And, in time, she learns. She isn’t being loved. She wasn’t being loved. She was being used. Used for sex. Used for sex by a man that also settled. He settled for a woman that provided him with what he wanted at that particular point in time in his life. In time, he too will look around him and wonder.
What am I doing here? Is this where I belong?
And whether he leaves physically or he leaves mentally, he
will
leave. I have seen it happen to friends, family, and school mates. Men stray, they wander, they cheat. Mentally, emotionally, or physically, it will happen. And, in time, it will progress from whatever it is into a physical separation of some sort.
My girlfriend’s husbands or boyfriends have lunch with other women. They text other women. They will meet another woman for a coffee or a drink after work, and call it
business
. They develop a relationship, of some sort, with another woman. In time, because of the repetitive exposure, the woman becomes interested in the man. And, because she is in a relationship not at all unlike the relationship that the man is in, she begins to believe that the guy she is having lunch with loves her. He feels for her. And those feelings are different, he actually loves her.
And she agrees.
And they cheat. Because a man is after a new sexual adventure, and the woman is seeking the perfect love.
They are trying to survive.
They divorce.
And now, they are in a relationship. A relationship destined to lose. Because it wasn’t meant to be. It was two people doing what they had done before. Settling. A man settling for a new sexual adventure, and a woman settling for what she believed to be love. I believe that those two components are what most relationships start out with. A man on a new sexual adventure, and a woman believing she is in love. What makes the relationship work, or what makes it last, is when two people settle. When they throw their respective hands in the air and say,
I am done.
I am done looking. I am done trying to find something new. I am done making changes.
I am willing to settle.
Settling equals love.
I don’t believe in love. Not between people that aren’t family. I believe that my father loves me. I believe that his mother and father loved him. But I do not believe that there are many people in this world that are actually in love. I believe that most people on this earth that are together have settled. Settled for something that is other than what is the most likely thing to make them as happy as they can be.
Erik makes me as happy as I have ever been. The things that he says, the way he touches me, how he treats me, and how I feel when I am full of his cock. I cannot imagine, for the life of me, another man having the ability to make me happier than Erik. The trick, regarding keeping Erik, or anyone like Erik, is continuing to give him a
new sexual adventure
every time he turns around.
Sex is the most important part of any relationship. It is the portion of a relationship that drives us. When the sex goes to hell, the relationship goes to hell. When a woman stops having sex with a man, there’s something wrong. There’s no longer affection. There’s no longer attraction. Bu something is definitely wrong.
When a man stops having sex with a woman, there’s something wrong. He’s either having sex with someone else or he’s getting ready to. There’s no longer an attraction, or he’s become sexually bored. Bread and butter sex is just that.
Bread and butter.
If we were able to survive on bread and butter, and I suppose to some extent we are, how many of us would be content with a bread and butter diet. Living a life that was otherwise perfect, with bread and butter as the only available food. Breakfast - bread and butter. Lunch - bread and butter. Dinner – bread and butter. Next day – bread and butter. Next year? Bread and fucking butter.
Or.
The same life that was otherwise perfect. Breakfast - yogurt, grapefruit and oatmeal. Lunch - turkey sandwich, Greek salad, and an orange. Dinner - grilled chicken, rice pilaf, and grilled vegetables. Next day – Bacon, eggs, Chinese stir fry, steak, sushi…
Which life would we choose?
Diversity. Diversity satisfies our ever changing minds. It allows us to become satisfied. To become content that we are receiving what it is that we want, or need – without life becoming stale, stagnant, and repetitive. It keeps life adventurous. The not knowing. Just like when we were children.
I wonder what’s for dinner?
When we were in school.
What’s for lunch?
Being in a relationship and knowing
what’s for sex
is a recipe for disaster.
Diversity.
I had always obtained my diversity by being diverse with my partners. I ran from man to man to man, never getting attached to any one man - knowing that eventually, I would be bored with any one man that I settled for. Knowing this allowed me to be honest with myself, and as a result, I was never in an actual relationship. The sexual diversity came from having a different sexual partner at every turn in my life.
There is no such thing as love. There is sex, affection, and satisfaction. With those things comes pleasure.
Erik provides me with those things. All of them.
ERIK.
“So, Heather was nice. I found her to be a genuinely good person, from what little we talked,” I said, hoping to get Kelli to talk a little about Heather.
“She is nice, that’s why we’re such good friends. You always talk like, well, listening to you talk is like reading a book. You’re so serious when you talk. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I like it a lot, it’s a good quality,” Kelli responded.
Not quite what I was after.
“Bear said, excuse me, Teddy said that she was nice. I guess they’ve been out a few times. He hasn’t said a tremendous amount about it, but what little he did say, it sounds like they’re getting along well.”
“Why did you call him Bear? Is that a nick-name?”
“Yes. A club name. A nick-name. His name is Te
ddy. The name “Bear” was a nick-name for years. He is big, and looks like a teddy bear. A few years back, he accidentally knocked a bunch of bikes over at a bar, and he got a new nick-name, “Crash”. People that have known him for a long time, like me, sometimes call him Bear,” I explained as I folded the receipt from the coffee and placed it at the edge of the table.
“Why do you all have nick-names?” she asked.
“Well, most motorcycle clubs have nick-names for everyone. It’s easier that way. I suppose it started as a means of protecting people from anyone knowing their real names. If something happens and people are questioned, no one knows your name. There are guys that I have ridden with on and off for years that I still do not even know their real names,” I offered.
“If something happens? So do you guys break the law?”
I raised one eyebrow and looked at her, then took a slow exaggerated drink of my coffee, looking over the top of the cup at her as I did.
“Okay, sorry I asked. Club business is club business. I remember,” she said smiling.
So, Heather…” I said, once again opening the topic.
“Well, Heather is nice. Just like we have talked before, she has been really unfortunate. She has spent her life looking for a guy to love her, and she’s willing to do whatever a guy wants, always hoping to get love in return. She is so eager to get it, she sleeps with about every guy she meets, thinking that he’s going to love her. He doesn’t, and she moves on to the next. Lather, rinse, repeat,” Kelli said, shaking her head.
She looked great today. As she sat across the table from me I admired her. Late summer tan, straight black hair, and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing an orange summer dress, and this was the second time I had seen her in a dress. For the most part, the entire time I have known her, she has worn Chuck’s, shorts, and a tee-shirt. She looked quite beautiful in whatever she chose to wear, but today, in this dress, she looked exceptional.
“Baby girl, you look fabulous today. This is the first time I have seen you in that dress, and I must say, I love it,” I said as I nodded at her.
“Why thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” she responded, nodding back at me in mockery.
“You’re adorable. It pleases me that you’ve become comfortable being yourself around me. Joking around and being yourself. When we first met, you were extremely reserved and quiet. You’re not necessarily a chatterbox now, but your more comfortable being you. I like that.”
“Why thank you, again,” she said, nodding again.
“Baby girl, who owns you,” I asked.
“You do, Big Daddy,” she answered.
A week or so ago, we rented a few movies, and watched them at her loft. One of the movies, Kick Ass, was a kind of cute teen superhero movie. One of the characters was a foul mouthed teen girl who called herself “Hit Girl”. Her Mentor was called “Big Daddy”. As we watched the movie, she began to call me Big Daddy, and so far, it had stuck. She didn’t say it all the time, but jokingly, she used it often.
During sex a few nights ago, she started screaming, “Fuck me Big Daddy. Fuck me Big Daddy” as we were having sex. We both erupted in laughter.
“That’s right, baby girl,” I said, smiling.
Can we talk? Like seriously?” Kelli asked quietly.
“Sure, baby, what’s going on?”
“Well, I mean seriously. I want to ask you some questions,” her hands were on either side of her face, her palms curved, and facing inward, making a little tunnel she was looking through.
“Here? You want to talk here?” I asked.
“Sure, there’s no one here, if you want,” she responded through the tunnel. Her body language indicated she was being an immature girl.
“This is fine. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Can I speak freely?” she asked through the tunnel.
“Always, Kelli. You’ll never be criticized by me, ever,” I responded in a reassuring tone.
“Okay. Uhhm. Well. What do you think is wrong with me? With us? What make us the freaks that we are?”
“Well, first of all, we’re not freaks. I suppose you mean sexually?”
“Yeah, sexually. Why am I different than most girls, sexually? Why does it make me happy to have you hold me down? How come I like you to choke me? Why does it make me wet when you call me baby girl? And why do I love calling you Daddy when you fuck me? It isn’t normal,” she asked the questions in a whisper-like tone, as if she was embarrassed.
“Well, let me try to explain. First, we’re not freaks. We’re normal. It gets down to definition, kind of like your book,
Broken People
said, ‘define normal’. But we are normal, okay?”
She nodded slowly.
“Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung didn’t totally agree on all aspects of these theories, but they agreed on most of them. It gets down to upbringing. How we grew up. Neither of us grew up with a same sex parent in the home, so it makes our upbringing kind of one-sided, and difficult to pinpoint
exactly
what may have happened, but let me try.”
“There are five stages, according to Freud, of psychosexual development. Oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital. The phallic stage is between the ages of three and six years old, give or take. At this point, children become curious, and begin to become aware of their bodies, and the differences between boys and girls. When they become aware, during this stage, well…it develops a tremendous amount of jealousy toward the parent of the same sex. That jealousy or perceived jealousy is what caused Freud to dub the complex, the
Oedipus complex. Oedipus was, in Greek mythology, someone who killed his father so he could sexually possess his mother,” I offered, surprised how much of this information I recalled from school
“I’m kind of lost,” Kelli said, still speaking through her protective tunnel.
“Let me finish, baby, we’ll see if you understand,” I said softly.
“Believe it or not, at that young age, children become fixated on things, sexually. They notice things - they even subconsciously have an understanding of sex and sexuality. Boys become jealous of their father for sleeping with mother, and vice-versa for girls. The boy becomes fixated sexually on their mothers, and jealous of their father. Think in reverse for girls. The boy wants to eliminate the competition of father from the equation, like
Oedipus did, by killing him,” I took a drink of my coffee, and thought.
“But, subconsciously, and from probably a practical standpoint, the child realizes that the father is the more able – let’s say the more
physically
able of the two, so he competes for the sexual possession of the mother, all the while fearing the father. Now, to make clear, all of this is what naturally happens to a child as he or she grows up,” I paused and took a breath.
Kelli had her fists clenched, and her forearms flat on the table, leaning toward me, listening intently. I continued.
“That sexual desire to possess their mother is what allows all ‘normal’ as you say, kids to grow up - again I am talking of boys, wanting to have a relationship with a woman. Alterations to this stage of growth - the elimination of one or the other of the parents - be it by divorce, death, or lack of existence, cause problems in what is “natural’ for a child to experience. This
natural
resolve for the sexual competition for the mother or father – with the opposite sex parent of the child - is of ultimate importance for the psychosexual development of a child. If it goes unresolved, it may result in a woman who is submissive, or a man who is dominant.”