ariel? ariel!

I have not, historically, thought of myself as the kind of person who has a lot of sex. I have rarely even thought of myself as the kind of person who other people want to have sex with. In my teens it was all about hope and rejection, hope and rejection, or more like hopeless crushes that were hopeless because I was so afraid of rejection. A lot of people I had monster crushes on did not turn out to be very good to my heart in the long run. I can write a history of woe and self-torture but that isn’t really that interesting to me. What is interesting to me, to this post, is that I have a lot of trouble thinking about myself as the kind of person who can go out and get some.

One of my favorite late night things to do is read what I guess I would refer to as communities of sex blogs. Rings like Jefferson and Madeline and Marcus and all of the other people in that circle (a circle I do not even begin to really know the dynamics or dimensions of, honestly); rings like Mistress Matisse and Monk and their cross-references to partners and lovers and play partners et cetera. It is all undeniably hot and yes, it makes me hot, but what I love just as much as the smut is watching the network work. Watching people negotiate with each other and describe the same event from different perspectives and talk about each other and be in a community of people where sex is just one way of saying “I love you” or maybe “I care about you” or even “Hey, you’re really hot and I think it might be fun if.”

That is the community that I have never felt permission to be a part of. In my life right now I am working through a lot of weirdness right now, trying to figure out where I sit, me, on my own and for myself rather than in dialogue with someone else. And this has led me to feel like I should keep my crotch out of the public circuit, that I am kind of a mess right now — but it has also led me to want to challenge myself to fuck honestly, as myself, not trying to play a role. Do what you love and the money will follow. Learn your skin. No faking — no faking arousal, no faking interest, and no saying yes unless you mean it.

This weekend was Purim, a Jewish holiday for which I have been busting my ass for weeks to create a theater moment, a spectacle, a party, everything. It all went on Saturday and it went in the best way; the theater was a success, the party fantastic. It is known for being a drunken holiday (we are commanded on Purim to get so drunk you don’t know the difference between the good guys and the bad guys) and at this party a drunken and sexy holiday. Lots of naked. Lots of kissing on the dance floor, in the stairwell, in spare rooms in the building.

I have a lot of hot friends right now, and a lot of crushes popping up like springtime. I got to spend a little corner of Friday night exchanging kisses with a girl I have a friend crush on — you know, the kind that is oh my god you’re so cool can we please hang out and also make out and maybe could we fuck like bunnies. Saturday night was a blur of heat and crushes: an old friend who I have suddenly started kissing; a newer friend that I have been circling with for some time; an even newer friend, new in town, who makes me want to do absurd things just to see her smile; that girl from Friday night with her curly hair. I ended up in a diner at 230am with this new in town girl, the one with the smile that kills me, eating exhausted french fries until I literally could not complete sentences. We had to strike; she stuck around, helped, waited for me.

I didn’t make a move that night. Maybe I should have. I know a lot of other people would. Part of it was that I am tired, and I had been working hard, and say what you will but my Capricorn ass has a history of turning down sex to get the job done (I will tell you the story sometime, especially now that the show is over and I have ten seconds to think). Part of it is that I just cannot conceive of myself yet as that person, the one who sees a cute girl with the beginnings of a dimple and a lot of smart things to say and gets to take her home. I just figure she’ll laugh, say no thanks, and maybe it will be awkward. She’ll have other suitors and I should back off.

But then I look at these blogs, these human beings, just as flawed as I am, who are going after what they want and getting it. Maybe I am not going to get to have sex, or make out much, with my new friend crush. Maybe this new in town girl* is going to be my friend and not my date. Maybe this old friend of mine and I won’t kiss any more and maybe we will. Maybe the boy — Mr. Circling Around — and I will finally get around to making out like fiends, and go on our great date already. But the revelation, what I feel like is just starting to register, is that I have a say in this. I do not have to wait for them to decide to make a move on me. I can make a move and people can like it, or not like it, but it is not a patently ludicrous thing for me to be doing. Maybe Miss Curly Hair and I can be the kind of pals who do all these things, or maybe not, and maybe that can be true and we can also talk about her regular date and we can be the kind of people who operate in a shared environment of trust and affection. Maybe that is true for all of the above.

I love this process. I love the risk, or at least I love it when I am not panicking about it. I panic sometimes; Mr. Circling Around and I have been in a few situations that I am sure I have run away from because I get intimidated. The air gets very tight and electric and I panic from all the mounting power. But I can do this. It is not absurd. In fact, it is totally natural and awesome and hot and it means that I am probably going to get to have a really amazing springtime. Maybe I can have what I want; I just have to learn to ask for it.

Here is to learning, folks. And here is to sex blogs for showing me one corner of the way — whoever said the internet was only good for porn was right, but I hope they realized just how much good a little porn can do.

* I am beginning to see the appeal of blog nicknames. Oh well. It also feels so absurd. But I guess if I am going to talk about other people publicly**, so be it.

** Also, I realized after a little bit of d-r-a-m-a that this blog might actually get turned up by people who know me in real life. I guess that is how it is; I mean, I called this thing with my first name. Thanks to the Little Mermaid and Ariel Detergent and Sylvia Plath I don’t show up on Google immediately, but it isn’t hard to track down if you know me. I think I am just going to make my peace with that for now, but it means that if I start writing about other people who are connected to me in real life — ie, people who would be identifiable by the people reading this blog who know me — I have to be careful and respect privacy. Anyone have thoughts on this? I guess I should go find a meta-blog and figure out the best practices for this stuff.