Seasons greetings (or gretchings, as you see fit.) Christmas is growing on me, is it growing on you? As long as I can dodge its more maudlin elements and block out childhood memories of family meals past, this seems like a nice enough time.
I like the growing trend of adults not giving each other presents, or limiting themselves to useful items like wine and books. I'm colluding with my sister to get my mum a new sleep set, however, as she has the rattiest looking duvet and sheets to go with her collection of hideous flannel nighties. The latter I consider her boyfriend's problem, not mine.
Honestly, ladies. I know some of you who look smashing in day-time apparel, but who retreat into grannynighties and enormous pyjama sets and sweat pants (!) with the setting of the sun. Good lord, what's wrong with you? It IS effective birth control, I suppose, unless your mate has a geriatric fetish, but I personally find it disheartening. Is there not a way you can be both "cozy" and sexy? Think more Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, less Bea Arthur in Maude. And let's all get rid of the damn yoga pants already, except for yoga? Camel toes are so 2009.
Anyway, I am here to praise, not censure. I'm digging 30-something single daddies these days. First, an update or a recap, depending when last we met.
The fuckbuddy has graduated to gentleman-caller, and I'm quite gratified to report all is quite good on the sex and conversation fronts. On the emotional front, however, he seems skittish. I think this healthy considering he has not long been divorced. Being easily prone to startling also means I can have a bit 'o' fun with him. Wicked Gretchie can't helping yanking a clanking chain at times, like pretending to be crazy (turning innocent texts into accusations of him calling me fat) or telling him we're getting Facebook-married. I don't do it that much, just enough to keep him pleasantly unsettled.
Why, you ask, would you be so cruel, dear Gretchie? Well, first of all, it's funny (luckily, he shares a deviant sense of humour with me). Second of all, I am irked by the underlying assumption that in the story called At This Age, the He should be skeptical and the She should be pining for a Real Relationship. A reverse chase, of sorts.
I can't really be too harsh, as it does seem to be true in many cases. Usually women my age are wishing for Prince Charming 2.0 to come riding along and ask for directions. Okay, dare to dream. (Maybe not with such determination and level of detail, though, as it is rather terrifying when love is treated with the same joyless zeal as a home-reno project).
On the flipside, I know a few guys recently liberated from LTRs that are celebrating just getting out with their testes intact. I prefer to take a page from their book. I'm still grateful to be a) out of it b) having a personal sexual renaissance and c) conscious of my good fortune. Anyway, I'm happy to not be in love with anyone but pleasantly beguiled for the time being.
So why the praise of the single dad? Well, they are not squeamish, for one thing. Single childless men can be easily grossed out, which is off-putting. My X could not abide creepy-crawlies and never cleaned up after his own dog even once, or deigned to mop up his own dirty toilet. Note 1: I'll never be with another princess-man.
Single dads are not usually easily embarrassed. Once you've had your 9-month old defecate so forcefully in Starbucks that poo comes squirting out from under the collar of her onesie, you become inured to public shaming. If you're wise, you are thunderstruck with awe at the vigour of your child. Dads are more apt to take such small wonders in stride.
Dads have more likely learned to comfort others. They are more comfortable with physical contact meant to soothe and reassure. They are better listeners and generally more attuned to their surroundings.
Most of all, the dads I know (single and otherwise) are grateful for the small people in their lives. They are tickled to find themselves liking being dads, liking the teaching of small and big things, liking spending time with a pint-sized half-version of themselves with the manners of a mostly jolly, sometimes irate drunkard. It can be pretty funny if you're not in a rush, I gather.
I enjoy the company of children more and more these days as well. I'm bemused to find myself being told I'm good with kids, by parents with raised eyebrows and obviously low expectations. Ha! They are likely also surprised by my flashes of sternness. Adults have the authority to reasonably admonish children not their own in my world, which is an old-fashioned attitude. Not for silly stuff, but when it comes to manners I find myself occasionally dropping the goofy schtick and admonishing like some proper old Auntie May. Oh well, hopefully my friends will forgive me in light of my story-reading skills.
I shall be writing on Christmas so wish you a calm and fruitful week for now. I'm en route to the city to see my dear Guyfriend for a platonic sleepover at a fancy hotel and breakfast at my favourite morning joint. This is yet another way I'm asserting my non-clinginess, I suppose: by putting myself in potentially sexual situations. Ha!
Luckily, my period has just arrived with her usual fervour so we're all safe for the time being, not to mention Guyfriend and I have had a few practice runs with the platonic sleepovers. It's still nice to feel a little sneaky, though. In your face, Relationship assumptions!
More soon,
G
18 December 2010
12 December 2010
In Defense of the Dilettante and the Reluctant Romantic
Good evening,
Gosh, it's been a while. I've been (mostly) happily busy with the new work. In the intervals, I try to squeeze in seeing friends and family and kickboxing and household chores and catching the occasional show amid the time set aside for leisure.
A few thoughts on leisure. Leisure is devalued, or perhaps misunderstood these days. Some people pack their leisure hours with activities, with seems ironic when taken to the extreme. These people do not know how to do nothing, and I do believe if you gave them an entire day without a plan they would get twitchy. My dear mum is like this, though she is learning to thoroughly chew at least a few bites of unoccupied time before bolting the rest.
The twin manias for self-improvement or experience are not ones I consciously pursue. I have a healthy curiosity and occasionally pursue what seem like promising scenarios, but mainly I like being surprised by the sporadic stuff that just happens and my reactions. This is my experience. Maybe I'm placid by nature, or easily amused.
As for mental self-improvement, I like to expose myself to new information to see if it will take. However, pursuing self-improvement without passion for the act or pleasure in the process of learning strikes me as joyless as engaging in intercourse to procreate. Oh, I should do this; or learn that, or I'm obligated to know XYZ. Is there any way to make the pursuit of knowledge more dreary than by making it mandatory?
I'm not talking about life skills, such as basic math or learning to read. These are basics we should learn if we hope to engage in being citizens, as are ethics and etiquette. One should learn how to stifle a large belch on the bus, for example, and know not to park in the handicapped space (though disabled washroom stalls are fair game in my world, strangely enough).
Please note I do not advocate on behalf of those who announce they are "trying to learn how to be a better person". This strikes me as wholly disingenous, not to mention vague. Just be a better person. Begin by not making self-satisfied statements for achievements or behaviour not yet accomplished or even begun, but that are in the dubious state of trying to be learned. You'll be at least more likable, if not better, if you remain zipped on this lofty goal.
Nope, by voluntary knowledge I'm referring to the quirky extras, the inter alia we happen upon and for some reason find fascinating and want more information on. For example, I find nutrition an interesting subject, and the first British foray into 19th century Afghanistan, and Finnish architecture. Etc. I'm not expert on these subjects, or any subject outside my daily experience, but am attracted to intellectual flotsam and jetsam. Dilettantes unite!
I make sure to spend at least an hour or two each night being desultory, i.e. not obligated to do anything or beholden to anyone. Weekends are preferably filled with swathes of scheduled pleasures and satisfying household tasks, interspersed with large chunks of nothingness in which to fill or vacate my mind, as I see fit.
I may read about Zen practise in North American women, or loll in the bath drinking French apple brandy for over an hour, draining and re-heating the water and sending salacious texts. These things seem like good uses of my time, if only for the pleasure they afford me of doing exactly what I want to do plus what is possible given my circumstances at that moment. Like I said, perhaps my disposition (or ego) lends itself to being easily gratified by my own company.
That said, I recognize I'm quite demanding when it comes to the company of others. In this regard I recognize a penchant for intolerance. While never bored by myself, I get bored in the presence of others if it is all required to be too nice. Once my smile feels like an effort I make as quick an exit as possible.
That said, I've never been more grateful for the variety of interesting people I know and get to spend time with on occasion. Friendship is a privilege (especially with family members) and I do remind myself of this frequently.
This extends to romantic friendships as well. I'm delighted, if a little startled, to announce my most recent friendship is exceeding my expectations. My delight is tempered with caution. I think it wise not to allow expectations to swell to unmanageable proportions, or grow giddy on future speculation. This way I can be pleasantly surprised if things turn out better than expected, and at least have the comfort of being mentally prepared if they don't pan out.
This may seem guarded to you, dear Reader. You might recall I prefer the term 'prudent'. Low expectations kept in the present allows for the development of genuine, unforced emotions, for what could be more genuine than growing fond of someone when you had no plans or motivations to do so? Loving in spite of oneself strikes me as infinitely more romantic than announcing one is now ready for a Relationship.
Such declarations are to be dreaded. Usually remarked by someone scanning the crowd with an appraising eye, like an Albertan at auction looking for breedstock. If you're sane and single, this statement or its twin "I'm ready to get back Out There!" should have you sidling for the door. (Maintain a polite, frozen smile and eye contact until a safe distance is reached, otherwise the prey response may be triggered and a chase will ensue. The Relationship-ready are notoriously swift, too, though like black bears I'm not sure on their ability to scale trees. Playing emotionally dead may or may not work, either.)
Anyway, in light of these reluctant feelings in early development I've decided it is no longer appropriate to refer to having a fuckbuddy. While I am hopeful that both fucking and buddery are still the distinguishing features moving ahead, it would be dishonest of me to claim that it's just sex (though that's like saying oh, that's just god).
I've thought about this in my leisurely moments, and have come up with the term "gentleman caller" for him and "ladyfriend" for myself. I'm tickled by the courtliness of these terms in contrast to the word fuckbuddy, as we transition to a mysterious "something else" or fall into a sudden void.
In the meantime, I remain your faithful correspondent from the present,
G
Gosh, it's been a while. I've been (mostly) happily busy with the new work. In the intervals, I try to squeeze in seeing friends and family and kickboxing and household chores and catching the occasional show amid the time set aside for leisure.
A few thoughts on leisure. Leisure is devalued, or perhaps misunderstood these days. Some people pack their leisure hours with activities, with seems ironic when taken to the extreme. These people do not know how to do nothing, and I do believe if you gave them an entire day without a plan they would get twitchy. My dear mum is like this, though she is learning to thoroughly chew at least a few bites of unoccupied time before bolting the rest.
The twin manias for self-improvement or experience are not ones I consciously pursue. I have a healthy curiosity and occasionally pursue what seem like promising scenarios, but mainly I like being surprised by the sporadic stuff that just happens and my reactions. This is my experience. Maybe I'm placid by nature, or easily amused.
As for mental self-improvement, I like to expose myself to new information to see if it will take. However, pursuing self-improvement without passion for the act or pleasure in the process of learning strikes me as joyless as engaging in intercourse to procreate. Oh, I should do this; or learn that, or I'm obligated to know XYZ. Is there any way to make the pursuit of knowledge more dreary than by making it mandatory?
I'm not talking about life skills, such as basic math or learning to read. These are basics we should learn if we hope to engage in being citizens, as are ethics and etiquette. One should learn how to stifle a large belch on the bus, for example, and know not to park in the handicapped space (though disabled washroom stalls are fair game in my world, strangely enough).
Please note I do not advocate on behalf of those who announce they are "trying to learn how to be a better person". This strikes me as wholly disingenous, not to mention vague. Just be a better person. Begin by not making self-satisfied statements for achievements or behaviour not yet accomplished or even begun, but that are in the dubious state of trying to be learned. You'll be at least more likable, if not better, if you remain zipped on this lofty goal.
Nope, by voluntary knowledge I'm referring to the quirky extras, the inter alia we happen upon and for some reason find fascinating and want more information on. For example, I find nutrition an interesting subject, and the first British foray into 19th century Afghanistan, and Finnish architecture. Etc. I'm not expert on these subjects, or any subject outside my daily experience, but am attracted to intellectual flotsam and jetsam. Dilettantes unite!
I make sure to spend at least an hour or two each night being desultory, i.e. not obligated to do anything or beholden to anyone. Weekends are preferably filled with swathes of scheduled pleasures and satisfying household tasks, interspersed with large chunks of nothingness in which to fill or vacate my mind, as I see fit.
I may read about Zen practise in North American women, or loll in the bath drinking French apple brandy for over an hour, draining and re-heating the water and sending salacious texts. These things seem like good uses of my time, if only for the pleasure they afford me of doing exactly what I want to do plus what is possible given my circumstances at that moment. Like I said, perhaps my disposition (or ego) lends itself to being easily gratified by my own company.
That said, I recognize I'm quite demanding when it comes to the company of others. In this regard I recognize a penchant for intolerance. While never bored by myself, I get bored in the presence of others if it is all required to be too nice. Once my smile feels like an effort I make as quick an exit as possible.
That said, I've never been more grateful for the variety of interesting people I know and get to spend time with on occasion. Friendship is a privilege (especially with family members) and I do remind myself of this frequently.
This extends to romantic friendships as well. I'm delighted, if a little startled, to announce my most recent friendship is exceeding my expectations. My delight is tempered with caution. I think it wise not to allow expectations to swell to unmanageable proportions, or grow giddy on future speculation. This way I can be pleasantly surprised if things turn out better than expected, and at least have the comfort of being mentally prepared if they don't pan out.
This may seem guarded to you, dear Reader. You might recall I prefer the term 'prudent'. Low expectations kept in the present allows for the development of genuine, unforced emotions, for what could be more genuine than growing fond of someone when you had no plans or motivations to do so? Loving in spite of oneself strikes me as infinitely more romantic than announcing one is now ready for a Relationship.
Such declarations are to be dreaded. Usually remarked by someone scanning the crowd with an appraising eye, like an Albertan at auction looking for breedstock. If you're sane and single, this statement or its twin "I'm ready to get back Out There!" should have you sidling for the door. (Maintain a polite, frozen smile and eye contact until a safe distance is reached, otherwise the prey response may be triggered and a chase will ensue. The Relationship-ready are notoriously swift, too, though like black bears I'm not sure on their ability to scale trees. Playing emotionally dead may or may not work, either.)
Anyway, in light of these reluctant feelings in early development I've decided it is no longer appropriate to refer to having a fuckbuddy. While I am hopeful that both fucking and buddery are still the distinguishing features moving ahead, it would be dishonest of me to claim that it's just sex (though that's like saying oh, that's just god).
I've thought about this in my leisurely moments, and have come up with the term "gentleman caller" for him and "ladyfriend" for myself. I'm tickled by the courtliness of these terms in contrast to the word fuckbuddy, as we transition to a mysterious "something else" or fall into a sudden void.
In the meantime, I remain your faithful correspondent from the present,
G
21 November 2010
Evil on Earth
Hello poppets. Tonight's title comes to us courtesy of my dear friend Melia. She has recently been on the receiving end of several emails from a sister-in-law clearly off her meds, or perhaps on too many of them. These were group emails, so the whole family could share, and can be summarized thus: a) Why is everyone so mean to me? b) Everyone IS so mean to me! c) What's wrong with you people that you are all so mean to me when I try so hard?
Sigh. To bust out a little old-fashioned ebonics: Dat be one crazy bitch. I find I'm sighing that under my breath with more frequency than usual. And unfortunately, ladies, it is all directed at the Us of the species.
I have been most pleased with the males of the species lately (the Them, in case you are wondering). In general, men, I am finding you most pleasing and transparent compared to a handful of said Crazy Bitches. Please note, I am not castigating the whole of womankind. I am very happy to be a woman and some of my best friends are gals. However, it cannot be allowed to pass when odd behaviour is flaunted for the world's derision.
You would not know it to look at these particular gals, at least not at once. They appear pleasant and rational and all-in-all so together one might be forgiven for thinking, wow, you seem to have your shit together. I think I'd like to know you further. So you proceed down that road, and it is for a while a merry journey.
And then they start sending out "signals". Mysterious non-sequitors dropped into conversations, and then aborted and waved away with a smile and a "whatever...". Okay, whatever. That means I'm supposed to ignore what you just said, right? I'm within my rights not to think anymore about it, correct?
Wrong. Apparently these signals are supposed to beam directly into my brain, preferably the cerebral cortex or whatever part processes language. In goes the signal, out pops the translated summary. It is always very important; however, it cannot be articulated verbally in a rational or precise manner by said signaller. The signal is assumed to be somehow intuited by signallee. Ergo, I just know what's eating at you, lady.
I'm not devoid of intuition, but appear to be missing this signal function. I'm not interested in acquiring it. I like most women, but don't put up with difficult or cryptic ones because, well, I don't have to. (That's the level of effort some guys choose to put into those ones, if they are enticing enough to merit the strain on one's sanity or credulity.)
This no-thanks attitude has put me at an impasse with two women this year. One of them had called me mid-summer to tell me she thought I was amazing, and it was nothing I'd said or done, but that recently she hadn't called or made an effort to see me because she just didn't want to, and what did I think about that? Hmmmm.
This same one phoned me a few days ago. Okay, I thought, seeing her name on my call display, let's see what she's got to say. She must have worked through whatever was eating at her, and I was looking forward to feeling pleased for her. (How generous of me, I know, la-dee-dah. Anyway, it would turn out my precious generosity was not called upon.) After the usual exchange of hello-hello and how ya been, she gets to the heart of the matter.
'Well, Gretchen, I called you before to let you know I didn't want to see you or talk to you. Since this non-event (her word!), it's been a while. I've had some time to reflect....and I still don't want to talk to you or see you or hang out with you. So yeah."
"Huh," says I, and pause. "Did we sleep together and someone forget to tell me?"
General embarrassed laughter. She was quite amiable but firm about it. The conversation was short. I signed off with a see-ya-when-I-see-ya. As soon I put down the phone, however, my real response slid quietly out of my mouth: "And fuck you too, nutjob."
A couple of days later I pressed send on a short, civil email instructing her not to contact me further. Her behaviour is bizarre and verges on the malicious from someone I once considered a friend. While I wished her well, I advised a) she was just not that into me and b) I'm okay with that part but c) she needs to stop telling me about it. And good luck! I erased her from the usual communications portals (cell, Facebook, email address book) and expect I won't hear from her again.
While I was at it, I erased my other friend, who I presume is still in a huff on someone else's behalf who, you may recall, was never offended to begin with. Jeepers. Apparently we just outgrew each other like hand-me-down shoes, and the blisters she never told me about were a bitch. Another "good luck!"
I also get the stories of others.
Jasmine tells me about her own bi-polar babe, She swings from "Let's have a girl's night soon, I miss you!!!" to a dead-eyed "I've realized we have a fatal flaw in our friendship (but I don't want to talk about it)", and then back again, all in the space of a week.
Melia and her two, count 'em, two crazy sister-in-laws, plus an ongoing crazier than FUCK mother-in-law.
Then the stories I get from men. Lovers past and present start these stories carefully, full of wonder. Yes they are puzzled, they fail to compute, because they tell of broads one step away from boiling your pet bunny in a Langostina pot like so much delicious lobster. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Don't get me wrong. I know dudes can be petty and malicious. However, it's been rare to meet with such men, much less engage with them in relationships. In fact, in 37.5 years there's only been one I look back on and say, yup, that guy was a dick.
Most of them were nice enough. Sure, a few were hapless or deluded. Several were clumsy, or hurtful due to immaturity and a lack of communication skills. , but only one was spiteful. Even he wasn't that bad. Compared to these daft cunts I hear tell of, that baitbaitbait and create petty farces and insipid dramas for their own self-indulgent, self-manufactured (wait for it) Feelings. Oh brother.
I do mean that: oh brother. I feel kinship with the dudes on this one. I've never been more aware that I'm evolving into a chimera: a straight man, who is into other men, travelling in a woman's body and loving it.
Anyway, ladies, for god's sake stay sane.
Cheerfully, zestfully yours,
GR
Sigh. To bust out a little old-fashioned ebonics: Dat be one crazy bitch. I find I'm sighing that under my breath with more frequency than usual. And unfortunately, ladies, it is all directed at the Us of the species.
I have been most pleased with the males of the species lately (the Them, in case you are wondering). In general, men, I am finding you most pleasing and transparent compared to a handful of said Crazy Bitches. Please note, I am not castigating the whole of womankind. I am very happy to be a woman and some of my best friends are gals. However, it cannot be allowed to pass when odd behaviour is flaunted for the world's derision.
You would not know it to look at these particular gals, at least not at once. They appear pleasant and rational and all-in-all so together one might be forgiven for thinking, wow, you seem to have your shit together. I think I'd like to know you further. So you proceed down that road, and it is for a while a merry journey.
And then they start sending out "signals". Mysterious non-sequitors dropped into conversations, and then aborted and waved away with a smile and a "whatever...". Okay, whatever. That means I'm supposed to ignore what you just said, right? I'm within my rights not to think anymore about it, correct?
Wrong. Apparently these signals are supposed to beam directly into my brain, preferably the cerebral cortex or whatever part processes language. In goes the signal, out pops the translated summary. It is always very important; however, it cannot be articulated verbally in a rational or precise manner by said signaller. The signal is assumed to be somehow intuited by signallee. Ergo, I just know what's eating at you, lady.
I'm not devoid of intuition, but appear to be missing this signal function. I'm not interested in acquiring it. I like most women, but don't put up with difficult or cryptic ones because, well, I don't have to. (That's the level of effort some guys choose to put into those ones, if they are enticing enough to merit the strain on one's sanity or credulity.)
This no-thanks attitude has put me at an impasse with two women this year. One of them had called me mid-summer to tell me she thought I was amazing, and it was nothing I'd said or done, but that recently she hadn't called or made an effort to see me because she just didn't want to, and what did I think about that? Hmmmm.
This same one phoned me a few days ago. Okay, I thought, seeing her name on my call display, let's see what she's got to say. She must have worked through whatever was eating at her, and I was looking forward to feeling pleased for her. (How generous of me, I know, la-dee-dah. Anyway, it would turn out my precious generosity was not called upon.) After the usual exchange of hello-hello and how ya been, she gets to the heart of the matter.
'Well, Gretchen, I called you before to let you know I didn't want to see you or talk to you. Since this non-event (her word!), it's been a while. I've had some time to reflect....and I still don't want to talk to you or see you or hang out with you. So yeah."
"Huh," says I, and pause. "Did we sleep together and someone forget to tell me?"
General embarrassed laughter. She was quite amiable but firm about it. The conversation was short. I signed off with a see-ya-when-I-see-ya. As soon I put down the phone, however, my real response slid quietly out of my mouth: "And fuck you too, nutjob."
A couple of days later I pressed send on a short, civil email instructing her not to contact me further. Her behaviour is bizarre and verges on the malicious from someone I once considered a friend. While I wished her well, I advised a) she was just not that into me and b) I'm okay with that part but c) she needs to stop telling me about it. And good luck! I erased her from the usual communications portals (cell, Facebook, email address book) and expect I won't hear from her again.
While I was at it, I erased my other friend, who I presume is still in a huff on someone else's behalf who, you may recall, was never offended to begin with. Jeepers. Apparently we just outgrew each other like hand-me-down shoes, and the blisters she never told me about were a bitch. Another "good luck!"
I also get the stories of others.
Jasmine tells me about her own bi-polar babe, She swings from "Let's have a girl's night soon, I miss you!!!" to a dead-eyed "I've realized we have a fatal flaw in our friendship (but I don't want to talk about it)", and then back again, all in the space of a week.
Melia and her two, count 'em, two crazy sister-in-laws, plus an ongoing crazier than FUCK mother-in-law.
Then the stories I get from men. Lovers past and present start these stories carefully, full of wonder. Yes they are puzzled, they fail to compute, because they tell of broads one step away from boiling your pet bunny in a Langostina pot like so much delicious lobster. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Don't get me wrong. I know dudes can be petty and malicious. However, it's been rare to meet with such men, much less engage with them in relationships. In fact, in 37.5 years there's only been one I look back on and say, yup, that guy was a dick.
Most of them were nice enough. Sure, a few were hapless or deluded. Several were clumsy, or hurtful due to immaturity and a lack of communication skills. , but only one was spiteful. Even he wasn't that bad. Compared to these daft cunts I hear tell of, that baitbaitbait and create petty farces and insipid dramas for their own self-indulgent, self-manufactured (wait for it) Feelings. Oh brother.
I do mean that: oh brother. I feel kinship with the dudes on this one. I've never been more aware that I'm evolving into a chimera: a straight man, who is into other men, travelling in a woman's body and loving it.
Anyway, ladies, for god's sake stay sane.
Cheerfully, zestfully yours,
GR
11 November 2010
The Fuckbuddy Protocols, Part II
POLICY 4: DISCRETION
Upon engaging a skilled and enjoyable lover, friends (if not family) will quickly know something is up. Sleep-deprivation, intense bouts of texting and goofy smiles will give away the happy state of fuckbuddery to those within one's close circle. It is therefore natural and plain good fun to share the news of “getting some” with friends. With close friends, even fist-bumping is considered acceptable behaviour.
However, part of the thrill of being fuckbuddies relies on discretion, mainly as to the identity of the lover in question. This relates to the idea of claiming possession to another, which is contrary to fuckbuddy values.
This matter of identification is a serious one. To publicly “out” the fuckbuddy without their permission is considered crass. It may even be seen as a passive-aggressive form of cock-blocking, and a violation of the spirit of sexual liberation underpinning the association.
That said, a situation may arise where one is asked directly if they have a carnal association with the other. It is human nature to pry, especially by those who experience little or no Action in their own lives.
It would be wise for both fuck-buddies to formulate a uniform response that will not blow their cover or pique further interest in such a case. This may require as subtle a tactic as changing the subject, or as overt as outright lying.
Note: Telling the enquirer to mind their own business is not advised, as one one runs the risk of then being harangued to distraction. This type of person will eventually declare themselves triumphant in guessing the identity of the fuckbuddy (rightly or wrongly) and broadcast the news at once. This should be avoided, as being the subject of lurid gossip and idle speculation is distasteful.
POLICY 5: VAGINAL INTERRUPTIONS
It is an unfortunate truth that as delicious and compliant as pussy may be most of the time, it needs time off each month to recuperate. “Plowing through it” violates the romance of fuckbuddery, so it is recommended that the vagina in question be left alone at such times to vent.
Such interruptions to the bootycall schedule must be tolerated by both parties as part of Natural Law, and other arrangements may be made. For example, best practises calls for blowjobs to be offered unconditionally during this time.
POLICY 6: ENDING THE ARRANGEMENT
If either fuckbuddy should choose to end the non-Relationship for whatever reason, every attempt should be made to communicate this promptly to the other, in person, and with tact and affection.
Failure to do so will lead to hurt feelings and general spite. This is to be avoided at all costs as it may sour an otherwise lovely experience. After all, half of “fuckbuddy” is a term for friend. As befits friendship, a graceful exit and friendly feelings are to be striven for when the carnal association is brought to an end.
Please note: it is the firm belief of the author that fuckbuddery is not a viable long-term state, unless circumstances dictate extremely infrequent meetings. In fact, most carnal associations are measured in weeks (maybe a few months, tops).
For this reason, it is recommended both parties review the arrangement together on a regular basis (bi-weekly, for example). At this time, the situation can be honestly assessed to see if continuation is still desirable. One of the following can be verified upon review:
The fuckbuddery is splendid, and should continue apace until the next review.
The fuckbuddery has peaked, and this is the tasteful wrap-up phase.
The fuckbuddery has now waned, and should be ended quickly while both parties still have their dignity intact.
The fuckbuddery has become an enjoyable part of life but can no longer be deemed fuckbuddery. Perhaps to mutual bemusement and even chagrin, it has now appeared to have mutated into a form of Relationship.
Please note: It is not the intent of the author to advocate for any of the above options.
Developments of this nature are not within the control of either party, and so advocating for any “preferred” option is disingenuous. It is also a gross violation of the very nature of fuckbuddery. This hallowed union is to be entered into with the purest of motives: to get laid often and well with someone attractive and enjoyable.
If either party loses sight of this, it is the duty of the other to deliver a smack to the head and discuss immediately.
The Fuckbuddy Protocols, Part I
OVERVIEW
This document has been created as a policy guide. It is hoped that by explicitly laying out and the rules of engagement, participants may identify and avoid many of the potential pitfalls inherent in fuckbuddery (also referred to a “having an arrangement”; “forming a carnal association”; the “anti-Relationship”; or acting as each other's “bootycall”).
While deceptively easy to begin a course of carnal association, it is common for many participants to quickly become confused as to the nature of the relationship. It is hoped that the clear and stringent guidelines lain out here will ultimately serve to enhance the joy inherent in properly executed fuckbuddery.
POLICY 1: ON DATING EACH OTHER
This arrangement does not preclude going on dates with one another, but it is not required nor even necessarily conducive to true fuckbuddery. Neither party is obligated to provide meals, concert tickets or any other date-like accoutrements to the other; nor invite them to events normally attended by dates. This is left wholly at the discretion of each party, and exclusion is to be borne without rancour by the other.
Of course, if either party feels that their attendance at an event would be genuinely enhanced by the presence of the other, then by all means an invitation should be issued. If said invitation is not accepted, however, it is not to be borne with any rancour by the other, nor is an explanation to be demanded.
Telecommunication should take the form of flirtation (i.e. sexting) or making plans to see one another (i.e. setting up the bootycall). Just “checking in” on a daily basis is standard practice between boyfriends and girlfriends; thus, fuckbuddies should practise restraint in this matter by limiting their daily communication to texting in the vein of affectionate, horny joking.
A special note here on common pitfalls: invitations to weddings, dinner parties or family/seasonal functions. If either fuckbuddy feels impelled to invite the other to these types of events, it is likely the fuckbuddery in its true form is now over and confusion has set in. The same can be said of public displays of affection, beyond what could reasonably be expected between good friends.
POLICY 2: SLEEP-OVER PROTOCOL
In this author's opinion, sleep-overs are a sweet, natural consequence of a satisfying bootycall. However, if either party feels for whatever reason they do not wish to spend the night, this is to be accepted by the other as nothing personal or none of their damn business. At no time shall either party use guilt to confine the other party to the bedroom (although light bondage and sexual blackmail are to be encouraged).
In the morning, after some sex, it is common courtesy to offer coffee if it is a work-day, and coffee and breakfast if it is a non-work day. It is also common courtesy not to press the offer. The same applies for the offer of a shower.
POLICY 3: ASSOCIATING WITH OTHERS
This is a point of some controversy in fuckbuddy academia. It is the opinion of the author that what fuckbuddies choose to do outside the arrangement is their own business. This includes consorting with others, flirting, dating, etc. It is unacceptable for either party to become jealous or pry into the affairs of the other, with regard to current or past dates, friends, lovers or exes.
This may seem like a severe pronouncement, but emotional or sexual possessiveness has no place in this arrangement. Fuckbuddery is a temporary sexual accord between two parties, entered into with the horniest of intentions. Innately, it is not exclusive nor permanent.
It may be decided by mutual assent, however, to communicate if either party a) dates others or b) sleeps with others. This may be done in advance, for reasons of courtesy and sexual health, or after the fact. Or not at all, depending on the agreement reached.
Part II to follow...
03 November 2010
Ch-ch-ch-changes!
Preamble: I was writing this last Wednesday night when I was happily interrupted with a booty call. I am including it now as a lead-up to the next two posts.
It never ceases to amaze me how much a few days can change one's perspective.
I figured I may as well tap out my wisdom here late on a Wednesday night, as for some reason I decided to drink an entire pot of wild raspberry decaffeinated tea following a swim and sauna. Now I know I shall be held hostage to my bladder so there's no point going to sleep, and besides, this topic has been on my mind the last 48 hours or so.
Ok, a summary is in order first. In (somewhat) brief, here's a recent chronology since my last post on Friday.
Saturday, stayed home and drank a few glasses of wine and baked and cooked and danced around the kitchen to the mainly classic rock tunes (G&R 4ever!!!) playing on my SpaceSaver kitchen radio. And engaged in a several hours' long textathon with my new "friend". I've been trying to be virtuous and keep him in the realm of just-a-cool-guy, and even inviting him out in a group to meet my single galpals, but deep down I've been attracted to him from the start, as came out after just a few sexty messages.
Anyway, it did not result in a late night visit, so I went to bed with my virtue intact, as you see, I had not yet had the official Conversation with the nice man I've been dating, aka Honey, aka my Boyfriend. Blast these titles!
Sunday, scheduled a dinner with Honey in a nearby town where he visits his daughter. After a quiet dinner, I suggest a walk through the surrounding suburbia. Scampering trick-or-treaters abound, we walk. After several minutes of me being uncharacteristically silent, I volunteer being weirded out. Weirded out by the X re-visit, for one thing, and feeling like we're coasting, and getting tired of the distance and wondering what it's all for anyway.
To my relief, he's also weirded out by my X situation, though he is sympathetic. It is a uniquely weird situation. Plus he's burned out juggling his house-build and business and child and his own X management, which is a minefield. He does, however, still want to see me on occasion, whatever that means. Anyway, it's a lovely, mature parting of ways As We Were, and I get in my car to drive home much gratified that I've had the chance to be with such a kind, mature man.
Fast forward three hours, and my new friend is sitting in my kitchen having a late night bourbon with me. We yuk it up till 1am, and after some opaque shyness back and forth he decides to stay. He does, however, preface clothes removal with a) you are very sexy and funny as hell but b) I'm really not looking for a relationship. To which I reply c) Awesome! And it was, and the next night was even more epic, and we're quite enjoying this mutual fuckbuddery.
However, I remember in past posts I had claimed to be an insincere fuck-buddy, and that I couldn't do vacation-sex at home, etc. Ahem. I am revising this opinion now. I think I've just needed to establish some rules right from the start. This way, both parties can agree and more importantly, abide by the agreement. Hence, my Fuckbuddy Protocol.
Note: The Fuckbuddy Protocol document has grown sizable over the last week I've been noodling on it. It follows in two parts/posts.
It never ceases to amaze me how much a few days can change one's perspective.
I figured I may as well tap out my wisdom here late on a Wednesday night, as for some reason I decided to drink an entire pot of wild raspberry decaffeinated tea following a swim and sauna. Now I know I shall be held hostage to my bladder so there's no point going to sleep, and besides, this topic has been on my mind the last 48 hours or so.
Ok, a summary is in order first. In (somewhat) brief, here's a recent chronology since my last post on Friday.
Saturday, stayed home and drank a few glasses of wine and baked and cooked and danced around the kitchen to the mainly classic rock tunes (G&R 4ever!!!) playing on my SpaceSaver kitchen radio. And engaged in a several hours' long textathon with my new "friend". I've been trying to be virtuous and keep him in the realm of just-a-cool-guy, and even inviting him out in a group to meet my single galpals, but deep down I've been attracted to him from the start, as came out after just a few sexty messages.
Anyway, it did not result in a late night visit, so I went to bed with my virtue intact, as you see, I had not yet had the official Conversation with the nice man I've been dating, aka Honey, aka my Boyfriend. Blast these titles!
Sunday, scheduled a dinner with Honey in a nearby town where he visits his daughter. After a quiet dinner, I suggest a walk through the surrounding suburbia. Scampering trick-or-treaters abound, we walk. After several minutes of me being uncharacteristically silent, I volunteer being weirded out. Weirded out by the X re-visit, for one thing, and feeling like we're coasting, and getting tired of the distance and wondering what it's all for anyway.
To my relief, he's also weirded out by my X situation, though he is sympathetic. It is a uniquely weird situation. Plus he's burned out juggling his house-build and business and child and his own X management, which is a minefield. He does, however, still want to see me on occasion, whatever that means. Anyway, it's a lovely, mature parting of ways As We Were, and I get in my car to drive home much gratified that I've had the chance to be with such a kind, mature man.
Fast forward three hours, and my new friend is sitting in my kitchen having a late night bourbon with me. We yuk it up till 1am, and after some opaque shyness back and forth he decides to stay. He does, however, preface clothes removal with a) you are very sexy and funny as hell but b) I'm really not looking for a relationship. To which I reply c) Awesome! And it was, and the next night was even more epic, and we're quite enjoying this mutual fuckbuddery.
However, I remember in past posts I had claimed to be an insincere fuck-buddy, and that I couldn't do vacation-sex at home, etc. Ahem. I am revising this opinion now. I think I've just needed to establish some rules right from the start. This way, both parties can agree and more importantly, abide by the agreement. Hence, my Fuckbuddy Protocol.
Note: The Fuckbuddy Protocol document has grown sizable over the last week I've been noodling on it. It follows in two parts/posts.
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