My biggest sadness with men is that they tend to talk, talk, talk about themselves and do not ask much about me. Yes, I can just offer information, but I detect a lack of interest, or, at least, that's how I interpret it. I will know I've met the right man, when after I've told him something personal, or something about my work or my political stance or anything that is important to me and he asks for clarification or more information; he shows me he is listening, that he cares. Until then, I guess, I'll continue listening and sometimes feigning interest, when it get to be too much for me. We all want to be seen, heard, and to be understood. I really, really want to be seen, heard and understood.
Another source of sadness and disappointment and sometimes anger for me when it comes to men and relationships, is that sex, sexuality and sensuality, while having the potential to be one of the best parts of two people relating to one another, so often falls far short of that.
I am a baby-boomer, a product of the women's movement and I owned at least one copy of "Our Bodies, Ourselves", and read it cover to cover. Shere Hite's, "The Hite Report", the 1976 mother of all publications on female sexuality was read by me in Israel in 1977 or 78. It was my woman awakening bible.
Sex has always been important to me, but too often a disappointment. Men are tuned in visually. For me, the visual sense is probably the least important when it comes to sexual excitement. By far, touch is the most heightened and the most important. I also think, well, I know for me, that though a sexual encounter can definitely be a one night stand, when it goes on longer, it changes the dynamic of the relationship. And the dynamic is definitely not casual. Sex, when it's good is so personal, so intimate and so close and it adds so much to the relationship; it adds an array of feelings that the sex itself brings forth.
I LOVE good repartee. I love to laugh in response to what the man I am with says and to hear him laugh at what I say. I like innuendos, sexual and otherwise.
A Love Poem:
I love a big, brass bed
With billowing pillows
On a cold winter's night
All snuggled within.
I love a wet red wine
In a large round wine glass
With a long thin stem
Sitting on the bed-side table
Waiting for lovers to sip it dry.
And a tray full of fruit
Maybe figs and some peaches
Juicy and ripe
Waiting to be eaten.
One thing that was for certain in 1975 and continues to be in 2010 is that, when it comes to love, I am always open to persuasion, Love with Affection is Always better than without and it remains true that with a friend I can laugh, but with a lover I can roll my head back and really laugh. So, I guess you could say that I'm not looking for more than an Armatracing aficionado, but just enough.
I want to learn to love better. I want to learn to give and receive more openly and freely.
Every once in a while, I think I am seen by you, truly for who I am, and that keeps me coming back.
All Strings Attached
I like a person who knows what he likes and wants to know what she likes
I am most at ease by myself because I find I do the things that suit me best and for which I am best suited.
I like to listen when it's quiet and the only sound is that of water, be it in the form of waves crashing in at the shore or fresh water babbling along a brook.
I like to read.
I like to hike when the purpose is to stop and find the salamanders
I like museums, art, history, photography and I love discussing what I"m seeing with a partner who is comfortable with personal observations and knows something about which he is talking.
I like to walk along the beach, stop, kiss, stop, look up and be delighted with what we see, feel and do.
I love theater and I want a theater mate who loves straight plays and Broadway musicals both small and large and that money was never a deterrent.
I like large beds and soft sheets and soft downy pillows.
I like music. I mean, I really like music.
It is neither easy nor desirable to get intimate with a man with whom there is no chance of intimacy beyond the bedroom.
Like the Mae West quote says, sex is emotion in motion, the operative word being, emotion.
It has to be "real" (as in the Velveteen Rabbit, "real"),
AND IN THE END...THE LOVE YOU TAKE IS EQUAL TO THE LOVE YOU MAKE.
That's Sherril in Webdings