The winter of my discontent.

As I lay in bed and pet my cat with an amused smile on my face, I'm listening to the insistent pounding above me as Brunette Upstairs gets fucked again. She herself is completely (and disappointingly) quiet, and as my mind wanders, her experience seems to mirror my own as I reflect on this winter, relationships, and my sex life.

If you're familiar with astrology, you might know that Venus is retrograde until mid-April, making this an ideal time for reviewing the state of one's affairs. And like my affairs, perhaps like the seriously bedsqueaky pounding that Brunette Upstairs was getting, during this winter I seem to have had a lot of action without a lot of moan.

It's no secret to anyone that the time period after a primary relationship takes some adjustment. That's been my winter.

The truth is that very few women I've known have given me real, lasting cause to consider making the kind of life-changes necessary For The Long Term. That's healthy, actually, but I've come to realize that it hasn't always been my pattern. Somewhere in the many years between Diva and the Grrl, I seemed to subconsciously gravitate to "the seeking" of a hardcore primary relationship, and when or if those relationships ended, the dating and socializing and fucking that I would do in the interim still seemed to have an echo of always wanting more.

Perhaps that's "normal." It's certainly romantic: the undercurrent of wanting to have a deep, resonant partnership. But the last year or three have taught me that maybe, just maybe, I've also been cheating myself out of some of the inherent benefits of sexually-active singledom.

Emotional investment is expected in a good relationship, and while I always endeavoured to keep my eyes open, sometimes I put in too much too soon. I certainly did with the Grrl.

In the last few weeks, a terribly sexy reader in Australia (hi Morgan!) emailed me to say that the blog is a "compelling mix" of the "achingly sweet, and in the same instance... a lot of sadness." Sadness? Hrm. Perhaps lately. It certainly hasn't always been this way. I've been processing.

I learned a long time ago that if you have the courage to Listen, "failed" relationships can really teach you some serious stuff. God knows I learned volumes about myself when things ended with Diva, my ex-wife Heidi, and most certainly with Grrl. Part of my perseverance strategy has always been to the remember that what I learned about myself during these stressful times meant that my future partner(s) would be the beneficiary of my well-earned lessons, and that meant that so long as I learned, past relationships ultimately hadn't "failed" at all.

Perhaps its because I'm more selective as I get older. Perhaps its because I learn more and more about what I like and want in a partner, and as that list grows it becomes a greater challenge to locate her. But it takes a lot more than it used to before I really start asking myself if an intimacy with a woman has the potential for Something More, but I'm also becoming more and more at peace with it being ok if I don't 'find her' right away.

There's some nicely comfortable power in that.

My last primary relationship had its own limitations, not the least of which being that it was a long-distance romance. While we had a lot in common and our sex was really terrific, there were other challenges too. It's still also true that while we're nurturing a good friendship now (with the possibility of future play not entirely ruled out), I can safely say that she's one of the select few that I really fell in love with during this more enlightened time in my life. She loves me too, which warms me deeply, but we're also opening ourselves to future avenues in our lives as we See What Happens. It's ok. And she's heard me voice my heart more than sufficiently.

Sometimes, I think Aphrodite enjoys sending me a few curveballs to reorient me back onto my toes. Pausing to think between bedsqueaks above me while Brunette has her moanless fuck, it hits me that since last November, I've been privileged to share time with seemingly a surprising number of women, but each experience has also taught me more about what I do and don't want.

It's been as if Aphrodite would grace me with an attractive partner for a date and/or a passionate night or so, and then gradually I'd See Why More Wouldn't Happen. It was if I was being Given What I Wanted, and then given the post-coital opportunity to Really Think About It. It started to feel like sex was part of an interview process, which was both hysterical and weird.

Tina is fun and makes for great friend material, but. The Iranian had an amazing body and loved being an erotic model, but. Carla was friendly and eager, but. The Korean actually had experience doing porn, but. Lee is and has always been a nice friend, but. Hannah boasted about her "full service" road-trip navigation skills and was into kink, but. (And I'll share details about some of these experiences in a future post... very suitable for April Fool's Day.)

But perhaps it took dating and/or fucking these otherwise (mostly) lovely women over these short few weeks to remind me that, uh, no, not every affair needs to be a lasting one. No matter how often I might tell myself that I'd love to be head-over-boots.

Of course I knew that. But reminders are still good.

And it took me this winter to remind myself that being a single guy supporting himself with a well-paying job and having precious few real obligations to other people is not only a perfectly fine place to be in...

... For many guys, it's the fucking dream.

A big part of me actually thinks that's kind of sad, because I like being in a solid relationship. But it's also a little odd that that's an awareness that I've unconsciously resisted.

Karen, the Schoolteacher, has teased me about Something More. It's nice, and while I like her, it's also true that she responded to a dating listing I had posted somewhere because she liked the sound of me, and not necessarily because she herself reflected the kind of traits I sought in a potential partner. I had this realization as I continued listening to Brunette fuck upstairs, and her boy's thrusting seemed to pound the thought into my head.

Schoolteacher and I have almost nothing in common. This does not bode well for the Something More front. We'll be discussing this next time we see one another, I think. Now I'm asking myself if remaining friends-with-benefits is something she would want... and something I would want. Process, process, process.

But now there's also Dean. I like Dean. Dean is cool. She and I have been acquaintances for a few years and we've rubbed elbows in some of the same communities. Lately, this early40s, shorthaired, intensely-kinky-but-just-beginning little mystic and me have been rubbing more than just elbows, and it's So Far So Good. I'll doubtlessly write more about her (and the bruises she acquired during a recent paddling) soon.

But I'm so pleased that this winter is drawing to a close. With the thaw, with the birds driving my cats insane as they flutter near the windows, with the appearance of elated women strolling Yonge Street in short skirts again while other still bundle in their toques and mittens, I can feel myself release and begin to reach for sunlight.

I love Shayne very much. But I loved the Grrl deeply too, and while echoes of her remain with me still, I moved forward. Shayne and I are still close, in a fashion, and I really enjoy that, but it's also time to soak in the sun and feel warm hands around my own.

Like a cello's low tone, I can enjoy the melancholic beauty of that without feeling any sadness to it at all.