Act of Rebellion?

I was three weeks shy of my 18th birthday when I gave up my virginity. I didn't lose it, mind; I know exactly where it went. For whatever reason, I had decided to give it up sometime before the date when it would have been, arbitrarily, legal to do so.

Unbeknownst to my designated "recipient", the process was all carefully orchestrated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim and I had been dating for about a year. He was much older than I, around 22 to my 16, and glamorous because of it. He was a reporter for our local morning newspaper; back in the day, most metropolitan areas of any size had both a morning and an evening newspaper. We attended concerts and other events when he was "comped" the tickets. We also went to clubs to dance and hear live music. Despite my age, we were never bounced out and I was exposed to a lot of very good jazz and blues.

Our physical relationship was limited to kissing and touching because he was extremely sensitive to my age and extremely reluctant to go to jail. I know he also dated other, older, women and I dated classmates; but we spent a good deal of time together and grew close as friends.

When the time came, I knew that I did not want to find out what sex was all about from someone who knew as little as (or less than!) I did; it had to be someone who was experienced and who would and could take the time to help me learn more about my own body. Jim, I decided, would be perfect for this: he was experienced, he knew me, we liked each other, he was gentle, he cared about me.

During my freshman year at college, the Guarnieri Quartet was in residence and gave occasional concerts as well as teaching and leading seminars for the advanced music students. I invited Jim to  to attend the concert and to see my school. We arranged for him to stay at the motel next to campus. After a nice dinner, we listened to wonderful music for a couple of hours; then I suggested a night-cap at his motel room. Jim was a little surprised by this, but definitely game! Conveniently, there was a liquor store just down the road from the motel and we bought a bottle of his favorite, bourbon, to take with us.

Here is where we fade to black for a while ... the exact details are for his memory and mine. I did tell him that I had signed out of the dorm for the night so that curfew (we had that too, back in the day) wouldn't be an issue. Suffice it to say, the experience was lovely, sweet, wonderful and memorable. My "first time" involved waking up in the arms of my lover rather than fumbling for zippers in the back seat of a car.

Heros and friends

Almost every night during the five years before the end, I would have difficulty falling asleep.

Either there was physical abuse or, more often, psychological abuse and until I knew he was asleep, I was afraid to close my eyes or let down my guard. Because he could turn on me again. And want rough sex or want to berate me or want to catalog my failings as a wife as a mother as a woman as a person. But not as a person, because he didn't see me as a separate person. I was wife, mother, housekeeper, cook, cleaner, punching bag, stepping stool for his fragile, and often fractured, ego.

Each night, I would cower on the far side of the bed, waiting for his breathing to slow and grow steady, then the snore, then the apnic breathing that let me know he was asleep and I was safe for now. And maybe he would die in his sleep and I would be safe forever.

Each night, as I lay there waiting, I would rub my head, run fingers through my hair, and whisper to myself, "Its OK baby, everything is OK baby, go to sleep now, you are safe with me." My White Knight, my Hero, would hold me in his arms and whisper, in a deep low voice, "Its OK baby, everything is OK baby, go to sleep now, you are safe with me."

The bad times are over. I am strong and whole and secure now. I am separate from that life and safe in this one. And my Hero sleeps next to me, rubbing my head, running his fingers through my hair, until I fall asleep. "Its OK baby, everything is OK baby, go to sleep now, you are safe with me."

I Love You. My Hero. My Friend.

Aha! moment

Not ashamed.
Not judgment.
Not "him".

It is the fact that we have a pre-existing relationship that is fueling my hesitation!

Now, to find a way to combine the intimacy with the pre-existing condition :-)

songs of the daisy

I love you.
I want you.

I cannot make you love or want me.

If you do

it will be super

it will be brilliant

it will be incandescent

If you do not

I will miss you
But the greater loss will be yours.

A Witch's New Year

Samhain is a time for celebrating life and remembering the dead; it is also a time for reflecting on the old year and planning for the new.

Reflection

I have -- children who are, for the most part, healthy and happy.

I have -- a lover who loves me, who treats me wonderfully.

I have -- a small group of friends I love, who love me; and we all rely on each other for mutual support.

I have -- after studying hard for a few years, achieved recognition and certification in a profession where I can make a difference and where I am proud to work with a group of amazing colleagues.

I have -- a comfortable house in a safe and friendly neighborhood; the house belongs 1/3 to the bank but 2/3 is mine outright.

The secret to happiness is not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got. And that is why I am so blue today. There are some things lacking, things I want and haven't got and I can't seem get past that.

I want -- a job where I can respect my supervisor; where I can work for someone who values my knowledge, competence and contributions; where I am compensated at least at the profession's minimum rather than close to minimum wage; where I am treated as a fellow professional rather than as a servant.

I want -- a partner who looks to me first for affection, companionship, love; someone I can turn to on dark nights and rainy days; someone to play with in the sunshine; someone to make plans for the future with; someone to grow old with.

Planning

Already, I have taken steps to resolve the professional issue. My resume is winging its way around the county and a bit beyond, accompanied by the best cover letters I can compose. My hope is that it will bring me more professional satisfaction, contentment, fulfillment and financial security.

Tomorrow night, my Full Moon ritual will attempt to do the same for the relationship issue. My petition to Goddess will wing its way into the universe, and perhaps a bit beyond, accompanied by the best prayers I can compose. My hope is that it will bring me a companion to soothe my fears of growing old alone.

Perhaps, by this time next year, I will no longer want what I don't have; either because I have obtained it or because I have become more enlightened. Stay tuned ... news at 11/1/10

The Conflict

My friend telephoned me yesterday with an interesting conflict.

Scene 1 -- his house, one evening a few weeks ago. The cast included myself and another couple (the principal actors) and 4 other people who don't figure into the story. He served salmon fresh from the grill, with a marvelous sauce. My friend loves to cook; loves to invent new foods; loves to entertain friends. I commented on the sauce, something like, "what is in this? it is sooooo good." He smiled and mumbled something about, "old family recipe." Both of the other couple also commented, something like, "I must have this recipe, it is marvelous." Again, the smile, and a conversational deflection into politics.

Scene 2 -- he came home yesterday to find a message on his voice mail: "I am having a birthday party for [husband] and he has asked me to make grilled salmon with your sauce. Please call or email me the recipe. Thanks."

Scene 3 -- my friend calls me, wondering what to do. In his mind, the dilemma is that they are having a party and want his sauce but don't think enough of him to invite him to the party. He asks me how to get out of telling her how to make "his" sauce.

I ask, first, does he indeed have a recipe? I've seen him cook and have *never* seen him refer to a book or even a scrap of paper with notes. He tastes and adjusts and finally pronounces it "done" and then serves it. NO ONE else ever gets to taste during the process; only the final product.

My solution for him -- call and tell her there is no recipe. If she insists, and if he feels so inclined, explain his method of creating wonderful tasting stuff; tell her he can't remember all the ingredients he used that night, let alone the quantities and proportions. Tell her he cooks by taste and smell, rather than written recipes.

And, because his feelings are still hurt because of not being invited, say, "And please wish [husband] a Happy Birthday for me."

What is your solution?

comments on friends and lovers

I agree, Naturist, that we have to let our friends take their own paths. I only hope that this diversion is necessary and not just some imagined difficulty he is having. So ... must trust friends and lovers that they know their own minds. Perfect Love and Perfect Trust is a witch's mantra that I find very difficult to practice sometimes. The Love part is easy.

And thank you dear Annie Mouse [ ;-) ] for your comment. It must be even more difficult for you to have contact without contact. Your phrase "passing through" is a help though -- we are all passing through stuff and this is just more "stuff" but there is another side to reach.

friends and lovers

A couple of weeks ago I lost a friend and a lover. I miss him terribly; I start to talk to him ten times a day and then remember he isn't there, he isn't listening. Still I talk to him, inside my head, but there is no answer, no wise crack, no measured thought, no quip, no flirt, nothing and I miss him so very much. There isn't even the hope that he'll come back someday because I don't know what time scale he works on any more. "I don't know what else to do, my love. So I'm going to step outside of your life for a short while."