I’ve been talking to a man for the past few weeks via email and over the phone.  And surprisingly, I’ve grown to quite like him (a surprise since I don’t tend to get excited about men beyond sex these days.)  He’s smart, handsome, spiritually on the same page as me, and most importantly, we simply ’connect.’ 

But there’s one other reason why my attraction to him is strong: he’s a Dom.  Yeah, as in Dominant / submissive.  I’ve only ever played with D/s once and it was over a year ago.   But it is an aspect of myself and my sexuality that continues to titilize AND frustrate me.   My body melts at the thought of where it may lead me, but my brain argues that nothing in real life could equal such fantasies.  So I’ve tried to shove it down and ignore it …until I started talking to him.

But two nights ago as we talked on the phone, he told me has herpes.  He said he’s had it for twenty years and has only ever given it to one other person: his ex-wife.  He says his outbreaks are rare and very mild when they occur; they’re nothing like the gory photos on pamphlets in STD clinics.  “If something sexual were to happen between us, you don’t have to worry about contracting it,” he said firmly.  “I know my body, I can feel an outbreak coming on, and I’d know not to have sex with you.”

I was pretty freaked out.  My brain rushed to retrieve its limited data on herpes and assess what my chances were of catching it if we had protected sex.  At the same time, however, I felt disappointed and kind of mad:  I’d finally met an interesting man, who was ALSO a Dom,  but he damn well had herpes!

So now I’m thinking I won’t meet him at all; we’d planned to meet for our first date this Friday night.  I’m trying to make a rational, smart decision here.  And my brain says that I don’t want to be involved with someone with herpes unless it’s in a long term relationship.  And even though I like this man, I doubt I’m ready for serious. Even though I bet we’d have mind-blowing sex, it’s not worth a lifetime of battling an STD.    Actually, the more I think about it, the more I realize that my fear of contracting it would seriously hinder our sexual enjoyment, not to mention how much time I’d waste worrying about it afterwards.

It’s just so darn frustrating.  Finding a man I connect with is one hard task, finding one that is also a Dom is excruciating.  But I know I’ve come way too this past year and half to take a potentially harmful risk.  (sigh)  He’s just another man Delaine.  Move on.

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By the end of her marriage, she’d given up trying to have a G-spot orgasm; she thought maybe anatomically she couldn’t have one.  But one night, post-divorce, that G-bomb came out of nowhere:  KA-POWEE!  It was a back-arching, soul-screaming Hallelujah! 

Afterwards however, she was freaked out – AND embarrassed.  Cause it happened with a man she hardly knew.  

Why Him? she wondered.  More importantly, why NOW?  Why hadn’t it happened with her husband, someone she loved, or at least someone she’d dated more than twice?

She figured age was a contributing factor; she was closing in on forty after all.  Or maybe it happened because she’d had kids; perhaps something got shook loose in her uterus during childbirth?  Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she was more in tune with my body.  But that made no sense whatsoever – she was still reeling from her ex’s infidelity when it happened, not eating, not sleeping, not exercising…

But then a new thought zoomed in for landing:  “Maybe the why didn’t matter. It happened when it happened just because she was ready.  Maybe she was simply meant to experience it for the ecstatic pleasure it gave her – period.” 

All she knew for sure was that her body’s new talent thrilled her.  If she’d remained married, where, by the end, her sexuality felt confined behind cold bars, she’d never have experienced anything close to this.  Moreover, the timing of it suggested that there was more to her, more to her body, more to life than she’d ever imagined.  What else what might life post-divorce unleash in her?

Other Articles:   The #1 thing I wish someone had told me about divorce,  Divorce Pain:Alone Without Kids for the First Time, My Ex Scowls.  And I Smile - For our Kids.

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I’ll be the first to admit I’m not one for poetry.  But I literally got shivers when I read the poem below, recopied with permission from www.tsquest.blogspot.com. 

Master and Slave

You were the master
I was the slave

You drove
I held on for the ride

You called
I answered

You pulled me in
I couldn’t resist

You pushed me away
I stepped back and waited

You wanted to see more
I showed you all of me

You wanted me to go further
I kept going and going

You said stop
I stopped and waited

You wanted my touch
I gave you my hands

You wanted to be held
I gave you my arms

You wanted to come
I gave you my throat

You wanted space
I looked the other way

You tested me
I passed with flying colors

You suffocated me
I enjoyed it

You wanted me to trust you
I could have died while doing it

You wanted to penetrate
I offered up every orifice

You wanted me to beg
I was on my knees

You squeezed me hard
My body caved for you

You needed to grip
I offered my hair

You wanted to explore
I went willingly

You were right
I was wrong

What you didn’t know was
I chose to do this

You never had the control
It was me, all along

And I knew it, even as I obeyed your every command
I cursed your name in my head
I laughed out loud at the experience of it
Every bit of the pleasure pain
And how it was expanding my horizons
For the next one

I did it
For you
For me
And it was GLORIOUS

I offered you my body to do with whatever you wished
because I knew, way down deep….

You didn’t have Me.
Not the Real Me.

I am not my body.

I am.

Other articles: One-Night Stands: Qualifiers & Disqualifiers,  Disempowering Marital Sex

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Last night, I had the opportunity to go home with a lovely young man from a bar.  I’d been out drinking and dancing with some girlfriends and as the night wore on, this stay-at-home mom’s engine got all revved up:  “Just look at all those shoulders, backs, and arms,” my body screamed. “HELL-O!”  So how pleased I was when a 30-year-old, soon-to-be cop bought me a drink and zoomed in for the kill.

Now I’ve nothing against the concept of sex without love - especially since my heart isn’t up for grabs at his point post-divorce.  And I know I have NEEDS, sexual needs, that are strong, healthy and in need of no apology.

Nonetheless, I rejected this young man.  I came close…but I couldn’t quite thrust myself across the line.  In the aftermath, I wondered, “What stopped me?  What qualifying rules have I in place, maybe even subconsciously, that deliver my final yes or no answers?” 

Here’s what I’ve since come up with: 

The first thing that influences my decision is time.  How much of it, or little of it, have we spent together during the evening?  Even though I only want him for one night, I need time to access him, solidify a decision, and feel good about it. 

In last night’s case, he didn’t approach me till 15 minutes before closing.  And even though he seemed smart, well-spoken and very attractive, the clock was ticking loudly; it seemed too much like a booty call -  the ‘2 o-clock shuffle.’  I like my one-night stands to have a dash of magic: I want fun, intensity, connection, maybe even all three.  NOT just any “body.”

Secondly, I look for signs he’ll be a skillful, generous lover.  Oh, I know you can’t tell a book by it’s cover, but I’m very attune to languaging and energetic chemistry.  I look for actual phrases like, “I want to touch you, lick you, all over,” or anything that shows sex isn’t just about him.  Last night’s guy didn’t say the right things, even though I offered him the bait.  And ’something’ seemed off (arrogant?) in his demeanor.  I couldn’t take the risk.

My best friend says if a man talks a lot about his enjoyment of blow jobs, without any mention of reciprocation, it’s a flashing red sign that he’s a selfish lover.   I, personally, have zero tolerance for men who have weird hangups about oral sex.  I adore a man’s body from head to toe and expect the same thing in return.  I’m not saying a man should be pushed into doing things he doesn’t want to do.  But I AM OK with knowing and saying what I like.  And in a one-nighter scenario, I want a smorgasbord - many helpings of whatever I want - not just a one-course meal that may or may not be large enough to satisfy me. 

Thirdly, I’m assessing the ‘morning after.’  How will I get home?  Is it worth my time and energy?  And what kinds of concessions is he making?  In last night’s case, he lived WAY too far away and getting home would have been a pain.  Had he been older and more mature, perhaps he’d have known to say, “I’ll drive you home in the morning,” or “Let’s go get a hotel room close by and I’ll spring.”  This would have shown ‘extra effort’ on his part and ultimately, made him him more appealing.  It gets back to my needing the night to have a ’dash of magic’  - I want to feel like he just HAS to have me, whatever the cost, because our chemistry is so intense; we both want the night to go on and on…

I’m sure there are other qualifiers that affect my final decisions.  And over time, I hope to exhume them.  I just find it funny that even though I’m ‘having sex like a man,’ my ‘testing’ and thinking show I’m still waaaaay more complicated than men.  Cause for the majority of men, a booty call is just a booty call and based on physical attraction alone.  Right?   There again, why waste time wondering how MEN are programmed.  This stage of my life is all about ME, my sexuality included.

Other related articles:  I’m no “MILF.” You’re the “SMILF!”,   Should I Pursue Casual Sex More Regularly?,   Does Penis Size Matter?

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Since becoming single again this past year, I’ve been called a ‘Cougar’ - which I hate, and a MILF.  When I discovered MILF stood for “Mother I’d Like to F***”, I laughed.  Though some might find it offensive, I found it rather endearing:  I imagined these luscious, muscley young men looking at me with awe and innocence in their eyes.  How cute they wanted a ‘teacher.’  *grin. 

As my dating adventures continued, I crossed into “Young-Man Territory” a few times.  Mentally, I found these relationships very limited - we weren’t on the same page of life whatsoever.  But physically, mmmmm… that was another story.  Not only did they have stamina and the ‘look’ to keep me afire, they had a willingness to please, to learn, and become a better lover.

And then one day a question struck me:  Why do men have cute nicknames for women like MILF and we don’t have any for men?   Are we too polite?  Have we lost our sense of humor when it comes to sex?  Or is the title ‘boyfriend’ or ‘husband’ all we’re comfortable with?

I then began rethinking the word MILF - for some reason it was bugging me.  Digging deeper I realized it was because it made the man into the Hunter and the woman into the Prey.  And in my young man relationships, that was NOT the dynamic: THEY were the prey, and I was the HUNTRESS.

From that day forward I thus proclaimed a new honorary name for these delightful specimens of flesh: SMILF - Service Male I’d Like To F***.  It reverses the power scheme AND it sounds cute, kind of like an adorable little smurf.

But WAIT!  Hold your horses.  Not just ANY man can become a  SMILF; this is high-status stuff, something that must be earned.  Three primary criteria must be met:

1)  At LEAST one orgasm must go to the woman before him during every encounter

2) If any extra large ejaculation occurs on the woman’s part, he will change the sheets without fuss, and

3) NO SMALL PENISES ARE ALLOWED.

:)  God love you SMILFS.

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Two years into Sam’s seven-year marriage, she started hating having sex with her now-ex-husband. Sex became something she ‘got over with’ to keep the peace and keep him happy. And he wanted it a lot - every day, if not twice, even though she was oftentimes pregnant, nursing, or up at night with babies/toddlers.

On the flip side, while she was being emotionally bullied/guilted into having sex, another close girlfriend, Tara was being sexually REJECTED by her husband time and time again.

For years, I heard them talk and make excuses/placations for their husbands’ behaviours. They resolutely hung onto their marriages, telling themselves they were happy, that this ‘phase’ would pass, that there were more important things in a marriage than sex, etc etc. They marvelled at how different their situations were - they were at opposite ends of the spectrum: Sam wanted ‘way less,’ Tara wanted ‘way more.’ But one huge commonality existed between them:   both being disempowered by their sex lives.

By Sam handing over her body to her then-husband like it was a plate of chicken, she was handing over her personal power. By not refusing to say ‘no’ when she didn’t want sex, she was squashing her voice, teaching herself her voice was less important than his, AND she was detaching  from her body, which is an extension of her Spiritual Self.

By Tara being sexually backhanded by her ex - whether it was after a wonderful evening out, after a night of cuddling on the couch, or during a seduction scene she had carefully dressed for, she, too, had handed over personal power. His ongoing rejection translated into, “You’re not desirable - as a woman or a person.”

Now my girlfriends are both divorcing. And clearly, they’ve realized they have healing to do around their sexuality. Thus, they have given themselves permission to explore themselves, their identities, AND their bodies: through sexuality, sensuality and even ‘promiscuity.’  They’re attempting to do this from a higher place, that is, from the perspective that each sexual experience they carefully choose can teach them something about themselves, life, and/or men. They examine how their sexuality ripples into other aspects of their lives. For example, their ability or non-ability to vocalize what they want, and how they deal with selfish/bad lovers. They are exploring new physical pleasures/fantasies, and ‘owning’ their orgasms and pleasure instead of making them strictly contingent upon one man’s love or one man’s sexual prowess. Truly, their sexual Selves seem like a metaphor for the rest of their lives.

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