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I had some guests in my home for several days last week. The two nieces that were here are young adults, one just out of high school and the other in her mid-20s. We got to talking about Facebook. The younger niece is one of my “friends” on that site. Her older sister hasn’t been on Facebook and said that her younger sister might need to show her around the site and set her up with an account. I suspect that this is what they were doing today now that they’re back home 2000 miles away.
I have posted the link to my public blog there on my Facebook profile. Mostly, that blog is a lot of day to day blathering about this and that. In other words, nothing terribly personal for the most part. However, in the days predating this anonymous blog where I use no real names, I posted a couple of entries that would probably be better off here in this blog. In at least two older posts in that other blog, I mention very frankly that I’m bisexual. I was never very concerned about those posts being there because they’re followed by 125 or more posts since then, and no one has ever cared to dig that far back in my blog. No one is that interested in it except my husband!
This afternoon, I noticed on my Dashboard for that other blog that I had an incoming link from Facebook. I also had a personal email from my 25-year-old niece about one of my recent blog entries. My “hit” number suddenly soared to an all-time daily record, and I was able to see what posts were getting a lot of current “action.” Of course, they were the ones that mentioned sex or sexuality as the category or tag. I have no doubt that these nieces I haven’t seen for ten years now know far more about their aunt than they ever have before!
I have mixed emotions about this. There is a significant part of me that is exclaiming, “Oh shit!” But there is also that part of me that is saying, “Hey, you’ve conducted your life and your marriage with honesty, integrity, open communication, flexibility, and acceptance. That’s a whole lot to be proud of. ”
Those posts that they most likely read demonstrate those qualities. If they know I’m bisexual….well, then they know I’m bisexual. I don’t mean to flaunt it and make people uncomfortable, but I am who I am, and 18 and 25 years old are grown up enough ages to come to grips with the realities of the world.
(I secretly hope that I don’t incur any major fall-out from anyone over this….)
Okay, I’m starting to feel ready for my company to arrive tomorrow. My husband’s sister is flying in from the West Coast tomorrow afternoon, accompanied by her two young adult daughters. Sis comes most every summer or fall for a few days, but this is the first time in ten years that the two daughters have come along for the trip. The special occasion this summer is Sis’s milestone birthday.
I will have a houseful. At least, it will seem like a houseful considering that our normal household consists of my husband and me and two 14-year-old cats — and the husband is gone on business a lot! We have a large master bedroom. We have a guest bedroom that has turned into a junk room, and we have an upstairs study which is even too small to be a decent sized bedroom. It, too, has gotten pretty trashy. I’ve been cleaning all weekend to carve out suitable places to put these three extra people.
In the guest room, all the bedding was washed this past weekend. The lingerie and silk scarves laying on the bed from the last time I unpacked from a trip with my husband were put away. I took the satchel full of sex toys, lubes, and nitrile gloves from the closet and relocated it to the master bedroom closet. There is a stack of books on the bookshelf that have not been properly put away, and I didn’t bother with finding the right spots for them, but I did make sure that Polyamory: The New Love Without Limits by Dr. Deborah M. Anapol, The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Catherine Liszt, and Married Women Who Love Women by Carren Strock (all three of those volumes unread as of yet, by the way) were buried further down in the pile with the spines of that pile of books turned to the side and up against the stereo speaker. If my guests were of a mind to dig deeper, they would find all the really good stuff shelved behind the row of Stephen King books. It is a very deep bookcase in more ways than one!
I found a g-string, my “pack n play” prize that I won during the transgendered round of Dildo Bingo in May, some batteries, and yet more lube in the nightstand drawer, which I removed and put in my dresser in the master bedroom. I glanced around, satisfied that the room was sanitized enough for whomever may end up sleeping there. I left my stained glass rainbow sun-catcher out.
While looking for the air mattress to put in the study, my husband found a stash of books on the floor shoved behind my clothes in the master bedroom closet. He wanted to know if I knew they were there. Yeah, yeah, I was vaguely aware that there are stashes of gay male and kinky pornographic collections of short stories hidden around here and there. When I have a housesitter staying here when we’re gone on vacations, I have hidden the most potentially “offensive” of the pornographic stories. I leave the milder, run-of-the-mill stuff out in more conspicuous places, like the nightstand drawer, where she’ll think she’s really found something and quit looking! Likewise, I usually leave my Wahl ”massager” in one nightstand drawer and my Flicker vibe in the other, figuring that these are pretty damn tame sex toys. Let her find them! (My Hitachi Magic Wand is the favorite by far, however, and goes where I go!) Then she’ll think she knows my secrets but won’t have a clue about the dildoes and butt plugs that are locked in the tool chest in the garage while I’m gone!
Okay, I’m ready. Bring on the company!
A guy goes to the supermarket and notices an attractive woman waving at him. She says hello. He’s rather taken aback because he can’t place where he knows her from.
So he says, ‘Do you know me?’
To which she replies, ‘I think you’re the father of one of my kids.’
Now his mind travels back to the only time he has ever been unfaithful to his wife and says, ‘Are you the stripper from that frat party that I screwed on the pool table with all my buddies watching while your partner whipped my butt with wet celery???’
She looks into his eyes and says calmly, ‘No, I’m your son’s second grade teacher.’
If one were to read the comments following the post, “Speechless,” one would get a feel for my recent experience on the rather popular dating site I frequent. I frequent this site because it’s free, you can write all the emails you want to any member for free, the quizzes are kind of fun if one is bored, and the blogs can be interesting and entertaining. And did I mention that there are no membership fees and it’s free? Of course, there is also the faint hope lurking in the depths of my soul that I might happen to even connect with a woman on a deeper level, either as a good friend, a lover, or VERY ideally speaking, both. Yes, hope springs eternal.
As I previously said, I found this young gentleman’s blog post on my homescreen sidebar and read it. I read all the comments that followed and continued to read them as they accumulated over the course of the next day to a total of 190. It really got me to thinking about my own history in the realm of polyamory — although I still have trouble even putting that label on my marriage — and how it came to pass that we’ve accepted nonmonogamy as a viable option in our relationship, given that it runs against the grain of what is considered acceptable in our society. I spent the better part of an evening composing my thoughts and committing them to writing. I posted that blog both here and on that dating site’s blog.
I got zero responses to that blog on the dating site, and after roughly 24 hours, I posted my reaction to that in “Speechless.” One gentleman is very popular on the site; in fact, I think he must spend a great deal of time just sitting on the dating site, reading and commenting on everyone’s blogs. Interestingly enough, he is a bisexual man my age and a Twin Cities resident. His profile is well-written. He is obviously intelligent. For those reasons alone, he made it onto my Favorites list during my first week on the site.
Since that time, he has made some blunt, insensitive remarks on my blog on more than one occasion. Sometimes he’s been so far off the mark that I can tell that he doesn’t even read carefully enough to catch the details of what I’m talking about before typing a blunt one-liner. I haven’t really seen any compassion or sensitivity in any other comments he’s made on others’ blogs, either, although generally they’re just one- or two-line superficial comments.
He was the one who said to me in his comment to “Speechless” that the post was too personal and too long, that people respond to “brief and pithy.” My dear friend, Randi Sue, also said that people respond to short, general posts more than the lengthy, complex ones. She herself didn’t know what kind of comment to make on some of the things I write. One commenter to ”Speechless” noted that some of the posts that receive the greatest number of comments are when folks are just having fun, joking around, bantering, and generally partying down on the site.
Well, fine. My error in judgment for even posting it there. I promise, ma, it won’t happen again! Furthermore, I finally did what I’ve felt like doing for awhile and cut Mr. Blunt, the local guy, from my Favorites, along with a mess of other people’s names I’ve collected over my four months there. Not that this has any bearing on anything. They can still view my profile, send me email, and read my blog as long as it’s not a restricted-access post. It just felt good in a useless sort of way to go through and delete the names of people who have contributed nothing to my wellbeing during my sessions on the dating site.
It’s a good thing that it’s free or I wouldn’t be signing up for a continued membership! Since it’s free, however, I may continue to check in one in a while. Like I said, hope springs eternal.
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