Speaking of Orgasms...

(yes, I'm back on my soapbox again…)

A while ago, both gg and sofia wrote posts about orgasms - the giving, the getting, the benefits. And seriously? The more I read about Other People's Orgasms (OPO), the more I'm likely to wonder what the heck is wrong with me.

Now, do not misunderstand -- I love orgasms. They are truly a wonderful thing. (Except when they're making me cry, but that's a post for another day…) But I am really not driven by them. Sure, if there's one knocking on the door, I'll be the first to let it in. 

I do not turn my back on pleasure, by any means.

But if one's not there, that's okay, too. Because pleasure comes in many forms. I'm also perfectly capable of losing myself in mind-blowingly hot sex, in which I am fully aroused, tuned in/turned on, *libidinally-afire* even…, and yet not thinking about an orgasm. (Or not about my own, at any rate.)

And rarely do I find myself thinking afterwards, "Fine. I'll get my own cookie, then…"  

Nope. 

Most of the time, I just curl up, muzzily thinking, "oh my god, that was amazing…" and drift off into the sleep of the satiated. 

But if I am to believe what I read, not a lot of other people experience lust this way. There's just not much out there about soaring on the incredible high created by sheer sensation -- and simply staying there. Far more often, the focus is on an ending of thrashing, screaming, and squirting -- or the intense frustration when these things have not been achieved. 

The play's not the thing, the outcome is.

I could almost feel flawed -- and might, if I minded being wired this way.

But I don't.

Until I read about OPO and that niggling sense of inadequacy rears it's ugly head again.

Sometimes I wonder if we do more harm than good out here…

Introspection

How do you measure achievement?

What matters to you at the end of the day?

Do you evaluate yourself against goals set and reached?

Do you aspire to certain standards?

Do you need status symbols?

money?

Do you value spiritual growth?

happiness?

helping others?

Do you want to sculpt your own life 

     or make a difference to someone else in theirs?

These questions have been occupying my mind...

I had to go to a memorial service the other day -- one of those where they invite people to come up and share memories about the departed. Now, certainly, there are always one or two people that come up and say something nice. I've never known anyone who wasn't cared for by someone.

But every once in a while, (and this was one those,) the stream of bodies that rise to speak is virtually endless. Everyone from nearest and dearest right down to dentist, car mechanic, and "someone who once rang up their groceries" will come forward and tell you a story of how this person touched them, how this person mattered to them, how this person made a difference to their lives…

It's beautiful to see.

And yet somehow (selfishly) demoralizing, as well.

Because lately, I have been considering what makes a life well-lived... 

  and I have been feeling the weight of reproach -- both other people's and my own. 

I'm not exactly failing anyone, per se…

but there are hints of disappointment,

and ever so slightly dismissive tones.  

Because… 

I haven't lived up to my potential.

I haven't done the "great things" that were foreseen.

I haven't become a famous writer, carved out a stellar career, married a wonderful man, birthed the next Jonas Salk, or cured cancer.

And, you know, you can't argue with the truth.

I haven't done any of those things…

     Like, at all.

Largely because none of them were on my agenda, of course.

But all this introspection has made me wonder if what I have done amounts to anything, either. Because, really, what HAVE I done that counts?

Who have I mattered to?

Who have I touched?

Who will come forward to say I made a difference?

It's not really a happy contemplation, I must say.

(Not to mention the dispiriting realization that if I have to rely on my people skills to warrant a glowing send-off, I'm gonna need a lot more savings for the paid mourners!)

Stupid Human Tricks #14

"Self-sabotage is when we say we want something and then go about making sure it doesn't happen."

I would write further but I'm afraid I'd smear chocolate frosting all over the keyboard...

(And I value my computer, after all!)

(12 yards of fabric in that frock...)

Flow Charts

They make it look so simple, don't they?

My Neighbor's Hedge

I sit in the armchair in my living room every day.

And every day, I look out my window to my neighbor's house across the road.

It's a charming, shingled affair with a long row of bushes running directly under the six windows across the front.

My neighbor is fastidious about caring for that little hedge. 

He is not haphazard like me. He doesn't go at it with random swoops of a hedge trimmer. No, indeed. He starts out with secateurs, and then moves on to what I strongly suspect are nail scissors. Something very tiny, certainly. And his care shows. This thing is beautifully manicured.

So every day, as I sit in my chair, I wonder why, with all that effort, he couldn't get it straight.

The distortion is minor, mind you. The top goes along smoothly, just barely touching the bottom of the window frame for five of the windows -- until at the sixth, it decides to angle up a mere 3 inches in height. Barely enough to register to the eye as more than a swell...

But quite enough to bug me.

Maybe not to the point of actual irritation -- but definitely enough that I notice it. 

Every. Single. Day.

I think I'm turning into my uncle.

The one who used to phone my dad (from a different house across the street) for no other reason than to say, "That (whatever) you installed is CROOKED. I'm looking at it right now and it's definitely CROOKED...!"

(Apparently, "pernsnickety" is a familial trait…)

Location, Location, Location...

Maybe this isn't a metaphor that works for you but I've been contemplating where submission goes when it's not being used. .. and my thoughts left me wondering if I'm completely out in left field, so I'm going to throw the question out there…

Where does your submission live?

Is it on your sleeve, incessantly poking the soft flesh of your inner arm in order to demand attention?

Is it in your gut, a banked fire waiting to burst into flames when fed?

Is it hidden in your heart, waiting to be released by the right person so it can circulate and nourish your whole body?

(Or is it somewhere else I hadn't considered?)

A couple of friends have indicated to me that they'd be going crazy without an outlet for their submission -- and that's not at all how the process works for me, so I got thinking about it. (are you surprised?)

I have not missed the pain or the directives or the dynamic. My submission hasn't been acting up because it feels ignored... I've just missed him.

It is he who centers and calms me, not by what he does but simply by being mine. 

And -- in whatever tense is appropriate here -- I don't get itchy for things I want him to do to and for me. Instead, my satisfaction comes from providing whatever he wants and needs. (Again, mutatis mutandis on the tense) My submission is a thing that centers on him, not me.

So I think it's fair to say that it doesn't camp out on my sleeve, nudging me.

But I can't figure out quite where to say it does live...

It seems to be a banked fire -- but one that can only be fed by the right person, be that BG or someone else who has released the genie. So neither gut nor heart seem quite right...

Left elbow, maybe?

Two Outta Three...?