Saturday, November 11, 2017


Men confuse the fuck out of me. 

I'm 48 years old and I still don't understand a god damn thing about them.
Maybe I overthink them... maybe they really are all just Neanderthals who want to fuck when they want to fuck and want a stable of women to be available for them whenever they want so they can spread their seed far and wide.

What is that thing? Men are from Mars, women are from Venus? I don't know, I never read the book.

But we're certainly two very different creatures.

I know I like to fuck, a lot. And, sure, there are plenty of men in Second Life that are ready, willing and moderately able to fuck at any given moment. But... and this is going to sound arrogant as fuck... most of them aren't up to my standards. And that's not trying to say my standards are better than anyone else's, they're just mine. Everyone has their own and not everyone's mesh together well.

I know what I like. I know the type of men I like.

And they're pretty rare. Maybe my desires when it comes to men are far too specific. He has to be an alpha male. He has to be confident without arrogance. He has to be fucking intelligent and able to string words together into coherent thoughts and sentences, both in voice and in typing. He has to be mature by MY definition, not theirs or anyone else's. He has to dress well and put time into his avatar and look. He has to have dark hair because I'm not into blonds or redheads.
And, I guess really above all else, he has to have the patience to deal with a complicated woman. I'm not one dimensional, nor will I pretend to be. On any given day, I'm a million different emotions and thoughts. I try very hard to be light and easy-going and to just roll with whatever is happening around me, but sometimes I trip over that. I want what I want and, to quote my girl Taylor Swift, "There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have." It absolutely drives me nuts when I want something and can't have it right then and there when I want it, immediately. Absolutely makes me bonkers.

And, yes, I fucking know that I can't have everything I want on demand. Hugh was excellent about tempering my expectations. No man has been able to do that quite as well as he could, though Michael came close before he ghosted like a little chicken-shit.

I like to give myself, and my love, to men who are all of those things. "Oh, you check off ALL the boxes and we have sexual chemistry that is electrifying! Here, have me, all of me!"

And you bet your sweet ass that more often than not, I have that shoved right back at me. Second Life is chock full of women who, for whatever reason, aren't able to pour out that need inside them to be nurturers and caretakers and intimate lovers and to worship a man from head to toe and everything in between. The good guys in SL, and even quite a few of the shitty ones, have no trouble with women falling ass over teacups for them. It's a smorgasbord for them.
Smorgasbord of Ass
And it gets exhausting being one of those women who feel like they have so much to give, and need to give it and then have the men get cold feet and back off because there are twenty other women waiting in line who suck cock just as good and they want to make sure they get to sample everything on the buffet.

I guess I sort of understand it from both sides. There is absolutely competition among women in SL for the men and not so much the other way around from what I've seen. I certainly don't have men fighting over me or trying to shove others out of the way to spend an evening in my company.

Maybe that's just me, though. Perhaps I think too highly of my own value? Sure, we all like to think we're all that and a bag of pretzels but none of us are any better than anyone else. We can all make a pretty avatar but it's not so easy to make sure we're also pretty on the inside.

But there have been a few men that I've crossed paths with in SL that have thought I was stunning both inside and out. Hugh, certainly, and he set the bar pretty fucking high for men accepting and loving me for all my beauty AND flaws.

Michael, when we were first getting to know each other, once asked me how many men get to know the real Beth. He was allowed inside where I don't let others go... got to see places others never reach. The vulnerable Beth that wears her heart on her sleeve and has been bruised a lot. No, I don't especially hide it, not consciously, but there are just a very few men who get to experience all of Beth in her rawest state.
That's just protection. That's just common sense.

And when I start to feel myself getting to a place with a man where that part of me begins to show, and the man even so much as taps his foot on the brakes, I cover it up and back the fuck off. The walls come up pretty damn fast and it's hard to get them to come down again.

I guess that's where I am right now. I don't know... I'm just babbling. A million thoughts in my head, swirling and swirling, topsy-turvy and inside out.

Usually when I write, at the end I've unmuddled some of those muddled thoughts.

I still feel pretty muddled right now.

I guess I should go with my gut and pull away, though that's not always easy. I'm not good at keeping a man at arm's length... giving him some of me, but not all. Maybe I should give it a try? Hold some of myself back? A little ice with my fire? I don't like playing games and would much rather just be myself but... I suppose there's apparently some value in playing a little hard to get? Making a man want more from me than I will give him? Making myself pretend to be emotionally, physically and pixally unavailable from time to time?

Eh, why not? What do I have to lose at this point, right?
This is my first holiday season as an adult orphan. It would be nice to have someone by my side to put their arms around me and tell me I'll survive it.

Maybe that's the first lesson in being an adult orphan... that you're all alone and no one will ever be there again to put their arms around you and that you've only got yourself for comfort.

Well, that's a grim prospect, isn't it?
Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats...
Unless you want to come along.

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