Vulnerability sucks

Life is painful.  There are good and bad experiences but the older you get, the more obvious it becomes that it just gets tougher.  Each time you get knocked down, it is harder, more laborious, to get back up again. 

Everyone goes through shit.  End of.  But how is it possible to move through something and then simultaneously put it behind you whilst sharing it with someone you care for?  When you fall for someone, you want to know everything about them.  They want to know everything about you.

The most depressing thing is that the more shit you experience, the more you think you only deserve shit.  This is what is known as standard across humanity.  Or as Vivienne uttered in Pretty Woman, “if people put you down enough you start to believe it”.  So what happens when you know they are wrong, you are more awesome than the haters will accept, but the object of your affections is exalted in your eyes?  When despite yourself you cannot prevent yourself adoring every little thing about them?  How do you force yourself to accept that this most wonderful of beings, this god-like creature who fills you with happiness humility and awe, could look down from his place so high above you and pluck you from the crowd to be with him?

And how, despite knowing him and trusting him implicitly, do you give 100% trust to another when you don’t even trust yourself? But how do you show that you ARE trusting as much as you can, and you want to move things forward and build something special? 

Phoenix finally opens her eyes.....

And sees what is right in front of her.  Having been hit by a metaphorical freight train, I am now riding said locomotive toward Happytown.  I am currently passing through TeenageGiggleVille, and am sure to soon stop at a station also known as OhMyGodHesTheBestIEverHad. 
I'm suffering a bit of writers block at the moment. My whole world has shifted - again - but it's good. It makes perfect sense and feels totally natural. I am reading the signs and happily accepting what feels like fate. I believe some things were meant to be.
I wanted to date. SATC style. Being well aware that it is fiction, but also grateful for the fact it contributed to an 'anything goes' culture surrounding sex and, more importantly, sharing intimate and personal details with your girlfriends, I am not naive enough to assume that it is as glossy and fabulous as depicted.
What I found was utter exhaustion, frustration and irritation. How many idiots....blah blah bullshit. I'm done. Subscription cancelled, photos taken down. That little experiment is OVAH.
It has done me some good though. It made me realise exactly what I want. And more importantly, WHO I want.  Armadillo. 
He is my straight male friend. The man from whom I have no secrets. The man I feel utterly comfortable around. the man who reads and comments on my writing. The man who helped to pull my head out my arse as regards men recently. The man who utterly understands why my head was in my arse in the first place.
Whatever happens between us, he has made me realise that I can feel again. Whether it lasts a day or a decade, I have never smiled - or been so aroused in every way - so much in my existence.
I can handle the distance. With Skype it's not a problem. And it has the added bonus of meaning that we focus on our feelings, not shagging like rabbits and then trying to work out what it all means the morning after. Plus we can have our own separate lives with the best bits intermingling, and our own space, until we want to intertwine them even further.
Because when it feels this right, this good, why deny it. I'm happy. And when he can handle all my flaws issues and bullshit and not run a mile, I know how special he truly is.

Phoenix's private party

So right now my brain is full of fantasy. So many things I want to do, so little time.... Looking at my shoe box and considering - which is essentially the same as doing - a clean-out, it struck me - I want to do a strip-tease. I want to slowly seduce him by dancing slowly and sensually, maybe round a pole but definitely remove my clothes and blow his mind. 

I'm not a believer in stripping per se. But right now, I am not getting political - it is purely about our private pleasure.  I want to tie his hands behind a chair and give him a lap dance - in a black plunge bra, black lace French knickers and my leopard print heels. I want to straddle him and know he can't do anything but enjoy it. I want to tease him with the tip of my tongue along his lip line, make him rock hard. 

What can I say, I'm a natural born dancer. But I want it all to be real - and a real surprise - for him. 

Scared of my own stupidity

In vino (and hangover) veritas

I have had an utterly hellacious week. I've been tipsy/drunk twice, which really is uncharacteristic for me (nowadays).  And all I want is to laugh. Instead I'm analysing and thinking... Not what I needed. 

This one comes with a bit of a disclaimer. I'm rather annoyed this morning. I've been stewing over this in my broken sleep and im peeved. I will no longer schlep out to the middle of tricking nowhere to see a guy. Of he wants to see me, he can meet me halfway. And I think that is an entirely apt metaphor for this piece. 

If you're single at a certain age, rather than arguing against the stereotype, maybe there is something in it. Surely by your midlate thirties you should be adult enough to sustain healthy relationships? 

In no way am I blanketing everyone here. This particular surmisation follows what was supposed to be a relaxing evening - and turned into a right royal fuck up. 

Porn and police - a dangerous combination.  seeing everyone as a potential suspect, and getting sexual release only through porn and masturbation, fucks you up and leads to a great disconnect between your heart, humanity and cock. Especially in muscly uniformed men. Which are exactly what I like. Damnit... 

Writing this I realise I am being typically Phoenix - waxing lyrical and getting philosophical without actually giving any detail. So here are some bare bones to sketch over: 

A guy I dated a while ago got in touch, full of remorse and promises of redemption (sound familiar?) we chatted for a while and when I was really upset about some work crap (oh and my biopsy results which I'm STILL waiting for) he was lovely, really supported. McSexy Gorgeous from the week before had not been in touch in days, so I agreed to an impromptu takeaway at his (having had to postpone seeing my friend due to grievance meetings at work. Ugh.) I thought it would be a laugh, chance to hang out and relax after a god-awful week. At this point, your honour, I'd like to enter into evidence the fact that when communication has been near-constant for days, then just stops, you take a hint. Anyway, turns out said guy is completely emotionally detached, still in love with his ex who left 3 years ago and unable to form emotional connections. I drank, opened up to his questions, which led to me drinking more to try to feel better then left, missing the last train home and having to crash at my brothers. In addition to this I text McSexy Gorgeous in my drunken state, killing any chance of ever seeing him again and giving him an awful impression of me. Which culminated in him rejecting my call and feeling like an utter Plonker. But as I have asserted before, it needs to be considered from both perspectives - and a guy who refuses to try to understand needs to pull his head out of his arse. I am not willing to be played, manipulated or controlled, nor hang on the phone waiting for a call. 

Oh, fiddlesticks. I'm baffled. God knows what I am doing wrong. I suspect that I am far too blunt and honest especially about myself and my experiences, and I'm not British enough - or 'girly' enough (in some respects). I'm just annoyed as I recently decided to open up to it - and have had it thrown in my face twice in a week. Trust barriers going right back up. From now on I'll be honest, but evasive. If I even date at all. I just don't think it worth it - why should I bother? I'm clearly not a great catch nor anyones cup of tea.  

Its not necessarily about putting it out there on a plate - but when you're both damaged and wary, how can you ever get past that? 

Rather than see me as damaged goods, how about actually considering how bloody strong and epic I am? I have picked myself up from hell and regrouped, strengthened and I have the balls to try to be who I would like to be. And I may be short and female, but do not mistake that as a sign of weakness. Therein lies some of my greatness. 

I have the right to state my experiences. These are part of who I am. I have the right to not be considered a victim, to not be pitied and judged. Yes I have trust issues, but I'm sure as shit not the only one. And I'm trying to be honest by telling guys about my writing - opening up. 

Until I am in a relationship, i am free to date whomsoever I wish. I will not have sex with them. This is my choice; I choose to wait. I want the emotional connection and intimacy. I have the right to go to someone's house and expect to not be expected to have sex. I have the right to be respected and be safe.  And I am proud that I want the emotional and intellectual connection. Coming back to the world after trauma is tough and scary, and I want something real. That is what I am looking for. Either accept me as I am, or fuck off. 

And if you've read this far, you'll no doubt have ascertained I'm a tad grumpy this morning. Without going into naming names or being petty, I think I bloody well have the right to be. 

So boys - clearly not yet men as they play games - despite my recent attempt at empathy, try a bit yourself. Take your own heads out of your arses, consider how tough some people find trust, and hold a mirror up to your own behavioural patterns before judging others. You maybe a cop but you're not jury or executioner. 

And I will go back to not drinking red wine - as it is really never a good idea... 

Lets hear it for the boys

In the spirit of Movember... Let's take a moment to think about life for the men in our lives. Life is tough for women – but it’s not like guys have it easy either.  If they get genital cancer, they frequently feel they are losing their manhood, their identity, their masculinity.  Either their testicles, or a nasty intra-anal procedure which risks them losing their ability to have an erection.  Women, while the insertion of a speculum and other torturous items disguised as medical instruments, only have to open their legs.  Cancer is awful for all who experience it.  But Movember is definitely time to think about guys' issues. 
I have been challenged in my thinking of late. Quite an earth-mover, but actually pretty cool. I've always prided myself on being open minded. Seeing things from another's perspective, considering all the options, outcomes and ramifications. But recently I have come to realise that actually, when it comes to guys, I have been a tad.... Narrow-minded. As in, completely blinkered and stupid.

A straight male friend opened up about his romantic experiences and the struggle he endures trying to break through the 'wanker barrier'. I know for a fact he is a wonderful person and any girl would be privileged to have him loving her. My reaction to his story? 'bloody women, they don't know what they're missing'.  Yet it took a date to make me see that I was just as stupid. This guy was gorgeous and charming, so I unfairly presumed he would be a wanker. Turns out I'm actually the wanker - because I have been doing what other girls have been doing to my friend. Between the 2 of them, I have been forced to pull my head out my arse and reconsider my behaviour in terms of dating.
So, my date had seen my online profile (in which I extolled the virtue of winter socks and the pyjama fairy.  What the hell, I thought I was being unique).  This man accused me of being evasive as I was rather ambiguous and obtuse in my replies to his messages. I felt a bit bad about this - what had he done to me? I then decided to forward him the links to my articles. I had a strong urge to not play games as he seemed genuine - in as much as anyone can online. To my surprise he still wanted to meet me. I said I wouldn't write an article on him, but he inspired me to write this one. I hope, given that I'm praising him, I'm not breaking any pledges.   He turned out to be a pretty decent guy. And man enough to call me on my bullshit. I don't know if I'll see him again, I don't if anything will come of it, but regardless I'm grateful to him for opening my eyes. If he sees this piece, I hope he will take it as a compliment.

I was feeling a bit unsure of myself after these 2 bomb blasts.  So I talked to my sensible friend (ie calm, stable, zen with relationships).  She said she hadn’t read my stuff as anti men.  I then played devil’s advocate and asked her if she thought that might be because she is a woman.  This gave her pause for thought, and we then began to dissect generic British female attitudes to men and where our collective chip comes from.  A few hours later, what I keep coming back to is – how can we hope to achieve equality if we’re starting on such an uneven keel in ourselves?  If opening up, trusting, our man is a sign of weakness and giving away our power, how can we hope to achieve equality outside the home if we’re frightened of it domestically? 

I am no advocate of human rights for those who harm their purported loved ones.  In fact gimme a baseball bat and a soundproof room.  But does that mean we have to assume all men will hurt us?  It’s essentially the same as Wahhabbi Islam – and I’m no advocate of that.  This extremist branch of Islam asserts that women are dangerously seductive creatures who must be segregated and oppressed to prevent men succumbing to their evil charms.  Both equally narrow-minded (albeit one is infinitely more violent than the other).  But in Western society, do we honestly believe that we should be perma-sexy and silent to retain our man’s interest?  Has WAG and porn culture become so entrenched that we, as women, believe any sign of ‘reality’ and a man runs a mile?

Not all guys want a ‘totty trophy’.  Or at least, not JUST a totty trophy.  And if beauty is in the eye of the beholder then they see their beloved as sexy anyway.  Maybe the truth is that we, as women in this society, have embedded the idea that a man wants us to be a certain way and we’re not good enough.  We’re petrified of rejection because we’re so insecure – so we assume they are all wankers because we have been hurt in the past.  We push them away, play passive-aggressive mind games, bitch and nag and then loudly whinge about his refusal to commit.  Freud aside, the majority of men really aren’t looking to replicate their mother in a wife. 

I'm not going to turn around and say its all their fault. Granted guys don't help themselves; their behaviour and games are juvenile, their selfishness needs rectification – PUT THE BLOODY SEAT UP! and many of them need a little bullshit inventory, but rather than lump them all into one "man-bucket" perhaps I need to remind myself, and other women, that we can be just as bad as them, if not worse. True we don't rape, but emotional and psychological bullshit can be just as damaging. We're certainly not angels.
Yet even writing that I feel I am disrespecting my sisters. I am putting us into a gender box. Perhaps it's time to recognise that people are individuals, and all deserve respect. At least, until proven guilty.  When I humanise them, think about them as individuals, it brings a flush of shame to my admittedly sub-conscious sweeping generalisation of men. I still have a few trust issues to work through. I get that everyone has a past and painful experiences.  Yet carrying them forward puts a strain on your back and stress on your heart. Therefore, check your bullshit at the door along with your coat.  It takes a hell of a lot to pick yourself back up and start over, especially when you can’t breathe, but it can be done.  Women, as much as we are our own worst enemy, are also incredibly powerful; strong and capable.  I’d love to see a guy cope with labour pains.  Sarcastic dig aside, to love someone deeply takes faith, hope and openness. To have that intimacy and bond come crashing down around you can and does destroy many. How can trust be easy after a massive betrayal? It's akin to giving another power when you admit to weakness and vulnerability. The kind of guys who want their women like that are the ones to avoid. But without killing any chance of a new thing, how does one open up and let another in?

I guess I'm still fighting a war that has been raging for generations. I'm petite and well aware that I can be easily suppressed. But in the same way that I resent being considered a certain way for having breasts, I also know that they are great weapons; when I get annoyed that people think I am going to be an emotional wreck; what right do I have to be so marginalising of men?  For quite some time now, I have felt as though my vagina is a war zone, a battleground for a never-ending conflict.  I want it to go back to being a pleasure centre.  I’m ready to date and to be flirty and have fun.  I’m ready to give a guy a chance. 

So here’s a few tips for guys – believe me, small things will make a huge difference: 

Put the loo seat up.  Text / call when you say you will.  Have the cojones to say if you don’t want to see her again.  Have the cojones to tell her when you fall for her.  Don't fart in bed.  And don't make her sleep in the wet patch.....
I like a guy who is my intellectual equal. Who doesn't necessarily agree with me - and isn't afraid to say so. Someone who will put it out there, not sulk because he doesn't get his way.  A man who respects the rules of healthy debate - but evidences his point articulately and gives as good as he gets. 

Being a woman is never easy.  But the best things in life aren’t easy.  I’d rather be a woman, with all the confusion and crap, than be a man trying to figure out what a ‘man’ is.  Plus, we get to wear amazing shoes. How many options do they have? And we get multiple orgasms.

Lust, trust and my increasingly shrinking bust

For so long now I have thought, considered, pondered, analysed, re-evaluated and generally driven my poor brain cells nuts with activity.  As with everything I do, I seem to have done it to the nth degree.  As much as it is great to be intelligent, sometimes I wish I could be really stupid so that I wouldn’t have to think and feel.  And I wouldn’t care if I got arrested for throwing something heavy at people who annoy me.  But sadly I know how to behave – except in the bedroom.

Celibacy was great for me.  I learnt a lot, healed from the pain of the past, read.  It was the right thing at that time.  the flipside was I was a little stressed and threw my pent-up frustrations into thinking.  I also realised that I have a very active brain, and that sex and alcohol are ways for me to subdue it a bit.  And I need to go back to studying, to give my excitable brain something worthwhile to focus on.  Because Im certainly not getting that in my job.....

 Anyway, back to the point.  I'm thinking increase the lust, worry less about the trust, and celebrate my ever-shrinking bust. 

For me to fall in lust, I need to be able to trust.  I want to know that we are intimate with one another enough that he will know exactly what I want – in the bedroom.  Outside, not so fussed.  But rather than worry about how this is construed or perceived, I’m going with, what the hell.  Im going to enjoy feeling lusty, enjoy acting upon my impulses, and not give 2 hairy twats whether it will ‘go somewhere’.  I don’t know where anything can go.  But I do know where I plan to go.  To Europe, to visit my friends.  To bed with a sexy beautiful man for one night of amazing pleasure – preferably this side of Christmas.  I miss good sex – and I plan to have it again.  The last time was well over a year ago.  As I get more slender, I realise that guys who notice me are generally better, sexier and more decent upstanding individuals.  Yet I also know that my gut instinct about someone is usually right – the joys of being empathic (yet another mindfuck).  Its not about being shallow or deceitful, its about enjoying being my age and free.  I am not a Madonna and I am not a whore.  I am a human - real, rounded,  I am who and how I am and I bloody well plan to enjoy it.  Less thinking, less feeling, more playing. Once it gets to a point of exclusivity then great, if not then hopefully will have made a mate (or two).  I know Im not everyone's cup of Darjeeling - but I also know I am rather fabulous, so I will not let dating ruin my confidence.  And there IS nothing wrong with casual sex - as long as neither party gets hurt, injured, or STDs.  I would prefer something a little deeper, but why should I deny myself that which I so desire for the sake of some 'morals' I think I should ascribe to? 

Passion leads to paranoia...and negates pleasure

Lack of sleep fucks me up. And makes me girly. I'm so not playing this game anymore. I made myself too available, too open, and where has that got me? Back to mysterious bitch. 

The worst thing is all the second guessing and analysing. The point of this was to have a laugh and a bunch of guys I could call - on my terms.  I didn't want to get into anything resembling a relationship. I wanted the intimacy and closeness without the bollocks and bullshit. And I don't see why that's not an option.   What is so inherently wrong with having fun and not giving a crap whether he'll call? It's not like any of my exes have been keepers.... I hate this bullshit. I am tired and I need a day off. I may even turn my phone off. But then I suspect that somewhat tragically, I'll get upset when I turn it back on 

the celibacy was supposed to have erased my libido.  It's not about self-esteem through men. It's about the ease and casualness of rejection. I have always become close to boyfriends over extended periods of time. So that dating malarkey really is tough to navigate. 

 I'm bored of texting. I don't want so many messages a day; I want to be able to enjoy getting them. I want to be involved with more than 1. Unfortunately I suspect, do does everyone. Not so great for making me feel like an adored princess.  But when one date and I exchanged 1000+ texts in a week before meeting up, it was always going to get boring quickly.

I am now dialling down the pre-date communication. It only leads to disappointment. And destroys any mystery or excitement at wondering when we'll meet again.  It's too much. 

Sometimes I feel like its not worth being so honest especially in a country where it is not necessarily applauded. Or perhaps I should move to Scandinavia where being intelligent, honest, direct and straightforward is not seen as such a turn off. Today I feel like hibernating and becoming one of the lemmings again. The peg that stands high gets hammered down. Today I agree with that - and I'm tired of being the loudest honest voice. 

Happy 7th November!

7th November used to be mine and my ex's anniversary. 2 years ago I broke my ankle on our anniversary dinner.  But now 7th November symbolises something far more potent and powerful. Freedom. Happiness.  Strength. 

Today Barack Obama defeated one of the biggest contenders to his presidency and gave the world 4 more years of hope. 

Today I told my father about my biopsy yesterday. 

Today I am single. And strong. And actually pretty damn happy. 

Freedom, fire, feistiness and fearlessness

I was recently asked how I would describe myself in bed, in a rather random but interesting conversation with the girls.  We were exploring how personalities can shine through in sexual activity, but also how one might be surprised with a new lover, who isn't exactly as you'd assumed they'd be.   What I said was, open-minded but not willing to jump into bed with any guy.  What I thought was....
I'm loving, caring and considerate, all important qualities in a lover. I am also impatient, with minimal self control, a rampant libido, and very sexually demanding.   I have great oral skills but I will not use them unless I’m in love with the guy – it’s somehow more intimate than intercourse (possibly THE most unsexy word in the English language).  I love to be properly fucked all over the house. By a tall and muscly alpha. Held against the hall wall and screwed. Then on the oven, finishing on the dining room table, ending with him standing over me and sucking my nipple til I scream.  I suppose this is the result of my having to be in control at all times; poised, self-assured and unflappable at work and at home.  But in the bedroom I really want to be able to let go and be dominated, especially by a massive muscly man in uniform who strips me off and handcuffs me to the bed while going down on me for ages.   I want to forget my name, his name, the world around me and surf the crest of my orgasm for as long as possible.  I want to know that my becoming a sweaty mess is pushing him further and feeding his desire.  My seeming perma-calm (except for when I'm excited and happy ergo bouncing round like a loon) is not at all maintained in the bedroom.  This doesn't make me a liar; it makes me a woman.  And as far as I'm concerned, it's up to the guy I'm with to read what I'm NOT saying and to make me come accordingly.  

With feist comes fire. Passion cannot exist without something to stoke it. This however makes for a very interesting person.   With honesty comes openness and truth. I'm diplomatic at work but I don’t want to pussyfoot around and mis-communicate in my relationships. Life is too short, I've done it before and I want something real. But people don't often associate honest with truthful.... Or maybe I'm just dumb.  But evidently British men don’t like women who want to be, and act as, equals.   
I don't want to lie because I'm scared of saying what the other person doesn’t want to hear.  I don't want to be scared to tell the truth. I don't want to worry that I'll be punished with a fortnight of silence for the smallest thing. I want to be able to tell truth about my thoughts, feelings, experiences without fear of recriminations, judgement and resentment. I want to share my crazy bubble and special dreams with the person I'm intimate with. I want them to love me for who I am, not in spite of it.
I don't want to have to rush into sex because he damages my self-esteem. I don't want to spend ages going through the motions of giving him head while he sits and watches the football or top gear with a can of beer in his hand.
 
I want to look to the future, be free. Fly like a bird, happy, independent, unbound by gravity.

Are you there world? It's me, phoenix

So, Phoenix is back in the saddle.  On the horse.  Taking the proverbial leap of faith.  But what exactly am I hoping to achieve? 
I spent a year (ish, the occasional slip but no-one's perfect) in self-imposed celibacy, contemplating everything from the colour of my toenails to the composition of the universe.  I wrote about it in a lovely blog which originally started as a method of self-control and venting of pent-up emotions - primarily sexual frustration and self-loathing, but gradually evolved into a bradshaw-type exploration of human nature, dating and relationships.  Those things which we all seek to understand and thus master. 
So now I'm dating again.  Or perhaps not really again, as previous relationships have evolved from friendships, friends of friends and even a 1-night-stand.  And on these pages I will continue to document my soap-opera of a love life.