She’s 29, like me, and she’s part Asian, like me, and she’s on stage in her panties, squatting down and talking to me while she pops her ass for the people on the other side of the table. She’s a Kentucky native, and I’m just a tourist, but we have so much in common (according to her). I’m just enjoying the scenery and letting my dollar bills float through the air. She’s smiling at me, and she’s telling me that she never left Kentucky, and that she married her drug dealer when she was 19, and that she has three kids with him, but they divorced two years ago. I can see the scars from a c-section on her belly, and I smile. She’s pretty, like me, but she’s different from me, too. She’s a stripper in Kentucky, and I’m a tourist from Oakland. Sure, I get it, her job is to make me feel some sort of spark of connection or romance or attraction. I might be too old for that now, but she’s right. We have so much in common.
“Hey, Pilar, can you see – is that a man or a woman?”
I’m at a gay bar with some guys, and they’re cruising the scene. These guys probably identify as straight, but I don’t care enough to know for sure. All I know is that I’m not going to whip my head around to ogle some gender nonconforming femme at the gay bar because, well, this is the gay bar. GNCs shouldn’t have to be subjected to the straight male gaze in the safe space of a gay bar.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I respond. “Why, do you think they’re attractive?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty hot, but I’m trying to figure out, like, what’s going on there.”
I shrug my shoulders. “If you’re attracted to someone, you’re attracted. What does it matter if they’re a man or a woman?”
“Yeah, but, what if she, y’know, isn’t a woman…”
“It’s okay for you to be attracted to whatever you’re attracted to. If you reach a point in the attraction where you’re no longer attracted, that’s fine, too.”
“I just don’t want to, uh – what if she has a penis?”
“Well, if you’re not attracted to penises, then you’re not attracted to penises, and you can state that. At this point, however, it doesn’t matter if this person has a dick or a pussy. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have a right to know from gate what their genitalia looks like.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess that’s true.”
I shrug again. I, personally, am attracted to people who are wild in bed, and dick or pussy or ass pussy, it doesn’t really matter. Everyone has a mouth, and I think that’s what’s most important.
I woke up this morning feeling indifferent, and now I’m angry at my own indifference towards the world. I am angry at the world for having failed me, for not making me fall in love with it. I’m angry at the world for not holding me tenderly late at night. I am angry at the world because there is no one and nothing that I miss today. My emotions, or lack thereof, are a tyranny that make getting out of bed this morning feel like a hapless feat. And it’s not that there’s sadness tugging at my heels – even that would be nice – or that I can’t move, or that I am crippled by the feeling of loss or nothing. There is nothing. There is only indifference, and I thought that if I were alone that the sadness would be all consuming. But it is not, and now I am angry because why didn’t the world give me something good enough to miss? How come he’s not worth crying over anymore? And, instead, I am looking in the mirror, and I am telling myself, “Buck up, little girl. There’s a sucker born every second, and I will find a new one any minute now.”
I wish I still missed him, and I am frustrated that I am okay with being alone instead.
I was cruising through the Craigslist Missed Connections, just because that’s what I do, when I stumbled upon an ad from Downtown Oakland in the m4m section. The title: my ex boo’s first name.
Now, I cruise the CLMCs with regularity because I love the idea of lost love and the ensuing hope, and also people’s emotional outbursts on the CLMCs are top notch. At first I didn’t think it was for him because, well, m4m? Seeing as I was in a m4w relationship with him, I was a bit skeptical, but also his first name isn’t super common, so whatever, maybe it’s for him. So I opened it, and I read it, and – oh, yeah, this shit’s for him. He’s definitely popping up in the m4m on Craigslist today. Whodda thunk!
Mostly I find this to be interesting because this isn’t the first time in a matter of months that I’ve seen an ex boo’s name pop up in the m4m on Craigslist. However, in lieu of being sex positive, I’d like to state: I am not shocked by the idea of any of my former lovers being into m4m. Although I think of them as more m4t in their heart of hearts, and m4w when they’re around their friends, and m4 basically anyone who will pay for their shit when they’re looking to get into a serious, long term relationship. (I fall into the second category.) This is just part of what dating in the Bay Area is all about: we’re freaks, we fuck everybody.
But the thing about my ex boos? They really, really try to front like that’s not what’s happening. Which kinda pisses me off because their sexual shame makes everything less fun for everyone involved. Like, I know they fuck me because their friends think I’m cute, and that’s fine, because I enjoy the sex, and also we’re friends on a fundamental level so it’s not a big deal. But whenever I start to thinking: are we just kicking it because you’re succumbing to societal pressure of heterosexuality and you’d rather just be with some dude in the back of a car behind Fairyland, it makes me feel not so good about myself. Mostly because: hey, I’m down! If you wanna fuck dudes and fuck me, or fuck dudes and not fuck me but let people think you fuck me, then that’s cool! Maybe I can watch every once in a while, or we can all throw down together, or maybe we don’t have to do that, we can just be friends and you can be happy fucking whatever dude it is that you’re into today. These things just make me feel very insecure.
They also make me horny, because now I’m thinking about my ex boo getting his dick sucked by some hot, young thing behind a taco truck in the East, and, oh my god, talk about jack off material.
BRB, gna masturbate.
I was at the bar, drinking, because that’s what I usually do, and I also I was romantically unattached that evening, so I found myself wandering around the middle of the bar in the midst of a social lull. I had been fielding sexual attention from a few different potential suitors, but this is a big bar, and there were a lot of people there, so I lost track of all them at the same time while simultaneously also trying to keep them far afield. It’s a tricky science. So I did what I always do when I’m unattached in the middle of a bar and my friends are upstairs dancing, but I don’t want to dance because I know I can do better than that: I stood, alone, and tried to look lost and slightly afraid. I figured that someone would come up to me or call out to me or offer to keep me company while I continued to weigh my options and make decisions.
And, of course, after a mere ten or fifteen seconds of looking around the room and projecting an air of general, drunken confusion, there it was.
“Hey!” from the two gentlemen at the bar.
I had known them for quite some time, mostly because they’re friends with a, uh, former “love interest” of mine. Which was even more perfect for me as I sauntered towards them, feeling sultry and woozy in my drunken confidence.
Now, just for the record, before we go any further, I would just like to state that, yes, I am a ho, and, yes, I have been known pick off the best friends of ex lovers just for sport and because I like the feeling of sexual power it gives me. But my former love interest (who, by the way, doesn’t even live in the Bay Area anymore) already knows this about me. In fact, he knows a lot about me. Including but not limited to my love for anal sex, edge play, group sex and all things kink. Hey, if you read this blog, you probably know that about me, too. And we’ve probably never even met.
As my conversation with the two friends wound around, we landed on exactly that topic of conversation: my sexual propensities and activities, specifically as revealed by my former love interest to his friends. And with his friends. Let’s just put it this way: my former love interest was on my level with a lot of things, which was fun, and also why I was feeling sad and nostalgic while talking to his friends. I’m also not a bashful person when it comes to revealing personal information, in person or online. Which was why a few weeks back I had been okay with said former love interest snapping a video of me all done up in my prettiest BDSM gear at my house and also very naked. (If you missed it: sorry!) These two friends had seen it.
“You’re into some really weird stuff,” the one said.
“Yup,” I said. “But you’ve been to my house and seen the shit in my room. You knew that already.”
“Yeah, you had, like, that crazy hitachi wand just out,” he replied.
“Man, I really thought we were going to have a three way that night,” I replied, reminiscing about the time that me and my former love interest and his best friend had found ourselves in my bedroom at night. “I just sat on the bed and waited for it to happen, but nothing happened.”
“Yeah, I don’t know, I thought maybe,” the first one said of our close encounter. The second one laughed.
“Hey, you’ve been to my house, too!” I said to the second one.
“Yeah, yeah, I have,” he said.
“Wait, when was that?” the first one asked the second friend.
“For the same reason. An orgy,” I blurted out.
“What! You never told me that!” the first one said to the second.
“Oh, yeah, well, y’know, it just never came up in conversation,” the second one replied bashfully.
“Uh oh. Did I let the cat out of the bag?”
“Yeah,” the second one said, laughing a little bit. I grinned. I had actually kinda forgotten about it, and I touched the second one on the arm. Yeah. We’ve been there. I looked at the first one, the one with whom I had not had a three way, and could see the wheels spinning in his head. Was he regretting not jumping in on the three way a couple weeks back? Was he thinking about what my pussy tasted like? Or was he thinking about what his friend’s dick tasted like?
I smiled. I was drunk. I had said too much. I shrugged. I don’t remember if I walked away or just wound up going home with my best friend, but all I could remember was thinking, ‘amateurs!’ I mean, not to be rude, but I know that my best friends would never go up to a guy I used to fuck and talk to him about what kind of sex we used to have. My best friends know that I just want to have the weirdest sex all the time with anyone who’s down, and they know all the nitty-gritty details of all the weird shit I do when I fuck someone. They know what his dick looks like and tastes like, and there’s not really any mystery left. Not to mention, my friends are all very sexually mature and experienced women who would never be shocked by any of my sexual activities, so there are no questions that they have for the men I fuck. They don’t really have anything to say to the men I fuck, either, unless it’s in service of me spying on them in some weird way. Fuck. I love my friends.
But, yeah, anyways, before I get off track, like, wow, how fucking rude to go up to your best friend’s former love interest and pry into what we used to do in the bedroom. I can only assume that the conversation was born out of a sexual curiosity, like a “What the fuck is that, it can’t be real,” but, yeah, I’m down to do that kind of shit in the bedroom. People like me exist.
And then, after that, they had the nerve to snitch on me to my former love interest! Which meant I had to drunkenly try to deal with a long distance emotional outburst just because *someone* couldn’t be discreet and keep their mouth closed. Yikes.
Anyways, the moral of the story is: I got the male attention I was looking for, so actually I’m pretty happy with the whole situation.
None of this was ever real. Or, at least I don’t think it was. Not now. As I’m sitting here alone, and the thought of you flashes across my mind. And for the first time in a long time, this bursting, brilliant image of you, and these rewound and replayed sex scenes starring you and me, and the moments in between, and the tender text messages, and your face when you’re sleeping – I see it all again so quickly, but for the first time since I don’t know when, I feel nothing.
I feel nothing for you. This is how I feel today. I didn’t feel that way yesterday, and who knows if I’ll feel that way tomorrow. But today is the first day that I noticed that my love for you is gone. It has vanished. Disappeared. Dissipated. I’m not sure where it went – if it just flew out of me, or if it has rolled over into my love for someone else. I don’t know if now I am empty, or perhaps I have been cured of a horrible disease. Am I lighter now? Or am I lesser?
And today is the day that I question if I ever loved you at all. Because I cannot feel the love I had for you, I start to question: was it ever there to begin with? Or is today the day that I have woken up from a terrible dream where you were the monster that kept me in a prison that I built for myself and named my love for you. Was I never really here. Were you never a monster.
You are now just a person, which is shocking to me, because for so long you were so much more than that. You were the object of my fascination. My lover. My muse. My plug for dick pics. The on who made me cum the most. I couldn’t look at you without feeling – so much. But today? I might see you in the street and not look twice. Does that feel horrible?
I have to wonder if this was never really love at all, mostly because in the stories and fairy tales I have read about love, I have learned that love does not disappear like this. Love does not perform vanishing acts. Love is permanent. But the way I feel about you? It is fleeting. And I am fleeing from these faded memories I have of you and me. I am running away from the person I used to be when I loved you. I am becoming someone new, and now every time I think about you, I will start to think about something else.
Who can say what love is. All I can say is that it is gone.