Edge of Everywhere

Archive for April 2009

I occasionally read the Craigslist casual encounters section out of alien-like curiosity, and I always find it fascinating when people talk about how they are in bed: dominant, submissive, passionate, tender, kinky, or just good.

What am I like in bed? Cuddly. In the absence of a sexual context or expectations, I am very cuddly.

I recently read an article in Redbook entitled “Stop in the name of sex!” with “don’ts” that will supposedly “save your sex life.” Sex Don’t 2 is “Making your bed a zoo of stuffed animals.” It reads, “If Boo-boo and Lambie-poo hold the place of honor on your bed, what you’re saying is that the bed is for cuddling, not for passion…It says, ‘I’m immature, a little girl, and therefore not sexual.'”

I still sleep with my childhood teddy bear, and if that sends the message that my bed is for cuddling, not passion, I see that as a good thing! I am not immature or a little girl, but I kind of like the idea of my bear being a talisman that wards off unwanted sexual advances. Also, the only person who has ever had the privilege of sharing my bed actually likes my bear. So there!

Yesterday, some of my female coworkers got into an interesting discussion about how old they were when the finally felt like adults. For most of them, it was tied to when they had their first child. I’m never going to have kids, and I started wondering what it will take for me to finally feel like an adult. I lead an independent adult life, but I have never identified with the concept of adulthood because I have no interest in so many of the things other people equate with it (sex, marriage, kids, a draining decades-long career requiring suits and long hours, boring parties involving wine). Come to think of it, when I was a teenager, I didn’t identify that with that word, either. I didn’t want the things others teenagers wanted, and was embarrassed by the desires and antics of my peers (having oral sex in the corners of junior-high parties, getting so drunk they had to go to the hospital). I remember telling my mom not to refer to me as a teenager, but I didn’t feel like I was still a child either (although my peers did). I’m not sure whether I’ll ever identify with the adult world.