I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things

fd9aca7170246c6b4c67fc784bc89b31When it comes to desirability, I have always had dual thought in regards to myself.

I know, from life experience, that I am considered a desirable, nay, intoxicating & addictive biological female human specimen. I have learned my traits of optimal desire, and have learned to exploit them.

However, the split between my logical brain and my emotional one means I remain cut off from the ability to ‘feel’ or ‘see’ my attractiveness for myself, unless I shut down my logical brain and just get sexy…. usually when I’m exercising or dancing… logically, ((ha!)) any activity that I utilize my body & become wholly physical and energetic.

Sex has the potential to bring about feelings of being sexy, but in the past, more often than not, they’ve been acted-out feelings rather than genuine ones. ((I very rarely vocalize my feelings to humans because I assume everyone can mind-read, of course. Please play catch-up with those of us who can read your feelings & thoughts… it will make everyone’s lives easier. 😉 ))

When I tell a partner for the first time that I have never had an orgasm before from anyone3ab48a096fb8f16e723d2583a08ae75c but myself, they are often confused, then unremarkably & unjustifiably… hurt?!

Why do people become offended that other people have not successfully conquered my body’s electric circuitry?

I assume it’s more a matter of feeling like they’re about to begin a long, thankless journey into the unknown territory of A Pussy That Has Never Came. Poor souls seem to become deaf to the part where I mentioned that I’ve had orgasms, just never from another’s hand. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps it’s my body’s way of telling me who’s Mate & Partner Material. That would be fascinating to research. Perhaps I simply have not found enough men with genuine love & passion for a woman’s body.
I suppose as the sayings always say, time will tell.
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I have always appreciated the idea of settling down with an older man.

The first I really committed to the idea of was Mr. Scootercat. Now that I look back on him, I see a frail old man, terrified of the world and reliant upon his mother & his cats.

I tried so hard to love him… holding him in my arms as he would take trips to the past… reading type-written pages on good days, listening to one song on 24-hour repeat on bad days… he was stubbornly attached to the notion that the world was doing him wrong with no solution.

It’s the same with most of my relationships with older men, I feel like I miss out when they end… but I know that I’ve just been in love with an ideal or a projection…ghosts and long-dead stars, sending out echoes that reach my ears in romantic whispers.

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