The candy store at the end of the street where I grew up was like heaven to me as a child. With just a few coins in my pocket I could buy anything in that price range, placing the biggest smile on my face from ear to ear. The sugary sweet candy melting in my mouth like a scene from Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Better yet, when I was older I was still attracted to that sweet sinful delight, traveling weekly to a candy store filled with every flavor under the sun, from licorice to jelly beans, chocolate to marzipan, the room was like the dizzying effect of making a cotton candy puffball on a cone. Welch's, on the corner of Granville and Broadway, was every child's dream, big round eyes peering through the display cases at the colorful treats waiting to be placed delicately on their tongues.
That was definitely the first perfect example of instant gratification. I'm an adult now and the years have wrinkled me and my direct route to gratification. It doesn't happen as easily as it did back in the day. Wanting something doesn't mean you can have it. Shopping for a hobby is a perfect example. Between the prices, the size selection, color selection and a the amount of money in your wallet, no matter how many times you try it on, sometimes that pure orgasmic gratification is lost. There will always be items out of reach in everyone's life, no matter how much money is padding their wallet. If everything was easily attained what would be the point of life?
Lately, I have realized many things about myself. The most important is that I like my space. I have been in relationships and enjoyed the intimacy of it all, and I have also remembered the feeling of smothering when people are in my space. The last significant relationship I had kept us in two places. We both had our own caves into which we could retreat. I loved the fact that I had my own space, could leave when I wanted and still had the intimacy of companionship and sex. It was perfect, for the time it lasted. There were times when I wanted more, but in the end, that never broke us up.
Recently, I have dabbled in flirting without real need for a relationship. I believe I may need this kind of instant gratification, candy for the adult, and understand the learning curve I will have to accept with this choice. I have been a relationship whore in a way and I can be seen as selfish from the outside observer. I never claim to need the monogamous lifestyle but seem to fall into that category, like the random Plink-o disc bouncing from peg to peg and always falling in the 'relationship' column. Never choosing the 'taken' label, I pride myself to others as a strong independent woman, and have fought for that title. Regardless of my relationship status, I am always steadfast in my strength.
Last night there was a large gash in that armor, so large, tears were weeping out of it like a hole in a dam. How and why it happened is surprising, but at the same time, my armor has never been as thick as everyone else DECIDED it was. I have never cared much about what people think about me, doing as I wish within my character. My surrounding circle of inner friends only want the best for me. The outer circle is more of a bothersome weight on my shoulders that actually brought me to my knees. Luckily that inner circle wasn't crushed hopefully.
On to the story... Instant gratification: a warm body, a good night of "mattress dancing" and no strings attached. That's what was in my head. Now I was set and determined to open a door in my character to let in this new desire while still enjoying the same life I live day to day. Yes, you can label it 'booty call', 'friend with benefits', or 'release workout'. Regardless, I was never really looking officially, until an acquaintance slipped some hints and flirts my way. At first I was flattered and then realized that the combined predicaments of our lives would be mutually beneficial. I was hopeful and one night, after a week or two of testing the waters on his reaction to the idea, a positive answer and titillating flirts began, with texts and private messages.
Raised in a Happy Days lifestyle, Joanie (me) needed to break free of the stigma attached to her character. It is harder than it seems apparently, as my first attempt created this large gaping wound, not by the immediate parties involved but by the peanut gallery. I have apparently become Mother Teresa in my lovely drinking hole, where my outer appearance is not even close to what I am on the inside. I feel like a Cadbury Easter Cream Egg, all chocolaty on the outside and creamy sugary goodness on the inside. Perhaps a better example would be a ripe pineapple, with its prickly outer protection and its sweet yet tart interior. Anyways, I altered the universe in my other living room to the point that it spun around and kicked me in the ass, making me question myself and my intent.
Not the first time this has happened, I have smoothly parted ways with Chachi and then dated Satan within 3 months, creating a rift with the onlookers. What could they do to save me? Joanie is dating 'that bad guy'. Let's say I sure stirred the shit and made people give me a double take. Anyways, in the end no one knew how to take me and that was a relief. I have the good-girl stigma literally attached to my ass and I have to remove it now. Why can't I change my ways, even if it is a tiny bit. It's not so much to ask to ask for, what I want?
BACKFIRE!!! So, the peanut gallery have decided that I am something I am not. I found this out harshly, hanging out with the 'sure thing'. This 'sure thing' had already offered his services, and I enjoyed his company, keeping me in stitches whenever he was around. With one evening and a surprise attack, this first rendezvous was demolished moments in its beginning, secret words and talk behind my back directed only to him. I was unaware of this until I asked him out-right about the failed tryst, only to find out I was made out to be a relationship monger, gathering men and leaving them in the trash.
Can you see the huge gaping gash in my armor now? Tears welling up from my gut spewing out while I texted him. Apparently I am loved too much and he is a slut. Also, we are both in need of being saved. Well, let me tell you, regardless of my tears, used only to heal the wounds created by my so-called fans, I will not be directed in the way of the wave, and when backed against a wall, my horns come out. I will not let anyone dictate to me who I will be or with whom I will have relations, especially in bed.
Amazingly this guy has held on as a friend, cheering me up continuously all day and understands my plight as he was deemed a slut, another stigma. I am feeling better, gaping wound with a lovely scab on it for all to see. Live, love and learn. I want to do this without the cattle prods, fences, street signs and judgment.
Let me make my own decisions and support me when I ask. Don't judge my actions, judge your own.
Betting on the horses is like gambling in online casinos. When you look for online craps
the Internet should be a good way to start. Give me a brick and mortar casino for my gambling anytime. site counter