My heart will be with you.
Today I travel to Long Island, NY to work on a project for my client. Since my consulting work is still a part-time gig, this means I’m still working my “day job” overnight. The night before I catch the flight. I will have 2 hours to shave, shower, and finish packing before leaving for the airport to catch my flight. Yes, I will be cutting it close. It’s a good thing I know how to work an airport.
While I’m looking forward to being able to do the hands-on IT work I love, this trip isn’t a “there and back again” day trip. No, this time I stay until catching a flight home Friday evening. I’ve handled overnight (and longer) trips for work before. Back during my full time Corporate IT Support days I would often fly to Atlanta for 3 -4 days at a time, or go to NYC for 3 -4 days. Every 2 – 3 months I would fly to the company HQ for 5 days. I spent a week in Denver, a week in Salt Lake City, 3 days in Chicago, 2 days in Indianapolis, 3-4 days in Annapolis at a time, 3-4 days in D.C., and even a week out in San Jose. Traveling with no notice for extended periods of time is nothing new to me. What IS new, however, and what causes my internal conflict, is being away from Mrs. AP overnight.
To my SINful friends who observe the High Holidays, may your fast be easy and your Yom Kippur be reflective.
Stay SINful, friends.
When I’m away from Mrs. AP for long periods of time – like my 12 hour shifts for work — and need a little pick-me-up, I turn to music. Music has been a large part of our relationship from the start, and neither of us can go very long without it. We’ll blast our favorite groups or playlists while we’re cleaning, cooking, working on various digital projects, etc. There’s one song in particular that always, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing, makes me think of how I feel every time we’re in each other’s arms. May I present:
VNV Nation – Standing
Like many other of the other wonderful bloggers I know — take a moment to check my blogroll to the right for some fine examples — I get a sense of amusement from some of the various search terms that result in somebody new stumbling across my little corner of the internet. One that stands out as particularly amusing was “husband says absinthe makes his dick hard”. What’s not to love about that? This morning, however, I saw a search term appear that got me thinking about just how much people can manage to hold themselves back — or not — on the spectrum that encompasses the swinger and polyamorous couples. This search term was “fall in love swinger become exclusive poly with one couple”.
There are many ways to read this term, in large part due to the lack of punctuation. Was the person searching attempting to find a swinger with whom to fall in love and then, with that person, become polyfidelitous with another swinging couple? Was this person perhaps already a swinger and was looking to find information on the ways to or likelihood of entering into a poly relationship with another couple? Could this person perhaps be a single swinger and is looking to join a poly couple in a triad?
Thinking on these possibilities made me realize something that’s hovered around the edges of my consciousness for sometime; something with which I have, at times, struggled. This something is a prevalent trend among those who write from within the swinger community, and one that I suspect has arisen from some improper assumptions. I suspect this because I have been guilty of it, and because of it I inadvertently derailed what could have become a very good thing. This something, this “it”, is the fear of oneself or one’s partner falling in love with somebody else.
We deal with “what ifs” — the hypothetical situations we all must face when uncertain as to what might happen but for which we want to prepare nonetheless — on a regular basis in our daily lives. Some are minor things, like not knowing what we might want to cook for dinner during the week when grocery shopping, and others are major, such as not knowing where we might land a job after graduating from college/university. Trying to run logistics for long-term planning when the results are still hidden from us becomes an interesting game that is part conjecture, part divination. With some clever planning, attention to detail, and some careful navigation one can usually have a solid plan in place. What happens, though, when the possibilities and variables involved can lead to multiple solution sets that are all equally valid? If you’re like Mrs. AP and I, you start planning for them all! Here’s our load ahead:
Today’s T.M.I. Tuesday posting focuses on the subject of stripping, be it for somebody else or by somebody else. See my answers below. Find other’s answers through the T.M.I. Tuesday blog.
Mrs. AP and I have had many an interesting, sometimes frustrating conversation over the past few years regarding politics in the United States. When she first met me — and indeed for some time thereafter — I as very staunchly holding to the views I developed from being raised in a Southern, Military, Lutheran household. While not entirely on the right of the political spectrum, and in fact testing as a conservative-leaning Libertarian, I found myself more often identifying with the Republican Party than the Democratic Party on matters of spending, defense, and social programs. Where I vehemently disagreed was in matters regarding sexual and identity freedom, but thought that by tending to the GOP priorities first the road would more easily open for the social changes required for sex, gender, and orientation equality. I realize now that this view was misguided, a product of a misinformed youth and an ignorant, naive approach to life. Like many others, I find I can no longer balance the iniquities of the Republican Party against the good I assumed they could do. What changed in me that I can no longer, in good conscience, align myself with the ideologies of my yesteryears? In short, I finally matured.
To my SINful friends who observe the High Holidays, may your new year be filled with warmth, love, and blessings.
Stay SINful, friends.
If one lives in or meanders through or even just sometime dabbles in one of the multitude of fringe subcultures in society, be it Swinger or Kinkster or Gay or Bi or Poly, then one has encountered some form of intolerance. The degree of this intolerance varies, surely, but ask the average person how well s/he would react to learning that a school teacher is gay, or a swinger, or engages in BDSM practices outside of the confines of the professional environment and the overwhelming response will be one of negativity. Disgust, perhaps, or vitriolic speech will be the common denominator. Very often, the people reacting from a negative place espouse to live lives of public positivity; they claim hold of beliefs that teach of love and kindness not simply as ways of live but furthermore as embedded attitudes of being. Turn around yet afterward and ask these people on their thoughts on tolerance, and the refrain is automatic; love everybody, tolerate everybody, but teach and preach in hopes of homogenizing everybody to better align with the responder’s beliefs.
This is not tolerance. This is a guise, an imagery put forth from which platitudes may be issued and rote answers may be spewed. Underneath this facade is a dislike, a distrust, in fact a disavowal of any thought, philosophy, or practice that is not conformist to the established teachings of the hallowed institution. That institution may be religious, political, educational, ect. but they share commonalities in inspiring loyalty and conferring world views that are either blind to or ignorant of baseline facts about life outside the shelter of the group. There is safety in numbers; behold the flock of sheep.
There comes a time when I am weary
Seeking a place whereupon my head may rest
Or comes a time when I an nearly
Like to rip a hole out of my chest
Perhaps libido flares with need to rise
And seeks release where it loves best
There is a place all turn with no surprise
To find warmth and comfort upon my lover’s breast
Thank you, SINful friends. It is with great pleasure I pass the word that Mr. No Name came out of his surgery Friday safely. He was in good enough spirits to insist the nurse calling his wife to refer to his wife as sexy. He also seems to have recovered some missing range of motion in his feet. I am certain all the well wishes, prayers, etc. helped skew the good karma in his direction. Job well done, everyone.
And Mr. No Name, be ye ever so humble, you deserve the attention my friend. Good on ya for pulling through.
Stay SINful, friends.
SINful friends, I have a request.
Today Mr. No Name is having back surgery. As he once put it:
I know the infection rate at the hospital I am having itdone at is nearly zero and my doctor’s infection rate is zero. I know the doctor has never lost or paralyzeda patient. I know the worst outcome willbe a lack of improvement, but the likely outcome is , increased stability andmobility and absence of pain.But Iremain concerned.
Keep Mr. No Name in your thoughts today, please. Send him good energy, pray for him, wish him well, etc. The man is a staunch supporter of us here at abSINthePassion, and we want do all we can to return the favor.
And you, Mr. No Name, I expect to be reading this post the weekend or week after your surgery as you recover safely and successfully. I want to be seeing more of you, my friend.
Stay SINful, friends.
It’s been awhile since I’ve touched on the Polyamorous aspect of the relationship between Mrs. AP and I, and with good reason; we have been without any additional romantic partners for nearly a year now. For those of you keeping score at home, yes, that stretches back to before I began this blog. We did, as documented, visit an on-premise swingers club and play a bit. We also had a date with a friend that resulted in quite a fun time for all. Those two experiences very much trended toward the Swinger end of the Poly/Swing spectrum, however, and didn’t involve most of the more complex emotional aspects I associate with being Poly. One of those aspects is finding compersion.
Compersion, as defined on Wikipedia — because it’s not a recognized word in any dictionary I can yet find — “is a state of empathetic happiness and joy experienced when an individual’s current or former romantic partner experiences happiness and joy through an outside source, including, but not limited to, another romantic interest. This can be experienced as any form of erotic or emotional empathy, depending on the person experiencing the emotion.” Summarized in briefest form, it is experiencing happiness at a partner’s happiness. It is one of the most basic tenets of the emotional maturity landscape encompassing being Poly. it is also the aspect with which, I found, I had the most difficulty.
It was one of those days today where I just didn’t want to wake up but couldn’t help feel inspired to do so anyway. How could I not? Mrs. AP was pressed into my back as my alarm went off, and all I could notice after I silenced that awful buzzing was that her breasts were full, warm, and nestles firmly against me. If that’s not the best wake-up call ever, I don’t know what is.
I rolled over to face her and we snuggled, kissing slowly, talking pillow talk, and reveling in this time that is just ours. Sure, the kids were home. Sure, the cat at the end of the bed voiced his objection to my feet moving. And, like clockwork, the puppy came bounding into the room to greet us as if we’d been gone for a week. It’s times like this I cannot help but laugh and embrace just how much better my life is now than it was 3 years ago. Back then, every day was a chore, waking up was the last thing I wanted to do, and laying in bed to snuggle with my wife was something that no longer happened. Mrs. AP makes my world brighter, and our family colors in the parts that were once drab and gray. I’m a lucky man indeed.
However, being assaulted by a hyperactive puppy that wants to assault faces, burrow under blankets, and generally pounce every bit of us that moves doesn’t allow for much in the way of romance. Really, have you ever tried to engage in a deep, soulful kiss only to have a small puppy nose trying to insert itself between the lips of you and your lover? Such a thing is neither as romantic nor arousing as it sounds. Ever. Ever the genius, Mrs. AP called Princess in and had her remove the dog and close (and lock) our door on the way out of the room. Perfect! Let the loving commence in earnest!
This just in, SINful friends. Mrs. AP and I have good news.
You see, Mrs. AP is not yet divorced from her (then) husband that was part of our Poly Triad. While separated for some time, the funds to initiate the divorce have been unavailable. We have word, though, that He has completed the paperwork on his end and is sending it over for Mrs. AP to review and sign. We find this incredibly wonderful. We find we can plan things more clearly now.
Considering recent events with those we know, stacked atop the time we’ve already had together, Mrs. AP and I are choosing not to wait for much longer than we must while still maintaining our (my?) sense of romanticism. So.
11 years ago I woke up to get ready for work thinking it was any other day. After getting out of the shower I head somebody rummaging around in the house. Dad was home from work, and looked distraught. He always held it together well, but that day I could see the strain on his face as he tried to maintain composure. I asked him why he was home from work and he said simply “Turn on the TV.” I turned on the TV as I dressed for work and had to sit down on my bed. My world had changed.
We built towers in this country, thinking we were impenetrable. We lay down brick after brick, daring anybody to get to truly know us. We rest assured knowing that our displays home and abroad would kep us safe. We were kings. Until our concrete angels fell.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. As one who has literally stood on the brink and looked over the edge, I feel compelled to mark this day and share my story. Below is an exact re-posting of a post from 29 May, 2012, titled It Gets Better and STOP Teenage Suicide.
The timing of this is monumentally improper. Something in the Tampa / St. Petersburg area must be blooming just so, because Mrs. AP and I have both, simultaneously, fallen victim to an allergen attack that has launched a warfare campaign large enough to rival Operation Desert Storm on both our sinus cavities. Yesterday both of had the most difficult time getting to sleep. I usually sleep on my stomach, her on her side, but both of us kept getting massive pressure build up under our cheeks and behind the orbital bones. The pressure became so great that my teeth ached. Combined with that, the drainage was making my throat burn. As a former asthmatic I hate the burning throat feeling with a passion.
Lucky for us we had time to swing by a local store and get come medicine with which I could curb the pressure and the drainage. I wish, I really wish, I didn’t have to do this. I was practically raised on asthma medicine and painkillers for sports and I try very hard to limit anything other than the caffeine from my drink being used as a drug in my system, but I knew 12 hours of work would be unbearable otherwise. Sadly, what we picked up isn’t something Mrs. AP can take. She’s been valiantly suffering all night.
I hate it when we’re both sick. We snuggle more, which is awesome, but we’re both hurting so badly and having to stop to cough or sneeze or shift position to ease some pain somewhere that it becomes less about loving each other and more about simply providing comfort. If that’s all I can do, though, I’m going to comfort like a motherfucker.
When it comes to doing things badly, I took the cake for a couple years. My (then) wife gave me a run for my money, but I believe that in terms of sabotaging the relationship I ultimately brainwashed myself into thinking I was doing my best when I was in fact doing the exact opposite. I am not proud of my actions. I am not proud of the way I reacted to my wife’s actions. In the end we’re both to blame. There’s no way around that.
I wish it sounded better, but there’s no way around it; the trouble started within 6 months of getting married. No, scratch that. The trouble started 2 years before getting married, I was just too blind, dedicated, and self-deceptive to recognize our problems for what they were. We were incompatible in may ways and we both refused to see that. Our sex life was dwindling, our communication skills were shot, but we pushed forward on the premise that love would help us make things better. Once we had committed to a wedding venue and date we both felt “locked in”. I know I did. It became a matter of course more than joy, but after watching far too much Bridezillas on TV I was just happy we weren’t that bad. So on we pushed on a path plotted into the heart of disaster.
I can’t help but want to show you
My urge to reveal is strong
But I need some motivation
Tell me my urge isn’t wrong
Tell me what you want to see
What you want your eyes to adore
Beg for me with lips and eyes
Only then will you see some more
I waited in my car in the parking lot, nervously hoping time would pass faster, hoping that his wife wouldn’t be home, hoping. Would he be as hot/pretty as his pictures? Would he actually show up? What if he didn’t show?
It was in moments like these that I gave serious, grave question to what I was doing. I was sitting in a parking lot waiting on another man so that we could both cheat on our respective wives. I shouldn’t be doing it. He should’t be doing it. No matter how much we tried to rationalize what we were doing — we were both Bi with unsupportive (or in his case, an unknowing) wives who wouldn’t entertain the ideas threesomes of swinging — I still couldn’t fully reconcile that with my deep, shameful feeling of being a lying, cheating bastard. Yet there I sat, unwilling to leave. Like any addict with a gnawing need, I wanted cock. I wanted his cock.
My brain is absolutely fried today, SINful friends, so I’m calling it in JUST a little bit by taking place in the T.M.I. Tuesday meme for the first time. I simply do not have anything rolling around in my head that can coalesce into a reasonably strong, much less entertaining post. No rants. No insights. Just white noise. Despite this, I feel the urge to write something. I need the act to help keep me feeling normalized. This, I bring you my entry for T.M.I. Tuesday.
We’ve all been there at one point in our live or another; the date that doesn’t work out, the job interview that pans, the attempted hookup with another couple that ends with everybody frustrated. Okay, maybe we haven’t all had that last experience, but you get my point already, right? Sometimes, despite the best laid plans, despite the best intentions, and despite the best effort… things don’t work out. How we deal with these times determines how we bounce back from them. Moving forward isn’t an option, after all; we must, or we get left behind. So how, then, do we recover from something that leaves us embarrassed, confused, hurt, crushed, or destroyed?
Everybody has a different coping mechanism, and not everybody applies the same mechanism to every scenario. Life is filled with disappointment in all forms after all, and I know I react much differently to a favorite sports team losing than I do to a date going badly. I expect most reasonable people behave in similar fashions, although I cannot guarantee this applies to the die-hard baseball or football fans I’ve seen sink into depressions because the team lost one lousy game.
When it comes to being Single, Poly, or a Swinger the bad date brings with it the added element of a missed (or botched) sexual opportunity. It may not be the first date, second date, or even tenth date, but at some point in the dating process the comes the expectation of mutual sexual congress. The anticipation grows, the expectations rise, and eventually the clothing falls. With this heightened element comes the heightened perception of risk, reward, and failure. We come away from a successful encounter feeling like we have accomplished something incredible and worthwhile. There is potential for More, in whatever form that may take. Conversely, an unsuccessful encounter leaves us lost, bewildered, or worse. We question ourselves, our choice in potential Other, the venue, the timing, the conversation, etc. Success breeds success, they say, and every time we miss that mark the self-doubt kicks in and establishes yet another foot-hold. Both cycles become self-fulfilling prophecies. The trick, then, is to actively focus on creating the cycle we want while avoiding that which we do not desire.
As early as my mid-teens, thoughts of performing sexual acts in public — with or without either audience or partner — became a common theme in many of my fantasies. Often I would bounce between that theme or group sex, sometimes combining the two into a mental scene of group debauchery in the woods, or in a library, or at the beach. Yes, I really am geek enough to fantasize about group sex in a library. As Jack and Jill can confirm, this fantasy is not unique to me.
My first delvings into playing in public were solo affairs. As an early teenager my family lived in a planned community still in the early stages of development; there were 32 miles of bike path but only the equivalent of 8 miles of associated neighborhoods. This left many a wide stretch of nothing but woods and roadway for company. More than once I would leave the bike path to find a mostly-hidden corner in a clearing where I could still see the road if positioned just right while remaining hidden from passers-by. I’d strip, bask in the open air a bit, and slowly work myself first to arousal and then to orgasm. My senses would be overly heightened, listening desperately for somebody approaching. It never happened, but in my fantasies discovery always led to heated exchanges never to be repeated.