a new and refreshing position

I suspected something was up with my new sweetheart the day he send me the "Wonderful" e-mail. It was the most beautiful, uplifting, kind and loving e-mail I have ever gotten, a love letter basically, and it reeked of setup. I chose to take it at face value. I didn't want to make any assumtions, especially since I tended to get paranoid when things are going great in a relationship and brace myself for the moment the other shoe hits the floor. This relationship was very different from any others I've had; its incidental nature and randomeness, along with the complete lack of agenda on both our parts, and the cosmic signs I recieved while in the process of falling in love dictated that I handle this man in a way I have never handled a man before. I was to take a new tack. I was to discard the old paradigm I had held onto tenaciously for all the years up to now and develop a new one. Fortunately, I had one already in place, from years of self-observation and much learning; I had only to start practicing it.

Three weeks after the "Wonderful" e-mail, he called, as usual, but within ten minutes the conversation took a turn. Our usual chat turned to a discussion about distance and intensity and commitment and lightness in the relationship, or rather the lack therof. It made perfect sense to me, that he was feeling these things. To be honest, I had found it rather odd that he was so comfortable with the way things had been going, since it was a little heavy as far as new romance goes. Well, he wasn't.

So after an hour and a half of brutal honesty, both of us full of contradictions and both of us trying like hell to understand and be understood at the same time, we found a place to mentally rest and see what's what. He needed time to think about things, and I needed time to take a step back gracefully. After I hung up the phone, I went out front and had a smoke. I didn't cry, I didn't feel horrible, I wasn't crushed. If anything, I was... mad. I'm not sure why I was mad, I just was. Maybe I was mad at the universe bringing me to this place again, a place of being let down, a place I thought I wouldn't have to visit again. I didn't think he would be a man to bring me back to that place. But, there I was.

I also didn't really feel like it was over for us. And he said as much. It didn't feel like a breakup, but more like a pause, or a hiccup. Just trying to find that comfortable pace where we both feel the desire, not the imperative, to keep going. I just have this really powerful sense that he and I are bound to be on a journey together, one that will be bumpy and exciting and sometimes difficult and more times awesome but ultimately worth it. I knew this the night I met him and the feeling just got stronger over time. And that feeling has given me this undeniable sense of calm that I have never experienced before.

So with this feeling, I continue on my path, this charmed, blessed path, thinking about how lucky I am to have such a wonderful man in my life, and knowing that it will be okay whether he comes or goes. Of course, I want him to be with me and I want to keep riding this wave we got on, because it's so much fun and he makes me laugh and he inspires me in countless ways and I want that influence in my life to be there full on. I have no idea how it will actually fall, and there is no way I could. But the coolest thing about all this is that I feel like I truly love him because most of all I want him to be happy and whether that means being with me or not, it doesn't matter. I still just want him to be happy. There is a complete lack of possession about my love for him that I thought I would never really understand or feel about a man. But wow, there it is. And it's both liberating and refreshing.

Fuck 'em all - and not in a good way.

This is the letter I should have burned.

That's what my FRIEND Sam suggested to me last night, as I was detailing my angst and throwing my frustration at him. He told me about how Buddhists will write down things they want to express to someone, all the hurtful, hateful, angry stuff, and they write it onto rice paper. Then they burn it. The paper is so light that the heat of the fire pushes the ashes up up and away, and people's feelings are saved.

He didn't tell me in time. I had already sent the scathing e-mail to Jarlath, the one that basically told him to fuck off. I held him higher than the others, but I think falsely... he sent me an e-mail yesterday that offended me and made me see that his opinion of me is right on par with the other friends that I'm about to trade in. I was a little drunk on red wine when I wrote it. I knew that and thought better of it, but of course being as firey and impetuous as I am, I wrote what I felt and then hit send with self-righteousness in my fingers. Later I went back to my sent box and re-read it. It was like looking at the body of a dead child. Did I really send it? And then as the night went on, I started to think about our time together, and despite the fact that I know we would probably not be a very happy couple long-term, and we would most likely not have a relationship anyway, I felt like I had turned away a perfectly good love with my harsh words. We are not all that compatible and yet we managed to find love for each other in the two weeks we spent together. We were an odd couple. He was kind and generous. But at the end of the day, I refuse to be treated with disrespect, and I didn't want to be talked to the way he talked to me. Even if it was supposed to be a joke.

It's a hot spot for me, and that's why I've decided, with the encouragement of my best friend, to unload the one group of people I hang out with because they cut me no slack. I discovered thast she and her fiancee Chris already wrote these same people off a while ago for the same reasons that I am now. They are petty and juvenile, and like to gossip about other people behind their backs. This is like the high shchool bullshit that we left in high school, except they didn't leave it in high school - and even in high school, I was too smart to get sucked into that sort of social retardation. So, I'm getting a dose of it now, at the age of 36. It's amazing how I still want to be liked and accepted by my peers. Why does it matter?

It's not that it matters, it's that it's unfair. It's like being acused of a crime that I didn't commit. My name is on the line here. It takes a lifetime to build a good reputation, and ten minutes to destroy it. So now, based on assumptions and gossip, everyone from that group sees me a certain way, a way that I feel is inaccurate, and they are losing respect for me. But, see, there's no reason to lose respect for me, because I didn't do anything wrong. My choices were sound and my intentions were good. Well... except for that last one.

It seems that I got snared by the wrong guy, someone who has the worst reputation in the bunch. I fought him off and denied him for quite a long time, but he finally got to me in a moment of weakness. I knew I was doing the wrong thing even in the middle of it - but it had momentum and I wasn't quick enough or sober enough to stop it. But, this is the part most people aren't aware of nor will ask. He didn't fuck me. Nope. I know people would love to think that he did, and that I was too oblivious or slutty or horny or whatever to stop it, but I did. I've told one or two people this in my defense, but I can see that they find it hard to believe me. There's nothing I can do about that. But me and the four walls of my bedroom and my cat and God all know what happened. A lot, but not that.

But those details don't matter. It still made me icky in my friends' eyes, because I had let this monster get that close. One of my good friends who is part of that group, who cares about me and told me the truth, said that now that I've let this guy touch me, I'm considered tainted. I have since realized fully the grossness of it, and I clearly understand the scope of the mistake I made. But the damage has been done. Hopefully, me and icky guy can both get something out of this - I will learn a big lesson about who to keep company with, how to stand my ground, how to make better decisions. Hopefully, for him, his contact with me might have blessed his path and turned it around. That would redeem me. Getting a full-time boyfriend would redeem me. Going into the convent would redeem me. But as it stands, the only option I have is to give it time.

That's not all. That's just the most recent thing that I've done that didn't sit well with some people. I guess the fact that I slept with two of the guys in another part of the group has made them see me a certain way. No matter that the first guy was pretty much a relationship, even though Jerome would not admit it - but we were seeing each other consistently for about three months. That started at his request and ended at his request. I loved him to pieces and couldn't get enough - but he kept me at arms length and finally freaked out at the whole thing and passive-aggressively put an end to it. He broke my heart. Does anyone know about the nights I cried at the loss of him? No. All they know is that we fucked. It's just that simple to those who don't ask.

The other guy happend a full year later, and was something that I chose intentionally. I had known this guy for several years, and waited a long time to go there with him because I KNEW that people would talk. So, I took it off the playa. O'Neil was good to me and treated me like a queen. I was told last night that he has a reputation for being a player and that he doesn't treat women well. I never saw that about him. I have no idea where these opinions come from, all I know is how he was with me. He was wonderful. I didn't think it was going to go very far anyway, but it ended because work took him down to L.A. for a while, and we had only gone out a few three times, and it was easy to say well, see you when I see you. But somehow, that worked itself into another mark against me. Me loving a few men. Them loving me back. All that makes me a bad person.

So, fuck all y'all. I have other friends. And those people are wonderful. They love me and accept me for who I am, and do not pass judgement. They haven't always agreed with what I've done or the choices I've made, but they kept me close and respected me all the same. I'm keeping those guys. And Sam is one of them.

Growing Up, Part 1

One of the best things my parents did for me is send me to Montesorri when I was 4. I was allowed to gravitate naturally toward whatever I was interested in learning, from exploring textures to learning the alphabet to making things with glue and glitter. Within a year I was reading fourth grade reading level and writing in cursive. It just got better from there, and even now, turning my attention to what tickles me at any given moment is still the most productive way for me to work and create.

I spent my youth in the pool. My dad was lucky enough to rent us a house that came with an inground pool, which was extravagent for a family of our modest means. Most of the neighbors in our middle-class neighborhood in Albany had above-ground pools, if they had anything. Some of my friends had a slip-and-slide, which worked great in the yards that were on a slope and there was no oncoming traffic. But I was lucky - I spent my entire summers swimming around in my pool, throwing rocks to the bottom of the deep end and retreiving them, practicing holding my breath and trying to get all the way across without coming up for air, practicing the dives my dad taught me. Sometimes my brother and sister would swim too, but I was often by myself.

In the winter, the pool would freeze up, and when the ice was thick enough my dad would spray the top with water, which made the ice nice and smooth. We had an ice skating rink in our backyard. We would go around and around in these tight little ovals for an hour or two in the cold winter afternoons. It was great for a while, my brother and sister and I loved skating around our own private skating rink... until the teeth in the front of our skates started running into the side of the pool and tore up the lining. At first my dad told us to be careful, and we tried our best, but there's only so much you can do with a lack of body control combined with a slippery surface. So, eventually, after some substantial gashes were administered, my dad changed his mind and it was no longer a skating rink. We would have to go skate at the pond.

It was during my youth that I developed my keen sense of direction. This sense of direction later kept me from getting lost all eleven times I drove across the country, as an adult, through places for which I had no personal guide or previous knowledge. I developed this sense of direction on my mint green Columbia banana-seat bike, during the hot, humid New York summer days when the electric buzz of locusts was constant. When I was bored with swimming, I would get on my bike and ride to the end of the street, where if I turned back, I could see where I had been and could recognize the street and find my way home. I wanted to explore. Each time I went out for a ride, I went a little further and remembered a little more, adding a street or two to my mental map of the neighborhood. Having a photographic memory helped, although at the time I was not aware that I indeed had this gift; it was just how my mind worked. I found out what it was called years later.

Not only was I blessed with a photographic memory, but I also saw all my letters and numbers in color. I still have these gifts. The colors of the letters and numbers have always been the same. I think it's an aspect of the photographic memory. The color of whole words are a combination of the letters, but the word takes on a flavor of it's own depending on the colors that are prevalent or capitalized. That's why I don't like my name; it consists of circus colors, all primaries, and those are the least favorite colors of mine out of the whole spectrum. If I write something down, I am basically reading it, looking at it; I can read it back in my mind once I have read it. I can leave directions at home by accident and, by virtue of writing it down, I can find my way by reading my memory. This handy little trick has saved me from getting lost more than once.

My parents knew soon after I was born that I was a special little baby. According to them, I was much brighter than other babies - and of course, my parents weren't biased. But when I picked up a pencil at the age of two and proceeded to draw an astoundingly recognizable caterpillar, Mom and Dad made darned sure that from that point forward I would be given all the tools and opportunities I needed to flourish in my artistic and academic development. It was probably right after I dropped the pencil so I could grab a Cheerio that my dad ran out to the art store and got me my first set of watercolors.

He also got me one of the strangest birthday presents that to this day I'm not sure how to feel about. I was about 10 years old when he handed me a present which was quite obviously a book. Wrapped, I imagined that it was maybe a Judy Blume collection, or maybe the Chronicles of Narnia. Instead, I unwrapped a mustard yellow hard-cover copy of Henry Thoreau's Walden. I opened it and tried to read... but even a sharp and advanced mind such as mine could not quite understand it fully. In fact, it was really hard for me to read. I didn't understand it. It was really dry. And although I felt proud that my dad thought so highly of me to give me such an advanced book, I also felt inadequate for not being able to read it.

I loved to read. My mom would take all of us to the library several times a week during the summer. Every year there was a Book Reading Contest, and I would spend the summer trying to read as many books as I could so I might win. I read all the Judy Blume books, all the Nancy Drews... pretty much all the books on the paperback rack in the teen section. I now see that it was a misspent youth. I guess there was another side of me that balanced out the bookworm. That side was the theif.

playa dust in the wind

my week in the desert was amazing... so many magical things happened to me, so much affirmation that I am on a good path - one of more integrity. I kind of spun myself into a ball over the past 6 months or so, and because of that I realized that I had to change my behavior and right this ship. The prevailing thought I had was that I was not out there to get laid, but to build friendships, and just be cool and generous and kind and share the experience without being on the make just in general. Well, I did just that. It felt sooo good to not only be able to keep a promise like that to myself, but also to enjoy friendship for friendship sake, and to exerience intimacies that were sometimes more intense than any sex I might have had with my friends (and had the opportunity to). That was what I was referring to in the new copy on my website which I updated when I got back. (http://www.betsylyon.com)

But I did have my share of hurdles. The shade that I sewed at home and that looked so great in my living room turned into a sail in the 50-mph winds in the beginning of the week. Even after I cut a million holes in it, it still tore itself to shreds and all that was left were rags hanging from rebar all around my camp. After a few days of repeated struggle, I finally let the wind blow the shit out if it, and whatever was left I just tied to what was sturdy. Somehow, a bunch of half-assed knots worked better than I expected.

Then things were great until the end of the week, when my eyes started to get irritated. The playa dust had gotten under my contact lenses, and I had cat-napped a few times with them in. They weren't too bad one day (hard to remember which one), but I could feel them starting to bug me later on. I partied through the night, coping and managing, the irritation getting worse and worse, until finally when the sun came up I was beside myself with pain. I had been dealing with my eyes for at least 12 hours before I took leave of my friends to find Kaly, and ask her to help me find our friend Neal, who was an opthamologist. I couldn't see. My eyes had shut and remained that way for the next few hours. They recessed into my sockets, and became extremely sensitive to the light, so much so that I couldn't even control the muscles to open my eyes. They refused. So I fluttered my lids as much as I could, closing them completely when I could memorize the path, and rode my bike in partial darkness to Kaly's camp, where I found my Brian standing there as if he were waiting for me. Upon seeing him I started to cry. He instructed our friend Chris to get Kaly, and she came, and within minutes I had three of my very dearest friends surrounding me and taking care of me with love. I was defeated. They were right there for me.

Kaly led me through Black Rock City on our bikes - I had a tricycle - and we found Neal in center camp. He took me into his arms like a mother, and told me everything was going to be alright. Then he looked at my eyes, and diagnosed me with a double eye infection which he gave me antibiotics for. I guess one of the requirements as a doctor is to travel with medicine. I couldn't have been luckier that he was there. It took about five or six hours to finally not feel pins and needles being repeatedly stuck into my eyeballs, but eventually, the pain did subside, just in time for the Burn. It was that day that I made the commitment to get lasik done within the year.

On top of that, my feet still weren't fully recovered from my surgery, and they had been swollen all week. Then one night, someone danced right onto my right foot, with all his weight, and re-broke my foot where the surgical break had been made. Fortunately, I was too high to care. The break was so small that I really didn't feel pain from it, but when I went to the doctor for a check-up a week later, it was evident that it had been broken. So now I'm not allowed to start running again until October.

The week finished up pretty smoothly, but not without gossip. My posse, Lush, had been out there for 14 days, and they were ready to eat each other. Tempers flared. Patience was tested. One guy got smacked and the two men had to be seperated. Someone with whom I made a connection one night proceeded to become inseperable from a 21-year old ballerina, to my disappointment. The other playmate I made had a reputation as a tramp, and I was at risk of being taken down with him because we had been hanging out together earlier that week. I hadn't even touched him beyond smacking his ass and playfully making out. Everyone assumed we had fucked. I was absolutely amazed at how mature adults could digress to maturity levels akin to those in high school. But I knew what I had done, and what I hadn't done, and that I acted with integrity and class the whole time and my intentions were always good. There was nothing I could do about how people felt or what people said. I had to just ride it out. It just made me sad and angry at the unfairness of it all.

The irony was, in the end, there was Irish, by my side, as he had been the whole week, and in fact had been for years. He was the one faithful friend who didn't judge me once. He was the one who had my back. He was the one who took care of me, no matter where I was or who I fancied. In the end, to our complete suprize, we connected. I still kept to my promise, but I felt like I was being rewarded with a big kiss to my heart. Who knew.

Everything smoothed itself out, and I left on a high note. The morning after the burn, I went over to Camp Carp for Black Sabbath Breakfast, as instructed. I found Barb back at the griddle, then saw a blur of Michael Christian, and then got a proper good morning from Jeremy. He fed me bacon and pancakes. I then felt a little out of place, so said my farewell, and headed back to my family. Lush was going out with a bang after ten legendary years, and I wanted to be there every second, till the bitter end. I didn't want to miss a thing, I left only three days before the hardcore crew did.

What I came home with was a stronger sense of who I was and what I had to give, beyond the slam-dunk of being the vixen, or the lover, and more in the direction of being the healer, with something to give, selflessly, despite my having been the one in need for a short time. When I was able, I found a tremendous amount of satisfaction in being a support, or being a messenger when called upon to anyone in my path. Some people, I am sure, had been put in my path because they were ready for the teacher. At the very least, I was always good for a hug. A lot of people just needed a hug. And I had hugs and kisses to give out by the truckload.

There is still playa dust in the tiny crevices of my car, but I like it that way.

here we go

Today I woke up pissed. Not drunk, if you're an anglophile, but angry. I was angry at one of my dearest friends, Ron. I had called him last night and left a message, asking if he knows anything about COBRA, since I'm going to be leaving my job soon and I should keep my health insurance due to having my feet done so recently. It's just a good idea in general to have health insurance anyway, especially at my age when things start to break, and someday I'll probably want to get pregnant. He left a message last night, saying that he didn't know much about COBRA... and to not be hasty about quitting my job.

That's what pissed me off. I am quitting my job. I have been planning to do this since March. I have been talking about this for six months. I am not going to not do this. I will be giving my two weeks notice to my department in less than a week. I am comitted to moving on - I am excited about it, I am scared to death of it, I have been encouraged by my friends and the universe in unexpected and beautiful ways. I am going to do this. I have been wanting to end my corporate sentence almost since the day that I filled out my W-4 and gave it to HR. But to reach the point where I am ready to dismiss the secure warmth of this job has been an excercise in courage and faith. It is essential that those around me be positive, and supportive, and help me along this path with their good wishes. It wouldn't take much to knock me down and scare me into staying. So I decided, after hearing the message, that I couldn't talk to him until after I had made the transition.

It's not his fault. He is a septegenarian, a very cool one at that, but still a subscriber to the Old Way of thinking. He and my mom. She's another one I can't discuss this with. I have been explaining this to them for months now, and still, neither one of them is on board. I really really need them to support me, two of the most important people in my life - but instead they have consistently discouraged me and made my mood sour. They made me mad. But then I realized that it's all they know, that they can't see the real opportunity I'm creating for myself, my desire to be happy and excited on a daily basis, and my desperate need for room to grow as an artist, which is why I'm here. My younger friends can. Especially those who understand and appreciate my talents. Ron, as much as he loves me, has never had much faith in my ability as an artist. He has always seen me as a little bit less than what I am, and I have no idea why. But I have never been able to count on him to put out the good word for me in terms of business. And sometimes that hurts.

But when I put it into perspective, I can see that his opinion on the subject is only one of dozens, and not shared by anyone but maybe my mom. My other friends and associates see me as wonderful, talented artist, and they tell me so, unprovoked, all the time. I have been recieving e-mails from all over the country, random e-mails from people I do not know, sending me accolades on my photography. This has been entirely unexpected. My photography. What's ironic is that I consider myself an illustrator, not a photographer. But the compliments they send me are for my pictures.

I started shooting a few years ago, when I got my first digital camera. Taking lots of pictures suddenly became affordable. Actually, it became free. I already had all the computer hardware and software in place, all I had to do was shoot, transfer, and edit. I have gotten so much joy from taking pictures. It's what I do when I have time to goof off. The things that I see in the world are so interesting and gorgeous, it often takes my breath away. All I'm doing is taking a visual note, and sharing it. I had no idea my pictures would be so well-recieved. But they are, and I'm rolling around in it like a dog in the dirt.

That's just one of about eight or nine different avenues I'm going to take once I'm freed. My creativity is surging and almost making me nuts, since right now it has so few outlets. I don't have the time. I can't have a full-time job plus a two-hour commute every day and expect to take all these ideas and birth them and watch them grow. I've tried desperately to do that for three years. When I do try to do my art, after work and on the weekends, it's like hiking uphill with an 40-pound backpack when I'm hungry, cold, tired, and I have to pee. It sucks. I just can't do it and give myself a fair chance to do it right - or even enjoy it. Making art and expressing myself should be fun! But it's not, it's just another gruelling task. Do I want my life to be like this? HELL no.

So, I'm clearing all the branches from my path, putting my helmet on, and getting ready to hold on tight for the wild ride that is ahead. I know it's going to be awesome. I know it's going ot be a lot of work. I could not be more ready in my heart and in my mind. And the perfect way to start the whole thing is with my extended chosen family, for one week, in the middle of fucking nowhere in a city that will spring up out of the playa like a mirage. I think there's going to be a big bonfire, too.

Surfing at Point Arena

1

As the surf recedes back down the sloping beach in front of me, the medium sized round rocks bang together and make a wet, percussive sound as they roll and smack into each other in the water. I look off to my left, and four surfers are floating in the water, waiting for the biggest wave of the set so they can ride it in. The tide is coming in and the water is getting closer to my prophylactic post-op boots, but I'm not worried that I'll get wet because I'm far enough up the sloping beach. I can tell which black wetsuit when standing is Rahsaan- I have studied his body for hours by now, his mesmerizing, delightful body, addictive in it's muscular beauty. At least in my eyes. Even far away, as a spec, I can tell that it's him - his low center of gravity, his very broad back, his hey dude stance even when riding a wave. Cockiness that is really confidence. This is a man who really likes himself, and has surfed a lot. I don't understand surfing and at the same time I am completely drawn to it and the lifestyle. I imagine that this is because it will always be a little mysterious to me. I grew up landlocked and I have a respectful fear of the ocean. Surfing will always be elusive to me. I think I like it that way.

Rahsaan and I drove up north last night to spend a few days with Cyber Sam and Wry Bread at Sam's house, in the woods near Point Arena. He was taking me to the doctor for my first post-op check-up on Monday, when he got the call from Rye Bread that the surf was too good to pass up, so Raz said he was going up there later in the day. Well, since I was right there, I asked if I could tag along, and to my mild suprize, he said sure. It would be a welcome break for me since I've been confined to my house for the last week due to having surgery on both my feet.

Sometimes I look down at my boots, and I'm still amazed that I actually did it. It was a really tough decision to make, to get both my feet fixed at the same time, and choose to have a doctor cut me open and go deep through everything inside my foot, down to the bone, and cut it apart, move it over, put pins in my toes and shave my bones down smooth. In fact, I had said many times, I want to go to my grave without ever getting cut. Well, I changed my mind. And I was really scared.

But I had to have faith. I had to put most of it in the doctors hands. The rest I had to have in the universe, and in God, and in me, that this was the right thing to do. I asked a lot of people their opinion. I did a lot of research. I talked to a woman who had the same procedure done only six weeks before. Finally, it took the blessing of my mom that made it all okay, and for me to move forward and do it. I know, I'm old enough to make my own decisions, but there was something about what my mom thought about it that was important to me. At first, she didn't think it was necessary. And then, after she had thought about it more, and then actually saw my poor, deformed feet, that she said you know, you should do it. I scheduled my surgery the next day.

Well, the surgery went extremely well, and I've been healing at warp speed, just like I thought I would. I went for my first checkup yesterday and got some big thumbs up and some new bandages. I saw my new feet for the first time, bruised and swollen, but they already looked beautiful. Since I was feeling so well, I decided that a little break out of town would be fine. So here I am, sitting on this windy, rocky beach, in my big blue and grey ski boots, freezing my ass off and watching the boys surf.

2

It's been a great day so far. We woke up nice and late in the Cyberbus, me in the back and Rahsaan in the front. I finally got up a little after Raz did and wandered into the house for some coffee and pancakes. They eventually got the van packed with their surf gear, smoked a bowl, and drove to the cove.

But today I'm a little mixed up. See, yesterday, right after we made plans to come out here together for a few days, Raz laid it out on the table and told me that he couldn't see me anymore except as just friends. That he was torn up about being with me when he has a girlfriend. And I understood. In fact, I expected it, in a way. But I was really, really disappointed. I like him a lot and I could easly see how good we are together, and how great we could be together. There's a sense of comfort I get with him, and at the same time, a sense of excitement. He's sweet and considerate and has just enought element of asshole but is outweighted by his charm and sense of fun and just being kind... and he's got a smile that turns me into a puddle every time he flashes it at me. He makes me feel unworthy. He's a big softie under that dude exterior, and he's also a guy who follows through with his commitments and whose intentions are good. Not only that, but I'm so hot for him that sometimes when I look at him, the entire world falls away for just a spit second.

But of course, since he has a girlfriend, who is very far away - in the Carribean - he has a wall around him. Somehow I managed to penetrate that wall on more than one occasion, but it went right back up when we returned into the world outside of the one we made, however small and new, and he had a chance to think of the big picture again. So I sort of knew that it wasn't going to just come to me that easy. But it was there and he was participating.

Anyway, my instinct was right. After my doctor's apointment, before we went up north, we drove to the Arboretum in Golden Gate Park and got out and looked at the chrysanthemums in the side garden. That's when he said we had to have a talk. He said his head was splitting over being wiht me and having a girlfriend. He didn't want to do this to me, to her, or to himself. And that we had to start being friends without being lovers. That he really intended to leave it on the playa that weekend. But that he doesn't know why he kept seeing me afterward, but he did. And that he can't do it anymore.

I told him I understood - and I really did - but it wasn't what I was hoping to hear from him. But there it is. Deal with it.

Well, I told him it would be hard to help him be good, and that I surely wouldn't try to seduce him, but if he chose to come to me I probably wouldn't turn him down. That I would try to be supportive as much as I was capable. And that was the honest truth. But because I wanted to be with him so much, it would be a conflict of interest. He accepted that.

He dropped me off at my house for a few hours and he went to his place, so we could both get packed, and then rounded me up again at dark. We smoked a joint as we drove up to Point Arena, and drank five beers between us. Usually I would protest, but for some reason, I was with Rahsaan and it was all good. I don't know why it was like that. But it made the journey a lot more fun. Near the end of the trip, he turned off into a small vista point and got out to smell the ocean and have a smoke before we got to Sam's house. It was cold, and all the stars in the sky were out shining brightly and filling in all the black spaces with twinkles of light. As I stood there, I got an overwhelming desire to touch him and show him some affection. It was just one of those moments. As I leaned in and kissed his cheek, he said, only friendly kisses now, and pulled away.

Well, I got it. I was completely deflated. I got in the car and sulked a little... but then realized that I had more to gain by being cool and putting his needs and desires before mine, in the name of friendship. Not just our friendship, but all the other friendships I have started and want to forge among his group of friends, Belva's group, the fourth of July group that witnessed the whole thing. So I sat there and I sucked it up.

We got to Sam's, and Rahsaan started getting our beds set up. We were going to sleep in the Cyberbuss. I chose the bed in the back, Rahsaan took the bed in the front. We brushed our teeth and arranged our nests, drank some water and took our last pee. I was ready to lay my head down, when I called over to him. Can I have a kiss goodnight? He came over. He leaned down and kisssed me. Just a sweet soft smack of a kiss. And he lingered. He kissed me again. And then again. And then, a full body, full mouth kiss... and then it began. The energy between us shifted and we were back in the swirl of that incredible, sensual, sexual draw we have between us. He didn't go away. And I made no attempts to help him stop. Before I knew it, we were making noises again. Passionate, loving, deep, pleasure noises that I had just resigned to not ever having with him again. I was on top of the world - not just because he giving me orgasm after deep orgasm, but because I wanted to be that close to him and his energy. I wanted to love him. And he seemed to be letting me.

At the same time, all of it confused me. Was I stupid to go there and risk getting more hurt? Or to risk having him resent me for letting him go too far? Or was he doing what he really wanted to do and I should let him go where his heart takes him? Or was he just following his cock? I know he is torn inside because he really likes me and what I'm about, and he has told me so, but the fact remains that he's spoken for. He admitted that after sleeping with me, he knew if he continued to see me that it... I filled in the blanks as best I could and figured that he was probably afraid that he would grow feelings for me, over time, and then it would be even harder to deal with. He told me that he would have to come clean with his girlfriend about his fling with me, and he doesn't know how that might change things. Not that he wants to change things, but that the reality of it is that things might now change for him. And because I know this, knew it in my heart, can feel change coming for both of us - I can't find it in me to stop believing that there's a possibility for us to be together somewhere down the road. That's why I'm letting him do what he chooses. I guess because I want him to choose me. I know my motives are selfish. But I can't do anything else.

Ha. This polyanna will always have a bottomless well of hope.

let me reitterate.

This subject is still coming up here and there in my life. I posted this to the Monogamy tribe this after having a breakthrough last December.

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thank you. now I can rest.

I just want to make it known how glad I am that there are people like me that are monogamous and like it that way. And this is all coming from a borderline nymphomaniac. Just ask all my lovers.

A few months ago, I fell madly in love with an amazing man. Within a few weeks, it became apparent that his tendencies and desires leaned toward poly-this and poly-that, and that despite our mutual love for each other, there were issues sitting under the surface waiting to rear it's ugly head. But we both wanted to try to work with it... whatever "it" was. I am the kind of person who is totally willing to entertain new ideas and ways of being. I'm open to it. But I found that every time my mind wandered into that strange, dark place, as hard as I tried I just couldn't get comfortable. I wanted to be with this person so much - because of all the delightful things he had to offer - that I considered being polyamorous, even after a lifetime of being a serial monogamist. That's what love does.

Then suddenly, he left. Disappeared. Gone. Poof. No gotta gos, no see ya laters, no poor excuses just to get out of it (which would have been just as compassionate despite it's transparency). So all I had was all this space to really think about it. I was in a state of suspended belief, thinking he was going to come back at some point. While I was waiting and wondering, I had all this opportunity to go deep and look at the subject of monogamy vs polygamy (or polyamory). I was torn. I rationalized. I considered. I theorized. I respected. I was repulsed. I was titilated. I wandered alone through the foggy, dimly lit unknown. I was cold.

Then while investigating all the poly-this tribes and fucking-that tribes (which there is no shortage of) in a desperate attempt to get it to make sense to me, I stumbled upon this tribe called monogamy. Wow. What a concept. I immediately jumped in. I read a few threads where I finally found my people shouting to the rooftops "we are not freaks!" I almost wanted to cry because I recognized my truth with clarity. I was tired of feeling like an outcast in the mire of tribe sluts and dominatrixes and their unspoken competion of who can be more deviant or have the smuttiest titty/cock/fetish shot in their picture gallery.

It was this tribe that snapped me out of it and made me look at myself and see what was really there, a wonderful, adventurous, sexy, monogamous woman, and to climb up to my rooftop and shout. "I am monogamous! I LIKE being monogamous! It's my natural state of being! And know what? I'm going to find an amazing man who will appreciate that! And we are going to fuck A LOT! And it won't get boring!" And then under my breath I will utter ...polygamy is for people with no imagination...

So thank you. Now I am clear about who I am. In that sense.