This latest incident — meeting someone, enjoying the experience of meeting them, only to have the next date abruptly cancelled because “I can’t do this!” — brings back a lot of memories.  I’ve been down this road before.

In my early 20s, I was actively dating women in the handful of years immediately following our move here to the BiCities.  After all, I was prime dating material from the aspects that I was a twenty-something and very attractive!  (I’d post a pic from that era to back up that claim, but that would ruin my anonymity, although I don’t think anyone who didn’t already know me would recognize my pics from 1978 or so.  Maybe sometime….) 

 I was doing something similar to what I am now in terms of meeting women — the “personals,” although at that time, there was no Internet.  There were Personals printed in the weekly publications, like The Twin Cities Reader and City Pages, that you could pick up in the wire bins in the lobbies of restaurants and bars, student hang-outs at the colleges, other business establishments.  At that time, one would write up a Personals ad, fee usually charged by the number of words, and either deliver it in person or mail it to the newspaper.  They would print it for the specified number of weeks you paid for.  They would assign you an anonymous box number, and you could either have your snail-mail forwarded to an address for a fee or go to the newspaper office and pick it up.  You then communicated with your respondents in one of two ways: a telephone call or a written letter, depending on the information they gave you.

This is how I met Rae in the fall of 1978.  She was four years older than me, an R.N. with a very intense position of being a neonatal ICU nurse in our large county hospital in downtown Minneapolis, and she lived only half-a-dozen blocks from me.  She was living with her male lover who was in his last year of medical school at the University of Minnesota.  She had never had a sexual relationship with a woman before but was interested in exploring her attraction.

We got along very well and a sexual relationship did ensue.  She even posted a notification in the Twin Cities Reader at one point, saying, “K — I’ve never met anyone as warm and wonderful as you.  I think I’m falling in love.  Love, R., R.N.”  I carried that little scrap of paper with me in my wallet for a long time!

But then things got “funny.”  I felt it coming on.  The end of that phase of our relationship came on the evening of our six-month “anniversary,” when we went out to a very nice Japanese restaurant and I gave her a card and small gift in celebration.  I was driving, and when I took her back to her apartment (she was now living alone, having broke up with the med school guy very recently), she gave me a quick peck, thanked me for the nice evening, said that it was a work night and she had to get some rest, and hopped out of the car.  I shrugged, decided then and there that she would call me next; I would make no further invitations.

I did not hear from her.  Six months later or so after our date at the Japanese restaurant, another notification appeared in the Twin Cities Reader.  It said, “K — Bisexuality is for me a very confusing place to be, but I will always remember and cherish our time together.  R., R.N.”  Since I was her first woman and she had had a longstanding history with men, including a brief marriage and divorce, I assumed that she had returned to the heterosexual lifestyle and left the unconventionality of bisexuality behind.

More than a year went by since that notification she put in the Reader.  Then I got a Christmas greeting from her in December 1980, explaining that she had been in an uncomfortable spot with me a year-and-a-half earlier, but she seemed to be in a better place.  She’d like to see me and “catch up.”  We then talked on the phone a couple of times and she invited me over to her apartment for a visit.  We had a lovely evening together.  Just fun!  We talked, laughed, caught up with each other, had some hot apple cider laced with a little “holiday cheer.”  Just had a nice evening together.  As the evening wore on, we sat closer to each other on the couch, and I think there were a couple of rather chaste kisses as the evening drew to a close.  Nothing heavy.  We wanted to see each other again and talked about doing so.

We talked on the phone a few more times and made plans to get together after the first of the year for a girls-afternoon at a St. Paul former strip club that had stopped featuring “exotic female dancers” but had gone the route of male strippers.  We were going to go and laughed at the prospect!  I was looking forward to it, just for the lighthearted silliness of it.   I needed that in a life that was pretty bogged down with full-time college courses and part-time jobs.

The day before we were scheduled to go to the Payne Reliever (on Payne Ave. in St. Paul), I received a letter from her.  (No email then, remember?)  She said, “I can’t see you again.  I thought I could but I can’t.”  I don’t remember what all it said, but it was all kind of crazy.  I’ve never had anything affect me like that letter did.  It was like a sharp slap in the face, and I burst into tears.  I sat there at my desk and cried for quite awhile.  Of course, I wrote her back and said that I was fine with being friends; I hadn’t gone into it expecting that we’d be lovers again.  I enjoyed her company, and what was so complicated about that that she couldn’t see me again, enjoy being friends with me?  I didn’t get any response to that.

THIRTEEN YEARS goes by.  A letter arrives.  I was still living at the same address I was when we had known each other in the late ’70s, early 80s.  (Same address, same husband.  Talk about stability!)  It had one of those absurd beginnings: “Remember me?”  That is such a crazy introduction to a letter when of course you remember this person!   It would be like your high school best friend or your ex-fiance in college beginning a letter that way after a lengthy absence.  Of course you remember who they are!  But anyway, she went on to say that she had actually left Minnesota for quite awhile back in the 80s, had been overseas with some medical group, had been working in California, etc., etc.  She had had a couple of lesbian relationships and had been “out” as a lesbian for all that time, much to my surprise.  However, she had moved back to the Twin Cities, had gotten involved with a Buddhist Temple (we were alike in that — ex-Catholics who became more Buddhist than anything), met a man at the Temple and married him recently, much to her friends’ surprise.  She was reconnecting with a “bisexual” side of herself.

We made plans to meet once again.  We went to the May Day celebration at Powderhorn Park in my neighborhood, a celebration that always draws a large GLBT gathering.  We went out to lunch a couple of times after that.  Talked on the phone.  We were estabishing a relationship again after 13 years apart, although a platonic relationship, I presumed.

Then…nothing after a couple of months.  No return phone calls.  No response to the notes and cards I sent.  I wasn’t surprised.  I didn’t cry.  I had become kind of callused by that point.

Looking in the phone book a year or so later, I noted that her husband was still at the same address she had given me but had reverted to his “maiden” name.  They had hyphenated their last names when they got married and both of them then went by the hyphenated name.  He was back to being just plain old “Johnson” instead of Robins-Johnson, as they had been listed before, and there was no listing for her.  Furthermore, I knew she had changed jobs because I recently had accepted a position at the HMO she was working for, and I knew from checking the employee roster that she wasn’t there.  She had done a “disappearing act” again.  Taken a powder.   

So, yeah, the long and the short of it is that this crazy kind of thing has happened before, the  “I can’t see you again” on the basis of a pleasant lunch or a nice evening.  For some people, connecting with someone and enjoying a friendship has to be a very complicated thing.  For some people, accepting the fluidity of their sexual orientation has to be a very traumatic and confusing thing.

….sigh….

This is what I just sent off to my acquaintance, Meredith, just moments ago:

Well, Meredith, at least you didn’t cancel a dinner date two hours ahead of time.  Two or three days ahead of time I can handle! 

I meant what I said in my earlier quickie email about being your friend.  More than anything, I feel disappointed in what has transpired because I’ve been rejected as a friend.  It’s not as if we’ve ever been lovers and had to change the course of our relationship to accomodate shifting needs.  We met, liked each other (I think), shared some conversation, and had the flexibility to make a relationship anything we wanted.  It wasn’t preordained that we were going to be sex partners and/or lovers at any time in that relationship.  It could be what we needed and wanted it to be. 

I’m no stranger to issues involving self-esteem and codependency.  I grew up as an only-child in a very dysfunctional family.  My father was seldom home due to his job as a long-distance trucker and he had his share of problems.  My mother was on her fourth marriage when she married my dad and had left two young sons with their father (her second marriage) when she left Husband #2, never to have any further contact with them.  She was emotionally-abusive, alcoholic and had many unacknowledged and untreated psychiatric problems.  I was her scapegoat as a child and teenager, and I stopped living with her when I was 16 to move out with my father when he left her.  I’ve pretty much been on my own since then. 

I was a victim in this abusive relationship, and I strugged to survive its effects.  I learned a whole boatload of coping skills as a child and adolescent that saw me survive that upbringing somewhat intact — at least intact enough to graduate from high school, not be chemically dependent or self-destructive, and marry a good man.  Not all of those coping skills I leanred were good coping skills once I got out in my own marriage and my own life independent of that family system.  I have spent my adult life trying to unlearn a lot of the things I learned as a child and reframe my life into something more wholesome, trusting, and giving.  It’s been a long, hard road. 

I’ve had a lot of self-esteem issues to deal with, a lot of superficially buried feelings of victimization.   I have been in different kinds of therapy throughout my adult life: everything from being a member in Adult Children of Alcoholics groups to attending self esteem support groups at Chrysalis Women’s Center to both group and individual therapy for clinical depression.  I continue to read and attend continuing education seminars and talk about all these issues that have affected my life.  

Bottom line here?  I don’t need to be your lover.  I don’t NEED to add anyone else to my life in that capacity, really.  But what I can be is a supportive, caring, understanding, and compassionate friend, someone you can talk to, someone you can bounce feelings and ideas off of, someone who can enrich your life by being there to encourage you along a path of growth and self-discovery.  I can offer all that and would be glad to do so. 

I’m putting that out there for you to think about before you just walk away from what could be an enriching opportunity in your life to add to your list of good friends.  Of course, it’s up to you what you do about it.  I won’t send any more emails or contact you in any way unless you open that door. 

Take care,

Kinsey

On the evening of July 7 a year ago, the following incident happened with a woman I had been dating for almost four months.  (The post reprinted below is lifted from my LiveJournal account and was posted at 10:19 that night):

A few days ago, I made a comment to another person’s post about my polyamorous situation with my friend, Millie.  I said something to the effect that the past three months have been wonderful with her, but lurking in the shadows is the fear that she’s involved with so many people that I’m just going to drop off the bottom of the list someday.I think that it might have happened this evening.

I dropped my husband off at the airport for his weeklong trip to Wales at 5:30 this afternoon and then proceeded on to Millie’s house.  We had made plans to go out to dinner….and then……  (???)  I threw some overnight necessities in a bag, just in case I got an invitation to spend the night and decided to accept it!

First of all, she told me on the way to dinner that she had a recent one-night stand to confess, something that she needed to tell to all her partners.  She had been flirting with her kid’s karate instructor for the past six weeks or so and “got carried away” last week.  She didn’t think that this was a good situation to be in with this man since she feels he doesn’t understand polyamory, and he has a girlfriend who would be jealous if she knew about this affair.  She doesn’t want to be in that situation, but they had sex.  Hence, the one-night stand.

Okay.  Thanks for sharing, Millie.

Then over supper, she said that she’s been in a confused place about all these relationships she’s got going on, and there are a few.  There’s me.  There’s the guy in San Francisco.  There is the guy in Beloit, Wisconsin.  There are a couple of local men she’s having sex with.  She just got out of a messy menage a trois with a local couple that went on for quite awhile, although she is still in contact with the former participants and I think she’d like to return to it if they could work things out.   She mentioned something to that effect this evening.

She’s still cruising the Fast Cupid website, reading profiles and making contact with people.

She said that there is something missing in her life.  She wants to be in love.  She said that hanging out with me is nice but…..  She was out to our house for supper last with her 3-year-old and that was nice, too, but…..  She enjoyed being at the park after supper with my husband and me and watching her son play, but….

But there is something missing for her.

I don’t know what’s missing.  Therefore, I don’t know if I can provide it for her or not!  

I know that I’m uneasy about all the “activity” going on in her social life.  I’m technically polyamorous but I’ve never had more than two relationships going on at a time: that with my husband and that with a female lover.  I honestly don’t know what to make of all these various relationships she’s got going on, all in various stages and levels of frequency.  I’m having a hard time finding common definition with the term polyamory as it pertains to my life compared to how she chooses to conduct her polyamorous life.  I have found myself frequently pondering that term polyamory lately and wondering what it really means.  My recent observations would lead me to believe that for some people, it is a lifestyle of numerous sexual affairs going on concurrently, sometimes spontaneously and impulsively because HEY!  I’m poly, and it’s okay!  The only thing that separates that behavior from your basic ”affairs” and general sexual promiscuity is the level of honesty and self-acceptance about what’s going on.  

But that’s not how I’m comfortable conducting my sexual relationships and therein lies the problem.  

So, I’m home tonight.   We had supper together.  (She clarified that she wasn’t breaking up with me, although it sure felt like it!)  We shopped for a bit at the shopping mall by the restaurant.  I took her home.  We hugged goodnight.  I declined to go in.

I think it’s over and I’m sad tonight.

Sad but not surprised.

For those of you who have followed this blog (which may just be my husband and me, but that’s fine), you’ll know that running into Millie again at the BECAUSE conference kick-off evening the end of March was the incentive for the birth of this blog.  I had not seen or spoken to her since the night of July 7, with the exception of the note I put in her package which contained the repaired necklaces she had given me to fix and a paperback book I had borrowed from her.  It was done.  Over.

Over except for my remaining anger and confusion about what had gone on between us, something that hit me full in the face the evening our paths crossed at the BECAUSE conference and I left that evening, not to return for the full day of the conference on Saturday because she was giving one of the sessions the next day.

To end this year since my last dinner with her, an interesting thing happened.  As I’ve mentioned, I am a member of a dating site since the end of March.  I think it was on Wednesday that I noticed a local couple had looked at my profile.  The names they gave in their profile were Michael and Diane.  Common enough, All-American names, but it gave me pause because the couple in the menage a trois that Millie was involved with was Mike and Diane.  I read through their profile and picked out the fact that they were both from another state and had relocated here within the last couple of years.  Millie talked about them a lot with me and this rang a bell.  The ages seemed right.

I let this all simmer for a day and then decided, what the hell?  I shot them a message and asked if they had been involved with a local woman last year, that we may have a mutual acquaintance!  They gave me a honest reply back.  Yes, they were involved with a woman, a relationship that ended in early 2007.  They supposed that it could have been her.

I answered with the probable mutual acquaintance’s initials and said that I was just curious so I’d know who to stay away from in case she was still involved with them!

Michael replied that, yes, this was the woman and that if I were in proximity to them, I’d be about as far away from HER as I could get!

This resulted in a number of messages going back and forth over the next couple of days, some written by Michael, who had known Millie for a long time, and some written by Diane who had only met Millie through MIchael’s preexisting relationship with her.  The take-home message for me in all that was that Millie was/is an emotionally unpredictable woman.  I knew about her being treated for a long time for depression (for that matter, so have I), but MIchael postulated that she may be bipolar as well.    He went on to say after knowing her for more than a decade, “She has contradictory needs.  Sometimes she needs someone emotionally strong when she is feeling frail and needs someone to carry her and other times she needs them to be emotionally weak so that she can feel more control in her own life.   The people that seem to be best for her are either physically or emotionally distant from her…”

Diane said in a letter she wrote to me, “I would guess that she has quickly moved on to many other new conquests. It has been my observation that she flirts until she catches the person, takes what she wants and then moves on…”

Both of them agreed that it was good for me that I only experienced four months of this and decided to end it!

Have I had doubts about this?  Perhaps in some ways.  I know that I carry my own amount of baggage due to my growing-up years in a dysfunctional family and I know I tend to be hypersensitive to certain things.  Sometimes I have to pause and ask myself if I’m responding to some stimulus in an appropriate way or reacting from a need to protect an Inner Child from hurt and abuse.  This was one of those cases.

To “celebrate” the first anniversary of giving Millie the boot, I think that I can lay those doubts to rest, thanks to the input from MIchael and Diane, two people whom I never, ever expected to talk to!  They obviously didn’t have an easy time of it, either, and MIchael said that he let it go on for far too long.  This chance encounter with them reassured me that I was not out of line in making the decision I did, and I thank them for the words that they shared with me.

And now, let us return to our originally scheduled programming! 

I think I’ve probably run my course on this last topic of interest: penis size and how it should be irrelevant in a sexual relationship.  I think I’ve milked it for all it’s worth now.  That’s too bad in a way because I’ve gotten many more hits on my blog in the last few days than I have in quite awhile.  I used the tag “penis size” on those blog entries.  People apparently use that a lot as a search term and I’m getting hits on my blog.  That’s quite amusing, actually, and just a further symptom of this size preoccupation I’ve discussed.  Perhaps I’ll just put “penis size” as a tag on all of my posts, regardless of whether it’s about home mortgages, travel plans, or work-related stresses and enjoy more traffic on my blog!    

“I have always considered myself as having an average ‘package..’  This statement was rendered by my long-time email correspondent, a man of Italian descent who could give any porn star a run for his money in terms of size of his “package” (provided that the porn star’s anatomy is not in the freak size range!)    My friend gives the expression ”hiding the salami” a whole new meaning!  He’s as well-hung as the proverbial “circus pony,” although probably not as well-trained!

I mentioned to my husband, the email correspondent’s college housemate from the 70s,  that The Italian Circus Pony expressed this opinion about having an “average package.”  I asked Dave if he thought that our friend was sincerely this ignorant about his own size.  Dave made choking noises and answered in the negative.

My correspondent is not alone in either this false modesty or plain ignorance of size.  There is one man in my sexual history who I would have to say probaby trumps The Italian Circus Pony by an inch at least in circumference — which in my estimation is what a woman really senses inside her vagina rather than length.  This was so damn funny in a way because this guy was a scrawny little guy.  Probably 5′6″ or 5′7″ inches in height and 125 pounds soaking wet.  He had a concave chest and actually a rather frail, sickly appearance.  Yet, when he attained an erection, it was this fat sucker about as big around as a pop can.  (Okay, I’m exaggerating a little….)  You know what he said to me when my eyes got huge upon that revelation?  “I’m about average, I guess.”

On the other hand, one man whose cock I had a nodding acquaintance with and who was almost as big as The ICP was worried that it wasn’t big enough!  He voiced his concern that it was too small on the night he, his wife, and I celebrated their 5th wedding anniversary and I saw what he had.  His wife told me that he has always been worried about that and no amount of reassurance on her part — and he’s her third husband! – has convinced him that he’s “just fine” in the size deparment.  And I thought, “My god, you’ve got to be kidding me!  What’s WITH this guy?”  He was 47-years-old — no adolescent anymore! — and was perfectly normal to above-average on the scale and was worried about being too small!  Pure craziness! 

One guy from my late teens and early 20s whom I thought was pretty damn nice in the size department — probably the same size as the insecure guy above — actually agreed with me.  He had his measurements recorded, both length and circumference, and knew exactly what they were.  (A lot of guys do, I think, although they won’t admit it.)  He wasn’t too proud to say, “Yeah, I think I’m a cut above average.  Here are my stats!”  Aside from his brief foray into “bisexuality” as a teen, he was gay.  My personal opinion is that most guys sort of really know where they measure up with their peers, but to admit that you’re “well hung” is to admit that you notice male genitalia, and you wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re queer for that!  Better to shrug and say, “I’m just average…” even if you know better.  That way, you don’t have to be accused of being either arrogant or gay — unless you’re truly either or both!

Are men really as ignorant about all this as they act?  Do they develop distorted perceptions from getting most of their size comparisons from pornography?  This could be when it comes to heterosexual men.  I would venture a guess when it comes to straight men, they don’t actually see a lot of erect penises from your Average Joe.  They’ve seen their own erections, most have seen a porn flick or two where the actors are actually chosen for their large size, and the rest of what they’ve seen are flaccid penises in Physical Education showers and locker rooms and health clubs.  Flaccid penises are not a true indicator of size because erection can change those dimensions a great deal.  There is not enough good “education” out there for your average straight guy to know what is actually “normal” and what isn’t!

It might be nice if guys had a realistic perspective on this matter.  Do you think we need a new “reality” TV show?  Who’s the Biggest Dick?  Hosted by Peter Johnson….

In the post, “He Said…She Said,” I was forced to fill in my own comment for the last “He Said” entry.    As of yesterday afternoon, it can now officially be replaced with this:

He: You are quite right that many men have an anxiety about their penis size. I assure you that I am not one of them. I have what I have and I am content with the fact.   I hope this is oil on the water for you and calms you down. I didn’t attack you, but merely asserted that I am not one those penis anxious men.  I don’t think of myself as large or small. I’m just ME. WYSIWYG.

Me:  I never insinuated that you were one of those insecure males in anything I said.  I never said any personally directed towards you at all regarding the size obsession discussion.  I was discussing the situation in general terms, inspired by some recent comments by both of us, and yes, there are many, many men who are concerned and obsessed about their size.  I didn’t “miss the mark a bit” on that at all in my “diatribe.”  You missed the mark if you thought that any of it was personally directed towards you. 

Why should you be one of those men concerned about his size?  You know you’re “well hung.”  You’ve known that since you were a boy, since you were an adolescent, since you were a college student at the student house, flouncing down the stairs in only a t-shirt and no pants, forcing Morris The “Housemother” to admonish, “Man, cover yourself up!  We don’t need to be seeing your weiner bouncing around!”  To worry about being too small in your case would be the same severity of body image distortion as what an anorexic, starving-at-her-own-hands woman has when she sees herself as too fat.  You know full well where you measure up.  We both know that.

[End of email excerpts]

This is just another form of male insecurity at play.  I write a discourse about penis size and how men should quit playing this game and learn what really counts and this well-hung man immediately jumps to the conclusion that it’s all about him!  He gets defensive and jumps in right away with “assertive” assurances that he’s NOT one of THOSE men who are concerned with his penis size! 

Well, duh.  Why should he be?

Men…. [sadly shakes head]

I have just spent several posts coming across as a person who has her sexual self-esteem and sex life together.  I have a confession to make.  I sound really good on paper.  When it comes to my own personal life, I have difficulty talking to my own husband of 35 years about these situations in more than abstract terms.  Talking with him directly about how some of these issues and situations affect our very own sex life is a very daunting task for me and one that I staunchly avoid unless forced into it because something has bothered me to that extreme.  I live in fear of evoking his defensivness and making him feel threatened, of wounding his perceived male ego, of distancing him because I’ve brought up a potentially sensitive subject, and I handle him with kid gloves to the extent of remaining silent when I’d really like to talk about something with him.

This is my problem.  Anyone have any advice for the “advice columnist?”

Like I mentioned in a previous post, I have a long-distance relationship based on email correspondence with a man I’ve known over the span of 38 years.   On three separate occasions during the years of this relationship, I have seen this man’s erect penis, the first such occasion occurring in 1971 when I was 15-years-old.  Recently, we had this email exchange, and I’ve copied the noteworthy parts directly from those emails so as not to misrepresent anything in the translation.  

Me:  “When it comes to [your lady friend's] sexual appetite, she may have a craving for a big cock…”

Him:  “Big Cock”, thanks for the complement, but then you also said once, “Its not as big as I remembered!”

Me:  Yes, you have a big cock.  It’s not a compliment; it’s a fact.  I’ve never really understood “complimenting” a man about the size of his erect penis when it’s a genetic characteristic that he has no control over, the same as the size of his feet or the color of his eyes.  Yet, somehow, this has become a really, really important deal to a lot of men!  They’re either proud of the size of their organ or embarrassed or worried that it isn’t big enough.  The male anxiety and preoccupation over this inherited physical trait is a waste of energy and certainly has nothing to do with a man’s worth as a human being or a lover.

When I said years later (and I’ll take your word at this point that I said this) that your cock wasn’t as big as I remembered it, I was not inferring that the size of your cock had shrunk.  It hadn’t.  What I was thinking about was my perception as a 15-year-old the first time I saw and touched your erect penis.  At that time, I had only seen and touched one other adult penis.  In comparison, yours was quite enough to inspire awe and fear in the heart of an inexperienced teenager!  Years later, I was not quite as awed and impressed because I had had a lot more experience by then.  I had been intimately acquainted with a variety of erect organs of different sizes and shapes, some smaller than you, some the same size as you, and I think at least one a little bit bigger.  You were the same size as you were 1971, but I just wasn’t as impressionable as I was in 1971.  That was the difference!

[I then directed him to read my blog post, inspired by this email conversation, "It's All In The Genes."]

Him:  I gotta begin this with saying that you missed the mark a bit.  I was more interested in your perception rather than any “anxiety”  I may have.  Really, never been concerned with size;  much more concerned with skill and giving pleasure to my partner.  I’ve been in cavernous vaginas and snug cunnies and I have managed to do well by the lady.  Hate it when I ejaculate in what I consider too short a time. I like to stretch out lovemaking for one or two hours; though I have done a quickie in 6 minutes….   

Reading that blog was an interesting diatribe.

Me:  I gotta begin this by saying I don’t know what subject you’re talking about here by saying I ”missed the mark a bit.”  Please explain so that I understand what you’re referring to.  Then you said, “I was more interested in your perception rather than any ‘anxiety’  I may have.”  My perception of what?  And when did I mention any ‘anxiety’ you may have?  Go back to my last email and tell me exactly what you’re talking about here so that I can track your train of thought.  I’m kind of lost and would like to have a conversation but I don’t know what your comments are referring to.

So, my blog entry was a “diatribe” to you.  This is my understanding of the definition “diatribe:”

1 (archaic) : a prolonged discourse

2: a bitter and abusive speech or writing

3: ironic or satirical criticism

None of these definitions, particularly the last two, are complimentary.  I put a lot of thought into what I wrote, and my husband and others actually thought it was a good piece of writing.  Dave said it was thoughtfully organized, rational, and clearly made a point.   He liked it and complimented me on a well-crafted piece.  It is insulting that you found my thoughts on the matter to be a “diatribe.”

He:  Well, HE hasn’t said anything further yet and may not for awhile since he often reads his email only once a week or so! 

Actually, at no time did I say in any of my emails or blogs that this particular man has any insecurities about the size of his penis.  Why should he?  He’s one of these “cockier” males I mentioned in my post, the ones who know from puberty onward that they’ve got that extra inch or two below the belt.  These are the men who will never worry about what they bring to a sexual encounter because they know where they rank in the “pecking order.”  Why give it a second thought when you’ve known this about yourself since you were twelve?

No, both my emails and my posts were discussing this situation in general terms rather than pointing out the insecurities of any one man in particular.  And I don’t think I “missed the mark a bit” on the observations I made in my emails or posts.

In my last post, I suggested that men make attempts to overcome their primitive hardwiring and cease playing competition games with the size of their penises, a practice that adversely affects the self-esteem of many of them.  I certainly don’t want to come across as a “man basher” because of this sentiment.  I’m asking men to see this behavior for what it is because I am strongly pro-male.  I’m strongly HUMAN BEING, and I’ve seen firsthand how this social behavior, this size critiquing to determine informally who is the “alpha male,” ultimately degrades a man’s self-esteem and self-confidence from a young age, sometimes never to fully recover even in the face of adult maturity and logical argument.

I’ll even be an “equal opportunity employer” here for a moment since women go through the same thing with the size of their breasts.  Even though size has nothing to do with the responsiveness of the breasts and nipples to sexual stimulation and pleasure, small-to-average size women perceive themselves as less sexually attractive than their “well-endowed” sisters.  Some suffer low self-esteem over this issue.  Many have chosen to have augmentation surgery in order to have the sexually attractive breasts they perceive men and society want.  Fortunately, this is a relatively simple (although expensive) option for women since the function of the breasts is not affected by the surgery in the absence of lactation.  Let’s face it, the function of the breasts is large ornamental, except for those limited times in some women’s lives when they provide nutrition for an infant.  Other than that, breasts sell products of all kinds, support the women’s fashion industry, pad cosmetic surgeons’ wallets, and provide a fertile breeding ground for cancer cells.  Women would do well to be a little less preoccupied with their breasts unless it is to provide them with monthly exams and periodic mammograms!

I’d be the last one to say, however, that size is never a factor when it comes to certain kinds of sexual stimulation. There are occasions when certain sizes fit better together during sexual penetration.  Bigger can be just as detrimental to sexual pleasure as smaller because not all women are “size queens” and certain dimensions can be downright uncomfortable to some women, depending on their experience level, the position of their pelvic organs, the presence of vaginal or perineal scar tissue due to childbirth, and the woman’s hormonal state.  On the other hand, an average to smaller size penis, coupled with a vagina and supporting pelvic ligaments that have been through the effects of childbirth, surgery, and/or aging, may result in a situation where neither partner is getting the full pleasurable benefit from sexual intercourse.

So, what do you do when the the size of the object being inserted doesn’t match the dimensions of the space it’s being inserted into and some lessening of pleasure is the result for one or both partners?  There is one answer that is correct no matter what the details are of the particular situation: use the big brain that human beings are blessed with.  Human beings have the biggest and most complex brain of any of the animals on earth.  It allows them to analyze a situation and consider the array of choices that may be available.  It allows them to modify a situation and find ways of solving a problem.  Unlike our parrot and orangutan and cheetah counterparts, there isn’t one way and one way only to accomplish sexual pleasure and union.  Lay aside preconceived notions and explore the options!

“Exploring the options” may be any one or a combination of many, many different things.  Put aside embarrassment and defensiveness and talk to your partner about it.  Ask her opinion.  Listen to her likes and dislikes. Use your collective big brains to consider all the choices on the list.  It may come down to a very reasonable conclusion that intercourse is not the end-all-and-be-all it was once assumed to be.  There are many ways to sexual pleasure, and if you’re not trying to make a baby, there is no biological reason for every occasion of lovemaking to include intercourse.  There are different kinds of kisses and caresses, the creative use of lips, tongues and fingers.  There is the concept of “outercourse” to explore, and an array of playthings and enhancements readily available for consideration.  Take her shopping at the Smitten Kitten Boutique or give her a gift certificate to The Blowfish catalog.  If it’s G-Spot stimulation she needs or a sensation of deep pressure in her vagina or anus, she shall have it if she wants it with just a little exploration and encouragement.  And always remember that sex toys are in no way a replacement for your loving, enthusiastic participation in this pleasurable, creative process! 

If correcting the erectile dysfunction that many middle-aged and older men experience would return some pleasure to your sex life, consider what you can do about it.  Men commonly experience this as a side-effect of hypertension, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease and the medications that are used to treat these conditions.  Would improving your overall health by losing some weight, diet modifications, and exercise help to control these conditions and reduce the amount of medication required to treat these conditions?  It’s sound advice, regardless of its effect on E.D.   Perhaps you’re a candidate for asking your physician “if Levitra is right for you!”    If you think this may improve the sexual experience that you share with your partner, swallow your pride and embarrassment and ask!  Thousands upon thousands of these prescriptions are written for men with diminished erectile response, and doctors don’t even blink an eye at the request. 

In conclusion, human beings are different from animals.  Human beings have the largest, most complex brain of any of the life forms on this Class M planet.  In this sense, and in this sense only, bigger is better.  Use that big brain to realize that sex is so much more than procreation of the species, that it is an expression of joy, pleasure, trust and sharing in an intimate relationship.  There are so, so many ways to do that, and none of them involve the size of a penis or the cup size of a pair of breasts.  Use that complex brain wisely to consider all the choices and all the reasons why size doesn’t matter when it comes to sexual love between two human beings.  Be a self-confident lover who knows his unique human intelligence, his capacity for love, gives him everything he needs to be a creative, wonderful, satisfying partner.

And that is the bottom line. 

A little riddle for you:  what is in the genes as well as in the jeans?

Answer: the size of a man’s penis.

I need to write about this.  No, it doesn’t have anything to do with my sexual orientation.  It doesn’t have anything to do with being a “three on the Kinsey scale.”  I don’t even personally own a penis although I’ve lived closely with one for 36 years now.

I have a long-time male friend.  He and I exchange emails frequently, which is what our long-distance relationship consists of.  Three times over the course of our 38 year relationship, I’ve seen his erect penis, which qualifies me to make an informed statement about that organ.  I made a comment recently about his current lady friend and their rather strange relationship.  I made the crude remark that she must like big cocks.  In his reply email that I received yesterday, he thanked me for the compliment.

I said, “It was not a compliment; it was a statement of fact.  I don’t believe in complimenting men for something that is strictly genetic and over which they have no control.  It’s just like the color of his eyes or the size of his feet.”

The dimensions of the penis are governed by the genes an individual inherits, not by any factors that make him more of a man or less of a man.  Size is not mandated by testosterone levels or sex drive or levels of fertility.  Penile size has nothing to do with anything and is simply a product of one’s ancestory and genetics.

Yet men regard this characteristic as either a personal source of manly pride or embarrassment, depending on where they fall on the ruler.  Why is this?

I speculate that it goes back to a primitive instinct left over from some evolutionary process.  The male of many species is in competition with other males for the privilege to mate with the females of that species and impregnate them to carry on their genes.  Male peafowl attract females of the species with their colorful tail plumage.  Lions are considered most masculine and desirable when their manes are full and thick.  Tom turkeys develop bright red wattles and snoods when ready to mate, and the male orangutan develops fatty cheek pouches or flanges when he’s ready to become a dominant breeder in his territory.  All these things are outward visible signs of masculinity and maturity, and these signs are readily recognized by both the males and females of the respective species.

But what do human males have?  No colorful feathers, no red wattles or snoods, no luxurious manes or swollen cheeks pouches!  Instead, they eye up each other in locker rooms and surreptitiously at urinals and mentally size up the competition by observing penis size.  This is how they determine where they fall in the pecking order and who is most likely going to mate with the hens!  This “sizing-up” behavior starts when they’re boys barely out of training pants!

You know what?  I think this “sizing up” behavior kind of works, too.  It works because the boys with the larger penis size feel an inflated sense of arrogance and self-confidence.  Those boys know they’ve got what it takes where it counts, even though this self-esteem is inarguably misplaced!  The smaller boys feel inferior and ashamed and are less likely to try to excel with the females.  They fear being ridiculed for their size.  They back down to the “cockier” males, and their self-esteem suffers.

Men are preoccupied with this one dimension of their bodies.  Look at all the ads for penis enhancement preparations and medications that inundate people’s email inboxes!  Men have been trying techniques for centuries to make their organs longer and thicker.  Some of those techniques have had disasterous results.  Many men would be forking out big bucks for cosmetic surgery if this were a viable option.  It’s been attempted by plastic surgeons over the years, but silicone injections and implants scar the erectile tissue that is actually supposed to function.  No man really wants a big, puffy dick that doesn’t work when he’d like it to, so surgical enhancement has ceased.  But if it worked, there would be long lines at the surgery centers for men who want to make their dicks bigger so they look like Ron Jeremy or Johnny Wadd! 

This is ridiculous.  It’s absurd because we’re human beings, not birds or lions or monkeys.  Being a good lover, a good partner, a good father has nothing to do with how many grams of tissue resides between a man’s legs.   It has to do with his sensitivity, his unselfishness, his caring.  A good lover is a combination of intelligence, good judgment, ethics, and open, uninhibited attitudes.   A man has every reason to be a self-confident lover if he has these things going for him, and it doesn’t matter in the least how many inches he has below the belt.

This is why you’ll never hear me complimenting a man on his penis size.  I refuse to play into this primitive instinct which ultimately does more harm than good in the human male.

Get over it, guys.  For your own sakes. Become as evolved as your bigger brains indicate you are and leave the primitive behavior for the orangutans.       

Watch out or you’ll end up in my novel!!

An excerpt from the 90-page manuscript from Behind Door #3, written when I was in my early 20s as a means of working through and gaining insight about my sexual orientation:

Wednesday, August 14, 1974     Evening

Dear Mom and Dad,

  The time has come for me to write this difficult letter.  I’ve put it off for much too long already, and there really isn’t much sense in waiting any longer.  I will say right off that the reason for writing you a letter about it instead of just talking with you is not to impersonalize it but simply to make sure that certain things get said.  Talking about it has given me more than its share of difficulty, so rather than face the prospect of mumbling through a few incoherent phrases in a panic, I decided that I would sit down in private and organize my thoughts.  It seems to be the best way to get this job done.

  To state a lengthy and complicated situation in its simplest terms, I’m gay.  I’ve had myself in one hell of a mess this past year, trying to come to grips with that.  I was in so much of a mess for most of that time that I couldn’t even admit to myself what I’ve been struggling with.  In fact, the admission has really only come about within the last six weeks or so.

    Not the struggle came on suddenly this past year.  No, the feelings have been there for years now, going way back into childhood, but  they were usually weak and undefined when they would occasionally surface, and in my panic that they may just mean something some day, I always managed to beat them back into the darkness.  I never let that 3:00 A.M. feeling in the pit of my stomach get the better of me!

   During this past year, however, those feelings abandoned the timidity of their youth and took on a startling new force.  Repressing them was no longer accomplished with a few Hail Marys!  They were demanding to be recognized, and I just wasn’t ready to do it!

   Suddenly I found myself in the predicament of devoting an enormous amount of energy into running from these feelings.  As you pointed out to me, Dad, in the middle of the night following one of my recent nightmares, this energy was coming from the energy I had available to do useful, productive things. The resulting drain quickly began to take its toll on my physical and emotional health, as we all witnessed.

   All of a sudden, I realized that I couldn’t go on like that anymore.  A new approach was very obviously in order!  I knew that the energy required to deal with this issue was going to be tremendous, but it could in no way compare to the longterm drain of running from it.  It was a slow, painful struggle, but I was finally able to admit my situation and take some steps to deal with it.

  With this new approach, I realized that I had some choices in front of me.  From my perspective, they are:

  (1) I could continue to be “nonpracticing.”  Call it celibacy or the priesthood or whatever you want.  It still boils down to a running game. The method of dealing with it is still a form of denial and self-rejection.  Its sole redeeming quality is that at least no one suspects what you’re not dealing with!  However, I need a special closeness in life with someone, and if I forbid myself to have a gay relationship, I am left with no other fulfilling option.  I decided that it was a quick way of finishing the job of driving myself crazy.

  (2) I could practice my sexuality in secret and therefore “protect” my loved ones from this aspect of my life.  At first glance, that option held a definite appeal by minimizing the risk of rejection and other conflicts.  However, I felt a vague, nagging uneasiness about this choice, and after thinking about it for awhile (and talking it over with a dear and trusted friend who has been there), I realized why.  The furtiveness and necessary deceptions, the inevitable guilt because of the deceptions, the fragmentation involved in maintaining such a complicated juggling act would produce a great deal of stress.  The prospect of developing a well-balanced life and a happy, satisfying relationship seems doomed from the start under such conditions.  I don’t care to set myself up for that failure.

  My third option is laying aside celibacy and secrets and being openly what I am: a man who finds deep joy and pleasure in loving another man.  In spite of the problems this choice is sure to bring, it’s the only option in this list that will truly allow me to get my act together and give a relationship a chance at success.

  That success is very important to me because “a relationship” is not merely a dream of mine anymore.  It’s very real and very alive right now, and  I have no intention of letting it die while still in the pangs of its birth.  I’m not going to stand by and watch while it disintegrates in front of my eyes because I was too scared to do anything else. It’s taken me a year-and-a-half of miserable indecision before deciding to give it this chance, but I’m firmly convinced that it deserves this chance, and it’s going to have it.  I’ve given my vote for what’s behind Door #3.

 Which is, of course, why I had to write this letter.  You’ve got to know the truth of my situation so that I can get on with the business of dealing with it in the way that I think is best for me.  If there were another way of accomplishing that without hurting you with this, I’d gladly take that route, but I frankly don’t see a good alternative.  For my own selfish reasons, you have to know the truth, in spite of the pain this truth may bring.

  As I write this, I feel horribly panic-stricken inside, fearing that I’m risking what is most important and treasured to me — my parents’ love — for……what?  I’m not even sure yet!  I hope and pray that I still have your love, for I desperately need it and would consider it my most valuable asset right now.  But I also realize that there are some things that some people just can’t understand or accept.  I will­ understand if you can’t.

 I love you both very much. You’ve been the most important people to ever become a part of my life.  When I called out for you in that Emergency Room five years ago, Dad, you dropped what you were doing and came to my rescue.  It changed my life, bringing me into the circle of a loving family and filling my heart with a hope that I never before knew.            

 Believe me, not a single day goes by that I don’t give thanks for that! 

                          Randy 

When I got home Friday evening after attending the keynote address, Dave wanted to know how it went.  “Fine,” I said.  “Great speakers.  Great atmosphere.  I really belong there.  It’s a great place for me to be.”  Pause.  “I don’t know if I’m going back tomorrow for the conference.”

Whoa!

“Millie was there,” I explained in response to his confused expression.  “She sat right behind me during the presentation this evening.”

“Oh, Millie again,” he sympathized.

I sat down at the table with a glass of Caffeine-Free Diet Pepsi and started going through the program of the next day’s events.  I found some critical information.  Millie was not only a attendee at the conference but she was also a presenter on Saturday, conducting the session, “Crossing Boundaries: A Moderated Discussion.”  In the program, this session was thusly described:  “Gay, lesbian, bi, trans, poly, swinger, kinky, BDSM, leather.  Do you identify with more than one of these groups?  We all reject some mainstream assumptions about sexuality, but we aren’t always accepting of each other.  This moderated discussion will explore crossing the boundaries between groups…”  Millie’s little bio said that she “identifies as bi, poly, and kinky.  Her recent introduction to kink has brought into sharp relief the lines we draw between ‘my group’ and ‘your group’ and has inspired her workshop offering.”

Well, obviously Millie has been doing a lot better than I’ve been doing since she has some new experiences to add to her repertoire since we last saw each other!  Am I jealous that she’s been more “active” than I’ve been during these past eight months?  Hell, yeah!

This further brought up the topic that I was concerned about.  If Millie was presenting at the conference, she apparently was involved to a fairly good extent with “BOP,” the Bisexual Organizing Project, which is the main group here in the BiCities that hosts bisexual events and get-togethers.  I had been thinking of becoming more active with them and checking out some of the social events.

Or maybe not.

Let’s just sum this up by saying that I went to bed a very unhappy, confused individual Friday night, knowing that I was behaving like an adolescent, knowing that I was cutting off my nose to spite my face, knowing that I was not taking an adult, mature approach to this sudden turn of events.

But that’s how I felt. 

I had been stressed about going to the conference, knowing that I’d need to push myself to socialize with a group of people where I knew no one (other than Millie!!)  I knew I was breaking ground into unchartered territory.  I knew I was confronting my own potential position in life as a Mentor rather than a Player.  There were just a lot of unknowns, and I was trying to deal with it and take off on a different course in my life!  Throw Millie into the mix in an unanticipated fashion and I was just completely off-balance.

I did not go to the conference on Saturday, as much as I wanted to attend Dr. Charmoli’s two sessions.  I spent the whole day at the computer, working on this blog.

Now, where to from here?  That, of course, is the question!

No answers yet.  Stay tuned!

I snagged this from an email I had sent to a close friend last summer, a week or so after my decision to end the relationship with Millie:

I’ve been happier these past few months than I’ve probably ever been in my adult life. It’s not because I was in love with Millie. I hadn’t gotten there with the relationship yet. I saw what was going on in her life with the multiple partners and general unsettledness and it wasn’t a place where I was going to put my trust just yet. I was observing and waiting to see what was going to happen in her life before I let my emotions run towards the “in love” side. We never said those three little words to each other.

What I’ve been happy about — happier than I’ve ever been — is the integration of my sexual orientation into a fulfilling configuration in my life. I’ve been “out” with my orientation to more people than I’ve ever been: some coworkers, my doctor, my sister, my niece, other friends. I’ve allowed the faceless public to see what affection looks like between two women. I’ve been at ease with that. Hell, I’ve reveled in that! For once, I felt like I was in a relationship that embraced my love of women and my love for my husband, without those two facets of my life being at odds with each other. Those pieces of my life were blending into a whole — the whole much greater than the sum of the parts. I always knew it could be this way! My bisexuality is a positive thing, not a negative, not a stance of confusion. It’s the blending and embracing of a spectrum of feelings, appreciation and desire in a way that many people will never experience. It’s a beautiful thing! It’s a blessing and a gift.But no, it hasn’t been a happy place for me for most of my teen and adult life because it’s not an accepted orientation. It’s a tough road to travel. I’ve often refuted the claim that bisexuality is a stance of a person confused about their true gay/lesbian identity. If I were predominantly lesbian in my orientation, would I choose this path called bisexuality? The answer is undoubtedly no. It is much easier to be either lesbian or straight, and if I were either of those things, I wouldn’t have any trouble being one of those orientations and living openly as straight or lesbian.