Love Bites

Taken on the Southbank, London, outside the Southbank Centre, on May 31st 2013 using the iPhone 5 panorama function. Tinted with a cooling filter.

The post British Summer Time appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

These categories are fairly self-explanatory, but let me give a little guidance: the Must-Have column is a list of non-negotiables. These are things you require in a partner; needs of your own that have to be met. The “it would be nice if” column is something of a bonus round; they’re not requirements, but they are desirable, and are likely to pique your interest. The “if you’re asking” column is a little more difficult to define, but I took it to mean the things that I might not be looking for in particular, but would be a real plus. These are things I probably don’t have on my dating profile, but I’ll be excited to learn about new people.

Joan Price is the author of Naked at Our Age: Talking Out Loud about Senior Sex and Better Than I Ever Expected: Straight Talk about Sex After Sixty, and the editor of Ageless Erotica, a collection of erotica celebrating ‘the pleasures of “well seasoned” sex’. Although I am a good thirty-seven years shy of sixty, the idea of breaking down needs and desires in a partner appealed to both the list-maker in me, and the single girl. Furthermore, as I commented to Joan on twitter, it might be interesting to compare my current lists to the lists I may make in thirty years or so. And so, I filled in my categories:

Writing these lists, a few things occurred to me, which I thought I might share here. First of all, I compiled all three columns in about half an hour, which seems to me like a good start: I clearly know what I want. The list of Must-Haves was the quickest to write, and by the time I reached the ‘if you’re asking’ column I had to sit back for a moment and really think before I realised that – yes – meeting someone who knows how to sail, or even took an interest in it, would be a very pleasant bonus: generally speaking I’m not a particularly active person, but being on a boat transforms me, and it would be nice to share that.

A point which I really took a few moments to consider is non-monogamy. I do identify as non-monogamous, and so it would seem to naturally fit into the Must-Haves column. However, I am not necessarily closed to the idea of monogamy. If I met someone who fulfilled all my Must-Haves but was monogamous, I can imagine the possibility of an exclusive relationship; it’s not impossible that I might go back to monogamy with the right person. Conversely, I don’t want to negate the possibility of meeting someone who is monogamous by default but open to changing that.

The other point which I changed a couple of times is my number 1: must be over thirty. It started as over forty, and then I found myself thinking of my ex – ‘the Canadian’. He is in his early thirties and if it hadn’t been for the distance I think he and I could have been very happy together. I don’t meet many thirty-year-old men who are as directed and stable in their lives, but thinking of him reminded me that such men do exist. And by adding “Old enough to really be Daddy” to my “if you’re asking” column, the three lists together seemed to fill both necessity and desire.

I could easily write a paragraph on each of my thirty points, but that would take a few thousand words at least. Suffice to say the rest of my lists fell into place rather easily, and I think the result presents me well, as an individual, and also strikes a nice balance between sex, partnership, and interests.

Sitting back to look at my completed lists, I realised something; I have noticed, recently, that I haven’t been thinking about dating, or pursuing anyone with as much interest as I was a few months ago, and reading through my three columns, the reason for this lack of action when it comes to my love-life became clearer. Although I haven’t met the one man who can fulfill all my Must-Haves and hit a few of my ‘it would be nice if’s and a couple of the points under ‘if you’re asking’, between my various (casual) relationships, almost every one of my thirty points is fulfilled by someone. My Must-Haves are definitely all ticked; in fact almost everyone I am involved with hits all ten of those points on their own. As for the other lists, the only things I do not have are someone who lives alone in London, someone who knows how to sail, and someone who takes an interest in opera. (Oh, and I seem to be losing my fellow smokers, but I can live with that, and really, more power to them.)

The fact that I don’t have a primary partner but still feel this fulfilled is just one of the many reasons I love non-monogamy, and this division of needs got me thinking: my list of Must-Haves primarily reflects upon me, rather than my partners. My Must-Haves are things that I must have, not necessarily things each individual partner must have. For example, if I have one partner who takes a great interest in culture and art, I may not necessarily require that in another partner, because the first partner is already fulfilling that need. Likewise, I really don’t mind that one of my female partners may be smaller than me (in height and/or frame) because my male partners are all bigger than me. I still get to curl up and feel small with someone.

In fact, although I am unlikely to be attracted to someone who isn’t kinky, or who doesn’t take an active interest in the world, the only thing on any of my three lists that is absolutely essential in each and every person I am involved with is the ability to hold stimulating intellectual discussion and debate; and this is not something I have decided, it is something I know to be true about myself. This kind of conversation is how I relate to people, and how I form strong bonds. This is key to my interest and attraction, and actually, when I think about it, it does not only apply to romantic partnerships: it is also true with friends, and even family. I am not close to the members of my extended family with whom I cannot I have these kinds of discussions. My brother and I are close because we can; and the old school classmates with whom I am still in touch are those I can debate with.

This morning, whilst cleaning the kitchen, I was listening to Pedestrian Polyamory. The episode was a live recording of a panel at Atlanta Poly Weekend on Impermanence. During the panel someone commented that a relationship is a project; it is not something you are simply part of, it is something you actively do. It takes work and energy. Now, whilst I do have relationships in my life, they are – as I mentioned – casual; and one of the benefits of casual relationships is that they don’t require quite as much work or energy as primary relationships. I don’t have to strive to keep the flame alive, or work on intimacy, because these relationships are based upon friendship, sex, and a lack of commitment. But I digress. Hearing relationships referred to as ‘projects’ really struck a chord. When I think about my life I do break it down into projects: work, my degree, the (It Girl. Rag Doll) podcast, Bad Porn Club, my own blog, Life on the Swingset, my fiction, my family, etc. etc., these are all projects. And I adore them all. And whilst I may, on occasion, day-dream about having a strong central partnership, with one man, I actually don’t know if, right now, I have the time in my life, or the willingness to make time in my life, for one special person.

Overall, writing these three lists was a lot of fun; it focused me and made me think about what I really consider to be important. It also broke my desires down into easy categories, and I would recommend it to almost anyone who is dating, or seeking a partner/partners. But for me, what this exercise did, was make me realise just how lucky I am in my current situation; I am happy, I am sexually active, and my life feels balanced, and full of wonderful people I adore. And when I do go back to actively dating, and I make room in my life for another project, I’ll have three lists from which to build. Which, at the end of the day, can’t be a bad thing.

The post Joan Price’s Three Lists of 10s appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

I am a twenty-three year old, white, middle class, cis-gendered female, living in London. And I cannot, in all good conscience, call myself a feminist. Yes, I do believe that I should have the same rights and the same freedoms as men; yes, I do believe that I deserve to be paid just as much as any man who does the same job as me; yes, I do believe that I deserve to make my own sexual choices without discrimination; yes, I do believe that I should be in charge of what happens to my body. And perhaps you’re reading along, perhaps even nodding along, thinking that all these things make up the baseline of why feminism is important. But to my eyes, this is not how you are representing. If I woke up every day to read the words of feminists who were campaigning for a pregnant woman’s right to choose her own course of action, I would be right behind you. But I don’t.

What I wake up to looks nothing like the feminism I was raised to believe in. What I see is women telling other women that they can’t understand because they are too privileged; because they’ve never been raped; because they’re not mothers; because they’re white; because they’re middle class; because they’re straight. Exactly who are you fighting for? Because all too often I feel like I would only be allowed an opinion if I were a working class, black, lesbian, transgender, single mother of two. Yes, I understand that I am incredibly lucky; I do feel privileged to have had an incredibly good education; to have never worried about where my next meal was coming from; to have always received fair and equal pay; to have always been able to make my own sexual choices. But I am sick of feeling that because of these things, my opinion is not valid. I don’t want to have to tell you that my Mother worked sixteen hour days to give me – and my brother! – the life every child deserves. I don’t want to talk about my abusive relationship in order to make my views on rape valid. I don’t want to be heard because I’m female; I want to be heard because I’m human.

And this brings me to the second thing I see when I read the word “feminist”: on a weekly – sometimes daily – basis, I see feminists telling men they cannot be feminists because they don’t understand; they’re not female, so they don’t get it. My Father did just as much to give me freedom and choices as my Mother did. But, what? Because he has a penis, he’s not allowed to be a feminist? Oh no, I’m sorry: it’s because he’s also a white and middle class; because he’s privileged. What if I told you his Mother threw him out when he was eighteen? What if I told you he lived in a squat? What if I told you he worked every day of his life to live comfortably? What about supporting his partner through chemotherapy, whilst battling his own cancer? Can he be a feminist now? Has he been through enough hardships? And then there’s my brothers; and my male friends; and my cousins; and my friends’ little boys. I don’t want any of them to live in a world where they have to apologise for their gender. None of them tried to silence suffragettes; none of them have ever raped a woman. None of them have ever been given advantages because of their gender. In fact, I see men being shamed for their gender far more than I see women shamed for theirs. I have sat in seminars on feminist literature and watched male students squirm, unable to speak because they feel so weighed down by the inherited shame of their male ancestors. When men don’t feel able to express an opinion on Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own – which, by the way, strikes me as a far more elitist text than a feminist one – because of their gender, isn’t that oppression too?

This leads me to two further points: first, perhaps the most heinous argument I have seen from feminists: the “women have been oppressed for thousands of years; it’s time for men to know what that feels like” argument. Okay, it is not an argument I see from the majority of feminists, but the fact that it is out there at all, tarnishing the term “feminist” adds to the reasons I do not identify with the term myself. I have never seen any self-proclaimed feminist attempt to create difficulties for men, but I have seen women who, when confronted with issues which negatively effect men, say “so what? We’ve suffered.” This is disgusting and completely undercuts what I was raised to believe feminism is: I thought women wanted equality because we are human! And actually, I do see socially accepted ways in which women are given privileges men are not: for example, female-only groups are often celebrated, whilst male-only groups are condemned. Why is it okay for women to celebrate their gender, but not for men? Feminism is not supposed to be about getting back at men, or about empowering women at the expense of men; it is supposed to be about equality! After all, an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.

But to my second point: and here we have something I rarely see discussed. That patriarchy that the suffragettes fought against, that women want to be free of; the patriarchy that pervaded our society for hundreds of thousands of years; the one that put men on top? Well, women were there too. Women were complicit in the way society was structured. This patriarchy was not something that was done to women; it was something human beings constructed, agreed to, and lived by. Men didn’t change at the turn of the century; women did. Women decided they wanted the vote; and they weren’t fighting against men! they were fighting against the status quo: a status quo that both men and women created. If women had wanted to, they would have changed things earlier. There were female monarchs long before that; powerful female role models women could have allied with; women always had the strength of mind and the will to earn themselves power and freedom. But for a very long time, they didn’t. Women were complicit in the patriarchy right up until the moment they decided they wanted change. And then they started working for that change. And as far as I was every taught, feminism now is supposed to be about continuing that change; about relearning and restructuring society in a way that works in the modern world.

The way in which consciousness has evolved means that, yes, women deserve and need a lot more freedom than our ancestors wanted before. But what we’re living in the shadow of is not men; it’s the hangover of a patriarchy everyone created. And the term ‘feminist’, for me, puts too much emphasis on gender. It’s not about being female, it’s about being human. And I would like to note here that our use of the term now is very modern. The women who really lived under that patriarchy, those who first campaigned and marched to earn themselves the right to vote called themselves, first and foremost, suffragettes, not feminists.

A few weeks ago I spoke to a friend who said she felt that in many cases women are the weaker sex; that many women do want to be taken care of by men. Now, I don’t believe that women are innately weaker, nor that we need to be taken care of. But I do believe that there are those amongst us who want that. And looking back at our patriarchal history, it seems a few other women understood that feeling as well. My friend went on to explain that because of her desire to be a wife and Mother, to take care of her children and keep a home, and be taken care of by a man, she feels shamed by feminists who tell her she is perpetuating a dangerous stereotype. The thing is, she is not stupid. She is smart. She is conscious She understands those who want independence and equality; but she believes in making choices. And in my eyes, she is making her own informed choices about what she wants. To me, that is what feminism should be. It should be about getting the respect of other people, regardless of how you choose to live your life. And that’s not what I see. What I see is women telling women they need to be independent and career driven. But if you don’t want that, isn’t being pressured into it just another form of oppression?

Perhaps you have read this far and feel that I have got the wrong end of the stick; that my views are skewed and out of focus. In fact, I hope you do. I hope I am wrong. I hope my view of feminism is unrealistic and untrue. But, sadly, this is what I see. This is what I am presented with on a daily basis. And I’m not stupid. I understand that things aren’t perfect. In fact, often they are dire. But doesn’t the fact that this is my view of feminism, worry you? This is what the young generation of women are being presented with. And as long as this is what we’re seeing, we’re not going to call ourselves feminists. I know very few people my own age who can identify with this picture. And that is my problem. I think that if I were ever properly shown the true, grassroots of feminism, I would probably agree. But I’m not.

I am incredibly grateful to all the people – feminists included – who have come before me, and fought for my right to vote; for my education; for my freedom of expression; for me as a human being. I recognise how lucky I am to live at a time when I have been given the same respect, support and opportunities as my brother and I will always speak up against oppression; I will always support freedom and equality, for everyone and anyone. But as long as I am represented with this picture of feminism, as long as these details pervade my view of female empowerment, I will not wear the term ‘feminist’.

Please, change my picture.

Yours faithfully,
Harper

The post An Open Letter to Modern Female Feminists appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Tucked tight in the corner, shadowed in oak, seconds ticked over as his fingers traced my neck. The skin and bones; the nerves and veins. My flesh malleable, caught in the pinch of his hunger. He found the point, below my jaw, beneath my ear. Imprinted the mark of his finger in the hollow. My lips parted around gasps, and his tongue met my whimper. Prized open, weak in his palm, I accepted his kiss and returned it, until the urgency of his hand forced cries from my throat.

I pleaded, asked, didn’t want him to let go, but called his name. He claimed my mouth; bit and tasted. Extracted what he wanted as my arms hung limp at my sides, my hands folded open, half heard.

Kissed again, and then released me against the warmth of his chest.

Lids lowered, his stubble grazing my brow; the heaving of his chest, each breath, my last remembered thought.

Sketches: 2. Soho

The man in the white scarf watched us. I could see it in your smile; but what surprised me was the glint. I mistook it, for a moment, as incredulity. But as you clasped my hand, and drew me in, you looked over my shoulder, all mischief, and kissed me like you owned me. And it was pride. To be sitting with me, in such proximity. To press your lips over my mouth was to claim my flesh.

His eyebrows rose above his shielding paper until even I, without lenses, could see your audience; and I blushed.

Sketches: 3. Southbank

It was a great kindness; a personal pleasure that he plucked from her smile. They strode across the spine of the city, marveled at the waves. Stopped. And went on.

On the bank he led her through the throngs, between the second hand paperbacks, down into the concrete. The ugliness of an historic future encased their coupling and it was the cold cruelty of his hand on her neck that forced the adoration from her lips.

There was a sneer about the corners of his grin and arousal in the way he lifted her face to show her the lines of grey, slicing the blue sky; fighting their brothers; muscling in on Summer.

This was not a place for romance; no soft words, nor tender touch; the blackened walls spoke violence and brutality as he kissed the lips that gasped for air, and suggested, with the slightest shift of his body, that her ‘I love you’s were returned.

The post Three Sketches in London appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Just over two months ago, I was bewailing my penniless life, wishing against wish that I even had enough money coming in to maybe, at the very least, save up and buy last minute flights. But I knew this simply would not have been possible. I saw the Summer stretching ahead, a sea of longing as I watched good friends and loved ones prepare to fly across the pond and take Eroticon to America. And then… Molly sent me a link to GoFundMe, and talked me round to at least giving it a try. What did I have to lose?

At first I was sure the page would sit there, unvisited, for months, and never come to anything. There was a flurry of small donations at the beginning, and then things went quiet, and I envisioned refunding the money and crawling into bed to mourn the trip that would not be.

But that’s not what happened! It took me a few days to muster the courage to really promote my fund, and then… over the course of just two short months I received approximately £750 in donations! And what I noticed about these donations is that they were all from friends, and fellow artists; people I adore; people I interact with on a daily basis. People from within this wonderful community I have become a part of. These were not anonymous donations from readers I had never spoken to; these were loving gifts from friends who honestly wanted me to have this experience. And – excuse the gushing – as the donations added up, I felt my heart fill with love and gratitude.

And so I would like to say a huge thank you to Tonya, Plumptious Pea, Ben Gatewood, Remittance Girl, my darling guardian angel, and all the other people who donated (but kept their names private, and whom I have thanked privately as well). I also want to thank everyone who promoted my GoFundMe page, retweeted my tweets, and expressed their support; particularly Molly, Michael, and Ruby. Words cannot express how grateful I am to you all for helping me turn what, just a few months, was no more than a dream, into a reality.

Two months ago I barely let myself believe that I would ever be writing this post, and as I do, I can honestly say I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.

I promise to keep you all updated as I plan my trip, and to tell you all my tales from Atlanta when I’m back. Words cannot express how happy I am to have such wonderful friends and to be part of such an incredible group of people, and I will be thinking of you all as my plane takes off in October and carries me across the sea.

The post The Biggest Thank You: I am going to Eroticon USA! appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

I don’t quite identify as poly, but I’m not in the closet about being non-monogamous; nor am I in the closet about being kinky; then again, the fact that I like to be tied up and beaten doesn’t tend to come up very often in polite conversation and these aren’t details about myself that I’m likely to offer up unprompted. In fact, I rarely offer up any information unprompted; it usually just seems unnecessary. Having said that, I am listed on Facebook as being “in an Open Relationship” and if something I believe in needs me to fight for it, I will.

The closet I am more concerned with at the moment is the ‘sex writer closet’. I have recently been given a new job. It doesn’t start until September, but it’s with a company I have previously worked for, and so when it comes to social networking I am still connected with some of my past and future colleagues. Although I came out in December, and made this blog accessible to anyone who cared to look, I don’t think a great many people have done much research or clicked many links, and in the seven months that ‘Harper Eliot’ was in brackets beside my (slightly doctored, for playful reasons) Facebook name, only one loving, fun and liberal cousin seems to have noticed that I lead something of a double life. However, despite the incredibly underwhelming response to my step out of the closet before Christmas, I still feel a little irritated at having to step back into it. Because really, coming out wasn’t for anyone else, it was for me.

I came out for several reasons, the main ones being, 1) I don’t like segregating my life, and 2) I truly believe that the more people there are in the closet, the harder it is to come out. With this second one in mind, I couldn’t help but feel guilty as I deleted ‘Harper Eliot’ from my Facebook profile and scrolled back to make sure there were no stray ‘(It Girl. Rag Doll)’ posts on my page. With any other company, this might not have been necessary, and I did dream of having a job where I could be out and it wouldn’t be a problem. But for this job I have to be in the closet. If not for my sake, then for the sake of my colleagues and even my family. The backlash could be too harmful for me to put anyone at risk.

But here’s where I’m lucky: as a sex writer, being in the closet is unlikely to be destructive to anyone else. Neither my friendships nor my relationships are going to suffer because I won’t tell the woman at the next desk that I write about sex. I have never, and doubt that I will ever, introduce my friends to my colleagues; I have just never been the kind of person who mixed the two. Not because I am keeping them apart in order to maintain secrets, but simply because London is a big city and I’m unlikely to run into a colleague in the middle of Soho at 11pm on a Saturday night. And even if I did, I think that person would probably be all right with my writing. If it even came up!

As for the non-monogamous and kinky closets? Well, even if I was the most straight-cut, monogamous person on earth, clients of the company have no business knowing about my sex life or my relationships. As for colleagues? I doubt the details of my kinks are ever going to come up. They just aren’t those kinds of people. And when it comes to non-monogamy, I am more than happy to be out. I am not going to be fired for having multiple partners, and I consider being out as non-monogamous something of a political statement. Monogamy is a status quo I am happy and proud to challenge, and I already have one slip up I would like to rectify in this area.

In March I was doing some cover work, and found myself in the kitchen with one of my colleagues. I was in a bad mood, and she happens to be a colleague I have, once or twice, had tea with after work, so I shared the reason for my bad mood: my period was late. She raised an eyebrow and asked me if it was possible that I could be pregnant. I shook my head no, and explained that the only person I’d had sex with recently had had a vasectomy, and that I’m very careful anyway. I’m not sure quite how I put it, but it came out as quite cold and clinical, as though this person was a near-stranger and she looked a little uncomfortable, so I explained, “He’s really lovely”, and then, in my tired, pissed off mood, added “So is his wife.” As her eyebrows scraped the ceiling and she escaped with her cup of tea, I realised that what she had probably heard was “I am helping this man cheat on his ‘lovely’ wife”. I kicked myself for this moment of terrible communication, but when I saw her later it seemed an inappropriate subject to raise again.

There is a high chance that, like me, she remembers this somewhat awkward and rather questionable conversation, and if that is the case, I hope I get the chance to properly come out to her once we are working together next year. Then she will hopefully realise that this lovely man’s lovely wife is perfectly aware of the situation, and I am far from being a homewrecker. And if I ever get the chance to introduce her to said couple, I will do it with pride and a glint in my eye.

As for sex writing? That will have to remain my secret for now. But I think I can make my peace with that: we all have to pick our battles.

The post Being in the Closet(s) appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

In the meantime I’ll be honest, I’m not quite sure whether I’m writing this for my readers or for me. Usually I write to impart knowledge, or argue ideas; today I’m writing what is effectively a list of reminders. Or perhaps it’s a list of promises. Either way, it is a list which will probably prove more useful to me than to you. On the other hand, if I’m having trouble keeping up with my various projects, I can only imagine how lost you are. And I remain convinced that I do still have a handful of readers who care where my work is, and what I’m up to. So, in the spirit of being a good host, here goes…

• Bad Porn Club is the new podcast from Mister Gryphon and myself, wherein we talk all things bad porn. In our pilot episode we discuss the curry house in Wimbledon that has seen fit to distribute condoms with their kormas, we review the seminal 1976 classic, Alice in Wonderland (pictured right), and we introduce our twisted audio quiz, Porn or Labour.

• The Novice Non-Monogamist, my Life on the Swingset (pictured below) blog, is one place where I have been writing fairly consistently, and will continue to do so. In my weekly Friday articles I discuss the lessons I’m learning, and the mistakes I’m making, as I traverse the landscape of non-monogamy.

• (It Girl. Rag Doll), you may have noticed, is currently over-populated by Protected Posts. With a new job under my belt I’m having to up my privacy a little, but with some tweaking of my online presence I’m hoping that won’t be the case for too much longer. Meanwhile, if you want access to these posts, email me on harper (at) itgirlragdoll dot com, and I will take your request into consideration.

• The Reading Press has also been neglected in the month of May, as I was completing coursework and revising for exams, but now that June has arrived it’s business as usual. For those of you who don’t know, I read approximately 100 blogs, and The Reading Press is a twitter-based digest of the best writing and media around.

• Sex Bytes – of which I am honoured editor – is an interactive reading digest, where you can submit blogs and articles – by you or others – and vote for your favourites. Every month, the top voted post will be featured in the e[lust] digest as the reader’s choice.

• The (It Girl. Rag Doll) Podcast has also been quiet throughout the heavy coursework/revision season, but will be back very soon! In the meantime there are two full episodes there for you to listen to, and if you subscribe to the blog and/or iTunes, you will be notified of new episodes as soon as we’re back in the swing of things.

• Send Harper to Eroticon USA! is going incredibly well. Thank you so much to everyone who has donated. It looks like the trip is going to happen! but I still need to reach my goal in order to book flights and confirm everything, so if you are able to donate to this worthy cause, it would be much appreciated.

• Strummed, which features my story And the Midnight Trio, is available as both an eBook and a paperback, from Amazon and Smashwords. Grab yourself a copy, and if anyone feels like writing a review, let me know and I will give your blog/site/post a little shout out.

• For a Few Dollars More, a slightly more transgressive piece of fiction, is available on Ether Books for a mere 69p. Again if you read it and feel like writing me a review, let me know and I will promote your blog along with the review.

And I think that’s all I have to say for now. Times are changing, and I’ll keep you updated on everything as it happens. Watch this space.

The post News: Bad Porn, Novice Non-Monogamy, and Reading Digests appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Disposable.

(Since people seem concerned, I’ll say that I did not cut myself.)

The post Disposable appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Stole in at starlight,
Unravelled sinew from sheet.
He stared at slightness.

Assuming I was safe
- told true darkness is gritty -
Thought you forgot but

she twisted her wrist,
Displaying point of contact
and stole my orgasm.

The post Lies in Amateur Porn appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

I started dating older men shortly after I had my first sexual experiences – with boys my own age – which I found to be intriguing, but largely unfulfilling. I already knew I was attracted to men much older than me, but it took a little while for me to find my footing, and in retrospect I am quite glad I lost my virginity to a friend my own age, as it meant figuring things out together; there was a sense of comradeship in our explorations. But of course, as is the case with so many of my dating choices, it was my budding inner kinkster that demanded I admit my liking for older men, and eventually I realised that one way or another, benefits and pitfalls all, this was going to be something I’d have to deal with quite a lot.

Since that realisation I have been involved with around ten older men, the age differences ranging from fifteen years to around thirty five, and whilst many of those relationships may not have lasted long, the ones that ended, ended amicably. Not only does this give me a nice platform from which to look back, but it leads me to my first point:

Provided I don’t cause it, my relationships with older men have been wonderfully drama-free. For me, that alone is enough to recommend these connections. That I am still good friends with at least five of them, and in touch with a further three, seems testament to how sensible and reasonable older men are. I know it seems obvious and perhaps overly simplistic, but I don’t think we really appreciate just how wonderful it is to be with someone who doesn’t sweat the small stuff, and won’t run a mile when you need to bring up emotional subjects. Of course, this isn’t the case with all older men, – likewise, not all younger men run when the going gets tough – and I have had a couple of experiences with older men who were just naturally nervous or fickle, but generally speaking, men in their late thirties and over have a better handle on what’s important, and are more likely to show respect. As an example, in the past year I have parted ways with two men in their forties/fifties and two men in their twenties/thirties. The older men kindly, clearly, and respectfully spoke to me about it; the two younger men simply stopped calling, leaving me in the dark for a week or so to figure it out for myself.

However, on the other side of this, being with an older man means I have to take on a little more responsibility. Whilst age doesn’t seem to lessen sympathy, there is only so much bullshit an older man is likely to put up with. It seems to really be true that the older you get, the more precious time becomes. Of course, I feel that people should always strive to be reasonable and sensible with their partners and not waste time, but being with someone older does make me more aware of what is important and what I’m just making a fuss about.

So far this has all been detail; aspects of the same kinds of issues that would arise no matter how old my partners are. This is just variation on humanity, really. So let me press a little deeper.

Something that has come up a couple of times, and always carries a lot of weight, is the fact that older men have had more time to accumulate ties. Whether it be children, or work, or friends, the older the man, the more likely he is to have something he is responsible for. In many ways, I’ve found this to be really wonderful. It adds to what I’ve said above about older men being sensible and responsible, but it also adds a sense of care and affection – and added care can be a very lovely thing. However, I’ll be honest: these kinds of responsibilities will always limit the amount of time I get to spend with my lovers. To a certain extent, this is a price I am more than willing to pay; but I won’t deny that it has led to the end of several otherwise wonderful connections. If you don’t have time for each other, you just don’t have time. Although I think there is also an argument to be made that in this fast paced world, we simply have to make time for the things we want, it’s not an argument I’ll make here, and ultimately, as with almost everything, I assess on a case by case basis. But in the end, my point still stands: as people get older, time gets more precious, and whilst I may still be a priority, I’m likely to be one of several. So I have come to terms with the fact that having a full time, together-more-often-than-not relationship with a much older man is less likely to happen than with someone closer to my own age.

But none of this is what really breaks my heart.

Here’s the thing: having decided to date older men, I began to come across married men, and I apologise if this sounds crass, but for the purposes of this argument, married men – and I mean men in monogamous commitments – fall into two camps: happy and unhappy. It really is that simple at times. Dating older men, I don’t come across a great deal of happily married men. But I do meet a lot of unhappily married men. In fact, the first older man I ever dated seriously wasn’t married, but he was in a committed relationship, living with a woman, and he left her; not for me, but I was something of a catalyst when it came to that decision. In this case, unable to break those final ties, he retreated, and six months later they were back together, and I was receiving a much too long email explanation I really didn’t want. I’m not saying this kind of situation never works, but that experience taught me to be wary, and I’ve heard more sad stories than happy ones when it comes to this kind of thing. I think situations in which a person leaves his or her long term partner for someone else are actually quite rare. Despite the number of divorces, my observation has been that people seem to leave because they need to leave, not because they have met someone new. And I always work from the assumption that a man is not going to leave his partner for me, because those situations can become very difficult, and I don’t particularly want to tear apart a relationship that might, for all intents and purposes, actually be quite good on the inside.

And yet… there is something utterly heartbreaking about falling for unhappily married men. Because I don’t think I would ever ask a man to leave his wife for me, no matter how great our own connection. I might suggest – and have – that a man open up his relationship with his wife, to allow him the freedom for both, but the truth is that we still live in a very mono-normative society, and that suggestion has yet to be taken with anything other than suspicion and uncertainty, which I understand: it is quite a high bar to clear if you’re in a long-term, monogamous relationship. So this leaves me in an awkward situation. The truth is that a lot of those men – twenty or thirty years older than me – have settled down. They are married, or have been; they often have children, and there may be something noble in staying in those relationships, but from where I stand, it can also be quite tragic.

Let me digress for a moment: there is, of course, another option. In many cases, I don’t necessarily have to choose and I don’t have ask men to leave their wives. In many cases, I could just consent to affairs. The truth of the matter is that many men are willing to cheat on their partners. They have justified that to themselves, and, after all, you only live once, and life is short, and really, we can only do the best we can whilst we’re here. However, I, personally, won’t help men cheat.

A year ago I went on two dates, with two different men. Both were married, both going behind their wives’ backs in order to meet me. I fucked one of them, and when it came to the other one… I couldn’t. We scheduled a second date, but I cancelled beforehand. And for a while I wrestled with my conscience. Because a part of me really does believe that life is too short to deny yourself happiness. But another part of me can’t help siding with their wives. Women whose lives are equally short, and who, if they knew, might very well feel that they are wasting their time. It is true, that with the two men I met last year, both had a sense of purpose about the way they pursued me. They weren’t simply open to connections with other women if and when they happened, they were purposefully seeking people to sleep with. Once again, I think this can be justified by the fact that life is short, and I can’t bring myself to really pass judgement on those who do cheat, but for myself, I can’t justify being a part of that deception either. It just doesn’t sit right with me, nor the way my affection manifests. And so I decided not to get involved with men in monogamous, committed relationships. Although, even that is proving to have some grey area!

But, back to my point. Knowing that most men are not going to leave their partners for me, it can be incredibly heartbreaking and frustrating, watching them go through the motions of an unhappy marriage, when I feel sure that if they left, if they started again with me, they would be happier. I know there is a part of this that is slightly ridiculous: how do I know that I could really make anyone happy? But still – it’s hard.

And to some extent, this is yet another symptom of our youth-loving, aesthetic obsessed society; and that makes me truly upset. I’m trying hard not to generalise, and there are always exceptions, but I do happen to know a handful of men who simply feel they couldn’t find anything better than what they have; men who really feel that most women don’t find them attractive any more. And who’s to say, if these idealisations didn’t beat us all down, that these men would be any more likely to leave unhappy marriages, anyway. But it feels like such a ridiculous detail to have standing between me and men I truly, utterly, adore. And what’s worse, in a society that seems to live so much online, flirting and compliments fall from people’s fingertips all-too-easily, and therefore are just as easily dismissed as playful and insincere. So when I say I find someone attractive, when I tell a man I want him, how is he supposed to tell the difference between my honest words, and the screaming of thousands of people vying for attention?

Time, commitments, priorities; I can make my peace with these kinds of obstacles. But when I say “I want you,” and it’s brushed off as idle, online banter? That tests my patience and breaks my heart. Because it is such a fucking stupid reason to reject happiness.

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