There is something there for the psychologists.
I hesitantly agreed to go out for drinks after work yesterday with a friend from work. I said no at first, nah, thanks man, I gotta just concentrate on keeping my shit straight, going out drinking . Doesnt really feel like what I should be doing right now maybe next week.
Come on man, itll do you good, get out there and enjoy whats around you a bit.
So I caved, yeah, sure alright, hop in
We drove down to the skid row district, and ended up parking outside the back entrance to the No5 Orange we can grab a beer here, but then I have to take the truck home and park it before we go for more. We can hit that little pub up by my place afterwords. I am religiously against drinking and driving, for the record.
Walked in, grabbed a table away from the stage and sat down. The waitress came up, took our order for a couple of pints of pale, and my eyes adjusted to the dark. There was a dancer on stage, just finishing her last song. The slow song. Of all songs, she was dancing to woman in chains by Tears for Fears.
She was in great shape, obviously spent a good deal of time at the gym, and in another time in my life, I probably would have thought that she pretty hot, I probably would have taken some secret enjoyment of seeing her body in such an anonymously intimate way.
Not last night though. I looked away.
There was no distinct thought associated with it, but I just couldnt watch. I felt bad for her maybe? I felt bad for me?
I dont know what it was, or what was behind it, but I didnt want to be there. The waitress brought our beers, we payed and I suggested to my friend that we go into the little glass walled smoking room. I needed a smoke.
Went into the smelly smoking room and sat on the couch against the wall. Lit up. A minute later, two girls came in and sat down. The one was wearing a pair of tight hotpants and a tight lace see-through top. Her counterpart was wearing a G-String and a silk camisole. They were a couple of the private dancers. Their job consists of walking around the club, and trying to entice married men to come up to the VIP room for a $40.00/song private lapdance. They dont get payed by the club at all to be there, they are sort of self employed I guess, and they actually have to pay the club 10 bux for each song they get payed for.
One of them takes out a smoke, and asks me for a light. As I light her cigarette, she rests her fingertips lightly on the back of my hand thats holding the lighter.
I so much did not want to be there. This was all terribly disturbing to me for some reason. I was simply sad.
Throughout the relationship I never had any issues with stripclubs. Hell, her and I used to make it a regular Friday night after work thing for quite a few years. Wed go together down to The Drake and shed have 3 gin and tonics, Id have 3 pints. That was probably 5 years ago however, and eventually that stopped. Nonetheless, my attitude towards the clubs was that the women that chose to dance were not being exploited, they were making some extremely good money for simply dancing in the nude. It was their choice, and I knew that some of them were putting themselves through school etc, I didnt agree with the feminist ideal that strip clubs were demeaning to women. And as a red-blooded straight guy, I had no problems with watching the dancers. I never felt any guilt for it, I never went with the idea in my head of damn, I have got to figure out a way to go out with that chick for a quick shag I just appreciated the beauty and the variations of body types, and Id go home with my beautiful girlfriend, or to my beautiful girlfriend never wanting for something else. I didnt see it as a variation of infidelity on a low level.
Not last night. I just hated being there. I havent been to any place like that since the breakup, and I didnt really know what to expect. I really dont know where that feeling stems from, or what it even was, but I finished my beer incredibly fast. I nodded to my friend, you wanna head out? We were probably there for all of 20 minutes.
Cant quite nail where that feeling was coming from. Maybe it was a jealousy or an insecurity of knowing that she could be out there somewhere, naked in front of another man. Maybe it was a fear of her exploring her sexuality now, experimenting, being free. Or maybe it was a fear for her being objectified by another man, men.
Bukkake nightmares.
I think that feels somewhat true inside me. Somewhere in there is the base to that sadness. When I saw the dancer on stage, I remember thinking aw come on girl, put some clothes on! geeeez
That could be it, I always had the security of knowing that at home I had this sexy, beautiful woman waiting for me. Her secret charms were all mine, and I somehow gained strength through that security. I was wealthy with the ownership of her sex. I may have pictured her up there on the stage, sharing all that was mine with the eyes of the lecherous. I dont know. All I know is that I felt absolutely terrible and had to leave.
I am finding the same feelings with porn. Sure I like pr0n. Not degrading, nasty porn -- I think Max Hardcore should be assassinated. I used to regularly hit voyeurweb and check out the freestyle section though. Something about the girl next door flashing the camera a glimpse of the no-panties fact from a caf patio or something would always give me a little charge.
But again, ever since the breakup, I just cant look at it anymore. It depresses me greatly. I suppose in a way, I am terrified that one day I will hit that site and see a very familiar body, eyes blurred out and smiling big.
It's kinda ironic, actually, thinking back to joining this site. I obviously joined because I was originally totally enthralled with the photosets of so many beautiful women that are on this site. I didn't have a clear understanding of how great the community itself is, but I obviously joined for the initial carnal pleasure.
I read something on here somewhere along the lines of "came for the booty, stayed for the brains" and that couldn't be more true for me. I'm not even looking at the booty here anymore.
(well, ok, not looking MUCH.
)
anyways, I am just a little bit introspective today, trying to figure out where this unease is coming from. I can already tell that it's not a healthy thought process, and behind it is some sort of maladjusted attachment to sexuality as love. I don't want to live this life with an unhealthy ownership of sex. As fearful as I am of knowing that she could be out there experimenting with her sexuality, I am supporting that with my thought brain. I DO want her to live a full life, and now that she's free, I do want her to experience new things.
For example, the photosets on here, if I remove myself from the process completely, and imagine her doing a SG photoset, I KNOW that it would be incredibly empowering for her. It would go so far in giving her back her body and her life, for her to celebrate her personal ownership and confidence and do a photoshoot, I know she'd love it. It would build so much confidence for her as well, it would be all good. For her.
I want to have no hangups, but I'm feeling one here.
I hesitantly agreed to go out for drinks after work yesterday with a friend from work. I said no at first, nah, thanks man, I gotta just concentrate on keeping my shit straight, going out drinking . Doesnt really feel like what I should be doing right now maybe next week.
Come on man, itll do you good, get out there and enjoy whats around you a bit.
So I caved, yeah, sure alright, hop in
We drove down to the skid row district, and ended up parking outside the back entrance to the No5 Orange we can grab a beer here, but then I have to take the truck home and park it before we go for more. We can hit that little pub up by my place afterwords. I am religiously against drinking and driving, for the record.
Walked in, grabbed a table away from the stage and sat down. The waitress came up, took our order for a couple of pints of pale, and my eyes adjusted to the dark. There was a dancer on stage, just finishing her last song. The slow song. Of all songs, she was dancing to woman in chains by Tears for Fears.
She was in great shape, obviously spent a good deal of time at the gym, and in another time in my life, I probably would have thought that she pretty hot, I probably would have taken some secret enjoyment of seeing her body in such an anonymously intimate way.
Not last night though. I looked away.
There was no distinct thought associated with it, but I just couldnt watch. I felt bad for her maybe? I felt bad for me?
I dont know what it was, or what was behind it, but I didnt want to be there. The waitress brought our beers, we payed and I suggested to my friend that we go into the little glass walled smoking room. I needed a smoke.
Went into the smelly smoking room and sat on the couch against the wall. Lit up. A minute later, two girls came in and sat down. The one was wearing a pair of tight hotpants and a tight lace see-through top. Her counterpart was wearing a G-String and a silk camisole. They were a couple of the private dancers. Their job consists of walking around the club, and trying to entice married men to come up to the VIP room for a $40.00/song private lapdance. They dont get payed by the club at all to be there, they are sort of self employed I guess, and they actually have to pay the club 10 bux for each song they get payed for.
One of them takes out a smoke, and asks me for a light. As I light her cigarette, she rests her fingertips lightly on the back of my hand thats holding the lighter.
I so much did not want to be there. This was all terribly disturbing to me for some reason. I was simply sad.
Throughout the relationship I never had any issues with stripclubs. Hell, her and I used to make it a regular Friday night after work thing for quite a few years. Wed go together down to The Drake and shed have 3 gin and tonics, Id have 3 pints. That was probably 5 years ago however, and eventually that stopped. Nonetheless, my attitude towards the clubs was that the women that chose to dance were not being exploited, they were making some extremely good money for simply dancing in the nude. It was their choice, and I knew that some of them were putting themselves through school etc, I didnt agree with the feminist ideal that strip clubs were demeaning to women. And as a red-blooded straight guy, I had no problems with watching the dancers. I never felt any guilt for it, I never went with the idea in my head of damn, I have got to figure out a way to go out with that chick for a quick shag I just appreciated the beauty and the variations of body types, and Id go home with my beautiful girlfriend, or to my beautiful girlfriend never wanting for something else. I didnt see it as a variation of infidelity on a low level.
Not last night. I just hated being there. I havent been to any place like that since the breakup, and I didnt really know what to expect. I really dont know where that feeling stems from, or what it even was, but I finished my beer incredibly fast. I nodded to my friend, you wanna head out? We were probably there for all of 20 minutes.
Cant quite nail where that feeling was coming from. Maybe it was a jealousy or an insecurity of knowing that she could be out there somewhere, naked in front of another man. Maybe it was a fear of her exploring her sexuality now, experimenting, being free. Or maybe it was a fear for her being objectified by another man, men.
Bukkake nightmares.
I think that feels somewhat true inside me. Somewhere in there is the base to that sadness. When I saw the dancer on stage, I remember thinking aw come on girl, put some clothes on! geeeez
That could be it, I always had the security of knowing that at home I had this sexy, beautiful woman waiting for me. Her secret charms were all mine, and I somehow gained strength through that security. I was wealthy with the ownership of her sex. I may have pictured her up there on the stage, sharing all that was mine with the eyes of the lecherous. I dont know. All I know is that I felt absolutely terrible and had to leave.
I am finding the same feelings with porn. Sure I like pr0n. Not degrading, nasty porn -- I think Max Hardcore should be assassinated. I used to regularly hit voyeurweb and check out the freestyle section though. Something about the girl next door flashing the camera a glimpse of the no-panties fact from a caf patio or something would always give me a little charge.
But again, ever since the breakup, I just cant look at it anymore. It depresses me greatly. I suppose in a way, I am terrified that one day I will hit that site and see a very familiar body, eyes blurred out and smiling big.
It's kinda ironic, actually, thinking back to joining this site. I obviously joined because I was originally totally enthralled with the photosets of so many beautiful women that are on this site. I didn't have a clear understanding of how great the community itself is, but I obviously joined for the initial carnal pleasure.
I read something on here somewhere along the lines of "came for the booty, stayed for the brains" and that couldn't be more true for me. I'm not even looking at the booty here anymore.
(well, ok, not looking MUCH.
)
anyways, I am just a little bit introspective today, trying to figure out where this unease is coming from. I can already tell that it's not a healthy thought process, and behind it is some sort of maladjusted attachment to sexuality as love. I don't want to live this life with an unhealthy ownership of sex. As fearful as I am of knowing that she could be out there experimenting with her sexuality, I am supporting that with my thought brain. I DO want her to live a full life, and now that she's free, I do want her to experience new things.
For example, the photosets on here, if I remove myself from the process completely, and imagine her doing a SG photoset, I KNOW that it would be incredibly empowering for her. It would go so far in giving her back her body and her life, for her to celebrate her personal ownership and confidence and do a photoshoot, I know she'd love it. It would build so much confidence for her as well, it would be all good. For her.
I want to have no hangups, but I'm feeling one here.
Except, maybe, when I am cooking bacon."
that was a very funny thing to imagine myself doing... and actually getting hurt...
you know, i really feel for you. granted i don't know the half of it... i know that 12 years is a long time to just try to forget about. *hugs* my loss is insignificant to that... and i know i'll still be friends with him... i'm sure in time, after the wounds have had a chance to heal, there may be a chance to salvage a friendship. you never know. you can't predict anything in the future...everything is uncertain. i find the more pessimistic i am, the less i'm actually disappointed and the more i'm pleased when things turn well.