Classy

That's why The Puppy says he's so intimidated by me that we still haven't got to second base. Because I'm so classy. I objected immediately -- I'm basically a loud, opinionated, slutty, big-boned, ass-kicking radical femme who swears like a sailor. I've been called a lot of things in my day, but I'm pretty sure this was the first time for "classy." But the more I think about it, the more I think he didn't mean to say classy. I think he meant to say class.

Oh, class. I have such a fucked up class background it's hard to explain, but I'm not surprised my seriously working class punk musician puppy smells a class chasm between us. I got raised with and around a lot of old money and privilege, and while I live pretty hand-to-mouth now, I've had a lot of doors opened to me because of money and class, and I have a built-in safety net likely to last for the rest of my life.

Nor is this the first time I've fallen into a romantic class gap. Au contraire. (see! classy!) There was the anarchist girlfriend raised by a single mom (and abandoned by a deadbeat dad). Any time I tried to set any kind of boundary with her (like, for instance, don't wear my underwear), she accused me of wielding privilege, and I relented. There was also the girlfriend raised rural poor (also with a fuckhead father, but I'm here to attest that that cuts across class), who didn't wear my underwear (yay!) but did have an absolute meltdown anytime I wanted to see my family and not bring her, because of how pampered and privileged she got to feel around them.

Right now I probably sound exactly like the snotty, "classy" girl I so desperately don't want to be, and that's the problem. In both of these situations, I felt so responsible for closing the class gap between us (because I was the one with the relative power), I regularly ignored my own boundaries, which made both of us miserable. But what was I supposed to do? Say, oh, sorry our lives have had such different trajectories due solely to the accident of our birth situations under capitalism, but I have my needs so fuck off?

And now here I am in a situation which is not only unbalanced in my favor because of class, but also because of age. And already I find myself biting my tongue and constantly monitoring my behavior to prove how very fine and cool and chill I am with the whole situation, and how completely unclassy I am.

But I'm not. And I don't think either of us are fooled. And I'm going to try to just be my damn self from here on out, and if that means he thinks I'm too "classy" and the whole nascent thing falls apart and I never get to have sex with him, so be it. (Except I kinda like him. And I really want to sleep with him. So I hope that doesn't happen.)

[siiiiigh...]

PupDate

As in: a Puppy Update. Also as in: a date with The Puppy.

I won't give you the play by play, because the gestalt is more important. Let's try bullet points!

-Things are amicably over with The Girlfriend, who has now skipped town for some recuperation.

-There was a long middle-of-the-night walk complete with the loaning of the leather jacket (him to me) and deep conversations about love and art. I am both pleased and unsettled to discover that I'm really intrigued by him as a person, not just as a pretty, pretty sex prospect.

-We made out forever up against my car in the middle of the street at 3AM. He tasted delicious, somewhere between sweet and savory. Like a buttermilk pancake. (Also, who knew how sexy lower-lip piercings could be?)

-I worked an 11 hour day yesterday on 4 hours' sleep and grinned through the whole thing.

BUT ALSO (and these are the things I find it hard to admit in print):

-He would not make a move. We were hanging out up in his room, for god's sake, talking and talking and it was fab but at like 2AM I finally had to ask him if he was ever going to kiss me. Which he did a few minutes later, after he got over being totally freaked out that I asked, and it was excellent, but then he abruptly stopped just before things really heated up.

Let me be clear: the chemistry between us is serious enough that total strangers can smell it and say something about it. Our mutual friend also assures me that he is seriously into me. And yet we didn't even get to second base, unless you count his hand brushing against my breast once, so lightly it could have been an accident (not that I didn't enjoy it, believe me). I'm dying to sleep with him, and I'm so completely confused by this behavior. I'm not used to being with anyone who's not trying to get as far into my pants as they can. I can't figure out what it's all about. Is he really that scared of me? Is that just how he rolls, he takes things slow? Is he not as into me as I thought? Is he waaay too into me and wants to wait until it's "special"? Is there something else entirely I haven't thought of? I don't really want to ask him about it point blank because I don't want to have some huge processing conversation after like our first date. But I'm also kinda reluctant to make any more aggressive moves myself, since a) I feel like I'm being perfectly plain about my availability to him, b) I don't want to freak him out more if he's already intimidated and c) I don't know where he's at with his body and how he likes people to relate to it sexually and I haven't figured out how to ask him about that, either, since he blushes and clams up when I just ask him if he wants to kiss me.

Where is the Puppy Whisperer when you need hir?

-Also, I find myself worrying more than I like about what he'd think of the more thirtysomething, square-ish parts of my life if/when he discovered them. Basically, I'm afraid when he finds out what I'm really like most of the time he won't like me nearly as much. And I'm having to be vigilant not to change or hide those things about me I think he'll judge. I suppose this happens every time I find myself this crushed on someone, but somehow it feels particularly dangerous given this is someone I'm old enough to have babysat. I guess it also plays into my fears about aging and becoming less desirable.

-He said he'd call me. When will he call me? Will he at least text me? Have I become 13 again, really?

So, there you have it. I suppose I'm not at the moment really living up to the premise of this blog, so I apologize. But I'm not really very sorry. Nonetheless, to stay on topic, I promise to post soon about going back into the closet, in reverse. Which I have had to actually do recently and have much to say about.

Smart, adult, non-infatuated things to say. I swear.

The Puppy

Oh, readers. I went wading in the kiddie pool this weekend and now I'm in several kinds of trouble.

It starts and ends with The Puppy: 22 years old, hot as hades, equal parts shy and swaggering. Musician. Running sound for my recent show. Oh, and in a relationship (as in living with) the woman who's running lights. And she? Is 19. (And also, for the record, pretty darn cute.)

I might be a bad person.

So, The Puppy and I have been flirting throughout the production. Fine. No big. It's a show. We all flirt with each other. It's like that. I flirted with his girlfriend, too. Though admittedly, not as much.

But the flirting escalated this weekend, to the point where it was like a performance at the post-party on Friday night. We wrestled (he won, did I mention how ripped he is? But I put up an impressive fight.). We bantered publicly while we all played I Never. (I should mention the girlfriend was not present at this party.) Finally, I pulled him aside and was like, what's your deal? He gets insanely shy but does manage to communicate that they have an agreement where they can make out with other people, and it's OK. Within 12 nanoseconds of this revelation, we are making out. Poorly. He is so nervous that I actually ask him if there's something I can do to help him relax. "You could be less fiiine." he responds. Needless to say, I couldn't help him with that.

It's Saturday night. We all arrive for the show. The girlfriend is going to elaborate lengths to not make eye contact with me. So I do the most adult thing I can think of -- I find a mutual friend of mine and The Puppy's and pull her into a stairwell to pump her for information.

She spills: there's trouble in paradise. The Puppy has been thinking of breaking up with the girlfriend, and things have escalated recently. And suddenly, I am The Other Woman. The Much, Much Older Other Woman. Do, do doo do, do do, do do, do do, do do, doo.

Seriously, you're 19 and things have been strained with your 22 year old boifriend (yes, The Puppy is trans, more on that in a minute), the one you live with and are in love with, 19 year old love with, and suddenly he's making out with the hot woman in her mid-thirties that you both know? HOW. MUCH. DO. I. SUCK?

Here's where I might be a bad person: I still have a serious crush on The Puppy. I told him Saturday night that I wouldn't be hooking up with him (or even hanging out with him) again until his relationship stabilized or ended. But I also told him he could call me when that happened. And yes, I know, if he didn't tell me about the troubles with the two of them, he might not be super great at emotional communication, but for fuck's sake, he's 22. No duh. I don't think we're going to ride off into the sunset together. I more imagine that I could train him in ways to live up to that swagger and then eventually release him back into the wild.

Meanwhile, let's count the kinds of trouble I'm now in:

1) The girlfriend hates me. And that sucks, because a) I like her and really didn't know how much what I did would suck for her, and b) she may well be lighting our next show and she could put my ass in SHADOW.

Should I seek her out and apologize or just let seething girlfriends lie?

2) Some other folks from the show are feeling protective of the girlfriend, as they should, I suppose, but that doesn't make them like me very much now, does it? And if she quits, and we have to find a new light person, they're going to like me even less. But here's the thing: I didn't know. And what's more, they really seem like they're headed to breakup anyhow, and while I may have been an incident along that path, I'm clearly not the real reason(s). So if she quits, it's likely to be for much larger things.

Right?

3) So, what does it mean that I'm waaaay more crushed out on this fairly clueless kid than I have been on any of the actual grown-up men I've attempted to date recently, with the possible exception of Mr. Helen Reddy? Just dumb, stupid luck? Is it easier to crush on people you've spent some time with? Do I prefer people with whom I have no real future? Or does it turn out that I'm really actually just more attracted to queers?

4) The real trouble: none of these other sorts of trouble are occupying nearly as much headspace as is wondering when/if he'll call me again...

When a Guy Smiles at You

OK, I'll admit it: the online personals pool is starting to run dry, and craigslist seems too overrun with creeps to be worth my time. But how else is a girl supposed to meet a guy? I work with all women, and I just don't seem to be introduced to cute, interesting, single, straight guys all that often. (As in, ever.)

It's true that, on occasion, a cute guy will smile at me in a public setting. But does anyone meet for real through chance encounters? Because I think I'm doing them wrong.

Earlier this summer, I was at a stoplight when in the car to the left of me I spotted a cute guy. Now, I certainly didn't imagine I would meet him, I was just enjoying looking at him and reminding myself that such a creature existed. But then he caught me looking at him, so I smiled. And then he smiled back. And then I looked away, but peeked back and saw that he was still staring at me. And so I looked away some more. And then he switched out of his left turn lane and into mine and proceeded to FOLLOW ME IN HIS CAR. For miles. No matter what I did, until I actually went and got on the highway (which was not where I was going, btw, just hoped he wouldn't follow me there).

This made me considerably less apt to smile at random cute guys.

Then, a week later, it happened again. I was at the local grocery store/strip mall, just running errands, and a security guard smiled at me. I only half-smiled back, because lord knows I'm not stupid. But he started following me, too! I ducked into the bookstore and browsed the magazines for five minutes and peeked outside, and he was still standing there, right outside, leaning up against a pole waiting for me. It took another ten minutes before he moved on and I dashed to my car, errands be damned.

Now, I don't want to play the hapless victim here -- I'm well trained in boundary setting and self-defense and I can handle myself if it comes down to that. But seriously -- I'd rather not, y'know? Is there some sign I'm missing here? Because generally, if a woman smiles at you like she likes you, and you've never met before, she doesn't then stalk you. On foot or in a car. Maybe that's because it's highly likely that you know people in common even if you've never met. Maybe it's socialization. Whatever it is, it sure does make it easier to meet cute girls.

To Review:

-One ridonculously great date with an awesome, cute, smart guy who played me Helen Reddy and went down on me better than most of the women I've been with. (Oh, right. You don't know about him yet. He masterfully took my re-virginity, but then abruptly disappeared in response to an ultimatum from another woman. Alas. We hope that he'll someday re-appear.)

-Two dates with a guy who is funny and interesting and smart and weird (and a trained chef!) and, while not truly handsome, is not homely to be sure. And was pretty fun in bed. But who plays Grand Theft Auto and subscribes to Playboy and apologizes for everything including kissing me.

-One date with a genuinely cute guy who is smart and politically engaged but seems to lack passion or nuance or personal drive (or a decent gender analysis), and might be, in fact, kinda boring. But the jury's still out. We're seeing him again soon, if we can manage to focus on how cute he is and not how uninspiring.

-One date with a guy about whom the only nice thing I can say is that he seemed benign.

At this rate, The Genuine Asshole is next. Buckle up, boys and girls.

The Dates Are Getting Worse

Just got back from the worst one yet. Boring and homely, couldn't hold up a conversation, just said "mmhm, mmhm, mmhm" to everything equally, however exciting or mundane. (No joke: he seemed equally interested in the logistics of using TiVo without cable as he was in the intricate vision I have for my next writing project.) He was much more interesting over email! A playwright with a slightly wicked sense of humor! And a flirty streak! All of which was completely absent throughout the whole of dinner! Seriously, I knew I was dead before we even ordered, but what do you do?

To make matters worse, I've already sorta invited him to A) a show I happen to have free tix to on Sunday and B) a show I'm IN on Friday night. A) happened because he's a playwright and we were talking about something that reminded me of the tickets and I just figured he was interesting enough that he'd be good company regardless of the attraction and I'M AN IDIOT. B) happened because I told him about the show I'm in in the context of scheduling issues and he asked for more info and, to review, I'M AN IDIOT.

Of course, the part I'm not talking about is the bad teeth and the balding hairline, because I want to pretend that looks don't matter. I even kind of expected him to be not that great looking because his photo on his profile was sort of... vague. But let me just say that once we met it came not as a shock to learn that he had once dressed as Dick Cheney.

Which brings me to ask: what's the deal with looks? Can we talk about them? I keep trying to tell myself not to be super-picky in the looks department, not only because most of the hot guys seem like jerks, not only because you can't really tell that much from a digital photo, but also because of how much I hate to be judged on looks myself. Aren't we all going to lose our looks in the end? I'm sure as hell never going to be better looking, physically, than I am right now. But what about chemistry? And who do the homely people date? Do they have different standards? So why should I think I'm so hot? I just can't square this circle quite yet...

Condom Question

So, I've been thinking about something the Man/Child said to me after sex. He said he was glad I'd had condoms, since he hadn't brought any (bless his misguided honesty, really). I was pretty shocked. I'd been flirting with him mighty heavily and invited him up to my place as part of the date -- didn't he have some inkling he might get laid? He told me sure, he'd hoped so, but he didn't want to seem like he'd made any assumptions.

Now, here's the thing that's been bugging me -- how the hell would I know if he had a condom on him if we didn't do the deed? Is this something guys do for real? Or is it just a cover for the real hope that we'd find ourselves lacking a rubber and I'd just be like, oh, let's do it anyway! Do people really still have unprotected sex with people they hardly know?

He didn't complain when I handed him a condom, exactly, but he did let me know at a later point that he was having a harder time coming because he "wasn't used to" the condom. I took that at the time to mean nothing more than he hadn't had sex in a long time, which he had already told me directly. But it stands out to me that neither of the guys I've slept with so far even broached the idea of a condom until I whipped one out. Could be I'm overeager. Or could it be that men are, actually, pigs?

The Man/Child

Had a date yesterday with a Man/Child. I had forgotten about the Man/Child, how he seems so grown-up on the surface. This one is getting a Ph.D. in computer science, has a background in English lit and some fluency in French, trained and worked as a professional chef with a direct disciple of Alice Waters, and was, as far as I could tell from our emails and our lovely first date over brunch, clever and funny and charming and smart and respectful. Added bonus: his very first girlfriend was a lesbian before and after him, so not only is he not freaked out by me, but he claims to have been very well trained.

Who could resist? Certainly not me. We arranged a Big Second Date, in which if the weather was good, we would go for a hike in a nearby wildlife sanctuary, and if it was poor, we'd go to a museum. (Both activities were his ideas.) Either way, afterward we'd adjourn to my place where he'd cook for me, and I'd make dessert. Ahem.

The weather looked good. I bought wine and condoms, gave myself a facial, caught up with my laundry so I could select just the right sweater. My roommate gamely agreed to amscray for the evening.

On the surface of it, the date was fun: we got caught in traffic but didn't run out of conversation, there was flirting, there was a first kiss sitting on a rock in the woods. Immediately after which he apologized just in case he was being too forward.

Sadly, that was not the first bad sign. There was also the part where he told me all about his love of playing Grand Theft Auto, and how it most certainly was not a gateway to misogyny and violence, just good innocent fun. And pimping hos isn't even a central part of the game -- you can skip it altogether if you want!

There was also the really fun bit where I made a joke about something or other being like reading Playboy for the articles, and he kinda laughed and confessed that he did, in fact, have a subscription to said fine publication, which of course he obtained in order to appreciate its literary merits.

He also ordered tuna tacos at dinner. I kid you not. And yes, it was largely so he could joke about it the whole time.

I slept with him anyway. Because I am sad and desperate and still terribly curious. It was pretty fun but I felt kinda gross afterward. I'm going to try only to sleep with people I actually like from here on out.

Couldn't They Have Called It A Hard Off?

Two experiences I have recently had:

1) I'm at a bar with some friends. (OK, full disclosure, I'm at a bar with some friends for my ex's birthday celebration.) The band rocks, and I'm dancing my ass off. I've had a couple of drinks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy I know. He runs a local venue I perform at sometimes. We've always been friendly, and he's a good looking guy. I'm also 80% sure I've heard him talk about a wife. This will be relevant.

So I run up to him all happy to see him, and I give him a hug. And he tells me he didn't know I was such a "hot dancer." And then he holds onto my hand when I'm attempting to let go. Still, I pretend to think we're just friend-flirting. He says, "I may have to ask you to dance later." I say, "I'll say yes..." and run off to rejoin my friends.

It's later. He's standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, watching me. I pretend I don't have a weird feeling about it and ask him if he's going to dance with me. Which he does by grabbing me around the waist and sort of forcing me to slow dance with him. And his erect penis. I can feel precise arc with which it curves to the right. It is not a slow song. I try to take a step back and pick up the pace, dancing-wise, but he's having none of it. He grabs my waist back and slows down even further. I finally have to make some lame excuse about not wanting to ditch my friends, and I run off. Emphasis on the word run.

2)I'm at a conference. Right away, approaching the registration table, I notice a seriously hot guy. Turns out, the friend I'm there with, whom I'll call M, vaguely knows him. I figure he's way out of my league and do nothing.

The next day, he actually walks up to us and starts flirting with me. He's pretty blatant, but it still takes a while for me to pick up on it, because it has entirely not occurred to me that he would even notice me. But there it is. He wants to know if I'm going to the party that night. Of course I am. He walks off. I giggle and freak out about it with M over dinner. We plan strategy. We go to the party. Is he there? Where is he? Is he in there? Finally, an hour later, I'm in the bathroom and M rushes in. He's there. We flirt like mad for like two hours. There's dancing. Then I start flagging but he wants to stay, so he asks me for my cell and says he'll call in a bit.

An hour and a half later, just as I'm finishing brushing my teeth, he calls. Can he come by? I'm pretty tired but very excited and looking forward to some quality making out. He comes over, reeking of pot. He sits on the bed and says nothing. I join him. He does not kiss me. He just climbs up on me and starts rubbing his body all over me. This goes on for a minute or two. I try to kiss him and he thrusts his tongue into my mouth like a piston a few times. I pull away. He starts in with the rubbing again, and I send him home.


Now, I may have been away for them for a very long time, but I like penises. I really do. I like how responsive and direct they are, how concrete. I've even had one inside me recently (more on that soon, I promise). But this just feels, well, weird. In a profoundly eww kinda way. Is this something I'm going to need to develop a tolerance for? Please someone tell me no...

This Does Not Bode Well For Me.

Women 'climax' more during lesbian sex

How to Be Irresistible to Men

Lately, the primary way I've been meeting guys is through online dating sites, especially ones that tend to skew progressive. Last weekend I emailed this cuuuuuuuute guy with just the right blend of pop culture references, political/intellectual seriousness, and self-effacing humor in his profile. The holy grail, right? And lo and behold, he wrote back. And back and back and back.

So we've got this great little flirtation humming, where he tells me about his tattoo but refuses to say where it is, and I describe in detail one of my favorite secret local places to go, etc. We exchange revealing information about our romantic histories without crossing the line into TMI. He confesses to watching Gilmore Girls and tells me I have incredible eyes. Even Google knows what's going on -- every time I compose or read one of our emails, it gives me a sponsored link for a site called "How to Be Irresistible to Men."

And then. He mentions something about having a diary on Daily Kos. And I mention something about what a boys' club it is. All the flirting stops. After a few exchanges, he concedes that he can see that Kos does slant toward linking to boys, and he can see how that would be a problem if you're a "committed feminist." And I write back with a treatise on why it's actually a problem for everyone, even his white male self, and how it's replicating the sexist structures of the corporate media. And then I say (to be fair, he asked), that I was starting to hesitate about him because he seems to lack an analysis of how structural misogyny functions. Because I am stupid and do not actually want to get laid.

And then, silence. Two days of it.

UPDATE: Got an email today saying he wasn't blowing me off but hadn't had the time yet to write a thoughtful response. But I want to get involved with a guy so deeply in need of schooling, even if he's open to it, which remains to be seen? Or am I being completely ridiculous here?

Let's jump right in, shall we?

I kissed a girl for the first time in October 1992. Since then, I've dated, slept with and fallen for only women and queer-identified transguys. Until now.

I ended a four year relationship in May and found myself interested in straight men for the first time in a very long time. I also found myself without a clue about how to relate to straight men without, on the one hand, getting stalked, or, on the other hand, coming off as, well, a radical lesbian. And then of course, there is the matter of the penis. Quite literally.

This is my story.