Safe Haven

It appeared a tiny cottage from the street. Built around the turn of the last century, it was charming and understated. The color changed with the weather and the time of day . . . smoky gray to periwinkle blue to misty amethyst. The flaming red hedge bordering the walkway along with the hints of maroon accents on the trim of the structure, flowers and garden art conspired to draw the eye to the over-sized, burgundy door sheltered by the graceful vestibule with its arched entry. In a past life she might have hung her shingle on a place like this to practice her arts.

There in one of the flowerbeds . . . a large, crystal globe. Though colorless and clear, it somehow captures the light releasing it in a kaleidoscopic rainbow of color that glints and sparkles throughout the landscape. Funny how such trappings were never far from her. Wind chimes provide a soothing calliope of sound masking the commotion of the modern world. From the first step onto the path leading to that beckoning entrance, the assurance of acceptance and healing infused the very atmosphere. Visible only from the corner of the eye, sprites and fairies, no doubt, find safe haven in the magical space encompassed by her aura.

She and this place were the ethereal crossroad both of and in this realm of space and time, still transcending it to a peace beyond. She always had been. To live in both worlds, to feel so intimately all the past lives, to deal with the intensity and pain of having come to know her place through eternity could burn like a wild fire through her sanity and serenity. Always the common thread . . . courtesan, consort, mistress, midwife, mystic, gypsy, paramour, pilgrim, oracle, witch, whore, or wise woman . . . always independent, always sought after, but ultimately always alone.

She fashioned her personae for this life much as she created her dwelling. The façade for the world was attractive and appealing . . . approachable, but not attainable. She kept the secrets of herself to herself, still she was easily opened should one ever exist with the strength and bravery to embrace her essence. Rarely was that the case in her many remembered pasts. Usually they came to her wounded in some way . . . seeking to be relieved, revived, renewed, reassured, restored. In this existence many would label her a whore. In kinder times, she’d have been called a courtesan. Her graces bestowed on men yet again. Still it was better than the burning times, when those like her were hunted and persecuted.

Upon entering her domain, the dichotomies abound. This reflected in the décor of the room that greets any guest venturing into her abode. An eclectic mix of mid-century modern and contemporary furnishings with flowing silk curtains lifted by the gentle breeze perpetually wafting through the open windows.
Suggestions abound of what lies within her. There for the clever eye to see, the poem that is she. Miniature, pewter dragons and fairies frolicking about the piano top; fresh tulips in full blossom sitting just off center on the table; numbered prints by a turn-of-the-century artist hanging on the walls; fragile and fanciful perfume bottles peeking out through the glass doors of an art deco china hutch; a faux fur throw casually draping the foot of the red leather chaise; the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf overflowing with tomes, scrolls, and sheathes of paper; the fiberoptic lights scattered throughout performing strange dances of ever morphing colors and patterns; all are the clues. If there is but one that wishes to see . . . its all there.

The walls a calming, soft brown save one. The white-framed doorway leading deeper into her sanctuary stands out in stark relief against the darkest blood red of walls at once seductive and cautionary. To pass further is to venture into another place. This wall the metaphor of her face. Lovely and alluring, it demands attention, to be gazed upon. Still frightening the intensity of passion portrayed. Her eyes the doorway into her soul. Ever changing, never the same color, ever the sadness and sorrow, never an end to the tempestuous storm raging just below the temperate, quiet veneer.

To be invited past this admonitory signpost to the inner chambers of her artless environs, is to reach that place of ultimate rest. Among her gifts absolute empathy. Her knowing deeper than any man realizes. She feels their pain and knows where lies the answer for each. She listens until they understand. She gives of herself until they are safe and free to give to her. She giggles with them and at them always to their joy the peels of her laughter like that of a sweet, distant bell calling them home. She allows them to touch her until they can release to her touch. To be carried on the tide of her passion, a gift to any that would travel with her spirit.

She is a chameleon to their every need and desire, but still she is true to her own being. Authentic even in her diversity, she encompasses more than can be released to any one man without burning through his soul. She is the one they will never hold, at least only for as long as karma and fate allow for this fragile child of their governance to be part of any life. These sisters with destiny seem to dictate the beginnings and endings without notice beyond her intuitive sense of an impending finale. Knowing she is a tool makes no less the trauma that each lesson learned and given causes in her.

Sometimes there is a peace with a parting. Sometimes it is like having her soul wrenched from her. Sometimes she feels as if she has failed in some way to divert a karmic debt about to befall one she has felt compassion for. She has learned the harsh lesson that all she can ever do is point to a path, conjure an alternative, shine a brief light. Once a thing is done in whatever manner destiny dictates and she has played her role in the drama, she knows the road each must travel is away from her and her only option to watch them go.

Always another wounded creature will stray into her influence; another willingly submits to her ministrations; another to be touched by her ephemeral radiance and seek the safe haven of her loving embrace. Freely each time she submits to the test. It is her karmic repayment and blessing to have a transient place in the consciousness of so many more than a monogamous, shared life would permit. Should she bravely shoulder this burden now, just maybe there will come a time and place when there will exist one special man to see her, touch her, feel her in all that she is and not pass on from her, but rather incorporate her into his existence and take her with him, to hold her to him for eternity.

Would that among her gifts be the ability to see the happy endings rather than the endless doors closing to her down a vast hallway through infinity. Would that there be somewhere, a place for her to rest. Would it even be that she find a lasting love, her own safe haven?

Always a Price

Why no pleasure without pain?
Why no love without loss?
Why must I once more pay
Such a cruel and terrible cost?

For every choice
A price tag
For every chance
A hardship
For every love
A heartache
For every try
A letdown
For every day
A lesson
For every life
Some sorrow

Have I not paid enough?
My only wish to just be me
And find a man that wants to be
Through good and bad
The one with me

Man of the Moment

Miss Demure Restraint’s Journal
Written in late December 2007
Much has happened since

I was seeking a safe outlet to explore the reassembly of my soul. I had shed the weight I had been hiding under for years. I had been disconnected emotionally, creatively, spiritually during that time in order to maintain a semblance of sanity. I required a way to meet people that were in no way currently associated with me. It was critical that I keep the two parts of my life separate to protect all the progress I had made getting my act back together after my last catastrophic, emotional and financial meltdown. I was looking to touch someone again in all the ways that are genuinely important to me, but I needed to maintain an escape route should things go badly.

The butterfly that emerged from the cocoon of fat was definitely in heat after almost nine years of celibacy. I am sincerely committed to the belief that bonding with someone on a physical level is indisputably the highest form of articulation between two people that is possible. Everything else flows from that sensual connection. However, finding that type of physical unison is not an easy thing. I really don’t think it can be created. It also exists in varying degrees between different people.

What better way to find what I was looking for than Internet dating? Of course, I had no idea how to go about this. I knew about the big, expensive companies that advertise all the time. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to part with any hard-earned cash to try out this daft idea. I figured there had to be a way to “test” this and I wasn’t looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with after all. I was looking for a safe means of expressing myself without risk to my nice stable life and most definitely to get laid.

I turned to Friend Google and asked, “Is there free online dating?” I logged on to the first of what would eventually be many online dating websites. It was a payment optional set up. If you wanted to be able to do more than “wink” at another member, you paid. If you paid, you could e-mail anyone and anyone could e-mail you. If you didn’t pay you were limited to communicating only with members that had paid. My inner female chauvinist sow asserted herself as I decided I would not consider a man that wasn’t willing to pay for the pleasure of my cyber charms.

‘Tis a strange and mysterious labyrinth, that I lurched into that evening, the world of online dating. I was totally unprepared for what I was about to do. Immediately upon signing in you have to complete a “Profile.” You answer a bunch of questions – age, height, body type, hair color, education, social habits, that kind of stuff. Okay, no deal. Then you are supposed to write an essay about yourself.

I froze. I had not written anything more communal than a business letter and little longer of a personal nature than a couple of lines via e-mail or IM in almost 10 years. I should at this moment seek out any remaining copies of that essay before it can be used against me. It was flat! It lacked any personality or depth or verve. It is by far the worst thing I have written since grade school, no lie! As we would say online – LOL.

The next trauma was their request for a photo. I had no pictures. At least nothing that represented what I looked like at the time. Nothing I would want to “publish.” The only electronic picture I had was my fat epiphany photo. I would not be showing that picture to anyone I might consider dating. I determined that there was nothing I could do and continued sans photo. A couple of mouse clicks later I was part of the Internet dating phenomenon.

I was not online but a couple of minutes when I got my first e-mail, even without a picture. I was astonished. Dan was my first. He will go down in infamy as the first man to contact me online as well as the first to ask me to have sex via the computer based on little more than the fact that I was sitting at my laptop looking for a date. Dan was almost always online, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a lot of women in the Northwest’s first that way. I confess I toyed with Dan.

Now faced with what I thought I wanted (sex), I started having second thoughts. I weaseled out. I knew I was going to need more than a warm body. It was not that Dan was probably not physically attractive (you see, I never meet him IRL). He appeared to be good-looking in his “photo” and his job as a personal trainer pretty much guaranteed him being in good shape. I knew I would never be attracted to him as soon as I talked to him on the phone. There was nothing there. He was more distant than I knew myself to be and what I wanted was to let loose. The phone conversation as a step in the “meeting” process became one of my first prerequisites.

Dan and I continued to play our little game for several months, him asking and me saying no, sometimes seeming to be on the verge of capitulating, but always saying no in the end. It even reached a point that I would e-mail him if I hadn’t heard from him for a while. It almost seemed at one point that he was developing some personality, but another phone call dispelled that notion quickly. Over time, we lost touch.

Dan did do one thing for me. He got me to get some pictures posted on the website. That was a harrowing episode. I had a digital camera and one morning when I was ready for work early, I engaged in my own little photo shoot. It was tragic really. I took a dozen pictures to get one I didn’t completely hate. That was just of my face. My leftover fat body image made getting a full-body shot almost impossible. Somehow, I managed to get a couple of pictures to include in my profile. They have never been changed. It was that dreadful, but it did motivate me to continue with my workouts. From everything bad, we can find something good that results. It’s just damn hard to see sometimes.

I have no idea how to judge response, not knowing what other women have experienced with online dating, but I was a little impressed. There was enough to keep me busy e-mailing back and forth with several men. I had learned with Dan to go slow. This, however, was creating a kind of backlog of people to set up meetings with. After a short time, I jumped in with both feet. I made “dates” with two men for the weekend. I learned a lot that weekend about what I did and didn’t want, as well as what I did and didn’t need.

Friday night was a total bust. This guy claimed to be 50 (I’m betting more like 60). All he did was talk about all the money he USED to have. Boring! He didn’t lose the money in a divorce as is quite common. Believe me, I have all the sympathy in the world for that situation. I almost had to pay my first ex alimony and was forced into bankruptcy by my second. Its usually men that take it in the shorts in a divorce, but I have always been contrary. He also told me he cheated on his pregnant wife and got the neighbor lady pregnant. He didn’t say it like that. He was trying to portray a sympathetic character because his son had never forgiven him for taking care of the bastard child. What a great guy! He was just another (not too bright) lair and cheat. I got out in just under an hour.

It made me question Saturday’s date. That, however, turned out to be magnificent. The guy had a unique angle. We went to Ikea to buy a bed. For real, buy a bed! It was a blast. He got his bed and we went for Mexican food afterwards. He was a “rocker” dude and just my type with dark, brooding good looks and sexy as hell. He was funny too. I swear, I almost wet my pants, I was laughing so hard. He was a little younger than me, but it didn’t matter at all. There was that amazing physical chemistry that just happens sometimes.

My tormented, haughty rocker was Sean. He was the first man I was intimate with after nine, long, sexless years. In all fairness to my not being a total slut (at that time anyway) and jumping into bed with this guy I met online upon our first meeting, he prepped me for that first date like a pro. His first e-mail to me said, “You have incredible eyes and such beautiful hair and face. As close to an angel as we mortals could ever get here on earth.” I was new at this! Of course, I was impressed. I still am. My heart skips a beat every time I read it. Sean’s e-mails were always poetic in the way that women love to hear.

He didn’t stop with the charming e-mails though. We talked on the phone for hours. I knew before we meet that he was going to make me laugh, he had been doing that already. He was good at drawing me out and was always so tender and empathic. He was shocked to learn I had been completely celibate (not even masturbating) for most of the past decade. Before we had even met, he remedied part of that situation. Sean was my first phone sex. He claimed to have never done it before, but, man, was he good at it! I’d take phone sex with Sean over the real thing with a lot of men.

Yes, Sean most likely played me like one of his electric guitars and I loved every minute of it. I would do it all again in a heartbeat. He had even brought an overnight bag with everything needed to stay that first date. It was a good thing. He followed me home and we spent the next 24 hours together. The sex was passionate and he had incredible stamina. Eventually, I would call him my “Energizer Bunny.” We talked and laughed and then we’d be swallowed again by the ardor just to end up laughing and talking some more. It was a spectacular 24 hours. I couldn’t help but walk funny when I went to work on Monday.

I didn’t see Sean but for a fairly brief period of time. We were thrilled with our sexual aerobics. It didn’t take long however for it to start getting a little freaky and I kept wondering how it could be so good every time. The duration of the physical entanglements alone was overwhelming. I certainly didn’t remember sex being this good or men being so into pleasing their partners. Things had changed in nine years or this guy was extraordinarily gifted or I don’t know what, but it was great.

I don’t know what happened to Sean. One night he crawled out of the bed. I thought he might be hurt, but he assured me he would be okay. He did come back to bed for a while, but he didn’t stay that night and I didn’t see him again. He left the bar set pretty high for the next guy. Sean had provided me something I very much needed though . . . someone to touch that sensual part of me packed away years before and stir it gently to life. (Thank you Sean, no one could have done it better)

And here I began my true odyssey. I had let the online thing go while I was seeing Sean. I dove back in. It didn’t take me long to start chafing at the restrictions of the pay site and I found a completely free site. Some of the guys I was corresponding with told me about other free sites. Suddenly I had profiles on several sites and I was not the only one. It is a peculiar community of people out there. It is surprising how many of them you see on one site after another. Some of them become familiar faces. I, of course, feel free to comment on this matter having been a bona fide member of that community.

I started “weeding” though the men that I could eliminate without having to actually meet. I will be frank here . . . physical appearance and attributes do count when you are in this kind of selective process. I could be picky having made electronic contact with more people than I could possibly meet. I like to wear high heels. I want any man I’m with to be taller than me. I have no idea where such a silly, shallow requirement comes from inside me, but I just don’t have that attraction to short men. I further had to find something appealing about their photo(s). This could be anything. I have been told I have an odd concept of what good-looking is. I lean towards those with a menacing guise. I’m not much into clean-cut, pretty boys. They had to impress me both in written format and though phone conversations. I learned that if those things aren’t all happening, a meeting is a waste of time.

I can’t even remember all of the men I met. I was a one-hit wonder. I can’t count all of the first dates I had. I hadn’t appreciated how often that upon meeting, everything about the preconceptions developed over the course of e-mailing, IM’ing and talking could change in an instant. It is amazing to me how different someone can be in real life from his electronic persona. Pictures can be deceiving. It is really quite surprising when the person looks only marginally like you expected them to look. I find that to be a death blow and I can’t recover from the shock. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. For every one you meet, you have started with several “e-mail buddies.” There is a significant investment of energy required for such a marginal return.

Not all of my first “dates” were bad. There were several men I went out with and continued to talk to and/or e-mail for varying periods, but just never got around to going out with again. They faded away over time. It didn’t matter in the long run. My theory of the chemistry being there from the start has always proved out for me and that affinity was marginal with them. I had a higher standard. I really didn’t want to have to settle. Once I knew that physical spark wasn’t there in quantity no matter how nice or fun the guy was, it wasn’t going to work for me and I knew it. I already had plenty of male friends and that was not what I was looking for.

I did meet some very memorable men and made a couple of friends anyway. I e-mail a remarkable man in the UK. He is one of the first men I had contact with when I went online. We correspond almost daily. I consider Neil to be the most extraordinary person I have ever known. I do feel that I know him to some small degree. He probably knows me as well as anyone in real life. He has stuck with me from the beginning and has listened to my misadventures in dating always giving me prudent advice, cheering me up should I need it or soothing my traumatized ego when it took a beating. He is simply wonderful and someone I truly love purely for the person he is. I like to think someday I might be able to meet him, but it likely won’t ever happen. Maybe that’s a good thing with my track record. I would hate to lose Neil. (Of course you will read this, Dearest, you are incredible and don’t you forget it! I do love you.)

There is a huge amount of “sharing” you do during the e-mail phase. It afforded me the opportunity to write. It didn’t matter that it was mostly meaningless drivel, it stated me exercising long unused muscles. I’m not sure when, but I was developing a style again. I found myself looking critically at how I was putting the words together. There were a couple of e-mails I was rather fond of. My favorite is Uber Sexy.

Yes, “Uber” was the first thing I wrote that had undertones of me in it. It was like the fluffy stuff I had written in past years only a bit more mature. Then I would hope that I was more complex at this point in my life. I didn’t see it at the time I wrote it, but it was the first quiet, rustling of my creativity shaking its head. The little white box on the screen had started a process that an enigmatic man would later help complete.

It does seem an incredible amount of work, but every once in a while you stumble across someone worth spending time with. The fault may very well lie with me and my agenda not the medium, but these have been the shortest encounters of my life. It would seem gains made in duration in the bedroom have been offset by the shortening of the overall liaisons. The longest I experienced only lasted a few months soup-to-nuts. I still don’t know of any better way to met men in these times. It did provide me with what I needed, disposable relationships. If you don’t get too close, you don’t get too hurt.

There was only one man that I suffer any regret over and that was John. He was a truly nice man and he really liked me. I did not have that burningly intense sensual connection with John. It was no fault of his. He had passed my screening process. We had a lot of fun together and much in common. I did it right with John. We dated for a time before becoming intimate. When we did have sex, it was good, not earthshaking, but very good. There was an acceptable degree of attraction and at any other time in my life it might have even worked for a while. (You deserve someone less damaged than me, John)

I stopped seeing John because I met one of those men that validates the “no sex on the first date” rule by way of being the exception to it. I truly thought for a very short time that online dating had delivered to me the man I had long sought, but never expected to exist. The physical attraction with Luke was off the charts and so was the sex. It was the best sex on the planet (at least I thought so at the time). It was effortless, spontaneous, and completely natural. It was like breathing. He seemed to instinctively know exactly what to do to rock my erotic foundation. All reason was lost when it came to my encounter with Luke.

“Admiration is the daughter of ignorance.” – Ben Franklin (a sage and wise man, and, by all accounts, very funny).

Ergo, ignorance is the mother of admiration and I needed to wise up. I require a stable platform and Luke was the fucking Titanic. I wonder if incredible sex causes some kind of reaction in the brain that disables all reason and logic. He seemed to be all those things I most admired and was seeking after . . . intelligent, artistic, emotive, humorous, worldly, philosophical, erudite, independent, enigmatic (yes, he’s the one). He appeared to know all the things I wanted to know. For a time, it even seemed he wanted to share them with me.

The more logical analysis is that he was just someone that had use of me for a while. Once I was no longer of benefit to him, he pretty much gave me the boot. He did it in the most urbane and flattering way I could ever imagine. A combination of his artist’s angst and the mind-blowing sex was his reason for needing to step back and reassess. I had once again been blindsided by myself. I had become a “deposable relationship.” So the karmic wheel turned on me and justly so. (Luke, I may never figure out what happened between us, but thanks for shining the light)

For now, at least, I have retired my cyber alter ego. I could present a noble pretense and say I had learned you can’t use people and not expect to be used. I’m not that evolved. The truth is that I need time to get over Luke before I can stop using him as a yardstick to measure every man I meet. I need time to be able to trust another man not to use me again. And, I’m basically too tired right now to invest the effort that the online search requires.

I have my life with its pursuits. I have the gifts bestowed on me through this novel experience. I have made great strides in the reassembly of my soul. I am once again in touch with the sensual and creative aspects of myself. I have redefined my goals and have a plan to achieve them. I am writing again. I have discovered yoga (a cosmic gift to mankind). The break with Luke did not cause a catastrophic meltdown in my life. I’m sure there will come a time (probably soon), I will be ready to pursue male-female bonding again, but, in most ways I am content and satisfied at the moment. I’d say all I need to do now is buy a vibrator.

Loneliness

Do you think your’s the only heart, the only mind, the only soul trapped in a prison of loneliness?

Loneliness? Oh yes, like the feeling when you lay in your lover’s arms, but only sadness embraces you.

Loneliness? Those endless endings that parade through our lives making us fear we will never be whole.

Loneliness? That familiar companion that is always there, waiting for us as each new attempt at love dies.

My lonely friend, I know and feel that emptiness, as surely as my heart beats and I draw breathe.

Mad Love

With words like yours
Though you be an ogre
My interest you would capture

With passion like yours
Though you be a brute
My heart you’d likely steal

With depth like yours
Though you be afar
My soul you could entangle

With a man like you
Though I might resist
Mad love should we embrace