Sexual Curry

Okay, I admit I did fall off the wagon once again. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m a lot more generous of my mistakes and follies now than I was in the past. After all who better to be kind, loving and generous to myself than me. So what was meant to be a momentary break in my reemergence in the blogsphere turned to be more than a week or so? Actually, I’ve lost track of time. I write these words in a tool that facilitates bad spellers and poor grammarians the opportunity to somewhat correctly express themselves in the rigid confines of the English language. All hail to technology and it’s ability to empower us in more ways than one.
This wasn’t supposed to be a sex/men/life bitch blog. But this is what it is going to be.
Why you ask me?
Because it is my mine and I can write whatever the hell I want!
Who reads it?
Probably someone without enough sensibility to know that I speak utter rubbish and that my “meaningful” insights in life really don’t mean a damn.
Why write it?
Catharsis, a place of self reflection and realization that for all the self-cultivated wisdom through life’s innumerable experiences we don’t really learn jack shit.

With age brings the much non-awaited memory loss, I gave in to my inadequacies of my failing memory and went back and re-read what I had last written about. Total hogwash, something about past lovers and bygone years and the profound lessons learnt from past relationships. I do believe that we are the product of our experiences and I shall go back and pick up that thread from the past at a later time. At the moment I wish to dwell on the here and the now. My latest past will dictate my present and consequently my future. As usual the year began on a cheerful, upbeat note. I should learn to be a little more cautious and guarded with renewed cheer that the dawn of each New Year brings and beat it into submission like I do for the rest of the year. My renewed cheer and zest for life was infectious and it reflected in my interactions with most. The normally grumpy, sad, cynical, pathetic me was no more and in her place stood the enthusiastic, cheerful, effervescent me. Exactly the way I had planned. The vivacious me was bound to attract unwanted male attention and how I reveled in it! Armed with a plethora of knowledge from self-help books and a steely determination to be noticed, I transformed myself from the strong but cynical heroine of a Jane Austin novel to the bubbling, romantic fool from a Disney classic.
I was determined to take Bombay by its horns and shake it to its core. All those months of self-doubt, loathing and self-criticism would evolve into refined package of confident sexiness fortified by my reemerging curves fuelled from a stringent workout schedule and dietary restriction. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams with hot, an eligible man was the next logical step. The right career move and a job that I was interested in made life almost perfect. The new me pitied the blighting old fool that stumbled every step along the way and dropped her pants for just about anyone remotely knowledgeable about Kafka or Kant.
Sadly, the idiot in me still exists and is nowhere close to being vanquished. The cool, calm seductress in me is yet to emerge partly. The me that will bask in the joys of sexual rapture and revel in the glory of sexual fulfillment am miles away. I thought I was almost there with Brian (I think that’s his name?) But that me only exists monetarily, enraptured in those minutes glorious sexual revelry aided by the body and minds natural reaction to another’s touch. Those hormones will only get you so far and almost always into trouble. Almost instantaneously the blighting, self-doubting fool returns unsure of how to react next. I told a boy once that if I sleep with you the first time I see you, I would never want to see you again. The sad part is, they want to never see me again either, and so the infamous one nightstand emerges as a sure winner. Am I so incapable of having a mature, adult, sexual relationship dictated merely by carnal desire with the messiness of emotions and feelings get in the way?
What is this pressing, urgent, frantic need to be wanted loved and desired beyond comprehension that I seem to chase after? I was told that everything would change once I returned to India. Men here are kinder, nicer, caring and boring. It was the perfect remedy for my somewhat tempestuous nature, the soothing balm of love and adulation that would remedy the burning ache of my soul. When Matt first told me that he loved me I made him repeat it over and over again while he made love to me. There was an obscene, sadistic pleasure in knowing that the strings were now in my hands, I dictated the terms of this relationship. Knowing that I would never love him made it all the sweeter. Did I hate myself for being so cruel? No of course not, one unrequited love after another and having my heart trampled upon by merciless men from across the globe made me almost blind to someone else’s feelings.
Men are men, and yes as much as we are the product of our experiences and culture our inherent kindness and cruelty transcends all cultures and geographical boundaries. It binds each and every one of us is this fucked-up realm of humanity. I’m not a man hater, far from it, In fact I love them so much that I let them dictate and impact my life in such a big way.
Why do I say all this here and now, yes I was seduced. Was the experience good? Sure. Was the aftermath of it all pleasant? Certainly not. Am I sitting in my pajamas on a Saturday night with facemask smeared all over my face trying to analyze my feelings? Absolutely.