In the Rear View

Every few years or so the beast in my pants comes out growling, so I must admit I still think about sex. For some it's an everyday experience, for others not so much. For me, not at all. And I miss that. I know, being a woman, I can go out and get some anytime. Unfortunately it's not that easy.

And so I think of posts past. I really believe, to my misfortune, that "It's Only Gross If You're Ugly" and that hinders me from approaching the subject with anyone other than myself. It's the same old weight issue, I guess.

The age thing is no help either, even though older women and younger men are a common subject , I just can't wrap my mind around it all. Sometimes I think "Cougar? No Thanks" and then there is "Revisiting Cougar". I am really torn on the subject.

Am I a "Fast Woman" or am I just "Waking up"? Either way, it's all so confusing. This must be why there are electronics... And I am thankful for that.

I used to think I had had enough sex for a lifetime in my younger years. Is that possible? I have been single for so long now that I think that statement is just a way of smoothing out the edges, consoling my soul.

And yet the beast is back. So who knows what the future holds. I'm going back on my diet. Isn't that the fun of the game of life?

Disturbing, funny and just wrong

I read an article in The Week magazine about researchers finding out how to turn female mice into lesbian mice. They discovered by deleting one gene the female mice would avoid males and try to mount the females. The gene is called fucose mutarotase or FucM for short. Seriously, FucM.

I find it disturbing that we change the DNA of these mice at the embrionic stage. These mice probably do have a better life than street mice, but this just seems wrong. The scientists don't even know the significance of their findings yet, just that it may help them find the "gay" gene one day.

And the perfect attitude for a lesbian mouse to have could very well be, well, FucM.

Fast Woman

Megan Fox makes me want to jump into the dyke end of the pool. She makes me wonder about dicks and twats and what sexuality is really all about. So what is it all about dare I ask? When I am surrounded by lesbians I start questioning my sexuality. When I'm around interesting men I have no questions, (interesting is the important word here). Is it like my friend StanLe says, are we just sexual, not straight or bi or gay?

I like the thought of being sexual, not putting a label on it. Don't we have enough labels as it is? I have been surprised by men who identify with being gay saying they consider themselves bisexual really, they just mostly dated men. Is there such a thing as straight-curious?

Why is it that when society freely explores its sexuality the elders think it's the fall of civilization? And if my straight friends read this, will they become uncomfortable being alone with me? No need to be unless you look like Megan Fox.

So, I have no answers, only questions, at this point. What a good way to see if anyone is reading this blog!

Revisiting "Cougar"

A few posts back I was adamant about not being labeled a cougar. I thought it a pejorative term and quite unflattering as well. And so I guess as a cougar might eat almost any live meat, I must eat my words. Let me explain...

I was riding on the shuttle, the smaller version of a bus in my town. It travels along Ocean Blvd. and connects two beach cities. There are usually some very delicious young men on this bus. True to form, a young blond 25-ish man, with pouty lips and gorgeous cheekbones, got on the bus. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I wanted to bite those lovely lips. I caught a stray thought -- "I could rip him UUUPPPPP!!!!!!!!! "

Uh-oh, Cougar! Now I understand why that term came about, and if the shoe fits, I will wear it.

So, I eat my words, and who knows what else, 'cuz a cougar's gotta consume!

Grannies with Herpes

I know they're out there. I'm almost-granny-aged and I've got them. Who knew they spread like sparks in a Santa Ana wind. Estimates were said to be 30% infected in the 1980's. We thought they spread from small fiery opal blisters. But no -- anytime, anywhere.

They don't spread on toilet seats. Can't get 'em in a pool. You don't need a passport to get them, just be out of condoms. It only takes once. And once they come, they stay like an unwanted friend on the couch.

Wow, how many little herpes soldiers did I disperse during my herky jerky sexual nights, when all it took was someone interested in hearing a poem I wrote. And of course some Stoli. All I can say is "sorry, guys."

So how many grandpas out there have the sores? I will never be able to look an older man in the eyes again...

It's only gross if you're ugly

As written is previous posts, I kinda want sex. But there's a problem, anyone who would be attracted to this old, obese woman is probably a troll. As I age I find my options are quite limited. Without going back and retreading a former rant I'll leave it at that.

So what does a horny soul do with so few options? After all I can pick and choose in my dreams. But what about those moments when I can't control my dreams or I have to be conscious? Do I collect images of men and get my vibrator out and just shake myself into oblivion?

I remember a movie I saw in the 80's called "chatterbox" about a woman's vajajay that was quite vocal and got the young woman into all sorts of trouble. Poor retch. But I can relate. It's getting vocal down there.

It was so much safer to stay in a self imposed celibacy, not thinking or feeling about the carnal joy ride. And yet, I feel so much more alive. And relating to men in a "what might happen" sort of way is fun.

And yet I can't see myself doing the two headed dance until I loose about 100 pounds. Boy, talk about extended foreplay.

Cougar? No thanks

I hate this term, "cougar." It sounds like a woman who is over the hill who preys on the young. A woman squeezed into a too tight dress with lipstick on her teeth. Even the images that come to mind are of predatory women who hit and run, being so lonely that all they can get or hope to achieve is a one night stand. After all, most men will "tap that" with anything that has a pulse.

So the tables have turned. Women have come a long way, now we can be the aggressors. This is a good thing, don't get me wrong. But labeling us as "cougars" is just another way men get a grip on a powerful woman. And put her down.

This is such a pejorative term, "cougar". It just seems like these women are chasing their lost youth. And maybe that's the point. After all men preyed upon us when we had tight skin. Didn't we think they were chasing their lost years? Why can't a woman do the same?

I would love to consume a youthful, beautiful body just like the next person. I just don't want to be labeled a "cougar" while doing it.

P.S. Listen to Melanie Fiona's single "Give it to me right"!

waking up?

I have been celibate for close to 10 years now. I just haven't thought about sex for that long. I think it's the antidepressant and other psych meds that I take. I've been dead from the waist down for so long that I'm surprised I can walk.
Lately I've noticed some stirrings, some attractive men, men who I wish I was 20 years younger to attract. This is distressing because any of the men who might be attracted to me are men I would never be with. They are grey or fat or disturbed. There are no intellectual grounds where we might meet.
A few years ago I had a "friend" who wanted me. He was in his late 60's and in a wheelchair. He tried to kiss me and when I pulled away he basically said there must be something wrong with me. Y-e-a-h, you were not sexually attractive.
So, the stirrings arrived like an Xmas gift in January. Followed by disturbing dreams where what I want is possible. I am in my mid-20's and beautiful again. I can have anyone and there they are. The man I passed on the street that I thought lovely. Or the guy I wanted to do nasty things to because of the look on his face. He looked like he'd like it rough. Then the sun rises, and I'm back in my 50's body, obese and with no gut-wrenching options. Could it be that my psyche is attempting a comeback?
In dealing with men in my 20-30's, I seduced them. I took the power and had sex with them, then tossed them before they tossed me. I wasn't going to sit around and hope the phone would ring. And yet, I still waited for the phone to ring. And it didn't, because I didn't play the game the way men wanted it done. I was the mouse, turning the tables on the cat. It got me a lot of exciting sexual conquests, but that's all it was, just conquests -- no trophy, no forever after.
A friend from high school that I recently reunited with was surprised I never married, she asked "how do you do that, not get married? I don't understand," and I guess that is how. Taking the power away from the man, who needs to choose, who needs to decide "I want her forever." Or in today's standards, a few years.
And so, I stand alone. I am in charge of my fate, it is not intertwined with some other person's ideals of what wife and mother look like. I never did a man's laundry, never cleaned the house for him. I was not going to be some man's servant, taking his menu for dinner. I will not end up like my mother, thank you.
I never compromised. And this is where I failed. Now the options have dried up and I'm like that man in the wheelchair, and only thinking sex is for the attractive. But sex is sloppy and ugly, we are primitive, grunting, beasts, not thinking about producing an heir but getting our nut. I don't want to be that vulnerable, I don't want to be dependant upon anyone else, even for pleasure. I don't want to be that undignified. But I kinda want sex.