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Why, oh why is it that I want to hear this from him? That he wants to fuck me like an animal? I already know that that's the last thing he'll say to me. Oh, he'll tell me he loves me -and I'll believe him- but where's the lust? The lust I've always assumed comes with love? It's nowhere to be found. Only that fuzzy, warm familiarity that is so comforting in cold winter nights. But nothing of the urgent, awesome, hot, and incredibly addictive rush of the lust that comes from love. That feeling I know exists, that feeling that was there with Nando?

Sometimes I think I'm asking for too much. We cannot have it all, can we? I guess that's why so many people cheat. Because maybe we have to do with what we've got, but we rebel agains that decree. But it is more difficult for those who HAVE had it do do without than those who do not even have an idea of what they are missing.

I have always wondered why is it that most American men are mostly in one or the other sides of a continuum that seems ingrained in the culture: either pigs or angels. I think part of it is that Puritan, deeply religious and backward tradition, that strong denying of the flesh for anything but the perpetuation of a establishment that seems to permeate every aspect of American culture. And this seems to be paired with a very strong lust for anything that has to do with sex. Anything. And then we get to reap the results of that crippling dychotomy and try to establish relationships with the men this culture produces.

Then we're in trouble. We either deal with the sleazeballs who would fuck anything that moves and live for cumming -never in or with the same man, mind you- or those who totally shun sexual expression as a valid demonstration of love. Sex for them is a demonstration of power and entitlement. Sex has as much meaning as buying a big house or driving a muscle car. There's the guys who will flutter from one sex episode to the other without even remembering who the other man was (I was recently reading this blogger who documents his 'conquests' and basically brags about fucking them bareback, so that may be the one exception) and who use sex as a weapon, to demonstrate their power and show that they are not sissies who can be beat up in the playground.

Then you have the guys who to everyone's eyes are Mr.Perfect. Poster boys for the man-next-dor. McDreamies who have all the equipment but do not seem to be able to allow themselves to touch the ground long enough to actually get an erection and enjoy it. And when they do get one, they get rid of it by the swiftest method of them all: their own hand. Because it seems to tarnish the idea they have of what love and a relationship is. Because it seems way too pedestrian for them (like hunger and thirst, I guess that need to be sated and forgotten) al the while glazing over the fact that sex, like hunger and thirst, make us feel alive and that the best way to share that life is by not denying pleasure as a source and manifestation of romantic love.

The Madonna/Whore dichotomy is alive and kicking in America. I guess I'll have to content myself with having a man who loves me and long for one who loves to fuck me with love. Maybe sometime they'll be one. Maybe... Meanwhile, there's Trent, telling me what he'd like to do to me.




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