August 27th, Two Thousand One: More Laps Than a Napkin
I've been in more laps than a napkin. And that's just hunky-dory
with me.
I started a little work this morning on my regular essay to open
each new theme of Scarlet Letters, and this issue we're focusing
on history. In thinking about sexuality historically, I kept swinging
back from the global and the general to the personal. For as much
importance and relevance as history has, I'm inclined to think
that our own histories are far more relevant, and certainly more
tangible.
In thinking about my own sexual history, I was stricken by how
many vast changes have taken place over the last few years, most
notably that I have had but one lover for almost three years now,
and very willingly.
It isn't as simple as the difference being one or more than one.
Before the last few years, my entire sexual behavior was different.
In the spirit of frankness, I'll be plain and tell you that I
have had lovers nearing the triple digits. I don't have any shame
in that: most of it was physically safe, and nearly all of it
was very enriching, enjoyable and fun, and everyone had a good
time without too many folks getting hurt in the process. I may
have been a tart, but I was an honest tart. My lovers ran the
gamut of age, gender, race, appearance, social strata, you name
in. I took the phrase "celebrate diversity" to heart. And like
I said, it was all good, as far as the law of averages goes.
It's so odd to even be saying "was," really. Like I said, it isn't
just a matter of one or more than one. When you are a free agent,
when you are sexually open to, basically, the entire world give
or take some selectivity, you behave differently. You do sit on
more laps than a napkin. I do/did, anyway. I still do when I can,
actually. Thankfully, B. has no trouble understanding and accepting
my physically affectionate nature. Too, every evening is like
a story you don't know the end to: you may end up home alone,
you may end up clear across town in someone's bed whose name you
don't even know two hours before the entire episode occurs. I
never thought twice about how I expressed myself physically towards
strangers, save certain safety regulations on my part.
In some respect, I do miss that aspect of myself; that mode of
being. I do have a pretty good idea of how my evenings are going
to end these days, and I do give a good deal of thought to whose
lap I sit on, and I try not to wiggle on it unless it belongs
to B. (or a gay man or a heterosexual woman, or...). On the other
hand, I am far, far happier this way. In fact, I am happy this
way -- I know that while I may have been satisfied, and having
a good time before, I was not happy. I used to have a very constant
feeling of being alone -- not in the good way, but in the way
you feel when you're in a large crowd and you still feel isolated.
I used to feel so emotionally vulnerable at times, my heart felt
a bit like a wound whose scab keeps getting picked off before
it could heal. It was like anyone could walk in, and without warning,
rip me to shreds or be a source of heartache, and everything would
go topsy-turvy. Even with a pretty good deal of detachment, and
as someone who doesn't equate sex with love, that was often the
case. And in all honesty, that state of being made me really quite
cocky and arrogant. Knowing I could basically have anyone I wanted
at any time for my personal use just wasn't a good thing for me.
I have a feeling that I'll be in the place I am sexually, and
in terms of our partnership model, for a good long time. Obviously,
I can't know what the future brings more than the next lass, but
I think that time in my life -- a time when I could literally
walk down the street and run into someone I'd slept with and rack
my brain to even remember their name, or what happened at all
-- has come and gone. Given the choice, I'm really not sure if
I'd go back to something like it, but I don't think so. But I'm
glad to have had those years (and there were an awful lot of them,
merde), and parts of them do make me smile, laugh and ponder when
I think back. And, odd as it sounds, as a sex educator, those
years were really invaluable. I'm not suggesting every sex educator
go out and sleep with everyone who crosses their path, but it
does give you a pretty excellent perspective that books cannot.
I did very much enjoy my field work, as Carol would say, and it
was enlightening.
But, doing field work in monogamy and long-term partnership is
important, too. I like the place I'm in: brought here by my history,
kept here by my joy and comfort. I like that my partner understands
that my history is very much a part of who I am, doesn't judge
me for it, and can laugh along with my sexual reminiscing just
as heartily as I do.
I like that this is to be as much a part of my history years from
now and everything was years before.
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