Sexuality Happens

I am not the most traditional feminine woman. I don’t like pink.  I think red roses are blase. I’m not so good with anniversaries. I have been a vegetarian for 16 years, so a nice steak dinner is out of the question. Basically, I suck at romance.  Hell, I asked a guy out to prom in high school with a scavenger hunt that involved a can of beans, an orange, a banana, a honeydew and a bag of microwave popcorn (sad part? I’m really not kidding).  Most people have more traditional romance in the tip on their little finger than I do in my whole body.

But I do find some things incredibly sweet, caring, loving, etc, that most people don’t.  And F says those kind of things a lot.

A few weeks ago, I was having a migraine. She told me if she won powerball, she’d buy me a massage every day to make it go away.  A week or two later, we were out eating (as compared to eating out).  She said that she had meant what she said; that she’d buy me a massage everyday for the rest of my life so I’d never have another migraine again.

One night, we were at her sister’s place, and everyone was on a beer run but us.  We sat on her couch, and I was ready for make out or sex or…I mean, she’d been all over me, and now everyone was gone. She looked at me. I asked her what was wrong.  She said “Nothing. I’m just thinking about how beautiful you are.  I was thinking that at breakfast at IHOP the other day, that you’re just so beautiful.  Your eyes, your skin, your body, but it’s your personality that really makes you beautiful.” I just about cried. And then a little later, Closer came on, and I teased her until she took me back to my place and fucked me.

Then, I was talking to her about writing a column on sex and disability.  She looked at me.

F: You’re no disabled.

Me: No, I really am. I have a permit and a card from the state and everything.

F: No, I mean, you’re perfectly capable.

Me: Capable of what?

F: Of everything I could want from you.

Again, I almost cried. It was the perfect answer (for me) to my disabilities. Not pretending that they aren’t there (she’s putting together an exercise program for me that isn’t hard on my knees).  Not babying me and making them the forefront of everything. Just telling me that I’m perfect the way I am, even if I’m a little broken.

This week, she came over. We had the best sex I’ve had in my entire life.  The next day, she came over and I made dinner.  The conversation went like this:

F: Thank you for cooking me dinner.

Me: Thank you for letting me cook for you.

F: Thank you for letting me fuck your face last night.

Me: That is amazing. There has to be a someecard for that! (there is not!)

Later that night, she was lying on her stomach, and asked me to massage her butt for her (apparently, butts need massaging…I had no idea!).  She murmured “you are perfect.” I asked her if she thought I was perfect because I cooked for her, and massaged her butt.  She shook her head.

These are the things that are sweet and wonderful to me, even though they aren’t text book romance. Kissing my neck and back while I’m cooking dinner, and on a cell phone call.  Coming from a studio session to play me your newest songs you’ve just recorded.  Almost passed out from sex, and still asking me what side of the bed I want. Offering to be my dessert (by riding my face). Holding me in the swimming pool and pushing me against the wall to make out with me. This is what I want. I don’t want jewelry or fancy bling. I have no use for a Coach purse, or tickets to a baseball game.  I want those little things that make me happy, that made me feel like someone cares for and about me.

Not that I’d say no to a bouquet of Sterling Roses, Stargazer or Black Calla Lillies!

-Essin’ Em