Does Anyone Remember…

Blk/Wht photo old-fashioned couple on a date.

Old-Fashioned Dating

Does anyone remember good old-fashioned dating?

Okay, not quite as old-fashioned as the above picture would imply -lol; but seriously…

You know a date? Where two people who are stranger got together a neutral place, had these things called conversations and bit by bit got to know each other. If you liked what you were seeing/feeling there would be another date to find out more and so on. If not, after an awkward email/phone call or two, you’d part ways and try again with someone else at some point.

There was no presumption of sex after the third or fourth date; let alone the second or first. The last three dates I went on, it just felt like there was this undercurrent of “going through the motions”. As though the date was only being done as the necessary evil/precursor. And maybe it’s me, but I swear that presumption is worse, with online dates. On my last date from an online site, after an otherwise pleasant evening, when he realized a kiss on the cheek was seriously all he was getting, he was obviously not happy. When I questioned his views on the lead question posted here, he out-and-out asked, “Who the fuck does like that anymore?” Uh, I do.

Has the act of sharing the most intimate parts of one’s physical self become that incredibly depreciated in these past two decades since I was last an active member of the dating scene? Please note, I am not including one-night stands for the intent of fucking for the sake of fucking. Nor for that matter am I knocking those first dates that turn into something more. They are what they are and I have done both, wholeheartedly in the past year of my reemergence into the scene with no regrets what so ever. For all of my very open views on sex and relationships, my date still has to prove he is worthy of me as I would like to think I am proving worthy of him. One date, hell five dates, is not necessarily enough time to be proven of such.

I’m a member of various adult sites, and the assumption there is even worse. Just because as a fellow member of the site, it presumed I must be ready to “play” since we’ve exchanged a couple of emails now does not make it so. What looks good on pixel, doesn’t have shit to do with face-to-face. We may meet and decide there is no chemistry between us; then what? I am quadruple leery of anyone presenting offers to play without first wanting to meet someplace neutral to see if we even like each other first. I have pissed-off plenty of such suitors when their offers are flat-out rejected due to such.

I also know that the assumption of sex is not something exclusively related to “I’m a fat girl – I must be desperate – thus easy” realm, because I know more than enough of my slim sisters going through the same thing. I’ve had conversations with other dating friends male and female and sex after the third date (on average) is –well, a given.

So what’s a gal to do?

Cold-Hearted Illusion

Painting by John Huggett: Woman in mirror smoking a cigarette.

She sits at her vanity in examination of her face
Wary of any unexplainable mar
And gently rubs away cooled wax from her breast
Grateful it will not leave a scar

Still she smiles at the dash of lusty memory
Of how it came to be there
Its reason kneeling down right in front of her
Blowing kisses in her hair

Her robe barely hampers his gift to her
As she combusts within
A contrast of wind from an open window
Cooling her hot skin

He comments on her luminescence
As he makes an invisible notch
She comments on his effervescence
As she hands him his watch

She warms at the sentimental kiss he gives her
Just before, he leaves
Out on business for a day
But he’ll be back the next eve

She’s actually feeling good until
He uses her stage name
And pollutes the mood of the moment
Closing the door on the love game

She knows his affection is not
In the way he holds or even kisses her hand
Her cold-hearted illusion of love
Is in the wad of emerald bills left on the nightstand

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I WON!

Perfect Poets Award – Week 59

Thank you so much! I nominate Life Between The Lines

A Good Girl Who Does

As a thinker I excelled in science and chess
Bright in my other academics, I gave no less
Could mentally match just about whatever you bring
Daunted only by my emotional state, a very different thing
Ever curious, I took a shine to coition with ambition
Female born, however held a certain restriction
Gracious model of virtue? Hah! I never tried to be
Held back within all the rules of social complicity

Inquisitive, I felt it more honest than being just a tease
Justly stated, I would pursue my desires as I would please
Knowing that the names for me were much closer to ‘whore’
Love was but a word as the males I knew were free to ‘score’

Mainly, I felt you can’t grow a garden by reading a book
Negating convention I dared to do more than just look
Oh guys can easily convey how often they go to bat
Privately the girls aren’t ever to admit knowing any of that
Quietly I learned to hide how I came to know so much
Raging that a male is never asked to hide knowledge of such
So, I could hum the foulest limerick and still be called quaint
Talk knowledge of a hummer when I was barely twenty ain’t

Understanding people I had known only one or two
Vicious rumors and some cruel truths I muddled through
Watching eyebrows rise as double-standards reared its head
X-rated knowledge in a g-rated world was a hard path to tread

Years went by before I felt I wasn’t a freak
Zeroing in that I’m a rarity someone unique
Allowed myself to enjoy it all in its various forms
Because I refuse to stilted by social world’s norms
Carnal knowledge once bane, I’m now admired for
Day or night, finally happy, I don’t care any more

Every now and then I’ll get outrageous with a verbal gush
Freaking people out on purpose just to watch them blush

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And today’s form is an Abecedarius which is an alphabetic acrostic or a poem in which each line or stanza begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. Historically, it was widely used in religious aspects as the beginning of prayers, hymns and oracles. As time progressed, variations of the method developed and new types of acrostics appeared. Some methods included using the first letter of the first word (as I have done above), the first letter of the stanza or the first letter of the first word and last letter of the last word in each line.

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: The Art Of Rebellion

My Sin

‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips?
O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.’

– William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

i bask in the feel of silk across my eyes
i feel Him come so close then walk away
A teasing touch, but one that causes sighs
He knows i pray that this time He will stay
i arch my back with all that it implies
He reads me well i am His open book
He opens a window making me shiver against my will
Under the autumn’s breath He knows i can’t keep still
He parts me with blunt threats to more than look
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Whispering that only i make Him yearn
i know the svelte voice misleads
It’s an unexpected pleasantry i earn
Flechettes, blades, ben-wah beads
His tirade wicked and wondrous in turn
As i, His personal armiger do equip
His tastes for things shiny and steel
Their icy touch a torture surreal
Halts a Freudian slip
Sin from my lips?

It’s me He chooses first to disrobe
A weakness rarely on display
A hard pinch to already tender globes
Signals it’s one for which i must pay
Oooohhhh! He increases the speed to the probe
To the point where nice and naughty converge
Yes i do accept the blame
When His sacrosanct name
Is moaned in passion’s surge
O trespass sweetly urged!

And as His desire burns faster
Mine is halted as His get
Stark and hard He is my Master
Pliant and supple, i am His pet
His liquid heat drips as blessed oil from pastor
But my crescendo He orders to abstain
i tremble for failing Him won’t endear
With a brute mercy He releases me from my fear
Until naught but unrepentant memories remain
Give me my sin again

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Glosa form with borrowed lines from you know who.

The glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.
Submitted to:

Thursdays Poets’ Rally Week 44 ( May 19 – May 25, 2011)