Dating Magazine

Walk That Walk

By Brianaschuck

This sucks my meticulously cleaned butthole! Disappointment is the pits and right now I am in the thick of it.

With the angelic sound of my whimsical ringtone, I flew down the stairs racing for my phone. Hooray, it is my man, my gorgeously loving man who just last night sent me the largest bouquet of flowers I have ever received. Exploding with purple powers of spring lilac, calming yellow and fuchsia bells. This man has made good on his promise to fill my room with floral love when he is away so I have a sweet reminder of his undeniable lusciousness. I answer the phone with heavy sign, the kind that comes after holding your breath for far too long. I can finally exhale. My love is coming home tonight!

After 11 days of cold toes in bed, absent kisses on these lips and a longing that just won’t quit, he will be back in my arms. I am so excited, I might even pee my pants a little. I have even planned a priceless pickup from the airport. Donning a captain’s jacket and  pilot’s hat, (maybe even some aviators and heels) I will hold a handmade sign that reads “Welcome to LA: Mr. Anderson.” There is no way I will be able to conceal my giggles at the sight of his delicious smile. Somehow I will have to censor my desire to devour him immediately on the baggage claim.

“Oh good morning my love!” I say when I reach my phone. “How are you today baby?”

The excitement in me grows as I allow my mind to wander to future events of this evening. Will it even be possible to hold him tight enough? There will be no sleep tonight.  After I conclude expressing immense gratitude for the generous florals in front of me, he breaks the news.

“Don’t be mad at me,” he says.

I hear a thud, and I realize my heart just fell off its perch in my chest. I get the insatiable inclination to hang up immediately (by accident, of course) because I know what’s coming. He’s not coming home tonight. We aren’t getting our day in the sun and surf together tomorrow. Silently, tears stream down my cheeks  and I only half listen to explanations of …………big project………multi-billion dollar national somethings………..complications………..operations plant………boss won’t let me leave.  My insides are crushed. My outsides are leaking. I can’t say a word. I want to be supportive. I want to lift up my man and assure him it is alright and so am I. I want to be strong and tell him I completely understand. And I do. I just don’t like it one bit. It sucks butt! I feel my love thermostat dial down to cold. “I need a minute. I’ll call you later.”

In this frigid place, my pleasure has stepped outside to sun herself. While she is out, the darkness grows. What good is having the man of my desires if I can’t truly have him? On the Four Man Plan I never experienced this disappointment because there were always other distractions (i.e. men) waiting in the wings.  Perhaps a proper tantrum is in order? Perhaps pulling my covers over my head and calling the day a wash is the only logical answer. Perhaps giving my man the cold shoulder will make him feel my pain………..Bullshit! Knock, knock, knock! Pleasure has had her share of Vitamin D and wants to come back in. Being the Pleasure Princess that I am, there has to be another way of relating to this. A way that turns me back on in my life and inevitably illuminates those around me. This is the principle I live by. Time to walk the walk!

I lay in bed and realize I am pissed. I am sad. I am feeling dejected and defeated. What is in my pleasure? To continue to lay here and do nothing. Fine. Done. I pick up my book and decide this is where I will stay. I will allow myself to do this all day if it suits me. My eyes glaze over the words, not registering a single one. Not truly enjoying this. My head is in my process. My mind is turning this predicament over and over. I need a release. What is in my pleasure? I want to get it out, write it out. Perfect. I pick up my computer (still in bed, mind you) and delve into this blog post.

Something truly magical happens when we give ourselves what we desire in each moment, without judgement. I could have tried to buck myself up by making myself get out in the sunshine and go for a run, sweat it out. I could have chosen to sob all morning in a puddle on the shower floor.  I could have made myself call a friend to vent and scream. And all of these are fabulously viable options, but none of these answered the call of my immediate pleasure. Laying in bed in the middle of the day with my computer answered that call, so that is what I gifted myself.

Pleasure isn’t always going to be exploding glitter bombs wrapped in purple bows. Sometimes pleasure is raw and nasty. Sometimes she is sweet and tender, or wild and raucous. Other times she is a fierce force of fury. But what true pleasure always is is uninhibited, truthful and real. If I am trying to censor my pleasure, I am missing the boat. Committing to my pleasure full-fledged is the only way I get to experience the release I am oozing right now. I gave myself what I needed, what I wanted. The dark charge is gone. I feel lighter and free. I am not upset with my man anymore. He is no longer in danger of feeling the wrath of my angst. I can truly see how living a life of honest pleasure leaves the woman fulfilled and leaves everyone around her blessed.

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