Gender & Discussion...

I asked this question on Twitter, but it's not really the appropriate medium for it. 140 characters just can't hold what's required to answer this question. Frankly, 140 characters couldn't hold the question! So, here it goes, with some additional thoughts:

How would you feel about Internet discussion being described as "masculine" in nature? Further, to have that described as "confrontational, brusque, concerned with winning the argument rather than with group bonding or soothing ruffled feathers"?

I find this description of Internet discussion uncomfortable. I am confrontational, brusque sometimes, but I would never characterize that as "masculine". Especially not in discussion. I look at discussion as gender neutral. Like science. In fact, science is a good example of how I see Internet discussion. Discussion (the back and forth, not the one-sided nature of storytelling), like science, has a purpose: to get at the truth. When two or more people get together to have a discussion, it's not to have a winner and a loser. Winning is incidental. It should be the shared exercise of discovering truth. It's possible that the person I'm engaging with has additional data that would alter my perspective, improve my point of view and I would take a different position than the one I started with at the beginning of the conversation. This is not losing. This is Finding Truth, and it's a Good Thing. A good-faith discussion requires this, and I try to approach every conversation that I have (both on the Internet and off it) with this attitude.

Group bonding comes, in my experience, quite naturally in good-faith discussions even when the people having the discussion agree to disagree, because everyone in the discussion understands that they are searching for the same thing. As for "soothing ruffled feathers", that doesn't fall under discussion to me. If the discussion is a good-faith one, will feathers be ruffled in the first place? Perhaps I'm just demonstrating my own thick skin here. I'm not sure.

Also, isn't this applying gendered stereotypes to behavior? It's not that I don't characterize aspects of my behavior as "masculine" or "feminine", however the act of being in a good-faith discussion, for me, feels genderless. Like the pursuit of science.

Looking at this another way, I guess have a hard time looking at my behavior and Internet conversations as "masculine".

Maybe I'm over-thinking this or being overly sensitive about it. The individual that made this observation about Internet discussions is someone that I've got other "issues" with (specifically in regards to race, but that's another conversation), so perhaps that's coloring my point of view? Hmm. Anyway, I guess I'm looking for other people's thoughts on this, especially if this is a case of "Ai, you're being stupid/overreacting!"
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Happy Valentine's Day

My lover and I.

Me and my lover

It's an old photograph. I no longer have the weight around my face; I lost it now that I'm a diabetic and watch what I eat. He's now graying. I still have the boobs, though.

We've been together over 16 years and still fabulously in love and lust with each other.

Sometimes, I can't believe how fucking good life can be.

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

This morning, I was putting away a box of old letters back into the closet when I decided to flip through some of them. They were letters, some from past loves. There were a series from the most beautiful girl in the world, one of the few regrets I have in life, but one of the biggest.

She was a freshman. I was a senior. I considered that difference in age a little unacceptable, especially since I had it in my mind that I was into people older than myself (I was seeing a man twice my age at the time, too). She was tall and thin and androgynous. She had long hair, but it was almost always a mess. She never dressed to impress, just for comfort. Shy, funny, and so sweet. She was not conventionally beautiful, but I thought she was, behind her coke-bottle glasses. We got to know each other in the mess of high school in a club together. I was involved in other relationships outside of school, too busy and self-absorbed to really see how much she adored me. I adored her, but I had so much fear about her. Not because she was a woman, but because of the barriers that I mentally put around myself when it came to my relationships: never date someone in the same high school, never date someone younger, never be the passive one. Even though she was shy, she was shy with others and not me. She was aggressive with me and I found that intimidating, since I preferred to be the one that was aggressive, the one that pushed the relationship forward, to more intimacy.

I broke her heart when I got wrapped up in my on-and-off boyfriend taking me to the prom and all the promise of college and what that would bring. I left her behind and I didn't know what to do or how to apologize after so long. We just... stopped talking to each other and I don't really know why or how. I don't remember. All I know is that one day, I realized that she was gone and I didn't know what to do.

I wish I had the guts to let her in, to let her love me and to love her with no hesitation. Although we held hands, we never kissed and how I wish we did. I still dream about her, still dream about thinking of what it would be like to have her bend down and kiss me and touch my face.

Once upon a time, the most beautiful in the world loved me. Now she's gone and all I have are memories. I wonder where she is now. I'm sure that she's making someone else deliriously happy. There are some moments when I wish that was me.
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The Way We Love Now

I was directed to New York Times Opinion piece "The Way We Love Now" by a friend.


I think one of the problems with marriage today are the societal expectations of it. You get married, buy a house, have kids, blah blah blah. People are expected to get boring as they get older and that's just... sad. Security in marriage and in life doesn't mean limpness. I don't understand the idea that "modern relationships have been... purged of eros". I can accept that it is true, but I don't understand the feeling of looking at my lover and not craving him, because I experience that all the time. I ache for his touch, the fire he ignites in me. I've thought about this, trying to analyze what is it that keeps the passion in our relationship alive.

I think, first of all, that I've got a very healthy and open attitude towards sex. I enjoy it immensely, know what I like about it and what to do to maximize my pleasure. I've come to believe that frequent lovemaking, fucking, and masturbation are part of a healthy and satisfying physical life. My mood is enhanced, I feel great about myself, and, over all, I think physical satisfaction gives me a lot of energy. And it is a positive feedback loop: the more I get, the more I want.

Secondly, my lover is one of the most fascinating men I know. He's got enough of the same interests with me to have those shared experiences that build a relationship, however, he has enough different (and interesting) interests for me to keep on inquiring about them. His depth of knowledge about certain subjects is astonishing and his patience with me in explaining them is equally vast. Likewise, my knowledge in certain subjects is foreign to him and bringing our expertises together is like a dance. Our conversations are intellectual sex. We play with ideas and scenarios all the time. It's frequently exhausting but so satisfying. And fun! And I crave for it. I want more.

(Halfway through writing this, my lover came to sit with me on the living room couch. That adventure was told in my previous entry.)

This bit, "Is it Tsing Loh’s dystopia, where everyone “works” grimly on their relationships, and post-feminist husbands happily cook saffron-infused porcini risotto but rarely practice seduction on their wives?"

It sounds like the happy-husband-in-the-kitchen and the seductive-husband-in-the-bedroom are mutually exclusive! They aren't. In fact, I think it's wonderful to blend the two together. Come home to a home-cooked meal, lean over the stove to smell the saffron-infused porcini risotto and have one's husband lean into you and feel him all hard and ready for you? OMG that is so hot. In a situation like this, I don't think I would be able to make it to the bedroom. A man that cooks for me and wants to fuck me needs to get naked now.

The article says, "As Nehring observes, our hyper-educated, socially-liberal elite is considerably more romantically conservative than its blasé attitude toward pornography or premarital sex would lead you to expect."

I would class both my lover and I in that "hyper-educated, socially-liberal" category (although both of us come from middle class roots and I actually come from quite poor stock). And I would agree that we are both generally romantically conservative, but I think that's because we're both unromantic creatures. We don't want the Sturm und Drang. It's not that we don't lack passion - that we do have - but the passion has followed our intellectual attraction to each other. When we engage in our relationship, it's a heart-follows-head situation and not the other way around. I don't think either of us could handle someone whose heart leads the way: we're too rational to allow that to happen. In that way, we don't have "wild passions and death-defying flings". Our passion is not wild - it's focused. To a point. With each other. It's intense, but it's not willy-nilly. It's controlled and intentional. It's the sort of passion I prefer: I want it to be constant and reliable, not fickle and "wild". We don't have death-defying flings because those are too heavily based on emotion. So, no "wild passions and death-defying flings" for us but I think that it is a rare few that would call our relationship unexciting.

What we have together is stability. We're both dutiful. But we're not boring. We're not lacking in passion. However, what we have and chosen is a life where we've deliberately looked for a relationship which would maximize the highs and minimize the lows... and I think we're demonstrations that domesticity does not equal impotence. Perhaps our lives would not be enough for Nehring, but I think, in the end, we'll turn out to be happier and more satisfied in the long run.
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Good Morning

My lover came to sit with me on the living room couch. I am often found here early mornings when I wake up, with my laptop, reading through twitter and facebook and personal emails before I start my work day.

"Good morning," he said.

"Morning!" I try to chirp back at him. "How was your sleep?" This is our typical morning exchange.

"Ok, how about you? How are you feeling?" I have been ill the past several days and he's been checking up on me quite regularly throughout the day.

"Sleep was very good! I feel fine, except my nose and throat refuse to cooperate. Nose is still runny and my throad is still sore and I'm still coughing." On cue, I cough. "Oh, and I had a bloody nose this morning."

"That's because you're picking your nose."

"I'm not! Probably from blowing my nose too much."

"You're probably just horny then. I asked you last night if you wanted some attention and you said no." He teased me. I squirmed a little. It's true that last night, I did some snuggling and considered it, but opted for sleep, hoping that an extra hour of sleep would be the miracle hour that would take me over the hump into complete recovery. Before I got ill, he was ill, and illness tends to kill our energy for sex. I did manage to give him a memorable blow job one evening before he fully recovered and the night before I got really sick, he gave me the most delicious sleeping pill. We've learned that sometimes lovemaking does help a little during sicknesses and we try to engage in it when we can. He nuzzled up to me and I allowed myself to sink into the couch with him.

He nestled into the couch behind me, spooning me. He spread my legs apart and rubbed me. It felt wonderful. I moaned. I could feel my nipples rubbing against the fabric of my nightgown. They ached.

"I thought you needed attention." He said as he turned me, lifted my leg over his shoulder and slipped his cock into me.

Being filled for the first time in a few days was amazing. His strokes were shallow and slow, but they felt so good. He kissed me leg and looked at me with so much desire and longing. "I've missed this." I said. He smiled and pushed harder against me. The perfect response.

After my first orgasm, I reached down and pulled him towards me, indicating I wanted him much deeper in me. He pulled out and stood up to get properly naked. I pulled off my nightgown and got on my knees on the couch, supporting myself up with the arm of the chair. He mounted me from behind and quickly established a firm, fast rhythm. I was in ecstasy. His hands were on my hips, guiding himself in and out. I was gasping as further orgasms made me tremble.

"I love the color of your skin." The light in the yellow painted living room in the morning is gorgeous and golden. He stroked my back with one hand and grabbed my a handful of hair with the other. "And I love fucking you."

Hearing him say that turned me on so much and I began rocking against his rhythm, forcing his thrusts deeper in me. He responded in kind by pumping faster and I quickly came again. He reached around me with his hand and began playing with my clit, holding him inside me, and I shook from the sensations. I was breathing so hard and shallow, still not fully recovered from my cold. I was sweating, my body slightly moist all over. The back of my knees were damp. He had exausted me and I, surely, was radiating enough heat to be uncomfortable. He pulled out of me and collapsed on the other side of the couch while I stretched out my legs on the coffee table.

We smiled at each other from opposite ends of the couch, the cool morning breeze coming through the windows and bathing over us. Good morning, indeed.
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Sleep, sleep, perchance to dream

Good morning!

I had intensive and extensive dreams last night, mostly centered around a former lover visiting me and my family, although also greatly influenced by random Doctor Who. Throughout the dream, I tried very much to keep things platonic with my former lover, but he kept being extremely affectionate with me, practically keeping his hand on my hip the entire time. It was sweet and I tried to think nothing of it until towards the end of the dream when we found ourselves semi-alone in the dining room where, earlier in the dream, my parents, sister and her husband, my lover, some random secretary that worked for my parents, one of my father's colleagues, and my former lover had dinner. (This dining room was in my completely-made-up-for-the-dream two-story house. I live in the upper apartment in a two-family house.)

The secretary was there, finishing up a text on her "vintage Blackberry device". This thing was extremely light, but practically the size of a laptop. In my dream, she pressed a button and like a Transformer, it closed itself up and looked more like a vintage radio with lots of knobs and things. It made my former lover laugh.

"Oh that's wonderful!" he said. He reached over and turned a dial. The sound of Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade" started pouring in softly from somewhere in the room. We started swaying our hips in time to the music.

I smiled at him. "You would think it's neat. Very 1940s. Very you." He was dressed rather formally in a suit and tie (don't recall the color). His pants were crisply pleated.

He turned to face me and took my right hand in his left and kissed it. I felt myself flush and turn away. I noticed what I was wearing: it was very 40s in style, a rather-snug pencil skirt and a crisp, white button down shirt. I don't remember if I was wearing the same thing earlier, but my clothing in my dreams tend to suit the style and mood at any moment and it was very appropriate for this moment. He held my hand and waist and started turning me around the room and we danced for a short time. It was nice. Really nice. I became very aware of the height distance between us, as my former lover is rather tall. He kissed my hand again and turned me around the room once more. We noticed the secretary was gone.

He bent down and scooped me up. I gasped and mumbled an apology - I am not as light as I used to be when we first met. He sat me on the dining room table, looked right at me and said that it didn't matter to him.

He pushed my skirt up, exposing my panties. It yielded easily to him. He positioned himself between my legs. I felt nervous and was trembling; I wanted to pull away from him, but I wanted to surrender to him too. He pressed up against me and I could feel him hard against my thigh.

He kissed me. It was glorious, deep passionate kissing. His lips told me how much he ached and longed for me and he wrapped me in his long arms. I placed my arms around his neck and pulled him to me. Our tongues danced. Glenn Miller was still playing in softly in the distance. He placed his hands on the table and pressed himself against me. I could tell I was very wet and my nipples were hard. Our breaths were shallow, panting. We were both very flushed and where we touched, it was hot and moist. We both knew we'd make hard, violent love right there, my legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth sucking on my breast. He'd eat me out, lick my pussy until I cried out and demanded that he fuck me. He'd give me waves of orgasms, then flip me on my belly and pump me until we were both spent. We both realized it, just by kissing and nothing would stop us.

And then, I woke up.
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Geeky Sex

Tonight, I have discovered an interesting principle of geeky sex.

Quantum mechanics and probability kick in after geeky sex.
The probability distributions differ depending on the exact nature of the geeky sex:
A is the probability that the parties fall asleep after geeky sex.
B is the probability that the parties get up and do something productive after geeky sex.
C is the probability that an intelligent conversation will occur. Scientists are still debating whether or not this is an actual end-state of the process, since some scientists believe that this behavior can be construed as an inherent aspect of geeky sex.

Also, geeky sex is awesome!
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My partner and I attended our second wedding in 7 days yesterday. It was a beautiful wedding: a gaming friend was getting married to a sort of gaming friend (he brought her several times to our monthly game days) and they are a beautiful, intellectual couple like ourselves. The wedding was in a beautiful church and the reception in an even more beautiful conservatory. It was so beautiful to be dancing the night away underneath grand chandeliers and the night sky.

For one dance, they asked all the married couples to get on the dance floor. That was unusual and we were both intrigued by what they were going to do. They played a lovely, slow song and we started dancing. The MC asked for all the couples married less than 5 years to leave the dance floor. Then 10. 20. 25. 30. 40. 50. There was just one couple left after 50. They were both white-haired but seemed quite spry. They've been together 61 years. The MC asked them to provide advice to the newlyweds, to tell them one thing that would help them get to 61 years. The MC asked the wife first and she said, "Respect and love." He asked the husband: "Don't argue." The laughter was a joyous roar!

We made our way back to our seats.

"Sixty-one years," my lover said. "I hope we make it that long." He looked at me with a only-slightly joking face. "I hope you make it that long."

I smiled at him. He knows that, given the nature of my body, the likelihood that I make it to a ripe old age doesn't look too good. His genes, however... they could live to be a hundred. His stock is so much sturdier than mine.

He said, "Eighty? Heck, I'll still be kicking at eighty, no problem! That's only fourty years from now. Fourty years, no problem. Probably, fifty years, no problem."

I said, "Well, I've made it this far, so far, yeah? I'll try to stick around as long as I can."

He looked at me. His eyes were intense, slightly sad but with hope. "Stay."

I touched his hand. "I'll try."
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I love kissing.

I love fucking too, but kissing has its own unique delights.

I kiss my lover frequently throughout the day - it's the way I show affection. A line of short, quick kisses along his shoulder blades as he washes dishes. Pecks on back of his neck as he surfs the web, perhaps with a gentle nip at his ear. At stoplights, I take his hand and press long kisses on the back of it as I wait for the light to turn. My lips crave to touch him and his skin.

Today, he gave me a quick kiss as we finished lunch.

"Wait," I said.

He stopped, his empty plate and glass in his hands.

I said, "Today, you smell like you."

He smiled at me. "Don't I always smell like me?"

I rolled my eyes a little. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean that there's a scent that I associate with you. Only with you. Your parents' house doesn't smell like it. Your brother didn't smell like it. It's not the smell you have when you sweat. It's not your soap or shampoo or anything. It's you. Some days you don't smell as strongly of you as other days... but today, for some reason, you smell strongly of you. And I really like it."

He shrugged a little. "Not my sweat, huh?" He returned to putting our used dishes in the sink.


"And not my clothes?"

"Not really." I thought for a moment. "Your side of the bed smells like you." Sometimes, I like to lie down on his side of the bed, if I get to our bedroom before he does, bury my face in his pillows, and breathe deeply. The scent arouses me like no other. I typically lie there until he comes to join me, on the pretense that I'm "warming up the bed" for him. (This is partially true: he likes a warm bed while I prefer a cold one and I might as well warm his side of the bed up while waiting instead of getting to my side of the bed right away and warming my side up to the point where it is too warm for my comfort.)

"Hmm," he said, placing the last glass in the sink.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Ok, back to work." I got up from the dining room table to return to the living room where my laptop and notes were waiting for me.

He stopped me in the doorway.

"What?" I asked him.

He placed his arms around me and held me against him. He rarely holds me this strongly outside of our bedroom. He then kissed me so deep and long that I felt weak in the knees. His scent was intoxicating and his lips seemed hungry for mine. I placed my arms around his neck and felt his hair between my fingers. His hands caressed my face and he cupped my chin in the way he knows I love and made me kiss him more. I don't know how long we were kissing. It could've been ten seconds, it could've been minutes, I'm not sure. I was just lost in that kiss and in the scent of him.

He still held my face in his hands when he pulled away from me. He grinned. He knew how much that kiss affected me.

"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to give you that before you went back to work." He winked and walked away.

Distracting bastard.
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After Dinner Conversation

My lover made dinner tonight. He harvested the golden and red orbs from our indoor cherry tomato plants, the first harvest of the season, and served them, just lightly cooked, with fresh basil and garlic over pasta. Simple fare.

It was heavenly.

I licked the last bit of tomato and garllic from my plate and drained my second glass of milk. I leaned back into my hair and sighed contentedly.

"Good, eh?"

I smiled at him. "Yes, very good indeed."


"As much as possible, in this weather." The increased breezes of early evening brought some relief from the heat, but not much.

"I guess you won't be satisfied until you're in the living room with the air conditioner on you at full blast."

"Mm, that sounds nice." I thought for a moment. "Yes, probably."

He thought for a moment. "Correction, you won't be satisfied until you're in the living room with the air conditioner on you at full blast and I've fucked you senseless." He smiled.

I smiled back. "Mm, yes, definitely."
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