The making of a "passion whore"

Dr. M and I were finishing up breakfast at the Tin Shed when I said something -- I won't bother repeating what -- that prompted her to ask about the intersection, in my mind, between passion, fighting (or lack thereof) and sexual appetite. This is one of my little "issues," shall we say. Her questions caught me off-guard, as they usually do, and my stuffy ears -- thanks to all the sand that must be in them -- made me think she'd called me a "passion whore."

Suffice it to say, the conversation quickly degenerated into a fit of name-calling that went, basically, Shut up, bitch. "I'd rather be a bitch than a whore." Something like that. When she wasn't looking, I wiped my runny nose with my bare hand and then rubbed the rim of her coffee cup.

OK. Nothing in that second paragraph happened. But it sounds good. I mean, what else do you do when someone calls you a "passion whore"? (Which she did not say but probably wishes she had.)

Here's the truth, though: I kind of am one.

I'm a woman of passionate experiences in many respects. Anxiety? I've got that down pat. Anger? Boy howdy! Sadness and grief? Let's just say I can claim expertise in this one -- and even so, I fear the pain of losing my aunt (see previous blog entries) down the road. Love and compassion? My friends, quite a few of you have affected me in tremendous ways over the years, and one or two of you really take the cake.

But where, oh where, is the sexual passion?

The absence of it with XGF was one of those factors that doomed the relationship. Part of it came from her inability -- or unwillingness -- to express her emotions, especially anger. As my old friend Les says, "No one spends more than seven days with UCM without getting pissed at her, much less seven years." I know XGF must have been pissed at me now and then, but it wasn't something she felt comfortable acknowledging, perhaps at times not even to herself.

Dr. M asked if I equate passion with fighting. The answer is no. In my estimation, fighting now and then is part and parcel to a relationship of equals. I don't want to be in a relationship that's riddled with fighting, but I can't have enduring passion -- sexual or otherwise -- for a relationship that lacks integrity in its communication. (When I said this to Dr. M, she replied, "That's why you and Brogan [my *dog*] are so well matched." Can you people believe the nerve of that woman? *sigh*)

Now, I'm not blaming XGF for the lack of passion in our relationship. In truth, I blame myself. I mean: How could I go on six years or so -- well beyond the "honeymoon phase" -- without questioning the absence of fighting and without expecting more va-voom in my sex life?

Get this first: I'm not one of those people who thinks that sex, especially in a long-term relationship, is always supposed to have that sense of wanting to rip off your partner's clothes, throw her down on the bed and totally consume her. But if you don't have that *some of the time* -- or, in the case with XGF, if you never quite had than and then any traces of it disappear completely after about a month -- that is *not good.*

Go ahead and cringe if you need to, but I'm gonna say it: In my perspective, you should, at times, want like hell to fuck the living daylights out of your partner and have the feeling that she wants to -- and tries to -- do the same to you. This is what I mean by the aforementioned "va-voom."

But let's take a look at UCM, why don't we? Because I have been giving this a lot of thought in recent months. Some of my thinking has centered on the question: What the hell was I doing? That wasn't fair to me or to XGF. But then I realized, "fairness" was really not at issue because I was a bit too unconcious about what was going on with me.

I'm really good at being unconscious, especially on matters sexual. It's a specialty I developed back when my crushes on girls were completely unacceptable (to me and to society), and so I learned to sublimate those feelings. Sublimation is an attempt to divert feelings into something of a higher cultural order (such as being a loyal friend instead of a sexual partner), but it is also a damnable pursuit when it is done without acknowledging the feelings for what they are and without awareness of the consequences. Alas, with XGF, I tried to switch it around and turn friendship into something bigger.

Doesn't really work either way. I've since learned that either you become aware of the feelings you have and accept them -- doesn't mean any action is required -- or you lie lie lie to yourself about the situation and create an ulcer farm in your stomach, become an alcoholic, turn yourself into a nasty uptight Republican/Christian fundamentalist or ... whatever.

So for years, I was into that lie lie lie thing. Fortunately, I never became Republican or Christian fundamentalist (there are some things to which I will not stoop), but I did almost kill myself over the matter. Eventually, I wised up. But it was a LONG process in undoing the mental constructs and defenses I developed in my youth and young adulthood while trying to persuade myself that I was *not* attracted to women.

At first, I had all sorts of self-loathing to sort through. Then, I had to learn how to attend to my feelings of sexual attraction and how I expressed them. A great bit of this growth occurred during my relationship with XGF, mainly in that I finally became fully comfortable with my sexual orientation.

Given my passionate experience of other feelings, it was only a matter of time before the sleeping giant of my sexuality itself -- different than my sexual orientation -- awakened. There were peeps of it during the years I was with XGF, but because I was in a committed relationship, I shooed them away. Then, I decided to stop doing that and simply allow myself to feel whatever it was that came along.

This developmental delay, if you will, means that things other people did in high school, I am *still* doing. As S2 has noted -- and bless her for being so observant -- the torturous thing for me now is that, while teens are hormonally freaky and don't have a clue just how screwy their behavior gets, *I* am an adult who is quite aware of how irrational my thoughts can be at times, thus making me wonder if I am, in Dr. M's vernacular, "barking mad."

All I can say is: Woof. Woof.

A while ago, I met a woman I found outrageously attractive, both physically and mentally. (The latter is a given, though. Only smart women ever stir my passions.) I could describe what this was like, but some things are better left to mystery -- or until I pen some page-turning smut. Although any compare-contrast exercises are fraught with complexities too numerous to properly sort, I was struck by something profound: *This* is what my libido feels like when it's jacked up. *This* is what I have been missing in my intimate relationships. *This* is the part of me I turned off a long time ago; what a gift to have it back. And when it gets released, holy mutha-fuckin' jesus shit, WATCH OUT! Va-VOOM!

Now, it so happens gaining this awareness has been highly useful and a bit vexing. Vexing in that, on accounts of unavailability and several other factors which might be succintly summed up as, "Uh, UCM, do not molest the wildlife...", my libido has found no outlet for expression, and I have had to temper it. Or try to, anyway. But I can live with doing so given how useful it's been to learn what my libido feels like after all those years of being so frightened by it that I squelched the living hell out of it.

If history is any teacher, my taste in women ... well, I'm probably too picky for my own good and also tend to be attracted to women who can make me pull out my hair ... means it will be a while before I come across one who captures my attention so powerfully. (Don't tell me to lower my standards!) But somewhere along the line, some woman (who, let's get specific, I'm attracted to and who actually *wants* this attention from me) is going to light up my radar. When that happens, all hell is going to break loose. (God help that woman, she'd better be up for it.)

And *then* you may call me a "passion whore." Until that happens, I'm just a lady-in-waiting.