So Happy Together

Nine years ago, we decided to get married on the date 6/6/06. I heard people were maligning the date because of its resemblance to the biblical number of the beast. Since I don't have a faith and I wanted to reclaim it as a quality day, we decided it would be OUR day.

Though this plan got thrown together rather quickly, I'd been with Murry for a very long time. We were already bonded in our hearts, we just decided to add the tax benefits.

The county clerk gave us a list of people who could officiate and the only one who responded quick enough was the municipal judge for the tiny town of Powers, Oregon. It sits a few miles from Myrtle Point and is about an hour car ride from our home.

I had a bad cold that day and I didn't let that dampen my spirits. When we got into town, the judge didn't want to disturb the person who held the key to the courthouse so we went into the library next door. We told the clerk what we were doing and she suggested a quiet spot around the corner from her desk.

Murry told me that it was the science fiction section. You see we met in a SF themed chat room over the internet.

In attendance were our friends Anna, Murry's friend Sandy from work and his wife Shannon. Since this was the judge's first ceremony, his dad came along and took pictures.

My friend Anna insisted on buying us flowers. After the brief ceremony we went to diner at a little place called Jacks.

We purchased our rings from a pawn shop years ago. Though they go well together they were bought seperately and sized. Murry wore a ring that belonged to his own father that he sized himself. They're all very pretty and sparkly.

When Murry's oldest sister heard we had gotten married, she couldn't contain her joy. She ran right out and bought us gifts. As she is a Jehovah Witness, she doesn't get to shop for events very often. They don't celebrate very many things in the same way other faiths and secular people do.

She bought us a very unusual lime green throw blanket, a small gray elephant bolster pillow and an overnight bag the color of blush wine.

The juxtaposition of colors and textures reflects both the uniqueness of my marriage and that of my kind sister-in-law. We treasure them and they feature prominently in our home.

We're so happy together.

Shame

Some question the concept of "rape culture" because that sounds ludicrous. Why would a social structure promote assault and violence? Why would any group systematically oppress another's right to personal safety?

What if they feel the need may be stronger to protect THEIR space? As in they feel it's important to make people aware that though something happened in this space, the space isn't to blame. And when they remove the location from the equation, sometimes the event becomes clouded in mystery.

Rape survivors go nameless to protect them. Though I respect someone's right to choose how they disclose such information, I wonder if it perpetuates shame. Plenty of car accident and other crime survivors see their names plastered across the news.

Universities would rather not discuss rape on campus to protect their community standing. Churches, specifically the Catholic church, protect priests from prosecution in order to project an image of superior morality. Yet the very act of secret keeping begs exploitation by the immoral. Perpetrators count on this.

Shame helps no one. John Bradshaw and Brene Brown both define shame as "I am a mistake. " Unlike guilt, which means, "I made a mistake." If you are shameful, it defines your natural soul, you have little chance of changing it. If you feel guilty of an action, you can decide to act differently in the future.

In the case of surviving rape, neither guilt NOR shame applies. Yet authority asks people to examine their behavior. Especially in the light of accusing in a place that wishes to protect their space and or the accused has social status.

American culture implies a value in sexual purity. They call having intercourse for the first time, "losing" virginity. Comedians joke about masturbation, unusual sexual practices and orientation as though those who partake lack character.

Many bible passages blame rape on the woman. If a college campus puts forward a rape prevention program, they put their primary focus on what women can do to protect themselves. Rarely do these kinds of programs place the "locus of control" onto men.

And men who find themselves assaulted, get shamed twice if they somehow find the courage to report their attacks. No one discusses the possibility of rape inside prisons, all boys schools, fraternity and boy scouts.

I see blaming anyone for surviving a crime as like blaming a wall for graffiti. "Bad wall! You asked for it with your clean solid color surface!"

I survived child sexual abuse. I see no need to hide that. I survived beating and neglect too. It took years, support and two good therapy people to help me understand that those who hurt me deserve to feel guilt. I deserve to be bandaged and soothed.

When we can start claiming our survival, named or not, we can start to heal. End the denial and shaming of all crime survivors. Start the conversation and include men in the discussion.

Train everyone to be aware of the rights of all to say "no thank you, " to any advance. Train everyone to discourage intoxicated people from all bad decisions.Train police and teachers to listen and observe when accusations come to light. Presume innocent for the survivors of sexual assault too.

Masochism Tango

Fifty Shades of Gray comes out today and I thought I would explore any manner of fetish methods for lovemaking. This lovely Tom Lerher song always brought a smile to my face so I decided to use it as title.

Masochism Tango  and 50 Shades both exploit the concept of pain as pleasure. Though I haven't read the book, I have know people that enjoy the practice. 

Not all bondage, dominance and submissive behavior involves pain. Some people enjoy limiting their own or someone else's movement. Wrapping yourself in nothing but plastic wrap to excite your spouse would be a form of bondage. 

Then there's piercing. While the initial studding might be painful, once the punctured area has healed, more often the stud acts as a method for enhancing pleasure. These more dense, usually metal, objects create a new sensation in an otherwise conventional sex act. Kissing someone with a pierced tongue or lip may produce a noticeable difference from a non pierced partner. 

Often when I speak of behaviors, some assume I partake. If I did, I would say so. I make no judgments on anyone else's consensual choices, but being tied up and or pain as pleasure do not excite me in any way.

I guess if have any kind of fetish, it would be creating stories sometimes involving sex. These usually have a science fiction theme so some involve alien encounters and exotic partners. I'll save such details for any future novel and short story writing. Suffice to say, I have a normal healthy fantasy life. 

Cindi Lauper wrote a whole musical based on the concept of dressing up fetishes. Kinky Boots won Lauper a Tony too. Gay men love to dress as women and many a joke has been made about guys who like to wear women's underwear. 

Some people like to dress up as characters from films like Star Wars Think Princess Leia in a chain mail bikini. Some engage in costume play featuring plush play toy like animals themes. Often referred to as "furry" by those who partake, I've know people who go so far as to pretend to BE that animal while in costume. Furries engage in sexual play and can even have sex without breaking their fantasy role. 

People may become attracted to using leather, silk, fur, rubber and latex as items for stimulation. Sometimes in the form of undergarments or specific items like leather gloves used exclusively in the bedroom.

One could go on for quite a while on the various objects and experiences people find sexually arousing. Some of these are so common place as to be somewhat "normal." Like people who find long luxurious hair on women or beards on men a most attractive feature. 

Whatever floats your boat can be found out there somewhere. So long as every adult involved agrees to the activity, I say go for it. Get your kink on. Happy Valentines Weekend. 

Somebody that I used to know

Breaking up creates stress and mess. Even the best reasons and calm decisions leave us feeling let down.

It's been over 20 years since the divorce from my ex husband became final. I know I made the right choice and yet I still feel some regret.

Once in a while I look up his name to see if there are any web pages where I can see what he might be doing with himself. I noticed a LinkedIn account. I avoided visiting it as I wanted my spying to be anonymous. I knew it would let him know that I'd viewed his profile. I didn't want to intrude.

Curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on the link. The gray haired bearded man who stared back took me by surprise. How could he age so starkly? Any second now, I expected a voice to boom from my speakers, "You kids get off my lawn!"

Yes, I'm going to be 51 years old in a couple of weeks. Old enough to be a grandmother. He's old enough to be a grandfather. I knew this, but didn't "feel" it until I saw his picture.

After a few days, another kind of curiosity took me to look at my eldest sister's Facebook profile. I wanted to see what she had to say about the death of our mother.

I unfriended her last summer, but she still posted all her posts so anyone can see them. I saw a photo of my mother that my other sister had posted on her Facebook page. I didn't even know that sister used Facebook.

In the depths of writing my book, I've been thinking a lot about family. It's slow painful work. Plus today is my sister Cokie's birthday. Because she posted the photo of my mother, I also looked at her profile.

She looked happy. Part of me hopes she is, another part feels a deep sense of... what do I call it? Rage? That's the word that first comes to mind.

I feel justified at being angry, well to some extent. My ex and my sisters all deeply betrayed me. In a sense, they did so in the same kind of letting down. My ex cheated on me and I feel my sisters chose my mother over me.

They all chose someone else, someone I feel not as "good" or "cool" as me. My friend my ex took up with had plenty of emotional problems. And I'm SURE my mother talked about any number of difficult topics.

These are the issues that I once believed caused the rifts between them and me. My ex told friends that it was "okay" for him to sleep with my friend because "my wife is frigid and crazy." My sisters constantly told me to "get over it" whenever I tried to resolve the past.

I do realize that what they say are the issues, often only touch one layer of the truth. Though that understanding often comes much later.

Why would those who use the word "love" decide to act in such disrespectful ways? I often wonder what about me makes me so unlovable. It's not a truth, plenty of people care about me, but I'm deeply confused that it doesn't seem to be those who are supposed to do it.

I keep trying to give up the fantasy of a family connection. It still hurts. I cling to the awareness that my dad loved me. And my amazing husband Murry treats me with amazing dignity and respect.

I'm trying to make that enough.

Happy Birthday Sister. I hope you are happy and do find peace.

My Romance

I've probably blogged about this before, but my search features isn't working properly and I can't find it, so I'm going to write the story again.

Though we knew each other online, I put off meeting Murry in person for years. Someone who knew him told me that he was weird. I found out later, he snubbed her after she snubbed him and they were in a bit of a personality clash "war."

A mutual friend of ours then told me that Murry was quite normal and I finally decided to meet him thanksgiving day 1999.

He kindly drove out to Pasadena to pick me up. We then drove about 30 miles back to his house. I met his house mate Bob and Bob's girlfriend and later a string of random guests.

Neither of his housemates had local family so it was a lighthearted gathering of friendly people. We all laughed and ate and had a good time. Neither Murry nor I drink alcohol, but some of his friends wanted to go to a nightclub. We decided that was a good time for him to take me home.

I gathered my handbag and we went outside to get in his car. He parked around the corner to give his guests parking room in front of the house.

As I got to the corner I realized I had to fart. I couldn't do that IN the car and Murry was walking right next to me. I decided to slow down a little in the hopes of squeezing out the gas without him smelling anything.

He trod a mere 10 feet ahead as tried to slip out a silent release. No such luck. Maybe had there been more low clouds, I could have passed it off as a foghorn.

Murry just paused a bit as he got near the car. I got to my door and he asked, "Did you hear frogs??" I imagine he could have felt the heat from my blushing. "No, I'm afraid that was me. Better outside than in the confines of the car!"

He just chucked.

After waiting years to meet me, the first night I try and gas him. Ain't I a prize.

Thankfully there's more to romance than our moments of imperfection.

Squeeze Box

I looked up songs about breasts and found this title on the first page. I felt kind of funny that I didn't realize this song was about boobs, but it makes sense once I thought about it a minute.

Men love the tatas and they don't mind admitting it. Though some take it into an offensive category, I'm here to talk about another aspect of breast admiration.

I love my boobs. As I gained weight, my biology drove my breast tissue into bulbous, pendulous when swinging free, tatas.

That swinging can be hazardous to an unsuspecting mate too. I nearly knocked my husband senseless reaching past him for a drink of water. After that, we both referred to my breasts as "Hooters of DOOM!"

Said Doom Hooters don't break any records. I can, thankfully, still buy bras in any store. Though I'm told that a proper fitting would probably increase the cup size. I can't afford a fancy bra, so I do the best I can with what I can find.

Not long after I moved into Murry's house we bought a large screen TV. We went from a standard 32 inch to a huge 60 inch rear projection screen. Being sight impaired, I loved the larger viewing area.

Murry's friend Vance came by and was admiring our new set and remarked how wonderful it would be for viewing porn. Then he turned to Murry and said, though I suppose you are used to looking at large breasts.

Around the same time, a friend took a photo of me and upon seeing it, my online friends remarked how large they looked. I told them that it was jsut the angle of the shot. They didn't buy it.

It's weird to me. I don't think of them as that large. They're just a part of me. I hold them (ahem) in high esteem, but I live with them every moment of every day.

A few years ago, I realized why I am so much at ease with the Doom Hooters. They are clearly an adult thing. They show that I am a grown woman and can be as sexual as I desire.

Plus, I didn't have them when I was being molested as a little girl. There's zero confusion about my chest being touched and fondled. That helps me to stay in the now. That helps me enjoy my sexuality.

So, I say, Bounce Your Boobies and love the tatas today. I could have used that song, but I prefer Squeeze Box.

Listen to Rusty Warren sing Bounce Your Boobies here:
Bounce Your Boobies

What part of YOUR body to you love without reservation? Kind comments encouraged.

Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

Rhonda Britten says that we will always love someone once they've resided in our heart. Though we part, that affection stays with us.

And so it was with my friend, Phil Hurmence who passed away a couple of days ago from complications related to diabetes.

When we met, I lived with my first husband. Phil and my best friend Nancy were dating. They broke up and about a month later, my husband and I split up.

Nancy broke up my marriage by sleeping with my husband on our anniversary. I'm grateful now, but at the time, I felt deeply betrayed by them both.

Phil and I became good friends and a few months later more than friends. I moved in, though I maintained my own room. We both knew it wasn't a forever thing. After a couple of years, I cried and told him that it was hurting me being with someone when I knew it wasn't going to go much of anywhere.

We were close, but we wanted massively different things. It was amicable and I told him that I would find a new place to live. After a bit, he asked me to stay. He said I was the best, most reliable roommate he had ever had.

His friend Steven asked me why we didn't just get married. "You guys love each other." Though that's true, it would have been settling for both of us. Settling for almost good enough.

Phil and I lived in Pasadena a total of six years. We spent holidays together and his father and mother treated me like a member of the family.

When I went to Europe on a study program, Phil emailed me the most delightful letter about my cat Kevin. I wish I had kept it, I've been kicking myself over deleting it. Phil told me that it took Kevin about three days to realize I wasn't coming back. He said the cat wandered around the house meowing and looking everywhere for me.

So he picked up the cat and talked to him. Told him that "mom" was on a "big adventure" in the "outside," and she would return soon. Phil said that seemed to calm Kevin as if he understood. Maybe he did, he was a smart kitty.

A couple of months later, Kevin became sick and Phil had to take him to the vet. They decided that he was too sick to survive. He called me in tears. Such a sensitive guy when it comes to cats.

Phil always joked about the cat being from outer space. Taking Kevin to the vet, he turned on the radio and the song "Come Sail Away" started playing. Phil said he had to pull over he was crying so hard. The song ends with "they climbed aboard their starships and headed for the skies. "

When I met Murry and decided to move in with him, Phil went to live with his parents in Arizona. We had occasional phone contact and as it happens, Murry's sister lives an hour from where Phil's parents lived. We went to visit them both a couple of times.

I will miss my witty intelligent friend. I hope where ever you are now, you get to ride the starship with Captain Kevin.

All my love, your dear friend, Didi