Sexuality Happens

I was just thinking the other day, along with Q, that we were going to really miss fall in Colorado this year. Arizona doesn’t have the changing leaves, the crisp clean temperatures, the cool nights of cuddling under a blanket (we haven’t been able to sleep under the same blanket or sheet since we moved here — it’s far too hot). No hot apple cider while sitting on the front porch. No driving through the mountains, waiting for the leaves to change

This is a picture we took last year in September in Estes Park. It was when the leaves had just barely begun to change. You can see the hints of yellow, which slowly and beautifully change into reds and oranges, burnt umber and golds. The leaves are just absolutely stunning.

It’s time like these that I miss Denver so much. The leaves changing are just perfect, and this year, I won’t be there to see them. Cactuses don’t change color.

Kissing on a fall evening, with the leaves rustling, and a cool breeze in your hair, your lover in your arms.

I can’t wait till next year, when Q and I are back next fall. Sex in the fall — there just isn’t anything like it.

-Essin’ Em

 This is part of my 30 Days of Letters blog endeavor. This is day 7, writing a letter to an ex…an ex partner, an ex love, an ex crush.

This was one I wasn’t looking forward to. Why? I mean, I’m friends with my last 3 ex-partners, at least to some extent. I don’t like burning bridges. Hell, I’m even friends with most of my former crushes.

However, I feel like this is supposed to be a deeper letter, one that makes me think. And so, I write this letter to Julius. I wrote a bit about him here. He is an ex-friend, an ex crush, an ex-love, and much more.

Dear Julius,

I still, more than half a decade later, don’t know what it was I did to have you cut off all contact with me. You, the person I talked to nightly on the phone all through high school. You, one of the first people I had a real crush on. You, who I laughed with, and cried with, and adventured with. What exactly was it that I did that night we hooked up, that some how convinced you to never talk to me again.

I could use humor, and joke that I didn’t think that I was that bad of a kisser, that you seemed to have enjoyed it. But this isn’t a time for joking. I don’t think you know exactly how badly you’ve hurt me.

You’re the first person who told me that they loved me. Not once, not twice, and not even only in languages that I understood. After my father died, you were the only one that was there to support me, and helped to keep the pieces of me together when I shattered apart. You were my support system, my knight in punk rock/grunge armor, my guy friend, my best friend, my crush, my love, and so much more that I can’t even define.

I think about you every once in a while. I do. I hope you’re happy, whatever it is that you’re doing. I honestly do, despite how much hurt and pain you’ve given me over the years, and despite how much you’ve contributed to my fear of being abandoned by those I love.

I only wish, that one day, I found out what it was that made you cut all of the things that tied us together. I’ve spent many nights, many days, many plane flights and train trips, all trying to figure out what I did to make you cut me from your life, to shut me out like all of those years that we’d had together never existed. It pains me more to know that I must have done or said something to hurt you, and yet I have no idea. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for.

So Julius, should you ever read this, please tell me. Some how, please tell me what it was I did. Because you see, it’s really fucked me up all these years. It’s made me afraid that one day, everyone I love is just going to shut me out of their life. And I feel, however irrationally, that if I just *KNEW* what it was, and never did it again, that somehow, I’d be a little safer in the arms of those I love. Please.

Best of luck in your life,

-Essin’ Em

Since I came back from Florida, it’s been non-stop. Q’s sister was in town visiting from Long Island. Jamye Waxman was in town to speak. Q started her first day as a grad school professor. I still haven’t had time to process all the emotion and family drama from my Florida trip, and Q is on a meditation kick (which I’m trying to do daily, and seems to give me headaches).

The result? Right now, we have an incredibly mercurial relationship, almost bi-polar. One minue, we’re holding hands, looking into each others’ eyes, sharing frozen yogurt, being all lovey dovey. The next, we’re arguing with each other about little things, being nit picky, almost ignoring each other.

People keep telling me it’s Mercury in retrogade. I don’t normally believe in that, but we all like to cling to something to explain why our lover and ourselves have suddenly started acting bi-polar towards the relationships…and I mean hell, Mercurial (the temperament/actions) and Mercury sure sound alike, right?

But it’s made me realize, along with some posts on Alphafemme’s blog, that relationships constantly require work, even if they’re working out just fine. Being complacent about the relationship leads to things getting stale, or issues not being worked out. However, I’m also realizing that working on and improving relationships takes a lot of hard work.

This is the longer sexual/lover relationship I’ve ever been in. I mean, I’ve made friendships work for years. My best friend Annabelle and I have been friends since 2002, and my best friend E and I since 1999. Clearly, I can handle long term relationships/friendships, including their natural ups and downs.

However, I’m new to making long term lovers/partner relationships work. I didn’t realize how hard it can be, how much effort need to be involved in truly communicating (instead of just saying yes and no, or I like this/don’t like this), how much it can hurt as we work through our issues, as well as personal issues that get brought up.

I’ve never been a highly emotional person before, but I am often with Q, because I just have so much love and trust for her, which seems to bring out this side. I need to work hard not on pushing them down, but not letting them run wild. I let little things hurt more than they should, and I feel a lot of my OCD-ness and anxiety returning, something which I would like not to happen.

Then there is the disability thing. As things get worse, and I have more bad days, and hospital visits, I always get worried that something will be the last straw, and she won’t want to deal with me anymore. I’m trying to figure out how to even phrase this feeling. I’m not sure yet.

I have a huge fear of being left/abandoned by those I love; friends and partners alike. It happened with Julius, and with Nikki, and with the Kinky Whore, and I’m terrified it’s going to happen with Q. It’s not logical, I know, but I have a history of people I love leaving me. Can I trace it back to daddy issues, and my father dying when I was 13? Possibly. Who knows? Regardless, no matter how much I trust Q, I still have this voice in the back of my head, especially whenever we’re aruging or trying to improve things, telling me that “if you don’t do it right, if you mess up at all, Q is going to leave you, just like everyone else.” I need to figure out how to quiet that voice, and trust in Q and in what we have together.

Q pointed out to me that relationships cannot thrive and grow unless we ourselves thrive and grow. Whether that is through writing, therapy, meditation (I’ve decided I’ll try it daily for 3 weeks, and then decide if it is in fact helping me), etc, we have to, as individuals, work on ourselves in order to work on our relationship.

And so, I’m working on harnessing my emotions, learning to let things go. I’m trying to not attach so much importance to little things. I’m trying to re-create more of my own life here. It’s hard. I don’t really have friends. I strongly dislike the kink community, there is no queer community, and most of the lesbians we’ve met drink a lot and do drugs, neither of which is for me. I’m having a hard time creating my own life outside of Q and my relationship because I’m in an area where I don’t fit, where I don’t belong. I think that’s part of the issue.

And I’m going to work on, I’m not sure how, but I’m going to work on this fear of abandonment. I’m open to suggestions, ideas, etc. How do you convince yourself to leave your past alone and trust in the future and in your parnter, completely?

-Essin’ Em

 This is part of my 30 Days of Letters blog endeavor. Today’s schtick is to write to a stranger, and so I shall.

Today I’m writing to a stranger. But I’m going to take a similar route of the witty Britni of BritIsShameless.com, and make this a delurking post, or better yet, a post where I can get to know you, my readers.

Who are you? Some of you I know in real life, others through your comments, your blogs, your twitter pages, etc. Some of you I don’t even know that you are there at all.

So tell me, those you who are reading me:

*What name do you go by on the interwebs?

*What are some of your identities?

*How did you find me, and when?

*Why are you reading this blog?

*Where(ish) are you located?

*What is your number one bit of sex advice you give to people?

*How do you tell people you love them?

*Favorite animal.

Would you be so kind, oh strangers of various levels, to post here, today, and tell me who you are a little, what makes you tick, how you found me, how you love, your tips on sex, why you read this, and of course, your favorite animal? I’d appreciate it ever so much!

And with that…I have hope to get to “meet” some of you soon!

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your dreams.  I didn’t know if they meant like dreams you have at night (which I have been having some freaking crazy ones as of late), or dreams like your hopes and goals. I decided to go with the latter.

Dear Dreams…

It’s so interesting how you’ve changed over time. When I was five, I wanted nothing more in the world to be an archaeologist, like Indiana Jones. Then, it was a vet. When I got to high school, I decided I wanted to be a counselor for gifted children, and went into college expecting to do so. Somewhere in there, I discovered sex ed, and dreamed of working for Planned Parenthood, which brought me to grad school. From there, I fell into the world Feminist Porn and Porn for Women, and then into the world of sex toys. I wanted to be a feminist pornographer/sex toy shop owner with a studio/dungeon in the basement.

And now? I’m not sure. I am a sex educator, I am a feminist pornographer, I am a blogger, I am a writer, I am a reviewer, I am a marketer. I’m not sure what direction the tide will take me next; things are always changing in life, and it seems even more so in the sexuality field.

I had dreams of living in Europe…not likely with my three cats and partner now (although a long term visit may be in order). I had dreams of owning a house, which I almost did back in Philly. Now $15,000 of medical debt is going to push that one to the back burner for a while.

I have dreams of being able to easily walk up stairs, and maybe go for a jog. A realistic dream in the long run perhaps, but very expensive and time consuming and difficult to find a doctor who will do knee replacements on someone this young. This dream seems like a more long term one.

So for now, as I look at it, my dreams are:

*Getting out of the epic amount of debt Q and I share

*Moving back to Colorado by May 2011

*Celebrating our love with a wedding in October 2011

*Speaking at more colleges and universities (long term – be as cool as Tristan and Ducky and Nina Hartley and Midori and Megan Andelloux and the rest of the heavy hitters of sex ed)

*Traveling with Q to Europe – she’s never been, and I miss it badly

*Eventually owning our own home (10 years?)

*In the next 10 years, owning a Hybrid

*Add more states to my “I’ve been there!” list

*Try more cupcakeries and vegetarian restuarants across the US

*Figure out what to do about further education. I always thought that I’d want a PhD, need a PhD, have no other plan than to finally get my doctorate. Now I’m not sure.

*Meet many more amazing people, both online and in real life

*Live an outstanding, crazy and fulfilling life with Q and our kitties

*Enact change and fight for social justice and equality.

Dreams, I will try my best to reach for you, and honor you, but I don’t want to be so specific anymore. I want more of a concept and less of the exact science. I want to dream big, and aim in many directions. Thank you dreams, for being there, for changing with me, for helping me grown.

-Essin’ Em

This is a letter I wrote back yesterday to a company that I had never before heard from, who wanted me to put up a graphic above vibrator use (explaining men’s sex toy use versus women’s sex toy use…with blue and pink “men” and “women”) along with a link to their site. In fact, they were even so kind to include the code to their site, so it would be that much easier for me to link to them and provide content for my users create better, free SEO for them.

I’m not going to link to them, because that’s what they wanted in the first place. However, this is not the first company I’ve had beef with. Here are a few thoughts, all based on real letters I’ve gotten.

*If you post a ridiculous comment on my blog that doesn’t make sense, just to get your link in the comment/on my page, I WILL delete it.

*When you email me asking to set up a phone call with your CEO, please explain exactly what you’d like us to talk about. I’m oh so easily confused by lack of information.

*I do not do link exchanges. I have that all over my site. If you’d like to advertise, I have a page with all the info. Or email, and ask for the info. This is not some recently started blogspot site — this is part of my livelihood.

*It’s ok to ask for a deal on long term ads. It is not ok to try and cut my offer in half, or even more. I will refuse you. I work with other bloggers, and when one of us agrees to ridiculous ad terms, it hurts us all.

*I am not an idiot. Telling me that a link on your site, which has a way worse Alexa and PR rating than mine, will improve my traffic and make me famous, is bullshit. And just because you send me the code doesn’t mean I’ll link to you, like a little sheep.

*Asking me to re-review a toy I already own and link it to your page is ridiculous.

*Asking me to make up a review of a toy I don’t have and link it to your site is un-ethical and ridiculous.

*Asking me to join an affiliate program that has a video that won’t shut up, and graphics of huge dollar signs (ala the 80s and 90s) is silly. Continuing to bug me about it after I’ve politely decline is just plain rude and stupid.

*Please don’t offer me crappy ass jelly toys. I understand if you can’t offer Vixen or Lelo, especially if you don’t know me/my reviews yet. However, if I tell you I only review glass/silicone/medical grade plastic/metal/ceramic/wood toys, and you offer me a butterfly kiss or something similar, it means you’re not listening. Grrr.

*Complimenting my video reviews, and saying you’d love to work with me doing more reviews, videoed classes, etc, is sweet. Then telling me that you’d charge me to do so, while you made the money off of them, is just rude, ridiculous, and pisses me the fuck off.

*It’s ok if you want to advertise and haven’t read my blog. However, regardless of why you’re emailing me, don’t tell me you love my blog if you don’t, or that you’ve read it if you haven’t. Telling me that my blog would be a good match with an all gay male site is pretty silly, and shows me you haven’t read my stuff. Same goes for his and her pheremones, sex supplements, etc. It just makes you look like an idiot.

Summation: I’m not an idiot. Please don’t think you can fool me into posting your link, or bargain me down to a ridiculous price for advertising, or into paying you for services that I’m usually the one getting paid for, or into thinking that you actually know who I am/are a reader of my blog. I’d rather you just deal with me respectufully and business like. Otherwise, you get a snippy email and a big ol’ delete. Unless you really piss me off, and then I warn other bloggers about you.

The end.

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your sibling, or nearest relative. Ergo, I write it to my 20 year old sister.

Dear Sister -

We have not always had the best relationship. In fact, even right now, we don’t have what I would call “the best” relationship. However, we have been working on that, and I’m excited to see how things change.

It’s been hard. You were nine when dad died, and ever since then, I’ve felt it was you and mom against me. I never seemed to have the right answers, I never seemed to do the right activities, wear the right clothes, like the right stuff. You two were peas in a pod, and I felt alone. By choosing to be a lawyer (or at least go that direction), you’ve made the family very happy and gotten them off my back a little. Still, it’s hard being constantly compared to you, your choices, and your successes.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but as of the last couple of months, our phone converations have ended with “I love you.” That hasn’t happened before. I don’t end my talks with mom that way, even though I do with Q, and all my friends. While it has been a very deliberate effort on my part, and perhaps yours as well, it means a lot to me that we are changing our interaction.

We are so different. In looks, in likes, in wants, in needs. It’s hard to connect with you sometimes, because I feel so far away, so out of the loop. I’ve never dated an Air Force Cadet. I wasn’t in a sorority. I never wanted to go to law school. For a while, it seemed like the only thing we could talk about saw sex, and then you’d flip about when I said something you didn’t understand. I myself was nervous talking to you about your first time…shocking, yes, but it’s hard to talk about your sister having sex to your sister…it just is.

So thank you for trying. Please know I’m trying to. It’s hard, being far away, and it’s hard, given all the hurtful feelings that I’ve felt from you and mother in the past, but we will make it work. We’ve already made some very positive changes.

I look forward to more changes, to getting to say I love you more, to having you help plan the wedding, to eventually living in the same state again, and to growing, hopefully, closer. I don’t think we’ll ever be to peas in a pod, but two different veggies sharing the same salad bowl is good enough for me.

-Essin’ Em

I’m back. I’m alive, but barely. It was an emotional roller coaster of a trip. For those of you that follow me on Twitter or Facebook, thank you for putting up with the drama.  

Above is a picture I took from my hotel room’s balcony of the beautiful beach. I spent all of 1.5-2 hours on it over 5 days.

Highlights of what happened:

*My aunt’s partner is ok. She’s recovering from the double mastectomy and reconstruction. My aunt is not a naturally good caretaker, so a lot of that fell to us as far as getting pudding cups for her to eat, encouraging icing, keeping my aunt from leaving her drugged up partner alone to go to dinner with us, etc.

*My grandfather does know I’m a “lesbian.” I think my aunt blames myself, and the Amelia Erhardt barbie she gave me when I was little. Despite him knowing about this, I’ve been discourage from both my aunt and my grandfather from talking about Q. Needless to say, he will not be coming to the wedding.

*My sister and mother clearly dislike me. At one point, my sister directly told me that my presence makes her life miserable.  10 minutes later, she asked for advice on shoes. They have so normalized their dislike of me that it no longer interrupts their flow when they tell me such things.

*I had amazing food on the trip. Seasons 52 (a restaurant) is AMAZING, as was the Bruschetta with Goat Cheese Creme Brulee I got at O’Gradys in Delray Beach.

*My grandfathers partner/common law wife is mentally and emotionally abusive. To the point where he is scared to go home, but more scared to be late getting home. I don’t know what I can do about this.

*I don’t think my family recognizes my disability, particularly as far as needing to take my meds regularly, and with food.

*I did find two nice cardigans for cheap at TJMaxxx, and bought my sister an outrageously expensive purse for her birthday.

*I finished all 700 pages of the Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 2.

*I only cried 3 times in 5 days.

*I experienced a horrible case of disability discrimination from a Southwest Airlines gate attendant.  They’ve always been very disability aware, and I filed a complaint. I’m interested to see their response.

*I will not see my family (mother/sister) again until either January or next summer, and my aunt/her partner/my grandfather until next summer.  Will there be phone/email fights? Yes. But will I feel like I’m the worst person in the world for being myself? Not again until January or the summer.

That’s all. Happy to be home with Q and the kitties.

-Essin’ Em

Last weekend, Q’s birthday weekend, we were both sick as dogs. I mean, I have had a lot of illness in my life, but the majority of it has been respiratory; whooping cough, pneumonia, etc. Or it’s been physically injury, like my knees, and hips, and getting hit with a boomerang, or having my foot caught in the fly wheel of a bike. I’ve been lucky enough not to have had much in the way of stomach bugs since I was a kid.

WARNING: Story is about a stomach bug. Don’t read if you have a weak tummy.

Now, this is good, because I hate throwing up. I’d rather have 30 MRIs or 50 injections that throw up once. I hate hate hate the feeling of throwing up. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve never been a big drinker; the fear of possibly drinking to much and then throwing up is a very potent weapon to sticking with a glass or two of wine, and frou frou and delicious drinks.

But all this aside, I came home the night of the 5th from teaching a class at Fascinations on the G-spot and Female Ejaculation. I was fine. I made myself some homemade guacamole, ate it with pita chips, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so good. We went to bed.

An hour later, Q found me on the floor of the bathroom, holding an alcohol pad to my nose (it can reduce nausea) with an empty bottle of Pepto Bismo.  I was hugging the toilet, trying to do everything in my power that I could to not throw up. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

For the next 6 hours, I had one of the worst nights of my entire life. Every hour, on the hour, like clock work, I would run to the bathroom to projectile vomit. I’ve never experienced this before; vomit being forced out of your body, through your mouth, and both nostriles, while you’re essentially peeing out your ass. I’d vomit and shit at the same time. My throat and nose were burning, my ass was chapped. I used every available place to throw up; the toilet, the sink, a trash can, the bathtub.

And through out all of this, Q had a damp washcloth on the back of my neck, and helped me clean up and bleach the crap out of everything…each and every time I pulled an Exorcist. I couldn’t even keep down water, and my black eye make up from the night before was smeared down my face, adding the the look. She brought me SmartWater, and helped me into bed, each and every time. Finally, at 5am, when it showed no signs of stopping, she drove desperately trying to find an open drug store (this is AZ, remember?), and brought me home more Pepto, and Gingerale, and Gatorade.

Through all of this, I don’t remember much, although I do distinctly remember trying to verbalize how much everything hurt and how much I just wanted to die. However, as I lay in bed the next day, my muscles exhausted, too weak to even move to get online, I remembered how cared for I felt. How much having her help me through this meant to me.  

Oh course, the poor thing got sick Saturday night (although she only threw up once), and was dead to the world all day Sunday. Birthday plans were obviously postponed.

Love has many facets. There is the attraction, the reliability, the thrill of something new, the chemical connection, the familiarity. But when I am sick, there is nothing more in the world that I want (other than possibly to die, in this case) than to have someone taking care of me. And when Q, who had a luncheon and two presentations the next day, spent her night taking care of me, I just realized, yet again, how much I love her, and how much love she has for me. Cleaning up after the Exorcist? Now THAT is love.

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. As my father has been dead more than a decade, and fulfills other days, I’m going to write this to my mother.

Mother -

We have what many would see as a tumultuous relationship. There really are three parts of you that I get. There is the awesome part, that sends me news articles about gay marriage in other countries, that makes fun of John McCain, that sends Q and I fans for our cars out of the blue.

Then there is the side that has hurt me so much emotionally over the years; the side that convinced me that my family would never approve of/support me in what I do, that my relationships would never be welcome, that I would be ground in HS if I got a B. This is the side that plays BLATANT favoritism with my sister, to the point that people have pointed it out and asked me what I did to piss you off. This is the side that has caused countless tears, nights without sleep, thoughts of becoming a runaway, of emancipating myself in college, of disowning the family. You’ve gotten better in the past bit, but it’s still hard not to think of the acts you did that made me hate myself and regret living. Telling someone they tried to kill themselves because they wanted attention, or because they had a vegetarian diet? That’s just low.

And now, as you grow older into your 60s, there is the side that worries me. This is the part of you that tells me the same thing three times in one phone conversation, that has you confusing me with my sister, that has you tripping in the backyard, falling and hurting your knees. You live alone in a 3-story house, and I know you can’t even get down to the basement to deal with the cat litter (there is vomit and shit all over the floor). I keep trying to encourage you to sell and down size, offering to help you go through the stuff, and to move, but you reject it. I’ve offered to get my handy man friend to come over and put up towel racks that have fallen down for years, or lights that have been out for months. I get no response. It’s very hard to take care of someone who is slowly falling apart when they won’t accept your help. And it’s very hard to offer you help when I’ve been in dire situations, and gotten none from you.

I don’t hate you. I used to think I did, but I’ve realized that I don’t. However, it’s also incredibly hard to love you. I feel like I love you because I have to, not because there has been a growth of love between us. I hope this changes in the next few years, I do. I don’t want to feel this way. I can see that you’re trying; offering to pay for the cupcakes in our wedding is a HUGE step, especially since you don’t support the fact that we’re getting wedded. I appreciate that, and I give you my word that I will try to. Just know that this is all going to take time, and I don’t quite know how much of that we have, given the average life length in our family. But I will try.

I love you, in my own way,

-Essin’ Em