Limerence

Limerence is a word coined by Dorothy Tennov to describe a complex state of internal affairs. If my feelings were paperwork, we’d be filing triplicates and extensions for the next four years at least.  Limerence mostly consists of involuntary thoughts on a person, usually a romantic interest, fuelled by uncertainty over the mutuality of one’s desire. Other languages have words to describe limerence that, according to WikiPedia, roughly translate as “fallen-in-love-ness.”

This is the word I’ve been searching for, to describe those feelings that are far beyond a crush, edging around the outside of love, but above all includes the aspect of uncertainty. For me to be in love there has to be a reciprocity. I’ve tried to do all the loving. Let’s just say that I am not made of KrazyGlue. If you don’t love me back, then I’m not in love, even if I love you a lot. That was a hard thing for me to realize, because I like to think that with enough willpower and gritting of teeth I can do anything.

But limerence, that’s something I know all too well. If I were to guess what percentage of my life since the age of 12 has been spent in limerence I would probably irrevocably depress myself . It seems that the only way out of limerence is to know for certain if somebody loves you or not. Information that is usually harder to get than not and unpleasant to get when it’s easily had.

Thinking: Kinky Brain

I would not feel comfortable calling myself kinky. I don’t identify with that word, it doesn’t mean much to me. Convoluted though I may be, I’ve never called myself kinky. Physical restraint or roleplay interest me as exercises of the mind, but for the time being I don’t see myself making them a permanent part of how I get off with other people. I’ve realized that my kink is mainly in my head. What gets me hot half the time isn’t even the prospect of the sex itself, but more the anticipation of the interaction between myself and this man or that guy. Frequently when I daydream about fucking somebody, the planning of flirtations and the nuances of posture soak up the majority of my fantasy. Those moments are drenched in meaning, both real and imagined.

One of the best ways to persuade me to open up is to play along with the seduction. If you got an RSVP invitation, you wouldn’t just show up at the party no matter how great your wine (or cock, in this case) may be.  There’s the process of deconstructing your guard, getting closer inches at a time. Slowly rolling into each other. Savoring the release, give and take, the push and pull. Push you down, pull my shirt off, release your cock, all moments of incredible satisfaction.

To watch your reactions, see what kind of sex you want. The first time I always ask, “Do you want to hear me say your name?” This has been a decent indicator for me of the type of sex. “Yes,” is wild, screaming fucking. Raw around the edges, like a wound. “No,” is quiet and powerful, with more calculated force than reckless abandon. Both make me pant and squirm and grab on tight. I am always interested to know what kind of fuck he wants me to be, and since I enjoy putting on a show as much as the next ex-drama-club kid I usually oblige. Playing a part is sexy, to leave behind things like my grocery list, the projects for work, my weekend plans, and for a little while try to be your fantasy – to slip on that role and feel the power of being just outside of reality.

When or if I ever fall in love, I hope that he does not mind when we come back to reality. Dreams can’t live on bedroom eyes and naked flesh alone.

Thinking: Man and Men

He’s a man. I can’t say that he’s not, because he is. But he wasn’t always a man. He’s not like other men, and I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense. I’m attracted to him, and he’s certainly masculine. Moreso than myself, I’d say. I was, at first, confused because like a lot of people my definition of “man” included the parts between his thighs. A friend helped me to understand that there are as many ways to have male genitalia as there are men in the world. When you think about the uniqueness of cocks, expanding your ideas of men to include transmen isn’t such a stretch – Especially since most transmen have cocks of one sort or another. Even in the absence of what amounts to a fleshy protrusion, there are so many other things that make up a man.

I love men, they interest me. I am sexually, emotionally, and psychologically fascinated by men. To see how they line up in groups or deviate as individuals. It always interests me to see what a partner thinks when we fuck. How does it feel when I give in like that, moan like this, pull him in tight, touch him softly. It’s not tricking him to make him think he’s in control because he’s on top. I can’t help that I’m curious.

To see what lays behind the feelings of attraction and fondness, understand what pulls me towards a man, these are some of my goals. Understanding myself by understanding how I love. Why I love.