baserinstincts

A Room of One’s Own - Addendum

A week or two ago, I was talking about my experiences shacking up.

It seems that in addition to not being able to hold onto a man, I can’t even keep my pets.

A little over a week ago, Ramses, my cat, jumped out of the window.

Right now you probably don’t see the relevance but stay with me here because this is very telling.

When I brought Ramses home, I had gone almost a year without a cat. For as long as I can remember I’ve had cats, up to five at once at one point.

Snookums, my baby, is residing with my mother currently. When I moved out I had every intention of bringing her with me, and I did. However after about a year in this apartment, which is quite small, I could tell that Snookums was bored and missed the space of my mother’s big house and the yard and the other pets.

When the ex and I went on vacation last summer, I brought her to my mom’s for safekeeping and feeding. When I returned, I decided it was best to leave her there. I felt like a mother who’d just given her child up for adoption, but it was what was best for Snookums.

And as you know, a few months later, the ex was gone too.

I was truly alone.

About a month ago I get a call from my mom saying that yet another cat has appeared on her doorstep and refused to leave (see the cats on the neighborhood talk to one another, they say “go to 622, they always take in strays”). She said she didn’t think the house could survive another cat (Ramses would have made the sixth, in addition to three dogs and a gerbil) and begged me to come pick him up.

I agreed but by the time I got there, my sister had already fallen in love with him and said I couldn’t have him (younger siblings, they’re such brats).

The next day my sister sends me a text message saying that Snookums and Mustache, hitherto mortal enemies, have united against the newcomer and that in order to save his life she has decided to let me have him.

I went to get him the next day. He was gorgeous. Sleek, black and sporting a pair of the biggest balls I’d ever seen on a cat (and no I wasn’t looking but they were hard to miss). He had a huge appetite and would soon have eaten me out of house and home.

In the second part of my post I likened my romantic nature to that of a cat’s saying:

I am at heart the cat. The loving yet fiercely independent cat that will rub against your feet, let you feed me and stroke me, make you think I adore you.

And then dash out as soon as you open the door to roam around the block.

I may return, and then again I may not.

And then a couple of days later the cat was gone.

It was if I had written it into existence.

My sister was pissed.

I had opened the window to get some fresh air in the apartment. Ten minutes later I couldn’t find Ramses.

My sister and I walked around the block looking for him but you won’t ever find a cat if he doesn’t want you to.

I hoped wherever he was he wasn’t hurt and was getting fed but I wasn’t as upset as I expected myself to be.

It was hard getting used to having another being in the place albeit a non-human one.

Suddenly, I had to worry about whether he was getting enough food, if his litter box was clean, getting him neutered, him pissing on my couch etc.

He wanted lots of attention. I wanted to write.

I slept at night, he didn’t.

And he did this annoying thing where he’d run around the place like a maniac and knock shit over.

He chewed on my plants.

As adorable as he was, his sudden presence in my life was quite trying at times.

Maybe he picked up on that. Or maybe he wanted to run away before I had his balls cut and he’s just fucking his way around the neighborhood. Whatever the reason, he saw his chance and dashed out the way I’d done many times before and will do again.

I can’t even be mad at him.

Maybe he’ll come back.

Or not.

Sex in Movies - “Make Me Feel Good”

I’d be totally remiss if I started collecting the best sex scenes in cinema without mentioning this scene from Monster’s Ball.

There are so many things to love about this scene.

Halle Berry’s raw desperation in this scene is awesome. Her son was just killed and she’s beside herself. And what better to take your mind off the whole thing than getting righteously shagged by Billy Bob Thorton and demanding over and over again “make me feel good”.

Halle Berry, besides being smoking hot, really shows her stuff (no pun intended) as an actress here. It isn’t a wonder she won an Oscar for this.

Billy Bob is sexy. I know many people don’t think so but I do. I’d totally do him. And I suggest any actor wanting to improve his love scene game take notes from him.

I love that they go through like five positions in three minutes.

I love that you can see the actors. None of the fancy draping with the sheets.

I love that Billy Bob can’t seem to take his hands off Halle’s ass for one second.

I love that they never quite make it to a bed.

I love the sheer emotional violence of the sex in this scene, as if each of them is taking out years of anger and resentment on the other.

And I love that by the end, you can see that they’ve made a real connection.

The scene is raw, acid, real. It’s not flowery and artistic and fake as many love scenes in film are. It’s the nitty gritty. It’s how real people fuck (not that I’m saying real people don’t ever make love in gardens of roses…just that no one I know has).

Link Lovin’

Babeland: Design Your Own STD Prevention Underwear - Because loves do need instructions and safe sex is important. But the best prat about this post is the cute video. And who doesn’t love a contest?

Urban Gypsy: Adventures in Dermablend - From one busty chick to another. The story is funny and the pics are great.

Sex in the Public Square: The Sex Commons Wiki - I think it’s a wonderful idea.

Naked City: Porn for Women, Please - A great article for women who are into porn but underwhelmed by their current options.

Boinkology: What Makes a “Promiscuous” Girl - The word “slut” traditionally has very negative connotations. Some choose to redefine the word for themselves. Lots of lively discussion going on here.

Dirty Girls Need Love Too

And I for one am glad that dirty girls are finally getting their props.

The fab and almost inhumanly prolific Rachel Kramer Bussel is at it again with yet another erotica anthology enititled simply Dirty Girls.

From the naked chick on the cover, through the whopping 27 dirty stories inside, there are no words for how hot this book is. You’ll just have to grab your own copy and see for yourself.

Just how do we define a dirty girl? RKB breaks it down perfectly in her intro:

“They know who and what they want, and they go after the objects of their affection in all kinds of different ways.”

That’s right.

There’s a dirty girl in all of us.

And there is something for every type of dirty girl here. Those of us who have been around the block (or in this case, the country) more than a few times will particularly enjoy Fucking Around by Marie Lyn Bernard.

Those of us who like sex in public will share a few knowing giggles after reading Live Tonight by Saskia Walker.

The dirty girls who love to watch will certainly want to do so after reading Catherine Lundoff’s Just Another Girl On The Train.

Beautiful Creatures by Kristina Wright, is dedicated to all the dirty girls who are stuck in unfulfilling relationships/marriages and long to get fucked silly by absolute strangers.

In The Name Of by Isabella Gray reads like a love letter to dirty girls that like to share.

I really loved Cheesy Boots by L. Elise Bland, being a dirty girl who’s also a foodie.

And for the dirty girls that wish their partners would pay more attention to their nipples there’s The Mile High Club by Kate Dominic.

And because we’re celebrating nipples, the nipple on the book cover, the nipple on this blog and nipples everywhere, here’s an excerpt from The Mile High Club:

As I shivered against him, his fingers competently flicked open the front latch of my bra. I sighed as my left breast fell forward into the cup of his hand. His thumb stroked my nipple. It hardened instantly.

“I’m an incorrigible breast man.” He laughed softly, keeping his voice low enough that only I could hear. “I love the feel of a woman’s breasts in my hands, especially one’s with big sensitive nipples like yours. It makes me so hard.”

My fingers stilled on my clit as he let go of the nipple he’d been stroking and picked up my other breast. I couldn’t contain the soft moans that escaped my lips at the wonderful feel of his fingertips stroking first one, then the other nipple. I nodded breathlessly as he shushed me.

He keeps going, but you’ll have to read for yourself.

10 Things I Find Extremely Sexy on Men

The things that are sexy about men are wonderfully varied and abundant.

The list that follows highlights just ten of my absolute favorites in no particular order.

1. Dimples - I feel a twitch in my nether regions each and every time I see a man’s face crease when he smiles. I become absolutely undone.

Eddie Cibrian sports a pair of the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen.

2. Crow’s feet - A big no-no on women (supposedly), but for some reason I love, love them on men. There’s something about creases around the eyes, especially when smiling, that suggests benevolence and wisdom.

I think Knoxville actually looks better in the before. Don’t hide those Crow’s feet!

3. Accents - Yes, even French accents. Seriously, there’s something about a foreign accent that just melts my butter. Pretty much any accent will do. The last man I “talked to” was from my parents’ native Jamaica. My parents were very keen on my sister and I not sounding Caribbean so there wasn’t much broken English going on in our household. I’d make him repeat the most mundane things just so I could revel in his thick Patois. It was refreshing.

4. Hair - The long, thick kind. I’m not knocking the shorter cuts. I realize the longish hair doesn’t work on all men. But when I see ponytails, dark or light, or hair that’s just brushing the tops of a man’s shoulders, I get the urge to lace my fingers in it and pull.

Nobody does sexy hair better than Johnny Depp!

5. Tattoos - My love for tattoos may just be a remnant from my “bad boy” phase. But nevertheless, I’m always intrigued when I see one, especially when placed on a nicely defined bicep, and want to know more about it and the man wearing it.

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Beautiful, mixed, tattooed.

Continue reading 10 Things I Find Extremely Sexy on Men…

A Room of One’s Own - Conclusion

R&B artist John Legend had a song on his album Get Lifted called Ordinary People. The words of this song really struck a chord with me.

We are all only humans, just ordinary people. While we are capable of, and often experience spiritually transcendent moments, we tend to also fall into a perpetual trap of expecting too much from ourselves and our partners.

We all fuck up. We all fall short. And this is no less true in relationships.

There is no one person out there that is going to “complete you”. You will not get all you need, in one person (and if you do, please contact the government agencies that are heading up the cloning project).

Things change. They change suddenly and they change pretty frequently. How can one be sure of what one wants two weeks from now much less fifty years from now?

People however, don’t change. Yes, they make tweaks and adjustments here and there but this is all very superficial. The essence of a person, I believe, does not change. What many people refer to as internal change is really only a change in environment.

A friend of mine said to me once that her parents told her that in order for a marriage to work, one person must always bend to the other’s will. I don’t know if this is true but if it is, I don’t see that person being me and I would not respect a man who allowed himself to be constantly bent.

The reasons people shack up are varied and many times, these reasons have absolutely nothing to do with love. Convenience is a huge factor. Economics is another big one (especially in cities like New York where the cost of living gets more ridiculous every year).

Loneliness is another reason.

And then there’s fear. Nothing good ever comes in acting through fear unless you’re taking actions to save your life in a dangerous situation and even then that could be deadly.

In my case it was a combination of insecurity and wanting to get out from under my mother the first time around. The second time, it was the ol’ one two punch of economics and convenience. All pretty shitty reasons.

The point is to know your motivation. Don’t kid yourself. Your reasons will dictate the results.

The important thing to remember is that expectations differ and so you need to talk about them and get them all on the table way ahead of time. You need to know that you and your partner have similar values and goals in life and that you want to make a life together, not just try to fit each other into your already separate lives. Financial compatibility is key (money will be the subject of most fights). And you need to know that it’s not going to be a walk in the park on most days.

I’m not saying don’t do it.

I’m saying know thyself.

I know me.

And I won’t be cohabiting, be it with friend, family, or fuck, anytime soon.

A Room of One’s Own - Part 2

And just to be sure I really learned my lesson, I decided to give shacking up the old college try once more.

This time things were quite different. I was already in my own place and I had a boyfriend who seemingly adored me and wanted to move in with me.

I should have said no.

I know I should have said no but I said yes (and trust me, over a year later I’m still kicking myself for it).

I said yes because he gave me this sob story about how he hates his apartment and he hates his roommate and he’s living in poverty etc., etc.

I felt for him.

And the prospect of having my rent cut in half was an extremely attractive one.

Here I had the opposite problem. Before, it was always me trying to make it work, hanging on in a fog of insecurity and idealist perceptions of love. And it was he who realized way before I did that we’d made a mistake and wanted to be free.

This time it was he who was insecure and clinging and I who’d realized the mistake and wanted to be free.

There were several other reasons this one was doomed from the start.

One was that the apartment was too small. Well not exactly. It was the perfect size for me (and my cat). Add another person into the mix and you’re headed for trouble.

Second…a writer and a musician (drummer) living together? Bad news.

Thirdly, if shack up one must, it is better for both parties to leave their current residences and get a new place together. A place that will feel like it belongs to the both of you. When one person just moves in with the other, everything is cute as first but inevitably it starts to feel as though one is in the other’s space. Not once, in the entire year living with “number 2″, did I ever stop thinking about the apartment as mine versus thinking of it as ours.

Another valuable thing I learned about myself is that I am an introvert.
I’d never considered myself an introvert because I was always friendly and got along with people. Then my ex (an unbelievable and shameless extrovert), showed me an article and it was spot on.

We broke up sometime later.

It was beyond difficult and for awhile he simply refused to leave.

When he finally did leave, moving clear across the country to get away from me, it was as if I’d held my breath for a year and was now able to breathe again.

Next lesson: take it slow.

The reason we didn’t work was no big secret. We had rushed things and that was the simple fact of it all. We took a step that was way too big for two people who knew so little of each other. And months later, when they honeymoon was over and those true colors started to shine on through, we discovered simply that we just didn’t like each other.

I knew better. I can’t even blame him.

Also when you get too used to living alone (and liking it, no loving it), it is in most cases too late.

Which brings me to a final valuable lesson: this shackin’ up shit just ain’t for me.

I am at heart the cat. The loving yet fiercely independent cat that will rub against your feet, let you feed me and stroke me, make you think I adore you.

And then dash out as soon as you open the door to roam around the block.

I may return, and then again I may not.

A Room of One’s Own - Part 1

I said this before, after my fluke of an engagement.

I took it back once and now I’ll say it again.

I’m not into the shacking up thing.

I’m serious.

Even if some miracle occurred and I did get married (Rhett Butler said it best in Gone With the Wind when he quipped “I’m not the marrying kind.”), I’d seriously make a case for my husband and I to have two separate apartments.

Cohabitation disaster number one- I wasn’t even 20 the first time I left the house. My childhood sweetheart and I convinced ourselves that we were ready for a commitment larger than we could even fully comprehend at the time (what’s that they say about hindsight?).

Combine that with the fact that my mother and I had convinced ourselves that we hated one another (ditto him and his mom) and you get two well meaning but unbelievably naive kids who left home too early and had absolutely no business moving in together.

The honeymoon was over quickly and soon we were arguing and he was cheating and I was foolishly and desperately trying to keep things from falling apart.

And just how do you keep things from falling apart when:

A. Several different women are calling your home (some of them at all kinds of ungodly hours) and they sound surprised to hear a female voice on the other end. Or you come home one night from school and see another woman leaving your apartment. Or your sweetie’s little brother is helping him do his dirt by erasing numbers off of the caller ID.

B. When it’s time to pay the rent you hear “Just put in my half baby and I’ll pay you back” month after month.

C. Your sweetheart is prone to fits of rage. The kind that have you cowering in a corner so you can stay out of his way until it’s over.

I was working full time and going to school full time. I needed peace at home and all I was getting was more stress.

The way I saw it, there were only two choices. It was either suck it up and try to make it work or admit defeat and go back home to Mommy. For a long time, I didn’t consider the latter an option. No matter how bad the relationship got (and it got really bad), it couldn’t be worse than the prospect of a lifetime of “I told you so’s ” from mother. And Grandma too.

I think that was when I learned one of the biggest relationship lessons of my life: one person can’t be the only one working on a relationship. One day I accepted that the shit just wasn’t going to work because I was the only one working, both literally and figuratively.

We broke up briefly and then got back together briefly, just long enough for me to see that he was up to his old tricks and then we broke up again for good. I went home but only for about a month until I got my own apartment.

I eventually got over my ex (funny how we think we never will but somehow we always do), and I continued to live alone. And let me tell you it was the best time of my life. I could do what I wanted to do and didn’t constantly have to consider another person. Most importantly, I learned to enjoy my own company.

It was then, during all the time I had to reflect, that I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t like my ex, it was that I didn’t like who I was when I was with him.