The Knowing and the Changing: For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

For the record, the most versatile word in the English language did not originate from an acronym.  THE WORD originated from the term fokken which means “to thrust or copulate with” (www.snopes.com).  However, this post is not about an etymology.

The Knowing….

Say whatever you want that motivates the human libido.  Old fashioned propagation of the species?  The “conquering” of foreign lands?  The pursuit of “the strange”?  Or is it some kind of ancient bartering system trading of supply and demand?  What I think, or hope in my romantic yet hedonistic mind, is that both men and women are seeking “the knowing.”

If we go by standard stereotypes, men are seeking the “knowing” of another woman, to know what pleases her and to know how his skills can please her.  Sometimes he seeks that knowledge just to use with someone else, but I do not think that skills in the bedroom are obtained through one night stands.  Usually, I think, people pull out their “best” tried and true moves with new people and anything beyond the standards are explored in deeper, longer lasting relationships.  I know that I am a little inhibited about standing on my head and whistling Dixie the first time I am in bed with a man.  I usually reserve that little trick after we have a few “Olive Garden” dates under our belts.

Maybe women are seeking the knowing in a different way.  Maybe women want to “know” men’s secrets.  It is the only power we have: the surrender some of their pride, the distraction of the desire over to us.  Or we think we can somehow “change” them through the power of our love.  The love we trade for sex, that is.  I hope that in the new “sexual revolution” women do not become too much like men.  If women do not remember sex is also about emotional intimacy, who will?

And here is why I go into the world of too much information and why I wear a mask

When I fall in love or even infatuated I am seeking “the knowing”.  I want to know the man’s mind and his heart.  This is probably why I am attracted to mostly intelligent men so I am not bored too quickly.  I want to know his body too.  I want to know if he has freckles and where those freckles stop.  I want to know if he is ticklish.  I want to know what really turns him on.  I sometimes want to know their inner dirty little fantasies even if they scare me and/or I have no intention of acting them out.  (This has backfired on me before).  I want to know what position they like best.  I want to know if they are a breast or a butt man.  I want to know if he swears, grunts, or simply sighs when he comes.

This is what I want to know.  It is what I need to know when I want a man.  It is not about my pleasure or just about the conquest or the orgasm, it is about the knowing.  That little bit of sweet happy surrender they have right after they come when their hearts and minds are as soft and pliable as their spent penises and I can shape them to my liking.  If men knew this is what women do after sex they would rush out the bedroom as soon as possible or not enter it at all.  But maybe, secretly even unwittingly men want that molding too.  The Changing.

A Little Story About The Knowing.

When was first ushered into the world of love and sex, it was like I was in the lobby of a grand play or opera but not allowed in.  I did not have the necessary ticket of attractiveness or at least guile to get much past the foyer.  I would hear whispers of how great, terrible, fantastic, and terrifying that world was from friends and movies, but it was like seeing a trailer for a foreign movie without subtitles.  You kind of want to see it, but it is not out yet and you have no way understanding the movie without a translator, but you just gotta see it anyway.

I remember this awkward infatuation I had when I was a senior in high school.  By this time, over half my class was sexually active, and that was just the ones I knew about it.  We were a suburban school about 80% white in the early 90’s so 50% of my class being sexually active is about accurate.  I was still in that lobby waiting for my ticket.  I was very interested in this boy, oh let’s call him Brian.  Brian was in my music theory class.  I had delusions of grandeur of a career in music, but let’s not dwell.  Brian played guitar but he was also involved in drama and was in all my advanced classes, so he was a nerd.  If memory serves me, I think we even was pictured in the last issue of our school’s paper was the top ten of our class.  What can I say, I have taste.  I dare say that I was not necessarily “in love” with Brian.  I think I might have talked to the boy maybe twice.  Our exchange of words barely quantifies as a paragraph.  But I remember just wanting to TALK to him.  I fantasized more about our fascinating and revealing conversations more than I imagined any kind of nakedness or anything overtly sexual.  Instead of writing my name Mrs. _____ in my notebook, I would study the music and the album covers to every band t-shirt he would wear.  The album cover of Ritual De Lo Habitual scared the hell out of my seventeen-year-old self, but I was ready to discuss if Brian happened to pass my locker randomly.

I imagined that we would hang out in a dark basement listening to Pearl Jam or Pink Floyd and discussing the essence of Kurt Cobain lyrics. And during all this talking we happened to kiss and make out that would be cool as long as it were really dark in that basement and he could not really see my body.  This is also when I started shoplifting cute panties and bras so my mother would not know that I no longer wore K-mart training bras and plain white cotton panties.

If Brian and I bored with talking about music, or we needed a break from all that dry humping, we could talk about Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 that we read on our summer reading list for Honors English because teen boys love to sit around talking about their summer reading with their female classmates.   I read Science Fiction because I thought it would make me seem cool.  At least I knew Jane Austen and Dickens were not cool.  I fantasized that we would talk about the radical changing powers of the written word or relating how our school administration was trying to “keep us down” like the Ministry of Truth trying to keep the youth of this nation docile with misinformation.  Yeah, I was a nerd.  I read dystopic science fiction and listened to grunge thinking it would somehow impress teenaged boys.  That is a good way to have an affair with a mid-thirties English professor at a local junior college, but not the way to get the cherry of the vice president of the National Honors Society who also plays bass for his garage band with his buddies.

For the record, I have never impressed a guy with my literary knowledge.  I have never had this dream conversation of staying up all night talking about how science fiction is used to make sense of modern societal dilemmas or talk about Kurt Cobain or even comic books with a man and then end up not just having sex, but joining of like minded souls with our bodies and then fuck our brains out as a political statement against the hypocrisy of society trying to dilute us of our humanity through ridiculous sexual mores.  Sounds like fun though doesn’t?

I have impressed guys with my Wonder Woman outfit and been asked to tie them up with my lasso.

Sigh…..  Why do guys have to fuck up fucking?