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I Was Never Really One for Roses
🕑 Added 2024-08-10 04:23:07 +0000 UTCMy mother was an engineer, so it wasn’t as though I spent my childhood surrounded by pink and roses. My family valued the sublime things in life, not the pretty ones: Food, not diets. Sex, not romance. Authenticity, not manners. Hendrix, not flowers. I was taught to kick visitors out at the end of the night when I wanted to go to sleep and sit on the floor if I felt like it. I only learned how to be diplomatic when I was in my thirties. I don’t value politeness much. I prefer generosity.
I guess that’s why Google’s algorithm thinks I’m a teenage boy. Some of my friends have the same impression. I never did become a lady. My girliness left me the second I turned nine, especially when it comes to sex and relationships.
I like my space. I like my partner to do his thing without me half the time, and I definitely require him to enjoy his life. The capacity to find joy is one of the most important things I look for in a man. I don’t care what brings it to him, but I do care that something does. I want a man who takes plenty of pleasure out of day-to-day living. Mostly, I want a man who lets me live freely. I hate being cramped and limited by relationships. I want someone who can roll around in life’s excesses with me and enjoy it.
Most of my previous partners have told me that, sexually, I’m no lady, either. Most of us on Fetlife are sex positive, so in that sense, I’m no different from anyone else, but I am as big a fan of sex as you’ll ever find. Apparently, I wear my kink status around my neck like a flashing beacon because no vanilla friend has ever been surprised that I love belts for an unusual reason. Somehow, my feelings about sex seep through my pores.
The only traditionally female things I enjoy are dresses, shoes, and Coco Chanel. I’m a black eyeliner girl, not a red lipstick one.
My mother was self-taught. Without a university education, she walked right into a man’s world in the Seventies and kicked up one hell of a fuss. She used the men’s bathrooms and sat in their canteen even though she was terrified of the fact that she was bucking the system. She set an example that had much more to do with balls of steel than pink posies, so my values are decidedly masculine. I like it that way, too.
Comments
Sinead Reynolds
As an autistic woman, manners never made sense to me. Constantly saying thank you , using their name in every second sentence, all comes across as manipulative to me. Politeness, yes. I’ll never be rude . But that hug goodbye, the firm handshake with direct eye contact, not eating before everyone else has started , no thanks. I save countless pointless hours .
WiseAxe
We’re cut, in some ways, from similar cloth. Thank you for the view.
