My V-Day With Princess Leia and Her Rules

The truth is I sort of haven’t had sex in nearly six years.

I’d like to say it’s not my fault, that my first wife was both cold and expensive, and that when another woman caught her eye she left me holding all the debt. Not that I blame her, I’m pretty sure she didn’t realize there was anything for her on that side of the fence until it drove up into her backyard as it were. I blame myself really; I knew better but I enjoyed making my friends crazy jealous by having such a classic beauty.

My vanity and I ruined three years of each of our lives by staying together. Then I spent the next five years wallowing in guilt, alternating holes in the wall with evictions, and fending off the creditors hounding my forever assistant librarian-ly salaried ass. Between broke and guilty, it wasn’t just that women or even decent porn weren’t on my radar, it was more like my libido had fallen off the map.

It’s not as if I haven’t had opportunities either. My fellow co-worker has been showing all the signs of heavy interest since she came on staff a month ago, but I’ve a hard time holding conversation with anyone so prim, proper, resemblant of my ex-wife, or clueless as to what an ‘R2 unit’ is. But yet another Valentine’s Day has rolled around and simply because I thought having someone’s interest, anyone’s interest, might make me feel less depressed about life in general (okay, really about my life in specific), last night I finally took up her invitation for drinks at the bar down the street.

But of course we can’t hit it off with so many strikes. The place is pretty dead because of the holiday (and I use the term loosely) and we’ve nothing but awkward small talk to occupy ourselves until the woman behind the bar slides up and hails me with, “Oooh a scruffy-looking nerf herder! What’ll ya have?”

Yes, I did in fact have a bit of stubble, and yes, fortunately I’m a slow grower and can make my razors last longer by skipping the occasional day. The more important thing is that here was a great looking woman who knew what a ‘nerf herder’ was and had a sense of humor. So after I replied with the obligatory “Who’s scruffy-looking?” my co-worker became a third wheel for few minutes.

But awkward isn’t my co-worker’s thing; when ‘Leia’ wanders off to tend some drinks, my co-worker just says real cool-like “She really is much more your type isn’t she?” And before I could even reply she kisses my cheek and adds, “That’s all right at least you might crack half a smile tomorrow.” And when she even tosses a “Have a good night!” over her shoulder on her way out the door I am certain there’s much more to my co-worker than I initially figured.

And she was completely right because ‘Leia’ and I totally hit it off. We talk all night about everything from our exes –who sadly had a lot in common– to our jobs which despite the pay we actually both rather enjoy. When her shift’s over at 2am she knocks back two shots of tequila, walks out from behind the bar, gives me this incredible kiss, and nonchalantly says, “Since we agree our own places are complete rat holes and having sex in a cars breaks several of my rules–”

Well, I know instantly she’s suggesting getting a room somewhere, and while I can’t believe I’ve got a home run on my hands, my mind’s conditioned to think fast about wallet restrictions. So I easily break in with “Well you know I happen to work at place where they insist on privacy and quiet.”

“Hmmm, if I’m behind the reference desk do I get to decide where to refer you to?”

“Absolutely.”

~~~

She insists on walking down to the library, which I honestly don’t understand. I drove the hundred feet to the bar earlier because the last thing I ever want to do after drinking is walk somewhere. But we’re kissing and groping all the way and by the time I’ve unlocked the door and keyed the alarm we’re already missing several items of clothing.

Perhaps it was the guilty years without sex, or perhaps having a nearly sexless relationship in the first place, or perhaps both, or perhaps something else –but I don’t care what it was; I haven’t felt that hot since I was a hormone bag in high school. By the time we make it to a couch in the reading area we’re both naked and her hands are clearly referring my mouth below her waist. Now this is an activity that has never been on my top ten ideas of a good time. Last time I tried it, admittedly out of desperate sexual frustration with my ex-wife, was such an embarrassing failure that it was the last time we ever tried touching one another.

But Leia might as well be from a different planet than my ex. A very nice planet that I plan on visiting again as soon and as often as is possible. We are in the zone, in sync, and in the black so freaky quick it’s as if our parts were computer designed and laser cut for one another. Things are incredible. Wonderful. Indescribable. And just as she’s about to have a seriously toe-curling oral-gasm I realize that I must be so close to exploding myself that I’m seeing flickering blue and red lights.

Right. Well.

It takes a few moments to rise above my case of ‘sex-brain’, but it sinks in someone must have seen us entering the library and called the cops.

In my younger days I think I might have enjoyed the thrill of the taboo in a situation like this. But truly all I can think is how surreal it is and how it cannot possibly be happening. I mean, there I am: trying to tell this woman, that I just met tonight, how instead of getting arrested at my place of pitifully-paying-but-mostly-enjoyable-and-still-absolutely-necessary-employment, we should instead get the hell outta Dodge ahead of the swift arm of the law –but since she can’t quite let go of the back of my head yet, my dire warnings are getting completely lost in her still shuddering hips.

~~~

Long story short: we do manage to crash out the back unnoticed, and we only make a momentary scene for drivers-by as we simultaneously run down the street and pull on the few bits of clothing we were able to snag on the way. After we’re sitting in my car and have finally caught our breath from the running and laughing, she sighs and says “it may be cliche but wow, ‘you sure know how to show a girl a good time’!”

“Oh come now, ‘the night is still young’ and I don’t believe we’ve quite finished up. Perhaps you some advice as to–”

“Yes I do, my nerf herder: Since we are definitely not doing this again until the scruff-burn you gave me heals and you can’t be trusted with a razor, you should grow a goatee. It’ll look great on you. Well, to me. As for tonight, my rules say always go home when the cops show up. ”

And that was the end of my V-Day night with ‘Princess Leia’ and her rules, having –all strict definitions aside– what I’ll continue to call ‘the best sex I never had’.

On the other hand I will say that on the way home last night I bought a new razor, and this morning I cut myself a new goatee.

Unfortunately I’m a slow grower.

Practical Dynamics & Meaningful Purpose

You know it’s my suspicion that a great many men desire a Female-Led Relationship (FLR) for the sake of kink and eroticism, but if they looked at my life closely they’d see little more of either than any ‘traditional vanilla’ couple. ‘Course we’re not in an FLR for those reasons (in so much as the label accurately applies to us), so perhaps it’s all apples and oranges.

I’ve made a joke out of complaining about exercising, about the exercising itself mind you not the fact that my wife has told me to do it everyday (and told me on multiple occasions including when she made my New Year’s resolutions for me). So I’ll call her up before, during or after exercising and say something like, “people who do this for fun are either insane or part of the conspiracy of aliens trying to take over the world.” She’ll laugh and say, “yes but you’re doing it anyway because it’s good for you and I don’t want a saggy flabby man who dies of a heart attack at 50.” And I’ll jokingly hem and haw, and finally say something like, “Aye Captain, obeying orders.” And she’ll say something like, “Good. And you should. I have good ideas and you need me to make sure you stay on track.” (Yes, I often call her ‘Captain’, but sometimes when she’s delegating she’ll call me ‘Captain’ too.)

Well there’s a kernel of truth here: I don’t particularly care for exercising all that much and probably wouldn’t be as diligent about exercise as I currently am without my wife’s expressed interest –she’s always been more health conscious than I. But on the other hand: I certainly don’t really NEED her to “take care of me”, I’d merely find some slightly less rigorous standard of maintenance and stick with it because **I** don’t want to be flabby, saggy and dead at 50 either. And neither is she forcing me in any to do that extra bit of exercising (up from my standard to her standard), I’m choosing it because I know it makes her happy, because doing so feeds the fiery self that she is and that I love so much.

You know, most of the things that she actually tells me to do (which admittedly often takes the grammatical form of asking but again it’s about an understood dynamic) probably boil down to she and I having slightly different standards on something. We’ve just agreed that when this happens that ‘we’ll compromise’ by my ‘obeying’ her (fiery, willful, want, desire for her own) standard instead of my own –instead of oh say, me **arguing** for my standard and both of us ending up unhappy. Though again admittedly my opinion, ideas, and feelings are heard first, and admittedly we’re both certain that if I felt strongly enough about something (also admittedly rare) that she’d bend to my standard simply because she wants me to be happy too.

Perhaps a lot of this is simply about getting and staying on the same page as it were. Perhaps our dynamic is ultimately just a way to maintain mental and emotional closeness throughout more aspects of our lives together than the closeness we’d manage without this dynamic. Perhaps it just gives me a reason to call her up in the middle of the day and talk for fifteen minutes about something so uninteresting and mundane as exercise.

There’s a thread on the She Makes the Rules forum titled “sexualizing the mundane” which at first blush again might highlight slightly different motives –kink/eroticism vs emotional intimacy– but honestly I think of people’s focus on kink/eroticism as their way (path/manner/symbols) for achieving emotional intimacy. The kernel of truth I see is that the meaningful and abstract (‘transcendent’ if you will) experiences of love and intimacy between two people that we may WANT in a relationship must still happen amidst a daily context of mundane, material, NEEDS. The integration of of these semi-dualistic aspects (mundane v transcendent, need v want, meaning v. drudgery, etc.)  probably happens differently from couple to couple, to varying degrees, incorporating different and varying aspects of their relationship, and of course with varying degrees of perceived satisfaction. But perhaps the process of working out the manner of that integration might be more directly labeled “making the mundane meaningful”. Or “making practical life a basis for meaningful relationship intimacy”. Or something along those lines, and to this extent perhaps ‘kink’ and ‘vanilla’ isn’t all so “apples and oranges” after all.

Um, let’s see, my wife told me on Thursday evening (and reminded me Friday morning) to clean out the fridge and make a preliminary shopping list as she was doing the shopping Saturday morning. I used to do the shopping during the week because I wanted to spend more time with her on the weekend and not have her run errands after working all week, but she usually does it now –because she’s more naturally more health conscious, she enjoys making health choices more than I do, and she likes having her standard met more than I care about not having mine met. So when she tells me what to do to help her get dome what she likes doing I of course say, “Aye Captain” and just do it. But we still discussed the myriad grocery choices, ideas and planning for the week before the final list was made this morning and our conversation was probably indecipherable from any other couple’s conversation about such a thing.

Aaaand just now she stopped back in after hitting two stores and I can see that she changed the bread I’ve been using in my diet regimen. I might have made up my diet regimen, but just now she –without asking, without consulting– changed the bread I eat. Because she decided her choice was more healthy than mine. Aaaand she only told me to try it, and after I expressed my sincere concern that I mightn’t like it she said ‘then we’ll freeze the rest, I’ll eat it eventually and you can go back to your less healthy bread’. I tasted it and true to form I don’t think it’s as tasty as my bread, but I also think it’s tasty enough to eat instead of the bread I choose –because it’s not something (i.e. as a standard) that I care enough about to change. Especially when her choice means so much to her, when her choice has such clear reasonable benefits, and when I enjoy participating in her fiery, willful existence so intimately.

So how different is this from and vanilla couple’s dynamic? Possibly not so much at all. But it’s what works for us. I figure some people find more kinky dynamics to be easier for expressing their emotions and intimacy, some don’t, and some are in the grey area in between the spectrum’s poles. For functional relationship intimacy in the “making mundane meaningful” area, whatever works –well, works. And I think that’s the point.

Freedom, Choice & Meaning

The problem with being free to make choices is that you have to make choices.

So much of intimate relationships seems to be about adequately and accurately communicating and coordinating meaning and significance [within/across] the (often changing) [differences/similarities] of two individual systems of symbols and values .

It’s utterly fascinating. As if we all speak [different but the same kind of] language but want (freely choose) to get together and (freely choose to) go to [different but the same kind of] (meaningful and significant) places together.

Scrub! Again!

In addition to the expectation of compliance (and of my willingness to comply) to my wife’s schemes, plans, and resolutions, we have an ‘obey list’. It’s really a list of things she wants me to do – not necessarily that day or every day, just at some point. She’ll usually email me from work asking me what I already plan on doing for the day, and then add something from the obey list, sometimes removing something from my plan.

For instance, she had scrub the kitchen floor on the obey list last week, even said I could do it in sections for the baby’s sake and encouraged me that it wouldn’t take so long. Not so big a deal really, I’ve scrubbed the kitchen floor before when she has told me to, and I even wrote a story with the same theme.

So, today I happen to be on the phone with her about baking the lemon lavender scones she had put on the obey list (they turned out quite well), when I get an email from her saying,

“I notice you left the kitchen floor off the list–you need to keep up with that.”

So I ask her over the phone “Um, you want me to scrub the floor again?” as I’m thinking I thought she felt I did a good job with that, why again?

“Yes, I want you to do a section everyday. If you do a section everyday, it’ll be easy to keep up with.”

As you can imagine, I’m realizing now:
Oh, scrub the floor over and over again for the rest of my life, one section at a time…

“…Aye, Captain.”

“Good.”

Because yes, I’m okay with that.
Because it’s clear she wants (me to do) it.
Because I like it when she wants (me)(so clearly).
Because her wanting is so beautiful and fiery.

And Life is Good

We talked briefly last night and agreed the obey resolution has worked well, both practically and symbolically, as both a way to see life’s mundane tasks are accomplished in better accordance to her standard and priority and also as an effective way for me to express, and she to see, my love for her.

I must say I love how she’s approaching this as simultaneously fun and serious –there have been as many laughs as tasks accomplished.  I also love how she’s simultaneously cautious and effective –she doesn’t give me orders so much as expect me to obey/comply with her wishes, and she expects practical, tangible, bottom-line results.

It means she’s doing things her way and finding her own style of being more firmly in charge, it means she’s making sure she’s getting what she wants out of the added dynamic –making sure the symbols mean something that she wants and values, and that the symbols work in a way that works for her. And of course it also means I’m happy and motivated because I’m at one with her and her desire (harmony) and effectively feeding her fiery self.

I admit I haven’t been perfect with everything but it’s clear that what is getting done happens with more intentionality, more goodwill towards one another, and more intimacy.

In short: it’s working and life is good.

Better actually.