities, multiple realities, and believe them all. He was using Doublethink, and I was the one going insane.* This was not a mirror I could continue to see.

In my desperate refusal to leave, I developed mechanisms for dealing with his behaviour, with this ever-shifting reality. I made excuses for him, to myself, and to others. The big lies were ones he needed to tell himself, and the little ones...well, maybe I could live with those.

Now I know my anxiety wasn’t about suspicion and mistrust; I was suffering from prolonged cognitive dissonance** which doesn’t let up until the mind can reconcile or purge it. Even now, I replay rusted conversations in my mind, making an inventory of all the facts I’ve gathered, the conclusions I’ve drawn, fantasising about reaching the point where reality lines up, when I can say, ‘See? Here. THIS is the truth,’ and have everyone acknowledge it.

I was digging not to find the truth for myself, but because I needed him to tell me that he knew all along he was holding only four fingers, that I wasn’t crazy, that he drove me to act crazy, and believe it.

I needed him to say, ‘I lied.’


--AG

P.S. I got him to see a psych in the end. And he didn’t follow.

*This phenomenon can also be described as 'Gaslighting'. According to Wikipedia:

Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented to the victim with the intent of making them doubt their own memory and perception. It may simply be the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, or it could be the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.

See also Robin Stern’s, ‘Are you in a gaslighting relationship?’, published on May 19, 2009.
 
**According to Wikipedia:

Cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance. They do this by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and actions... Dissonance is also reduced by justifying, blaming, and denying. It is one of the most influential and extensively studied theories in social psychology.

'No Strings...?’ Well, maybe a few...

Rhonda Perky goes under the f*ck-buddy covers to discover a particularly stringy line

Don’t let anyone who has a f*ck-buddy (FB) tell you they are not in a relationship. They are. It’s not an exclusive/monogamous relationship, nor is it an open* or poly-amorous** one. It is what it is, and that is how you and your FB define it.

In this sense it can be more complicated than a primary relationship, because the rules are idiosyncratic to you and your FB. Some people consider anyone on their drunken-dial sex list an FB; for others an FB relationship is an ongoing, regular by-arrangement affair or something that has evolved over time and exists by the absence of attributes that would define it as a primary relationship.

Some attributes you can expect across most FB relationships include that it is finite, it has mutual boundaries, and most importantly, that you are not each other’s primary partner. You may not have another primary partner, and you may or may not be looking for one, but the FB isn’t it.

Establishing the rules
The rules that you define (and redefine) should be consensual. You can be there for sex, for affection, for companionship, or to help one another prepare for the next relationship of whatever kind, provided it is within the rules you and your FB have defined. This means treating one another with respect. You are not your FB’s dumping ground and they are not yours. Scratch their itch, but make sure yours is scratched, too. FBs also need to know at any point how much ‘friend’, how much ‘partner’, and how much ‘lover’ they can expect to give and to receive, and this can change over time, which means communicating your boundaries. And because an FB arrangement is a relationship like any other, the one rule that is not negotiable is, if you stop respecting yourself in the situation, or don’t feel respected, move on.

Communication: the meat and three-veg of any relationship
What happens when you have a different idea to your FB on where your boundaries lie? If one of your FB relationship rules is that your encounters should remain uncomplicated and fun (and neither of you finds negotiating boundaries particularly easy), things can quickly become complicated and not much fun at all. Similarly when you run into ordinary relationship problems, how much effort do you put into resolving them? Do you refer to the set of behaviours and rules you would apply to a friendship or those you would use with a primary partner? Many problems can be worked through, but the contentious word here is ‘work’. Like any relationship, you both have to be prepared to put in the effort, which can be counter to the rules you have established. A fairly minor issue can easily lead to one partner walking away leaving the other wondering what went wrong.

For and against
There are many articles out there that warn of the dangers inherent in FB relationships. Lissa Christopher argues, ‘Don’t do it’, in her article, ‘Stretching the friendship’, (The Age, 14 February 2011), while Rabbit White shares her experience of falling in love with her FB in, ‘A Meditation on the Fuck Buddy; Or My Fuck Buddy’:

'It was love… or something like it. In the sex, I opened myself up, and without communication, boundaries became gray, my heart unguarded. And this is where I’d get stuck.’

On the other side of the fence you will find relationship therapists like Harville Hendrix, who advocate using the time you are not in a primary relationship to practice changing your relationship modes and behaviours. Hendrix argues that you can explore your relationship short-comings more effectively when you are dating but not in love, because in this situation you are less fearful of loss and therefore more secure trying out new behaviours that may at first feel uncomfortable. An established FB relationship provides this type of opportunity in a way ordinary dating might not.

All good things come to an end
Because it is a finite relationship, there will inevitably be a time when one of you stops calling, stops responding, or when you or your FB comes out and says, ‘I can’t see you anymore.’ It may be because you have found someone who you want to be a primary partner, or because you feel your needs no longer coincide. Hurt, rejection, grief, are all natural when you lose someone from your life, even if you are not in love with them. But because it’s not a primary relationship, you may find yourself without the support from your friends, your family, and the understanding of your FB that you would otherwise expect.

To FB or not to FB?
I have gone from primary relationship to primary relationship. In those relationships I haven’t been good at maintaining boundaries, nor recognising my needs for what they are: sex, affection, companionship, even exploration. At first glance an FB relationship seems like a good way to learn my own boundaries, to practice new relationship modes, while avoiding many a lonely night under the covers. It might also stop me throwing myself into the first relationship that presents, simply because I have needs I want met that can’t be filled by an endless string of one-night-stands. I also know that establishing a functional, ongoing FB relationship isn’t easy, that I will be forced to set and adhere to boundaries, and to have the difficult conversations I normally try to avoid, and where I am right now, as long as I follow the one non-negotiable relationship rule, that can only be a good thing.

--RP

*an open relationship suggests that each is the other’s primary partner it’s just that they are not exclusive.
**poly-amorous implies that each person in the relationship can have multiple primary partners.

‘Even better than …?’

Rhonda Perky ponders the place of porn in the ‘real world’

‘Of course I don’t fantasise about my current partner when I masturbate – I get to have real sex with them.’ -- Mr ‘Long Rod’ McHugen Dong

Modern men have access to more hardcore porn than ever before, but according to Gail Dines in ‘Porn has hijacked sexuality and is destroying men’ (The Age, October 14, 2010), this isn’t necessarily what they want. Constant exposure is causing men to complain of being porn-reliant, or even forming an addiction to hardcore pornography, and that this is having a flow-on effect to the way they relate to women in the ‘real world’.

I'm not arguing a case for or against porn, hardcore or otherwise, but I do want to look at some of the issues Dines raises.

Dines makes the point that due to an increased exposure to hardcore porn, men report needing to fantasise in order to achieve orgasm during sex.

‘What troubles many of these men most is that they need to pull up the porn images in their head in order to have an orgasm with their partner. They replay porn scenes in their minds, or think about having sex with their favourite porn star when they are with their partners.’

I hate to disappoint all the men out there who believe their women are being taken over the edge by their awesomely sexy presence and superior technique, but chances are those moans are as much about what is going on inside the woman’s mind as what you are doing to their body. (Don’t get me wrong, what you do is important -- VERY important -- it’s just that a combination of mind and body is usually required to get us there).

Certainly there is a case for the argument that hardcore porn desensitises men. If they’re accustomed to watching extremely graphic images, a tame session of pink-lace lingerie, muffled moans and missionary probably isn’t going to compare. But to be fair, it’s also a stretch for women to imagine that beer belly and B.O. is really a tanned and deodorised six-pack.

Men are also complaining that real sex doesn’t live up to the fantasy of porn sex.  

‘These men have become so accustomed to porn sex that some are disappointed by their own sexual performance. When they compare themselves with the male porn actors, who can sustain Viagra-fortified erections for long periods, the guys I talk to often admit to feeling like sexual losers, and worry something is wrong with them.’

The issue for me here is less to do with the use of porn and the images it makes use of, and more to do with men confusing fantasy and reality. For years women have been accused of having unrealistic expectations of men, resulting from a steady diet of Walt Disney, Bridget Jones's Diary and Sex and the City, because no relationship will ever possibly live up to the ones of our imagination. Prince Charming doesn’t exist, and nor does Mr Darcy. Certainly the revolving door of available, successful and good-looking Sex and the City men aren’t there for the taking. Perhaps it’s time men were given the same bitter pill we've had to swallow for years, that what they are watching isn’t real.

And as for men feeling inadequate compared with their male porn-star counterparts, do they not realise women have the same issue, having to live up to the standards set by Angelina, Jenna Jameson and Felicia Fox? We can’t all be man-eating stunners who represent charities by day and act as bisexual BDSM fetishists by night. I’m not saying that makes it okay, it’s just something we all have to deal with in a consumer society.

At its heart this article seems to imply that men are having difficulty doing what women have always had to do: use their imaginations.

‘Many of the men I talk to believe that porn sex is what women want, and they become upset and angry when their sex partner, perhaps their wife, girlfriend, or a one night hook-up, refuses to look or behave like their favourite porn star. The women often refuse to perform the sex acts the men have routinely enjoyed watching, and next to the screaming orgasms and sexual gymnastics of porn sex, real sex with real women starts to feel boring and bland.’

I won’t talk here about the questions the article raises on the content of hardcore porn – I’ll save that for another story (watch this space), but I will argue that the difference here for men and women is that women have had to make do with very little hardcore stimulation for a very long time. Mills and Boon, the pages of our favourite novels that fall open at the mention of a lifted skirt and heaving bosom, or a movie scene where the heroine is pressed up against the wall in a passionate embrace by her robust anti hero (this may be part of the reason for women’s reportedly low libidos -- again, I’ll leave that for another story), but this has in some ways kept our ‘boudoir’ imaginations relatively active. We have to continually fill in the blanks.

Male-oriented pornography on the other hand leaves very little to the imagination (though I would argue it takes a ‘special’ kind of imagination to believe she really wants you to shove that enormous dildo up her ass and then lick it). Men become desensitised, but they also become lazy. When the images are presented to you, when you are slapped in the face with them, you don’t have to do the work.

This is possibly the real tragedy.  Like tobacco or caffeine or any other stimulant, it is to the advantage of the supplier to build user-dependence. A dysfunctional sex-life is a by-product but also a market-force, turning users into repeat users, and ensuring a constant market for more and more extreme stimulation.

Men and women are the losers here.

--RP

'Six months in a leaky boat'

Adventure Girl learns how to swim

So you’re in this relationship, and it’s had a bit of a rocky start, travelled some rough seas, but finally you’ve reached calmer waters, and you can see land up ahead.

In real terms, this is the point where you know you love them, and they love you back. They say it and they show it and you feel it. You’re floating, and it’s thrilling, and it’s peaceful. Then BAM.

The storm.

Out of nowhere you’re throwing a 15-year-old tantrum, all the while aching for them to hold you, to reassure you, to carry you to shore.

Of course they don’t. You’re behaving like a child.

It gets worse. You panic. You’re grasping. You don’t just want to be rescued; you’re drowning and feel like you can’t get to the shore without them.

But they pull away. If you’re lucky they offer you a life-raft, but most times they’re reaching for one for themselves.

‘See?’ you tell yourself. They don’t love you, not really.

The storm might come in the form of that nagging thing they once told you that still doesn’t quite add up, or yet another text message from the Ghost of Shaggers’ Past. You ask AGAIN for an explanation, you want to know AGAIN why she is texting him. Not, as he supposes, to find the worst in him, to prove that he’s lying, cheating, but to be reassured that he’s not.

It’s a test not of him, but of his love for you. You’re looking for cracks and testing if the boat is watertight.

Because can he really love you? I mean, REALLY? Love YOU? Doesn’t he know who you are underneath it all? Won’t he run screaming when he finally discovers the truth, when he finally sees who YOU are?

So you push and you squeeze and you test, but it’s not about not trusting him, it’s about not believing in you.

If you think of the relationship as like being on a leaky boat, you see yourself running around trying to plug and test every last hole. But when you test the holes, you put more pressure on them, and most times make them bigger. Do it too often and chances are there will be so many holes the ship will sink.

The other part of you, the secret part, doesn’t just test the holes that are already there. This part wants to be sure that the boat can withstand an attack. This part steers the ship into the storm instead of away from it, to see if you can weather it, and punches new holes to see if together you can plug them up and keep afloat. Eventually, if you punch enough holes, or steer into enough storms, you’ll both be grasping for life rafts.

Deep down, you know where the fear comes from, a history of sunken boats as long as the Shipwreck Coast. Too many people have been in love with you, but not loved you. Because they didn’t know you, didn’t see you. They saw an idea of you. You felt like a fraud and it never worked out. Because the more they tried to love you, the more you were convinced that they didn’t. Or rather, couldn’t. Because they never saw who you really were. Never saw the rocks beneath the surface until you rammed your boat into them.

But now you’ve found someone different. Someone who sees, who knows. Who has seen your flaws, and still loves, just as you have seen his. He can even tease you about them and make you laugh at yourself. This time you want it to be different. You want to BE different.

You’ve learned your lesson.

Instead of trying to plug and test every possible gap, instead of punching new holes, you will try to accept that nothing is watertight, that the ship can have a few cracks in it, and still stay afloat.

Because even if you do manage to seal the boat completely, there’s no guarantee it won’t one day break down. The motor could simply run out of steam.

And if it does? You might be battered by the sea and swallow water until you choke, but you will make it onto shore. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. And again. And again. You have a life raft, and a vest, and you know how to swim.

-AG

Trampolining Love

Adventure Girl bounces back

We all know about the rebound effect. Heart torn, ego shattered, we desperately want to feel the upward rush of replacement love, or at least a new almost-crush. Anything to fill that gaping hole of hurt (or according to Dr Helen Fisher, of Rutgers University in New Jersey, to get our next dopamine fix).

Chances are, the first person to fill that void is not the most likely long-term partner, but rather, someone easy, someone gentle, someone safe (or in the case of the Attachment-Avoider or Commitment-Phobe, someone completely unobtainable). Either way, Mr (or Ms) New is ultimately, not for you.

I tend to oscillate between a Mr Bad and a Mr Safe (though one of these days Mr Bad will surely rip me into so many shreds I’ll turn to Mr Unobtainable. I was almost there, once, having an obsessive crush on someone young enough to break the Half-Plus-Seven Rule. At the first sign that something might actually happen between us, I ran away, screaming).

Because I bounce from one extreme to the other, being acted upon, rather than acting on, it ends up feeling like a constant state of inertia. I don't act, I react. Heart torn, I retreat to a Mr Safe. Mr Safe waits for me to recover. He is kind, he is besotted, and though I might grow to love him, I am not in love with him.

From safety I grow restless and long for the excitement and risk of a Mr Bad. I crave the in-love feeling of dopamine. I may even create drama within the stillness, like an artificial stimulant. If I can’t feel in-love, let me feel the imitation cocaine-effect of a make-up... and eventually (always) a break-up.

If I'm lucky, I will find a Mr New who also resembles a Mr Bad, so I can fall in love all over again.

One day I hope the lessons learned from this constant back and forth will even out my cravings, that I will find someone who excites me who is also relatively safe. Like when you decide to stop bouncing on a trampoline. The push-offs get smaller and smaller, until you come to a complete stop, only you are right where you want to be, whether that's on your own, or with Mr Just-Right.

But it isn't only the dopamine-cravings that keep me jumping. According to descriptors of my personality type (Myers Briggs-style,  if you believe that stuff), I have a tendency to 'striv[e] for the Ultimate Relationship', and will 'fall into the habit of moving from relationship to relationship, always in search of a more perfect partner'. To make matters worse, I also have 'difficulty leaving a bad relationship'.

It's this combination of perfectionist and idealist (mixed with some attachment-anxiety, according to a psychologist friend) that will keep me reading that 'Use-by' date as a 'Best Before'.

One lesson I have learned that I can share, is that like wine, no matter how good a relationship is when you first get it, once it's past its peak, it will start to taste a whole lot like vinegar. Let's hope I find a Mr Just-Right before I have to taste that again.

-AG

'up for anything, just don't tie me down'

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After the crab crawled, or 'doormat-no-more'

‘She needs to grow up. She’s a dissatisfied middle-aged woman who sees herself growing old in an unhappy relationship, with kids taking away her life and she’s jealous of your freedom, although she wouldn’t have had the balls to make the choices you made, but wished she had. Hence the sourness… Rhonda can feel free to pinch my argument if she agrees with it.’ -- a friend about a typical 'crab'.

It seems I have inadvertently managed to put my crab-crawling theory into practice... with spectacular effect.

Having spent the first 30+ years of my life filling a particular niche in the lives of my friends and family, I have reached the point where I not only realise it’s a place I don’t want to be, but I have actively tried to re-define my position, or rather, affirm my identity and establish boundaries around it -- something I failed to do before.

Part of this process has involved looking at the way I have chosen to live my life, and asking if this is what I want for my present and future.

For example, I established my current career not so much by choice as by accident. I grasped at the first grown-up job that came along, and then worked my way up to something I actually liked. But I haven’t explored beyond that, so I’m taking some time to look at where to head next. So far on this front I’ve flown under the radar, but I’m bracing myself for some kick-back when I finally do make the move.

I’ve also decided to relocate. Leave Boganburbia to the nuclear-family-oriented and position myself nearer to the things I value and with more like-minded people. When I first raised this in front of my family, the response was, ‘What would you want to live in that area for? It’s full of hippies and weirdoes.’

Over the years I have thought about having children but have come to the conclusion it’s not for me. This decision has been attacked from more directions than I care to count. The response has ranged from the use of assumptive language, ‘When you have children’ rather than ‘If you have children’, to ‘What if you regret it one day?’ (to which my standard reply became, ‘What if I regret having children? You can’t take them back.’

More recently the approach was to tell me if I didn’t have children I would lose my then partner. ‘You’ll need to have children if you want to keep him,’ they said. I remember thinking, Wow. That’s a healthy basis for a relationship, and an even healthier basis for raising a child. And they didn’t stop there. ‘You only have to have one. You can manage that. It won’t interfere with your life too much.’ Imagine the therapy that kid would eventually need. In the end I was tempted to pretend to be barren, just to get them off my back.

Another choice that has come under fire is my decision to not remarry or even have a quasi-married relationship. I’ve tried the whole miserable-marrieds-with-weekends-at-Bunnings thing, and failed. It just isn’t for me. This decision was affirmed during a subsequent relationship where every time things veered towards domestic-bliss-101 I found my insides screaming. I was miserable. I was lonely. I was trapped. And eventually I left. Crawled out of the basket amid screams of protest. How could I be choosing not to stay with someone who was kind, considerate, loving? My response: ‘If you want all those things, why don’t you marry him?’

I have since moved into a new relationship and ‘failed’ to integrate that relationship into the mould. No going-through-the-motions ‘family’ dinners, no weekends at Bunnings. And an endless barrage of criticism.

All this is before looking at the hostile response I’ve encountered to reforming my slobbing-on-the-couch-eating-takeaway lifestyle. Apparently prioritising diet and exercise and maintaining a healthier weight is cause for all kinds of snide remarks. I finally got one sister to stop by pointing out that I'm not so rude as to tell her she is overweight and should really do something about it, so I don't see why she feels it is okay to discuss my weight.

I can only imagine their hositility is because as crabs who share my mould they are more comfortable with dumpy, tubby me. I have redefined the mould's shape, both physically and metaphorically.

The remoulding process has been slow, and is still underway, but as I make progress the attacks become more intense. Criticism, lectures, guilt trips, the works.

Because I don’t hang out with my sister’s kids at the weekend, my other sister tells my nieces and nephew that she loves them more than me, that she is the better aunty, and they openly discuss my being outside the fold in front of the kids.

Because I’ve changed the way that I use social networking, and part of this involved removing my family, I’ve received hostile messages, vicious phone calls, text messages and emails. ‘Total cow! what the hell???? You just don't do that!’ and, ‘What the hell is wrong with you. Why are you trying so hard to not be part of our family?’

I even received a similarly parroted message from my twelve-year-old niece, who has been dragged into the whole saga by her mother.

I want to stress that I’m not writing this to vilify my family, but to illustrate the consequences of leaving the crawl too long. If I had been comfortable enough in myself to assert my boundaries as a teenager, or even when I first left home, I wouldn’t now be suffering because those who shared my mould are feeling the shift so acutely. Previously my position in the mould was beneath theirs and effectively propped theirs up, which means my shifting makes them feel less secure, less in control.

And in this case it is about control.

Ideally I’d like to have a loving, respectful relationship with my family, where I accept them for who they are and they respect me for who I am, but right now that choice isn’t open to me: ‘When you feel like joining us again as [the person we expect you to be] then I am here with open arms’, was my sister's last text.

Now that I’ve peered over the edge of the basket and seen the possibilities waiting for me on the other side, I have a chance at freedom, but unless me and my fellow crabs can establish a new, flexible mould, it looks like it will mean cutting ties with the crabs trying to claw me back, and leaving the basket for good.

'Happily Ever... Before and After'

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Tappin' the glass

Rhonda Perky visits life's aquarium to find out what makes Tappers tick

You've seen those annoying people at aquariums, the ones who walk up to the glass and tap tap tap, over and over, just to stir up a response? For some people this need finds its way into everyday life. They can’t seem to help themselves, tap tap tapping away oustide the glass cage of a relationship.

Tappers can be found in various forms. A typical manifestation is the Blonde Coquette who bangs on about how much she loves banging to her male co-worker. He hasn't seen the other side of his wife's flannelette nightie since Christmas 1993.

Then there’s the Insincere Ingénue who claims she can't get enough of going down to the guy whose girlfriend thinks it's 'gross', all the while watching him salivate, eyes alight.

See also the Single Sister, whose tap is a boast about how much she loves anal. This one tends to tap at her sibling’s partner or girlfriends’ husbands.

Tap tap tap.

In its least sinister form, Tappin' the Glass can be a fun game for you and your partner (if you have one). An innocent tap here and there can help prop up your ego (and theirs).


How to play:

1. Find your location – anywhere Miserable Marrieds go. I’ve found the best spots to be shopping malls in Boganburbia, the local family bistro, a Saturday morning at Bunnings, or a Thursday night at Ikea.
2. Spot your targets – prime exhibits include the Nagger and the Whipped, or the Heffer and her Frog.
3. Tap away – if you're with your other half, take one each, and start making eyes.

Tap tap tap.

At first your targets will startle: Is he/she really looking at me? Then watch the body language change. For her, a flick of the hair, her hips tilting, tits perking. She'll try to pretend she doesn't keep looking back. His voice will begin to boom, one hand on his hip, the other gesticulating at the merchandise, all knowledgeable: a sudden expert on the two-by-four or the circular saw.

This glass tapping is a win-win encounter. You (and your partner) ride the satisfaction from your tapping getting a response, while your target(s) go home and shag themselves silly with rekindled belief in their pulling power.

Caution:

If played with the wrong types, tapping can quickly escalate from an innocuous ego prop, posing a genuine risk to the Tapper or their Target.

Take the Turtle-Tapper. Typically a coupled-up woman who keeps a constant Backup-Boy (the ‘turtle’). She would never actually go there, so she picks the safest terrarium she can find. Behind the double-glazing is someone older, someone uglier, sometimes single, oftentimes not. This tap is all about security. The Turtle-Tapper needs to know she has options.

The loser in this situation is the Turtle. By the time he makes it to the glass, the Turtle-Tapper is supervising her husband building their new deck, while he is left standing, possibly with an abandoned wife, beating his head against the inside wall.

In its most dangerous form, Tappers turn into Breakers. Having the target look their way and contemplate isn’t enough to sustain these damaged egos, so Breakers head straight for the Python enclosure, find the glass that is fragile and cracked, and tap tap tap, until finally it breaks.

Breakers are your archetypal Commitment-Phobes. They can't settle in a relationship with someone who is actually free to want them. It's far too risky. So Breakers take satisfaction from knowing they can tempt someone away from their partner without the risk of real rejection. The target is not free to choose, so they can never not choose them.

To the Python, Breakers seem like good-time girls, but at their core they are the most destructive. They won’t just set the Pythons free, they will use their toxic venom to bite back, then swiftly move on to the next cage.

Conclusion:

If you do choose to visit the life's aquarium, be sure to play safely and tamely. An innocent tap here and there can certainly provide a mutual ego boost, but you don't want to find yourself being someone's Turtle, unleashing a Python, or ending up a victim to a Breakers bite.

-RP

Married Sex – A fairytale in three parts

***Warning – this post may ruin your best friend threesome fantasy***

Once upon a time, long term couples were encouraged to ‘share everything’, from a strand of spaghetti to the grizzly details of the monthly cycle. The idea was that this constant sharing, this living in each others’ pockets, was supposed to bring you closer together. And it does. You’ll be best-friend close.

The problem is, you don’t tend to want to shag your best mate.

Worse, your living arrangement most closely resembles that of a sibling. Again, not someone you want to shag.

Enter the world of Married Sex.

Not only does sexing your partner start to seem about as appealing as humping a manky dish cloth, you may find you’re not into sex at all.

This is what happened to me.

At the time I blamed the pill, not realising I was living with a constant libido suppressant called a husband. All I knew was that over time sex had stopped being something I couldn’t get enough of, and started becoming a chore - something I did out of a vague sense of obligation that would have to wait until after I’d finished the ironing and scrubbing the floor.

To be fair, my husband had also stopped beating down the door to rip my knickers off. So I decided (with some relief) that he didn’t really want it either.

During this time (which I consider some freakish aberration), not only did I rarely crave sex, not even to DIY, the thought of shagging my partner was a turn-off. In fact I used to dread it.

The most satisfying sex we had during the long drought was on the rare occasions when my sleeping brain decided it had been long enough, thank you very much, and I would wake from a raunchy dream, desperate for a shag. In the dark, still half-asleep, I could jump my husband and not notice I was shagging him.

Experts now realise that the previously advocated ‘closeness’ and total entanglement of each others’ lives is the worst possible thing you can do if you want to avoid this deadening drought I call Married Sex. They concede that by the time your husband has seen you in your pink fluffy slippers with mascara blubbing down your face and once you’ve experienced his regular AGBs (1), when you have no privacy left, no un-mutual friends, and no me-only time, your desire for one another doesn’t just start to wane, it plummets.

Add to this the scientific theory that evolution is working against us, playing out its war on our libidos using the very chemicals that make us want to shag in the first place. Scientists argue that the cycle of romance, sex and love, by its very nature, is geared to lead every long term couple toward parenthood and virtual abstinence.

The cycle goes something like this:

• Romance produces the chemicals that lead to sex
• Sex produces the chemicals that lead to love
• Love suppresses the chemicals that lead to romance

which traps us into a life of monogamy through ritual emasculation (testosterone being the chemical suppressed by ‘love’). With the desire for sex depleted, we are much less likely to stray, and much more likely to feel the ‘love’ bonds that will encourage us to stay and raise offspring (2). The problem is that over time this has an inevitable impact on a couples’ desire for each other.

And this is just one of the ‘chemical’ theories of sex and love involving libido enhancers and suppressants.
For me, the contraceptive pill turned my body into one giant sex no-go zone. Like many women my age, I live with the ongoing pain of endometriosis, and so had been prescribed a high-dose pill. The hormones stopped my periods and so stopped the pain, but then stopped me feeling altogether. Without hormonal drivers, I had almost no drive at all. Not just for sex, but for anything. It was like wearing a pair of giant granny pants, the kind that suck in your gut only to have the excess ooze out everywhere else. All the while you’re there struggling to breathe. In the end I decided I could live with the pain in order to feel again, and stopped taking it.

BAM!

Like a teenage boy hitting puberty my hormones went into overdrive. I had energy to burn, and as the first full moon approached, I was climbing the walls. Just about every man who walked past was a potential shag. I lost count of the poor unsuspecting guys I imagined dragging into the loo for some unbridled bouncing-off-the-walls passion. The cruel irony was that my husband was away at the time, and so for the first time in years I locked myself indoors and masturbated like crazy.

Eventually my husband arrived home. But then the weirdest thing happened. I didn’t want to shag him. It was like I’d been given a dose of instant libido suppressant.

It scared the shit out of me.

It was a while before I had a hormonal peak as extreme as the first, but I did notice the ups and downs of my cycle after that, and I was never quite sure who I might be tempted to crack on to. At one point I felt I ought to wear a public safety waning: CAUTION: FULL MOON APPROACHING, just to prevent any embarrassing misadventures while ‘on heat’.

Having rediscovered the joys of DIY, for the next little while, it was all that kept me sane. I certainly got no pleasure from my unshaven, unwashed, bad-breathed husband sprawling himself on the marital bed in his ‘come get it’ pose. And when we did do it, it was a far cry from the lets-do-it-in-every-room passion of the early days.

‘He’d moved into the wrong part of my brain,’ she said.

I could understand this sort of change occurring in couples who have children, who end up taking on the asexual role of parents, but that wasn’t true for either of us. The moment she said it, though, I knew she was right. My husband had slipped into the ‘brother’ part of my brain.

Not twelve months later, we separated. With hindsight I’m not the least bit surprised.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if our relationship had come with a warning: DON'T TAKE YOUR MUTUAL ATTRACTION FOR GRANTED. What steps could we have taken to focus less on the ‘smoochie poochie’ part and more on the 'red hot rampant sex' part? The idea that you might need to work at keeping on wanting sex seemed absurd at the time.

Since then I’ve read theory after theory on the pitfalls of long term relationships and how to counter hormonal inhibitors such as illness and the pill. Advice ranges from the basics of maintaining separate lives, to forcing yourself to shag, even when you’d rather spend the evening repeatedly sticking a fork in your eye. Others advocate watching porn (3) or even having an affair. These theories all come with warnings, of course (4).

After my divorce I managed to sustain a relationship for two years. In that time we maintained very separate lives and shagged ourselves silly. We also weren't particularly close, and never quite made it to the point where our lives became entangled.

Who's to say the two are related? I was in a difficult place, and we were two very different people. As for my husband, we probably just outgrew each other and ultimately liked different things in bed.

What I can be sure of is that I'll never have Married Sex again. I’ll do whatever it takes. Read endless volumes of self-help books, research sex-partiesparties, anything. Because good sex is part of what makes you feel alive. And I’m a long, long way from dead.

---

(1) After grog bog
(2) I suspect this is why some people run a mile after sex, as though they know in the moments after orgasm they are most vulnerable to a 'bonding attack'
(3) Or True Blood, if that works better for you
(4) Apparently affairs can also lead to a relationship’s demise...

When True Blood meets the Sex Pouf

Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover a miracle cure for Married Sex

As tends to happen in long term relationships, intimate encounters become less frequent, less spontaneous, less imaginative, and before you know it you're having Married Sex* (when you have sex at all).

Some couples go to great lengths to spice things up, frequenting the nearest Boganburbia Sexyland to purchase 'marital aides,' or just popping into Club X with a tissue or two. Others resort to sharing porn, but this can venture into uncomfortable territory... he wants to watch the one where the lesbians cop facials, she wants the one with the well-endowed pool cleaner.

Let me assure you, things need not end in awkward compromise or virtual abstinence.

Take the example of my good friends, Mr and Mrs McBallsdeep, who recently discovered TV’s vampire craze, True Blood. Free-to-air, not explicitly masturbatory (thus avoiding the eyebrow-raising selection of Asian Angels who love Anal), it provides a whole new realm of improbable scenarios for hours of role-play, for example, jumping out of graves or hanging from the ceiling.

Anyone who has encountered the deadly drudgery of bedroom-only sex (or worse, bed-only marital sex) will tell you that new stimulus is only half the battle. You are now in the right mindset, but as soon as you hit the staid floral duvet gifted to you from your mother-in-law, you realise it will take some sort of prop to stir things up again.

Enter the Sex Pouf.**

Not quite as risqué as dogging (public sex), and perhaps not as thrilling as hanging from the ceiling, I'm assured the pouf is very versatile, providing hours of exploratory fun as you discover new and interesting angles that simply can’t be achieved in your run-of-the-mill boudoir. Plus there's no need to secret away your brown-bag purchases as you hurry to your illegally-parked car in the middle of Boganburbia. A full range of socially-acceptable poufs can be purchased at your local Ikea or Freedom store.

So if one day you wake up and realise the washing machine is only ever used for doing the laundry and the kitchen bench for preparing chops and three veg, it might be time to invest in some serious couch-time with Bill Compton (Steven Moyer), Jason ‘I’ll shag anything’ Stackhouse (Ryan Kwanten), and his little sister Sookie (Anna Paquin).

-RP

*Note: it is not necessary to be married in order to have Married Sex. My ex-husband and I were having Married Sex long before he put that diamond crusted shackle on my finger. Conversely, not all married couples have Married Sex.

**Or ottoman.

Epiphany @ 3am

It's cold and it takes me and I hate you...
...the mirror I hold to know I exist.

When like meets like

Christine Priestly shares why you should never date a writer...

Over the years I have watched lovers watch me 'in progress' during one writing fit or another. Working to deadline, real or imagined, letting my body moulder. During these fits, food becomes sustenance, sex a kind of manic release, and excercise something you do when your retinas begin to burn. You shower and dress only when you are forced to leave the house, and any outside contact seems alien and slightly awkward. You also, oddly enough, lose your ability to speak. Your verbal vocabulary vanishes into incoherence, and you struggle to maintain the most basic conversation.

These are things I have known about myself for years, but struggled to make known to and understood by my friends, family, and partners. All they see is an anti-social, ill-tempered, crazed bitch who lives on stale crackers and refuses to get out of her manky pyjamas for stretches at a time. How often have I caught myself saying, 'I'll be human again soon, I promise.'

More recently I have had the opportunity to witness this from the other side.

My lover - a fellow writer - has attracted the interest of a publisher, so for the past month my phone calls have become rude interruptions, Saturday nights have been spent in the throes of lap-top passion, and I have been haunted by a vague scent-impression of male deodorant and the image of my lover wearing something other than cruddy track-pants.

I’d love to say that tumultuous madness is part of our charm.

'You're lucky I didn't tell you to fuck off for an entire two weeks,' he told me.

He's right; in his shoes I might have done the same.

I find this curiously alluring. We develop our own habits, our own process, but the one thing we share is obsession. In the lunatic hours of the morning we call it a hobby, a craft, a desire, but the reality is it's so much more.

...And I thought our self-absorbed delicate egos were the things to watch.

-CP

‘No strings, yes please…’

Rhonda Perky goes under-the-covers to blow a load over Red Hot Pie.

So you’re keen to find Mr No-Strings-Attached for some regular fun, or maybe a Mr One-Night-Stand for an all night scratch? Forget the hit and miss of bars and clubs, friends of friends, or playing chief bridesmaid yet again. With dedicated online hook-up sites like 'Red Hot Pie' and 'Adult Matchmaker', you can be shagging yourself silly in no time.

To begin, set up a profile. Give yourself a username that expresses your personality, such as ‘hottitties’, ‘kokraver’ or ‘wetnwild’. Stuck for ideas? Try browsing existing members first. If your faves are already taken, don’t lose heart, get creative with your spelling, or use the tried and tested method of adding ‘69’ to an existing username.

To maximise your chances of meeting Mr Right-Away, give yourself a convincing persona as a walking, talking, f*ck machine, always wet and ready to go (think late-night TV commercials for the sad-and-lonely).

Next, provide your specifications including cup size, a description of your pubic hair, whether you practice safe sex ‘for all activities’, not at all, or only ‘if required’, your sexual interests (nipple play, anal play, dogging, etc), fetishes (role play, S&M), and what you’re looking for (men, women, couples, group sex, MMF, FFM, TV/TS), attached or otherwise. Go all out. No matter how depraved and unrealistic, users will be convinced.

Apparently ‘profiles with pictures get more hits’, so the next step is to give yourself a suitable body. Just a single body part, an arse, a boob, whatever, will do the trick. In fact, the less shown the better. A pair of perts, nothing more than a c-cup, will say enough about you as a person for over a hundred users to want to meet you within 24 hours.

If you’ve done your homework and put the effort into your profile – your ‘handle’ and profile pic are priceless here – chances are you’ll meet [crassusername1] who wants nothing more than to take you on an all-expenses paid weekend away. [Crassusername2] will likely suggest bending you over his office desk at lunchtime, while [crassusername3] may be tempted to offer you his whole 9 inches. Expect to be approached by couples, too – male involvement optional.

You may find the sheer volume of responses overwhelming at first, and of course you’ll need some way to separate the wheat from the chaff. How can you be sure Mr-One-Night-Stand isn’t telling any old girl he wants to ‘lick their lollipops’? In this case I recommend setting up a decoy profile, or getting your BFF to set up their own, tamer profile, and comparing responses. For this profile, post some glamour shots, just of your torso with underwear on and no rude bits. Still no face, of course – you don’t want your boss/brother-in-law/significant other to stumble across a picture of you with your hand over your crotch during their meanderings. That would just be embarrassing. Keep those pics for your by-invite-only 'Private Gallery'.

Then fill in the ‘about me’ and ‘looking for’ sections. Try something a bit more subtle, for example, describing yourself as recently single, looking for a bit of fun, but open to things developing into something more (yes – an allusion to the dreaded ‘relationship’).

I guarantee the response will be spectacular.

Next: how to filter. When the hundreds of messages and flirts fill your inbox, look for 'Replicators', users who cast the net as far and as wide as possible, sending the same message over and over to dozens of profiles without bothering to read them. Some clues are offers for ‘discreet encounters’, ‘in town for one-night’ and ‘strictly daytimes’, despite specifying that you are only looking for ‘unattached’ matches.

The next thing to watch for is ‘template’ responses. These may appear to have been written just for you, but when you compare profiles you will find your BFF has received an almost identical message, ever-so-slightly tailored, or one from an identical 'set'. 'Sets' are multiple templates sent by the same user to different 'types' of profiles. At core, these are all minimal-effort responses. The best you can hope for here is some clue your suitor has at least glanced beyond your pic.*

Despite their promos, don’t expect to find the love of your life on a hook-up site, unless you’re also listing ‘constant disappointment’ among your fetishes. If nothing more it is an experience to see just how many men and women out there spend days on end online trawling.** And who knows, once you join them you may find yourself a f*ck-buddy or three to share.

Oh, and let me know if you get a worthy bite ;)

-RP

*Hot tip: keep an eye out for [crassusername4]. This user poses as a couple, but makes his move solo, and apparently desires nothing more than to put his head up your skirt – no need for you to do anything ‘unless you require it’. He sends this message in various guises to EVERYONE.)

**Watch for people you know - you may see more of them than you ever cared to.