I realize that my public online journal/diary disguised as a blog might make me appear to be a nymphomaniacal whore. Not the case. I am a woman who really, really, really loves sex. But I also want love. I love love. Love is the goal, right? The goal of dating?
Uh. It’s pretty much the only taboo in dating, really. You can’t say you’re “looking for love” on a dating site. Or really at a bar if someone chatted you up, old school style. It’s a scary four letter word. “Anal” is a friendlier 4 letter word in the current dating world. I’ve had lots of matches and dates ask about anal. About love, never.
And jumping/falling/obliterating into love can destroy your life. I’ve moved to 2 different countries, one was in Africa, for men. Africa. Yeah, love has made me do some crazy shit. So I’m trying to be slow. Sensible. Do things differently. Portland’s making me poly-curious perhaps. Fuck. But I’ve always liked a lot of sex and it’s hard to find one guy with enough fucking time. And ones whom I don’t drive into the cold arms of celibacy.
I do want a relationship. Love. Actual love. A partner in my life. Who also thinks the phrase “partner in crime” is itself a heinous crime. But I’ve never been in a relationship for more than 4 years. I don’t know if hardcore, 1 dick til you die, by the book monogamy is something I require or desire. I’m willing to give it a go. But I’m open to something less traditional. Perhaps.
I’m not super traditional, dude.
I’m not afraid of love. But why do we have to “fall” in, like a fucking sinkhole that opens up under your feet. Yikes. Maybe it’s something that grows, slowly, takes root over time. Not something you trip and plunge into, screaming “fuuuuuuuck” the whole way down.
You can’t hurry love.
You just have to wait.
Trust. Give it time.
No matter how long it takes.