The Inner Slut

My Dale left for New York two weeks ago. I haven't heard from him since. I sent him a couple of text messages greeting him a happy birthday but I've received no response. I didn't send him any emails but we never did email each other as there was always the phone. The last time he went to New York, some months ago, he called me up from his hotel room just to say hello. Of course, it could have been the strong monsoon rains which stranded thousands of passengers in Manila alone. It could be a thousand and one other reasons.

Truth is, I don't know.

It's terrible not knowing. I asked him long ago for proper groodbyes, should he feel the need to break up the relationship. For the only reason that I respect him so much; that I want to preserve that impression I have of him. I want to remember that I was loved and valued, even for a short while, by a man who I truly respected and will always respect. I want to be able to look back and point to at least one man in my life who loved me and who I loved in return; one decent, respectable man.

I just want a happy memory.

Carl gave me a call yesterday, all tired out from the mess his wife's caused with the car (wrecked it and damaged another in the process) as well as problems with an inheritance from an aunt or someone (her share being contested by family members, etc.). It should be pointed out that the woman is suffering clinical depression, is on meds for this disorder, and is not presently fit to handle any aspect of her life requiring interaction with the outside world.

In response to Carl's inquiry, I said nothing positive has been happening in my corner of the world. It wasn't a very clear connection but in sum, he said that with all the trouble he's been having lately, he wasn't ready to deal with any more. He was in a light-hearted mood, outwardly happy to be talking to me, and obviously taking for granted that I was placed on this earth to pander to his every whim and desire. I was crushed, of course, but I bit my tongue and thought I'd count ten days, considering the present hormonal condition of my body at present. (Read: I'm having my monthly period.)

---

AHA!

Just got off the phone. Guess who? Talk about anti-climax. It was my Dale!

I couldn't believe I was actually hearing his voice over the phone. And minutes after I'd sent him an email expressing my disbelief that he couldn't even say a proper goodbye, blah. (It wasn't a long email, just two or three sentences. But it was as melodramatic as hell.) You know, if there was a god, he certainly has a broad sense of humor.

So, what were the thousand and one reasons?

First, he dropped his phone and cracked the battery. He's always dropping things, like his glasses, for which reason he's decided to undergo eye laser surgery. So why didn't he buy a new phone in NYC? Well, problems with the bandwidth, for one; price, for another. (In case I haven't pointed it out yet, my Dale's something of a cheapskate.)

Second, for business reasons (too many appoitments), he had to stay an extra week. Aside from trying to woo clients and prospective clients, his company's opening an office in New York.

Third, he transferred to another hotel which, although the location was better than the first one, didn't offer boradband internet connection. And when he tried accessing his company's email service, he had difficulties. I guess he was just too busy to send me email. And too comfortable with the thought that I'd wait around for him.

Would I? Last week, I started resigning myself to the possibility of never hearing from him again. This morning, when I sent him that email, I had lost all hope of seeing him again. A bit melodramatic, I know, but it was the best thing to do under the circumstances. So, no, I wouldn't wait around for him. I can be a fool but not that big a fool.

I suppose he'll open that email and read it, and laugh. But I'm sure he'll realize how flimsy this string that binds the two of us really is; how scared I am to hear him say goodbye; and how I spend all my waking hours thinking of him and wishing things weren't so superficial as they are.

What about Carl, then? So he's a bit insensitive and selfish. Aren't we all? I'm getting to know him better as a person, that's a good thing. He's still sweet and thoughtful, seriously working to get things to work according to plan. I guess it's time I learned how to deal with the situation and make the best out of what I have.

The first thing that I realized when I started to recognize the Inner Slut is that there is a world of difference between love and lust, sex and romance. It was Alex/Felix who told me that men are dogs. His own words. At that time, I didn't know what he was talking about. It took some time. I guess I'm still discovering how men can be dogs in terms of sex.

That survey cited in the previous entry finds support in the article cited by Ton, Orgasm Wars. The theory is that women are not passive subjects in the sexual act but, rather, active participants. Even then, their active participation is not conjunctive to men's own, but individual and particular to women's own needs. This brings to mind one Newsweek article some years back that cited a study that shows that the ovum is equipped with tentacle-like arms that sweep the sperm toward the egg -- to ensure fertilization.

Orgasm Wars also supports the scientific theory against monogamy. That theory holds that men are naturally promiscuous, bearing in mind the natural instinct to "sow their wild oats" as far and as wide as they can; that women are just as naturally promiscuous -- to ensure that they get the best of the gene pool. Ultimately, the propagation of the species dictated that both men and women go through several partners in their lifetime. Monogamy is a human construct, social and political; it was never natural. I also like the theory that orgasms produce an "upsuck" to ensure high sperm retention. That's very logical. I also find it very kinky.

I don't know about the selection process, of whom among my partners I (subconsciously) perceive to produce the best sperm. Orgasm Wars cites bilateral body symmetry, or physical attraction as the basis for this selection process, and emphasizes that skill (in the sexual act) has nothing to do with it.

In my case, the only guy I was really attracted to was Tom. Tom with the big dick and boundless energy. This guy can make me cum even without my touching myself; with his cock deep in my pussy; with me on my hands and knees, pussy throbbing from his frenzied fucking. Gad, but I squirted cum with this guy like I was peeing.

The others aren't unattractive; they're just not bilaterally symmetrical. But that didn't get in the way at all. Take, for instance, Dale: short, pink, round and balding. This is the guy who had me cumming like forever. In the end, there was no dry spot left on the bed to lie on, except under the pillows. And all he did was finger-fuck me. No penetration, just fingers and mouth and tongue. And what about Stew? I didn't think he was remarkably attractive. In fact, he reminded me of a gay friend who has the same mouth and chin and jawline. But I squirted so much more cum with him than I did with Dale at any one time, and in so short a time.

My clit is there for a reason: to give me pleasure, to ensure that I can attain pleasure even if my partner doesn't do it for me. Squirting I can do only after prolonged stimulation. Maybe pheromones help a bit, and other subconscious processes, neurological chemicals, blah. But my point is, it is possible to isolate pleasure. And the more you learn how to do this, the easier it is to achieve pleasure. Or pleasurable heights. Oh yeah, the high. This is it for me. Squirting while my partner du jour watches and is reduced to a speechless, awe-struck entity. Oh, the power that this produces! (Subject of another analysis; requires much clear thinking.)

If there was a guy I'd ask to give me a baby, it would be Dale first, then Carl, then Tom. In that order. If there was a guy who I'd live my life with, it would be these same men, in the same order. But do I love these men? I can honestly say, no. Dale and Carl would be wise choices, as they are very successful in their careers, very able, very intelligent, very responsible. Tom would be pure whimsy, simply because he's sweet and caring, a decent sort, and very horny. They all are.

There is no romance involved here. There is a lot of respect, and admiration (on my part, although they view me as something quite remarkable, coming from this society), but nothing so uncertain as romance. Or love.

I think love grows over time. In my case, at least. With Dale and what we've had so far, no seed of love can be planted. Carl's own purpose for seeking me out is for companionship in his old age. Unspoken, of course, but I'm no fool. I have my own reasons for getting into this relationship with Carl, all of them practical. It wouldn't be difficult to love the guy, I'm sure I can but, over time.

Interesting blog, Jazz & Poultry. From that site, allow me to reproduce here one particular entry that I find extremely intriguing in the light of the discussion so far:

Sexual study

My wife told me about this study on sexual arousal. Apparently scientists were able to deduce that when men are aroused this will translate into wanting to have sexual relations. But the study found that when women are aroused it doeesn't necessarily translate into wanting to have sex. Other factors may come into the equation, such as love, long term commitment etc. Women are actually able to use their *brain* when it comes to deciding whether or not to have sex. Men seem unable to use that particular organ.

So the study basically states what we all have long known to be the case: ALL MEN ARE BEASTS.

Posted Mar 2, 2004
at 10:22 am by commish

With the express permission of the owner, Keith.

Take a load off, folks. What with the human genome project, the on-going mapping of proteins in the human body, a proposed look at hormones -- don't get me started on that last one -- it's all so very tech-savvy and uppity and snotty. Let's just sit back a bit and let our hair down. I propose a large mug of coffee and a comfy seat and watch as men and women go by, playing the games people play, and enjoy.

I'll say this: I'm enjoying myself so far with you interesting folks.

The "timidity" of the other half. That is a common complaint I get with the married men that I meet. It's very common among Filipina women. I started having sex when I was 18 but it was only last year that I finally learned what it was all about. I'll say it again: Filipino men and women don't know how to enjoy sex. As a general rule, of course.

Another common complaint is sex drive in overdrive. The wife's ok, no problems in bed, but the husband just wants more. And then some just want different, not necessarily more.

Thanks for dropping in now and again, Mike. I truly value your appreciation. I kinda thought that this blog just satisfied certain desires, of the pornographic sort, of netizens. (At that, the Inner Slut's tickled pink.) But, apparently, I've connected with intelligent life out there. Don't get me wrong! I'm all for porn and freedom of expression, as long as the right's exercised responsibly.

What I'm excited about here is that our (mine and the Inner Slut's) concerns about sex and the unreasonable, moralistic restrictions directed against it find resonance in other thinking bodies out there.

I like to think of it this way: the only thing that keeps me out of the kingdom of the apes is intelligent sex. Monkeys fuck; they don't give sex a thought. (In fact, they don't give anything a thought. They work on pure insticts.) I use sex to affirm my place in humanity. The fact, and my personal experience of this, that most people fuck like monkeys make me feel better about being rejected by them. (In fact, some people live their lives like monkeys...)

Aha! Is my arrogance showing? My apologies...Now, back to the Inner Slut!

I'm sick with worry over my Dale. I don't know what to think. Maybe he's bored with me already.

I was with Jake last night. Had a fun time. A better time, this time. He still loves to nibble on feet. Sucked on my toes as he fingered my pussy, while I rubbed my clit. He got really turned on by this. Unfortunately, I didn't have wet cums, only dry ones. I find these very frustrating. Surprisingly, I found it such a turn-on to have my toes sucked while I played with myself.

It was fun, too, to have one of my feet caress his balls while the other one rubbed on his dick. He loved that. I thought it was cute.

We started fucking and he was very sexed up, although he would stop every now and then to keep from cumming himself. I turned over and he fucked me doggie-style. That was nice. But, again, he had to stop every few seconds. When he couldn't hold back anymore, he got me on my back and fucked me deep and hard. I let him do his thing. It didn't last very long.

He apologized for cumming so soon, but I told him not to worry about it. I didn't tell him, but I wasn't really in the mood to play. But the fucking did release some tension, although I couldn't get Dale off my mind. Sent Dale a text message but no replies.