What is with the anal sex obsession

We've all had the conversation with a man...they want to do it in the butt.  And some people are totally cool with that.  Someone women love it.  Tristan Taormino, author of The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women, makes it seem as though anal is the one trick in my bag I should have and don't.

I'm pretty damned sexually liberated I've done things I wouldn't admit on the internet and have experimented with things that, in the words of my current PLI, were just to say I did it. 

But anal is something I have just never loved.  It burns, it's uncomfortable...my poop comes out of there. 

So, of course, the PLI wants it.  And here's a secret...I want to give the PLI whatever he wants.  But, to me, this is the most intimate of acts.  It is more than sexual.  I am letting people put their bits in my RUMP.

Am I crazy?  Is there some trick to enjoying the anal?  Am I blowing its importance out of proportion?

I Know You Aren't Trying to Break My Heart

"Need to eat your fat c*nt ;)"

He wrote me.

And I felt the tears well up.  You see, I like this man a tremendous amount.  He's funny, he's smart, he has a wicked wit and a rapier tongue.  He had sex with me last week in a way I had honestly never experienced.  It felt honest, it felt right, it felt tangible in a way I don't recall sex feeling before.

So I let him stay the night.

Now, I know I am not a small girl.  Gone are the halcyon beauty queen days when my jeans were a size six and I felt like I could conquer any penis bearing person on planet Earth.  I know intellectually that, while I am 43 lbs lighter than I was when we first greeted 2011, I am not there yet...and it will be some time before my weight starts with a one and my dresses have a size with only one digit.

And heaven knows I know I put myself here.   I ate those fries, I neglected to run those miles.

A friend suggests to me that I get involved with things "BBW."

I lock myself in a bathroom stall and cry.  I don't want to be a "Big Beautiful Woman."  I want to be a "beautiful woman" without a qualifying adjective. 

He sleeps

...and I am confused.

I've protected myself for so long.  Anyone who knows me knows what happened.  I opened myself up to a string of men who broke my heart and told I wasn't good enough.

I wish I could say they were terrible people hell bent on the destruction of my psyche, but that simply wouldn't be true.  Many of them were decent people who went on to be great fathers, husbands or partners.  And so I learned that it must be me.

I am combative, I am sensitive, I am not as beautiful as I once was...I fight too much, give too little and make life generally difficult for the men who encounter me.

So, I tried to explore the other spectrum and find a girlfriend.  But I found myself walling off even more.  I didn't like the constant attempts at connection, the speed with which everything seemed to move.  So I determined I was better off alone.

I dated, sure.  I even thought I was losing myself to someone a few months back who slaughtered my newly forming openness with a cruelty even the ones before him couldn't muster.

And then he came along.  Witty, charming, adorable in every way...I crave his touch the moment his hands leave my body.

And, just now, I fell asleep holding his hand...until the panic woke me and I snuck out to write this blog.

Oh God.  What do I do?  Can I sabotage this?  Make it move too fast, refuse to go any further?  Or do I go back to bed now and breathe in the smell of him and the heat of his skin?

I'm afraid.

I am not broken

A few years ago, I was told I would probably never have kids.  I won't go into the details but I had a few things stacked against me already and a final nail in the coffin of probability came out of nowhere and blindsided me.  At the time, all I cared about was being ok and getting through a surgery I didn't want to have.  But my doctor was kind enough to let me know that if some super sperm made it through stacked items 1-3 and I did miraculously get pregnant, my body would probably reject the pregnancy.

And you know what?  I didn't care.

I was never a little girl who wanted a family.  I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, or President, or a Broadway star, or Secretary-General of UN.  I didn't want to be a mommy.  My mother later told me that she was the same.  She never really wanted children.  But she loved my father and he did want kids.  So she had us.  I think it goes without saying that I am glad she did.

So, imagine my surprise when speaking to a  potential love interest (PLI)a few weeks back and the following conversation occurred while talking about the toll my job takes on my life:

PLI: I am not too interested in a family where my kids are raised by a nanny

Clean Diva: Oh, I don't want kids
PLI: hmmm...yeah, that would a pretty big deal breaker for me.  Well, I guess that is that...

So, I went on to apologize and explain that I thought I had made the fact clear before and that I am just not wired the way a mom should be.  And then PLI said:

"Well, I suppose if filling that gap with career advancement in retail fares better for you then more power to you."

The silence was deafening.  I wasn't sure which part of the statement was most offensive.  1.  That PLI had NO IDEA what I do although I had explained it in pretty great detail or 2.  The assumption that there is a gap left by not having kids.

I won't address the first because it is mostly irrelevant but I will say this (not to offend anyone, really) but

THERE IS NO GAP.

Some of the most amazing women I know are mothers.  And even more of the amazing women I know will be mothers someday.  And I am so proud of them.  I have a god son who ALWAYS brings a smile to my face and I think Kingston Rossdale is beyond adorable.  But I don't want children.  There, I said it.  I don't WANT them.

And I feel no gap, no ticking clock, no nesting desire, no lingering pangs for the smell of a clean baby.  None. Of. It.  I feel free and independent and thankful that I live in a time and place where I can make the decision to stay childless.

And I am putting this out here, on the blog, today because I KNOW there are other women like me.  Women who realize that the first time they got passed over for a promotion because they had to leave daily at 4:30pm to pick up a kid from day care (and it happens...don't kid yourselves), they would resent that child for the remainder of its life.  Women who know that some of you are going to say that it changes when you create life and that we are going to roll our eyes on the inside because we know ourselves and we know that's not true for us.  Women who know they forget to feed themselves and could never support another person.  And yes, even women who just don't like kids...don't understand them and don't like to be around them.

I just want to acknowledge you today.  Because, just as I got unceremoniously dumped for feeling the way I do, I am aware that it happens to you too.  I know that, just like me, you have steadfastly held your ground and watched while people you love with all of your being leave you, marry someone and start a family of adorable little mini-me's.  And I know it hurts. 

And I want to remind all of my child bearing friends and readers that the next time you are tempted to feel sorry for someone because they don't know the domestic bliss you feel, save the sympathy for orphans in Uganda.  We're ok.  Really, we are.  And the truth is, we sometimes drink champagne in your honor at 2am before going to bed because we know you are asleep, exhausted from a day of child chasing, and have forgotten what champagne even tastes like.

You are not broken because you have kids and I'm not broken because I don't.  There is no gap.  There is no hole.  I am not trying to fill anything except the sales funnel at work (but that's another story for another day).

But to you, former PLI...I wish you the best.  I hope you find what you seek.

But I also hope your future children have horrific motion sickness and projectile vomit on you each time you take a car trip.