Kisses

He didn't like mawkish displays of sentimentality. Definitely not a hand-holder. No flowers for Valentine's Day. And kisses at the stroke of midnight on New Year's were out.

And I loved him, or at least I was pretty sure I did, so I didn't try to press the point. We would fuck like rabbits after the ball dropped and I was okay with that. The first New Year I spent with him, he rented a hotel room, we watched about one minute of the festivities, and then he was up my ass, hard, for hours. I'm pretty sure he took something to stay so hard, because it was pretty atypical. Not that he was a bad lover, just that he usually needed some recuperation before going again, but that New Year he just stayed hard and only pulled out of my ass to switch positions.

And sex is like kissing, right?

After it ended, I realized a lot of things. Well, I realized some of them before it ended, which is why it ended. But I realized that I like romance. I may be cynical, I may be hard-bitten by life, and I may not admit it to most people I know, but I believe in romantic love. I also believe in other kinds of love, and that other kinds of love can be expressed physically, but I definitely believe in kissing under the mistletoe and on New Year's Eve and flowers on Valentine's Day (not that I require them, just that I appreciate them) and dates and holding hands and all the stuff that he didn't like.

The first year, I tried to prove it. I kissed under the mistletoe; hell, I bought actual live mistletoe and hung it up just so I could kiss under it. I held hands with anyone who'd let me. And I made a date for New Year's Eve with the specific goal of kissing at midnight.

And it was okay. But it wasn't right. It was vengeful and kind of stupid and I was trying too hard. But it scared me, because I was hoping for fireworks and all I got was just some kiss with someone I didn't care all that much about. Maybe he was right. Maybe romance was silly. Maybe sex and love were important, and romance was just Hallmark bullshit.

So I myself steered clear of romance. I did it sometimes because I really wanted to, but I always couched it in mockery, and I'm pretty sure I ruined a fair number of moments that way.

Then one day I was holding hands with someone and I suddenly started crying. I wasn't missing romance, I was missing love. The romance should come from the love, not in spite of it. Needless to say, this freaked my partner at the time out, but it wasn't that serious, and we had a few times after that which were fun without me going off on crying jags.

Now I kiss on New Year's Eve if I'm with someone I love. I'm planning on kissing Sveta this New Year's, as well as other people, although Sveta will get pride of place. And in New Years past, I've kissed people out of love or just lust or as a joke, but I haven't tried to make it something other than it is. It's just mawkish sentimentality, after all. The feeling behind it is what counts.

I'm not sure if I forgive him or not, but I don't hold him any ill will because he didn't want to be romantic like that. I just wish that I'd known what I wanted, and that I could have told him. I doubt it would have changed his mind. That, I have a harder time forgiving him for.

Holidays

If you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas. If you celebrate Hanukkah, Happy Hanukkah. It's not until tomorrow, but if you celebrate Kwanzaa, Joyous Kwanzaa. If you're more Yule oriented, Yule tidings to you. If none of those fits your condition but you still celebrate something, Happy Holidays and I'm sorry I don't know what your celebration is because I'd probably love celebrating it. And if even that isn't broad enough to capture your spirit, have a great day.

That was inclusive, I hope, but I didn't say it that way because I'm afraid of offending someone. I did it because it's nice to celebrate, even if all you're celebrating is life in general. I shouldn't need an excuse to celebrate life, but unfortunately I and many other people do. So celebrate and don't worry why. Whether it's a baby, a fat man, a harvest, the closing of the year, a lamp, the victory of life over death, or any of the myriad of other reasons to be joyous, and whether it's today, tomorrow, next week, or any day you like, celebrate with me.

The new year may bring changes. It may be scary to let go of old ways, to step from the warmth of a dying fire into the snow. You may be tempted, as I am, to grab hold of the last days of this year, to hold fast to the sand slipping through your fingers, to convince yourself that you're savoring them rather than just wrapping them around you like armor made of tissue paper in the rain. But I can't stop the inexorable creep of time. I can only decide if I want the spiral to creep down or up.

Savor, by all means. but don't hold tight. Take hold of someone's hand, someone you love, and go out. The snow is cold but it's calling for footprints to be left, for brave souls to venture out and build castles and snowmen and leave stories in the tracks they make, to blaze new trails, to walk away from old winter and out into the spring, even if the spring seems like it won't ever come. And maybe it's not snowing where you are (I know it isn't where I am, because I don't think I'll ever have a white Christmas unless I make the snow myself) but that's okay; leave the huddled, gathering cold in your heart and go out anyway. We're all scared, deep down. We all want things to be alright. We're all together.

Peace and love. And celebration. That's what holidays are about. That's what every day should be about.

Sometimes You've Got to Run Off

Starting tomorrow, I'm running away. I won't be joining the circus or traveling with gypsies, although I could see doing either. But this week, and the current show, and everything have just sucked so badly (or is that "bad" since it didn't suck poorly, it sucked extremely professionally in a way which makes me wonder if it has sucked like this before for money) that I've got to run away.

I will be fleeing to Sveta's room. This is possible because (a) we don't really have to hide any more and (b) her roomie turns out to be pretty cool, if not interested in joining in. Sveta has been terrified that her roomie would freak out if she found out anything about Sveta's naughty side, but it turns out that her roomie (I can't remember if I ever gave her a name, so I'm christening her Jodie) Jodie is just kind of button-down in appearance and demeanor, and doesn't really give two shits whether Sveta is in love with another woman. In fact, in light of Sveta's recent unpleasantness in the family department, Jodie actually stepped up and provided a lot of support to Sveta when I wasn't able to do so in person.

So yeah, anyway, Jodie is totally fine with me coming to stay for a few days. She said she'd be in and out, but that we could have the run of the room for the most part, and she'd knock so we could at least pull the covers up. Actually, this isn't the first time I've been over, it's just a more extended period. And we're all three going to maybe do some girly Christmas stuff, maybe makeovers or facials or something. I am not girly like that, but hey, I'm game for some relaxation.

Anyway, I'm running away. And this time, I mean it. And I'm never coming back until next Thursday, when I have to work again, boo. Don't try to find me.

Also, I'm still sick. It's one of those annoying lingering things; I treated the main problem, saw the doctor, all that good shit, but the little sniffle and cough are driving me crazy, and they won't go away. Coughing during sex isn't as erotic as heavy breathing, and as heavy breathing tends to want to make me cough... yeah. Blech.

TMI'm Not Really Here

France posted early, so I stole her questions and posted while I had a free moment. I'm not actually here. I'm mired deep in hell. Remember me fondly if you'd like.

1. If you were a car, which one would you be? What are some of your best features?

Right now, I'd like to be a car which ran on water. Maybe I might be slow, but I'd get people where they wanted to go comfortably and cheaply. I'm not sure what that says about me.

2. If I gave you an elephant where would you hide it?

In Africa. That's where they'd least suspect it.

3. Finish this sentence: Tomorrow I absolutely refuse to…

procrastin... I'll finish this answer Thursday.

4. What is the longest period of time that you’ve gone without a shower?

I was sick once, so sick that I didn't shower for a week because I didn't get up for a week except to stagger to the bathroom. I didn't even notice until I got well enough to shower, at which point I was disgusted and was tempted to burn my bed. Other than that, I skip a day every so often, but it's a rare thing if I skip two. I've got to be either super depressed or super sick. I like being clean.

5. What is the silliest prank you ever played on someone?

I think I told the story of the prank war I had with my sister once. One of those was probably the silliest prank I've ever pulled. I'm not great at pranks; I can think of them, but I never execute.

Bonus: What is the best piece of gossip that you heard recently?

Justin Bieber is really several ducks in a cunning disguise. Spread it around.

Tenors of Love

This is not about some Irish male singing group doing covers of the greatest hits of the 70s on PBS. It'd probably be better if it were, but it's not.

So I've been having a fair amount of emotionally-charged sex recently, as well as, most recently, some physically-debilitated sex as I fight through the Plague (if I started sprouting buboes, I wouldn't be in the slightest bit surprised, actually; I have glands swollen enough to be buboes). Most of the time, the focus in sex is on passion or energy, whether it's rough or not, fast or slow, out of love or out of lust, whether you're just getting through it or wanting more. I know a lot of people probably wouldn't think of sex as an appropriate mechanism for grief either. I'm not saying no one else feels this way, just that I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it until recently.

Grieving is bizarre because it's like celebrating, only turned on its head. I think the same emotional triggers are there, which is why funerals can be both ways to grieve and to celebrate. And if I can have a celebratory glass of champagne, I can have a sorrowful glass of wine. If I can eat a celebratory dinner, I can eat a funeral feast. (Hamlet's line about funeral meats coldly furnishing forth marriage tables comes to mind here). So if I can have sex in celebration, I can have a sad, sorrowful lovemaking session too.

Loss makes us want to reassure each other that we still have things, and I can't think of a better way to reassure someone that they still have me than to love them, either mentally, spiritually, or physically. Grief gives a particular poignancy to lovemaking which many people have experienced; how many of us have had one last fuck before saying goodbye. But if you can't make love to the dearly departed (and I'm not suggesting for a moment that you should try, either) making love with others who are grieving is a good way to show your love for them and for the one you've lost.

If this suggests that my aunt's funeral was an orgy, it wasn't. It was a very nice service at a church she attended. We missed her, and the people who couldn't be with us for other reasons. I think my Dad missed his parents. And then we went home, and Mom and Dad and I all made love. Not much actual penetration went on; Dad's still having problems and it wasn't really about that. We just cuddled up in the big bed and were together. I think I kissed my mother in a sexier way than I ever have before, and that turned me on, which made me feel guilty for making it about me, which turned me off. I'm not saying it's easy.

Sveta never met my aunt, and that's too bad because they would have gotten along, I think. Aunt Jenny would have been happy for Sveta and me, and Sveta would have liked my aunt's cooking, and also, if this were a perfect world, would have enjoyed getting to make love with another member of my family. But things happen. Still, Sveta and I have enough things to worry and grieve about that adding addition grief didn't really change things; we forget our troubles when making love, as opposed to commemorating them. Sometimes I feel bad about that; I feel like sex shouldn't just be a circus sideshow act to distract us from the mangled body of the lion tamer. Sex is part of life, not an escape from it. But sometimes you need a vacation. It makes us feel better.

And even though I know that I'm sick and weak and shouldn't exert myself, when Sveta turns me on, I have to kiss her, which turns to licking and fingering and rubbing and stroking and all the good things. And while I still feel weak as we make love, the weakness diminishes, and in the afterglow I can almost pretend that I'm not sick. After that, of course, the sickness comes back, and I'm not sure if it just feels this way by comparison or not, but I feel worse sometimes. It's a brief release, if nothing else.

Yet I still do it. And I'm not making love because I feel obligated or forced or I just need to orgasm. It's strange feeling this way. I want to make love. I like cumming, but I want to be with someone physically. Either in sorrow or as an escape from it, I want to love and be loved.

Someday soon I hope, I'll get back to where I was, and I'll feel sexy rather than lonely. I'll cum more often, and I'll enjoy sex in a happy way. I'm not saying I want to give this up, just that there's joy missing right now. My happiness is muted, overcast. I want the sun to shine again.