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I’m over a hundred and fifty pages into Merry #7. Yea!
There’s something about hitting 150 that makes the book seem like it’s really going to be a book. I’ve done books where a hundred pages in, and I realized it wasn’t soup yet, not done enough to write. But 150, means it’s a book, it’s a story, and it’s moving.
I’ve been listening to the musical HAIRSPRAY for the last few days. It has my new favorite love song on it. (You’re) Timeless to Me is a song about real love. The kind of love that lasts through the years. Most love songs are about the beginning part. They’re about lust, infatuation, and the first getting to know you part of love. That’s my least favorite part of love, and certainly I hated first dates. I was never one of those people who found the first conversations, the first moments the most exciting. I’ve always been more into relationships once I really know a person. I guess that’s why a lot of my friends are ten years or even twenty and counting. Jon and I are about the celebrate eight years as a couple, seven married. It just gets better.
I’ve had men tell me there’s no way to date me and be casual. I have to make it so important that the friendship is on the line if it goes south. Well, yeah?
Why would I want to be with someone if I didn’t feel they were my friend first? The fact that I don’t understand casual dating, and feel that sex is very emotional and a commitment of sorts, is probably why Merry and Anita have collected so many men. If I could understand casual sex then they could, too. But I don’t, understand it. I was raised that my body was important, and a gift to be shared. Your body and your mind are who you are. So, why would you share your body with someone who doesn’t want your mind, too? If you can’t talk to someone, and enjoy each other’s company, then why have sex? Good sex, no, great sex, is about communication and being able to ask for what you want in bed, and have your partner be able to ask the same.
Great sex is often messy, awkward, and would not film well. It’s about being comfortable enough to try a position that may not work at all, but you’ve got to have a level of comfort and trust to risk looking silly in bed. The best love making often ends in shared laughter. Can you share laughter with a stranger? Can you be yourself with someone you don’t know? The answer for me has always been, no. But then, as more than one man over the years has said, “You’re serious as a heart attack about everything.”
Damn straight.