He said he’d tried talking to her, had even asked her what he could do to spice things up, and her response was “I shouldn’t have to tell you what I want.” Which blew my mind. Amy was playing the You should read my mind and if you can’t I’ll punish you until you’ve tried everything game that many women play — a game that one of my lovers played so well that I swore off women for years.

So I invited Amy to meet me for coffee.

We’ve known each other for well over a decade and she’s accustomed to my directness, so I dispensed with the preliminary chit-chat.

“Boriska is worried you’re either having an affair, or that you’re going to leave him.”

Amy’s expression changed. I think she’d been expecting to play the sympathetic listener to my woe-is-me-my-sister-has-cancer tale, so she was completely surprised to find that her marriage was the topic. I sat in silence and watched her run through a series of emotions: surprise, anger, chagrin, and finally, something that looked like pouty resignation.

“I’m bored,” Amy said, looking down into her coffee cup. Definitely pouty.

“Bored?”

I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was bored.  I was 9 and I told my grandmother I wanted to go somewhere because I was bored. “You’re not bored,” Grandmother had said, looking over her glasses at me with her intense blue eyes, “You’re boring.” Something about the way she explained it to me really hit home, and from that day forward I was almost obsessed with being the opposite of boring. Today, one of the highest compliments anyone can pay me is to say that I’m interesting.

“I’m going to take a page out of my grandmother’s book, Amy, and ask you to consider that you’re not bored so much as boring.”

Her mouth fell open with a gasp and her eyebrows drew together in a frown. I raised my hand. I knew I needed to speak up fast or she’d flounce off in a huff. I love her dearly, but Amy’s what most of her friends call “high-strung.”

“Now before you get all upset with me, give me a chance to explain. When you say “I’m bored” you’re speaking as though the world, or in this case, your husband, is somehow failing to entertain you. That is a very passive place to be, Amy.”

She went back to pouting.

“You own your life, and you’re responsible for whether you’re bored or not. It is a choice. You’ve made choices that have led to you feeling bored in your marriage, so you can certainly make choices that make it more exciting!”

“It’s a lot of work!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” I answered.

“How can you? You’ve never been married.”

I looked into her eyes and smiled slowly, meaningfully. “Why do you think I’ve never married?”

She laughed, thankfully.

“Fair enough, Kay. Fair enough.”

We sipped our drinks for a long moment. Amy’s never been good at concealing her emotions. I could see her turmoil all over her face. I could also see that she wanted to talk, but just didn’t seem to know where to start. I decided to give her a nudge.

“So… why are you bored?” I asked.

“We’ve been having the same sex over and over for 8 of the last 10 years!”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“Whuuut?”

“If you’ve been having the same boring sex over and over, why haven’t you told Boris you want to try something different?”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

Oh. My. God. It was my turn to say “Whuuut?”

“He should know me by now…” She sounded both outraged and plaintive, if that is possible. I could almost see her anger and disappointment over her husband’s failure to magically transform into Fabio-the-Mindreader during the course of their marriage.

“Amy, you’ve been reading waaay too many romance novels. Sure there are men who can intuit what you want, but how can they know for certain if you don’t tell them?”

“Not everyone is like you, Kay… I’m not comfortable talking about sex…”

I got what she was saying, and yet I didn’t. Yes, there are few people so comfortable with talking openly about sex, but surely…

“Are you telling me that you and I can talk about how much we want to be bent over the couch for a hard fast fuck — but you aren’t comfortable talking about what you want in the bedroom with the man you’ve been sleeping next to for the past 10 years? Amy!”

She looked miserable and sheepish at the same time.

“Good sex is artful and intuitive. Great sex is artful, intuitive, and informed by communication. If you aren’t communicating your wants and needs to your husband then the only person you have to blame for your boring sex life is yourself, damnit!”

“How do I know he’d even want to try anything else? He’s got his routine down and seems pretty happy with it!”

I gave her my best oh come on, really?! look.

“I’m going to tell you a few things about men, Amy dear. At heart humans are novelty seekers, and we know that monotony in monogamy is almost inevitable… but we still settle down into monogamous relationships. Why? For women, it’s about security. For men it’s about guaranteed pussy. They give up variety in the hopes of increased frequency. So if you tell your man that you want to spice things up by having sex standing on your head in the corner — he’ll make it happen even if he has to build a scaffolding in the bedroom.”

Amy choked on her coffee, then gasped with laughter at that mental image.

“I’m serious. And another thing — In the absence of clear communication, men do their best to read us. They try anything and everything, and each time they are slapped away, or get an annoyed look, or a hurt yelp, they eliminate whatever they were doing from their repertoire. Forever. Most of them won’t try it again. Most of them don’t get that what irritated the fuck out of you last night might make you moist today. They just don’t want to feel rejected, Amy. People feel vulnerable when they are making love.”

She looked very pensive. I gave her hand a squeeze. “Think about it. You said he’s got his routine down — did it ever occur to you that he’s narrowed it down to those things you’ve never objected to? How many times was Boris doing something and you pushed him away and he never tried that again? Face it, Amy. You’ve insisted that he read your mind all these years and punished him for failing to do so. You’ve created your own boring, monotonous marriage, my friend.”

She made a face. A cross between a wince and a grimace.

“Sometimes you scare me, Kay.”

That brought me up short.

“Why?”

“Because you’re so insightful.  And because you manage to say shit no one else can say without sounding like a complete bitch.”

“You’re welcome.” I laughed.

“Does Boriska really think I’m going to leave him?”

“He’s worried about it. He loves you, Amy. He wants you to be happy, and if he can’t make you happy, why wouldn’t you look for someone who can?”

“Oh god,” she groaned. I could see it on her face, the realization that with her stubborn silence she really had made a mess of things. “What am I going to do?”

I grinned at her. “Well, I just happen to know that he’s got this fantasy about sex in the shower….”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh reaaallly?”

“Yes, really. How about we stop by an adult toy store to pick up a waterproof rabbit? And while you’re at it, send Boris a text saying you’re working on a naughty surprise for him and you want him to send a text when he leaves the office?”

Amy blushed and squirmed in her chair. She looked like an excited child.

“And then what you do is, leave him a note he’ll find when he gets home, telling him to strip down and meet you in the shower, and then make sure you’re in there and playing with your rabbit when he gets home. I guarantee he’ll break his routine.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I suppose he would.”

“Oh, and Amy… afterward… Talk to your husband. Share your fantasies. And be more communicative. I know women think men don’t listen to them, but if there is one place they’re eager to listen, it’s in bed. You’re responsible for your pleasure, so tell him what you want.”

“You’re such a Cougar,” said my old high school-era friend after my partner, a man a decade younger than me, excused himself and left us to our wine-sipping on the patio.

I was still tingling from the feel of his warm palms on my shoulders, and from the way his fingertips had brushed the skin of my collarbones when he’d bent to kiss my temple, so her comment didn’t fully register in my mind.

“How do you do it?” she then asked, her upper body inclined toward me and an avid expression on her face.

Mina is recently divorced after 20 years of marriage, and at 40 is finding herself struggling with a suddenly rampant libido. Her ex-husband Paul is a dozen years older than her, and she’d finally grown tired of his philandering ways after their kids caught Dad at the movies with a woman half his age.

“Do what?”

“You know…” she lowered her voice to a loud whisper,  “snag a young stud…”

I laughed. “I don’t know, Mina. Its not like I try to attract younger men, certainly not ones as young as Gabe.”

Mmmm Gabe. Smart, sweet, funny, sexy. I’ve known him since he was in college, and he’d been patiently wearing me down over the course of a decade.

“I’ve thought about trying out a younger man…” She paused, then said, “Does the age difference bother you?”

I thought about it. Thought about how to answer that one.

“It used to. It’s why I turned him away all those years. You know me, I can be a romantic, sure, but bottom line I’m also a pragmatist, and well… Gabe is the kind of guy who wants to get married and start a family, and that is so NOT me.”

Mina giggled. She sat back in her chair and re-crossed her legs. She’s a good-looking woman. Definitely MILF category, and no one would guess she’s the mother of three teenagers.

We sipped our wine for a couple of minutes, enjoying the glorious afternoon with it’s blue-blue sky and budding trees. Mina put down her glass and reached her hand out to cover mine.

“Aren’t you afraid he’s going to leave you?”

I sighed. A simple question, really, one with a complex answer.

“Not any more,” was my response.

“Why not?”

“Because he says I am the one for him. And while I believe him, I also know that is for right now. Tomorrow, five years from now, it might change. But for right now, we love each other, and it is enough. Fear of getting my heart broken was what kept me from giving him a chance all those years he pursued me, and one day I woke up to the fact I was letting that fear run my life. So no, I’m not afraid he’ll leave me. I accept that it’s a very real possibility and move on with my life. When or if that day comes, well, I’ll deal with it. But it doesn’t make sense to let it overshadow today.”

Mina smiled at me. “You’re so brave, Kay. Where do you find the courage?”

“One day someone told me that the only difference between me and people who do great things is that people who do great things don’t let being afraid stop them. They acknowledge their fears and act anyway.”

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. Staring into her glass of Chardonnay she asked, “What do you think attracts younger men to older women?”

It was my turn to lean forward in my seat.

“The same thing that attracted us to older men,” I answered, remembering that we’d both had relationships with men considerably older than ourselves straight out of high school.

“Oh? Hmmm. I hadn’t thought of that,” she said thoughtfully.

“Think about it,” I said, and then leaned back in my chair and explored my own memories.

What I liked about older men was that they knew what they were doing, sexually and otherwise. There was no fumbling around in the dark, no disappointing premature ejaculations, no deflated “that’s it?” feeling in marked contrast to what I’d read in romance novels. Older men impressed my 20-year-old self with their confidence, with the apparent ease and certainty with which they navigated life, and yes, with their sexual prowess. They also had more refined tastes, tastes that extended beyond a date consisting of swiped beer and burgers in the bed of a truck parked at the beach.

No, I preferred men who were older, and usually, foreign. Not because of their charming accents, but because of their minds. They had a different perspective of the world, different educations. They knew things. And they were only too happy to share their thoughts and experiences with an adoring younger woman who hung on their every word.

When I asked Gabe what distinguished me from the women he had dated previous to me, he said three things: I know who I am, I know what I want, and I don’t play the mind games that women his age do. And then he blushed. Even squirmed a little.

I smiled knowingly, which made him blush even more deeply. I, too, know things. And while he loves that I can converse on chaos theory, cloud computing, and coding, he loves that I know my way around the human body. He loves that I know my own body and what works for me, and that I know things about his body that he never would have discovered otherwise.

It pulsed there between us, electric and aching. All that carnal knowledge.

Yes… He was hooked long before we’d had carnal knowledge of each other, but I’ve no doubt that my no-holds-barred pursuit of pleasure and pleasuring will keep him around for quite a while.

Mina might call me a Cougar but Gabe… he calls me a real woman. His woman. And regardless of age and experience differences, mutual appreciation and love are what matters for this Cougar woman and her younger man.

—

Bored with your sex life?  Looking for a way to spice things up? Silkenvoice spins hot erotic stories for your listening pleasure. Visit the shop at SilkenOnSex.com for audibly erotic tales that are intimately told by the author herself.

Earlier today the friend of a friend sent me an email:

“I am currently working on reading the second edition of The Ethical Slut… was wondering if you had any ideas of other books I could read on poly that are any good?”

Here is my response:

Regarding polyamory and reading material — I’ve not read *any* books on it and very little in the way of online material. I come to polyamory by nurturing — my parents are poly and I lived communally until I was 10 or so. So I can’t really recommend any reading material from personal experience of it. I actually own The Ethical Slut but I’ve not read it. Why? I found myself resisting reading it and after thinking about it, decided that I didn’t want to influence my own innate understanding of it with someone else’s attempt to explain it or persuade others to give it a try.

That said, I have read a bit of the Loving More site (http://www.lovemore.com/) with an eye toward being a contributing writer. My friends Y and his wife X run the Poly Circle Discussion Group (http://pcdg.portlandpoly.org/) and the books I know they recommend in addition to The Ethical Slut, are:
‘Polyamory: Roadmaps for the Clueless & Hopeful‘ (Ravenscroft)
‘Polyamory: The New Love Without Limits‘ (Anapol)
‘Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships‘ (Taormino)

I’ve met Tristan Taormino and she is a friend of Y. She comes to Portland often to speak, so I’d say to try her book next.

I can tell you that the tendency of society to insist that we chose one person to be all things to us creates a lot of unnecessary tension and stress. A lot of people get into that mode of feeling like they settled for someone, settled for Mr Right Now instead of Mr Right, or worse, withhold forming intimate bonds thinking they’ll miss out on something better later on if they do.

I can also tell you that being self-honest is an absolute necessity. Self-inquiry and contemplation are practices that you are going to need to be comfortable with — you can’t really have healthy relationships with others until you’ve established one with yourself. In many ways we are each of us the biggest mystery to ourselves. We don’t know why we do half the shit we do — we just do it. Getting eye-level with your consciousness and being alert to your feelings and reactions helps resolve a lot of the self-sabotaging that goes on in each of us. I recommend meditation and journalling. We are blessed with being self-aware and each of us is a book-in-progress, so write your story, revise it, consider how things could be done differently in future situations, and outline the future chapters. We can live life intentionally, rather than accidentally.

Establishing good self-communication then makes it possible to have good communication in relationships. Especially poly ones. Jealousy is the biggest problem in any relationship, be it sibling, friend, colleague or partner. And the root of jealousy is issues with scarcity / abundance. Being self-aware and having good self-communication means we can often intercept the negative self-talk that arises as a result of feeling threatened by the prospect of scarcity / loss. Being able to share our feelings and thoughts with partners is both beautiful and necessary, so long as we learn to approach it in such a way that it is not a Blame Game. As soon as we make someone “wrong” or as soon as someone feels we are making them “wrong” we’ve lost the opportunity to communicate effectively.

My ex-girlfriend used to say “You made me do it” or “You make me feel like I’m crazy” and it really pushed my buttons when she did. If she could find a way to make something someone else’s fault, she would. She lived her life as a victim, and last I heard, she still does. But not me! I accept responsibility for my thoughts and actions, and I recognize that in the arena of thoughts and actions, I have control. But I also know that feelings are feelings, that they are what they are and that they arise from deep within, and I honor them and recognize that while how I feel is *always* appropriate (because it is how I feel) — I get to choose both what I think about how I am feeling *and* what I’m going to do about it — and thus I am responsible for the outcomes. There is no escaping that, no matter how much I may want to deny it, and did live in denial of it — ultimately I am responsible for my life, and being involved with others who also accept responsibility for their lives makes everything easier.

So basically, I guess what I am trying to say, is the best thing you can do is to make sure that you’re in a good place with yourself. If you are healthy and happy and self-aware, then everything flows naturally from that place — if you have a loving relationship with yourself love comes naturally, and the more you love the more love comes your way. From there it makes sense to keep expanding the circle of loved ones and exploring the various permutations of loving — there is little to lose and much to gain.

Lastly, be aware… things change. Like the ocean, we ebb and flow. One day or week or month we may want to be free to love anyone and everyone, and then the next, we want someone all to ourselves. Some of it is tied to hormones, seasons, lunar cycle, and emotional rhythms. Some if it has to do with aspects specific to each person we are involved with. It is important to remember that how we feel and what we want is valid AND that what others feel and want is also valid. Sometimes the two (or three or four ;) are in conflict and that is ok. The “conflict” may be temporary or permanent but it is only an earth-shattering disaster if we choose to make it one. Giving ourselves room to feel the emotional intensity while not succumbing to the pressing urge to act now is a good pressure valve to develop.

I hope I don’t sound too preachy. You may already have some or all of this down and if so, great. If not, that is cool, too. I mean no insult or injury in what I’m trying to communicate, only a desire for you to know love and happiness. I’ve learned to operate from the space that everyone is perfect, whole and complete just as they are while also understanding that most people just don’t realize they are ;)

In this episode, Silken describes a conversation with one of her intimate friends, a friend who tells her that when he is with her he feels loved in a way he’s never felt before. What ensues is a discussion about the different ways we treat love, be it romantic, platonic, or filial, and the tendency people have to let past hurts get in the way of enjoying love right now.

Theme music for this podcast: Melissa Ferrick’s song “Drive”.

I leaned back into his couch and put my bare feet up on the table. I smoothed my skirt across my thighs, enjoying the feel of the fabric.

“What’s this?” he asked, leaning over to look at my feet. “Blue toes?”

I grinned and lifted my leg, sliding my shin along his cheek until my toes were just inches from his face.

“I had a pedicure today. Do you like?”

He studied my toenails. I’d chosen a metallic blue nailpolish that went really well with several of the skirts I wear this time of year. The nail art on my big toes was done in delicate silver, black and white dots and curliques.

“Very nice,” he said, taking my feet into his warm hands.

“Mmmm,” I purred. I hadn’t realized they were chilled until he’d touched them.

I wriggled around on the couch until my shoulders were braced by the arm and my feet were in his lap. He proceeded to give my feet and legs an acupressure and massage treatment that had me limp as a kitten within 10 minutes. Which is no mean feat given my stress level of late.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, as he lifted my foot and kissed it. His hand slid along the underside of my thigh until his fingertips brushed my bare mound.

I’d forgotten myself in the sheer pleasure of the moment, and neglected to keep my thighs together. How long had he been looking up my skirt? I wondered, and then decided it didn’t matter. I was certain that the voyeur in him deemed it a fair trade for a delicious foot rub.

And so I find myself in a relationship with a man whose love makes me a little bit giddy. Who says the sweetest, corniest things that lure my inner child to come out and play. Who has more kindness and constancy in him than I had thought possible in someone of our generation. A man who devilishly plays with my libido like it is a cross between a lute and a cat’s toy. He delights in me, melts at my touch, makes me laugh, and supports me. But he also wants me all to himself. And therein lies the very heart of the problem.

I’ve asked him for 6 months. Give me 6 months. There is a lot going on in my life, my world, and choosing him–which something in me very much wants to do and at the same time is very afraid to do–would be a huge change in my life. Not just a change from polyamory to monogamy, but a change in place, which would mean leaving my community. But when I ask myself what I want, more and more, I find myself answering “him”, and when I think about it, I recognize that if I do not choose “us”, then I’ll always wonder what might have been.

Where does the desire for personal freedom and self-expression find itself when two people merge their lives to form an exclusive partnership? I remember what happened to it when I was younger, less secure in myself, more eager to ‘fix’ others or to ‘make them happy.’ I am so far from that place, and yet , I know that it is my daily rituals, my affirmations of self and non-self, my me-time, the pure freedom to be spontaneous–that it is these things which maintain the self I know as ‘me’ me. And I have seen how easy it is to slide out of healthy habits and ways of being, to let things slip for love, and I find myself conflicted, clinging almost jealously to my current life and way of being in the face of… love. There is tremendous possibility there. I love him like I have never loved another, in ways I never thought possible for me, and I know myself for 10 kinds of a fool if I pass up those possibilities out of fear or possessiveness.

“Mine. I am mine. No one claims me. No one owns me,” my inner child says while at the same time she reaches out to him, teases him, shares with him. Loves him.

I like things just the way they are, and yet I know that change is inevitable. He won’t keep forever like a doll in a glass case. He’s a person with his own needs and desires. I suppose I am faced with the choices we all are: shall I sit on the side of the path and wait for Life to happen and choose for me? Or shall I take action and choose for myself what I want from Life, even knowing the path I choose to walk may not lead where I wanted?

I am reminded of the final words of a poem by slam-poet Shane Koyczan that go something like this: “Its a game. You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play. The world is a window that holds a sign. There is ‘help wanted’ out there but if you are playing to win, the first thing you have to do is ‘apply within’.”

Six months. Six months to wrestle with my choices and then take a stand for my own happiness, for what I want for myself and my life. Six months. 180 days. So many days. Why does it feel like so little time?