Caren’s Click

I met Caren through the Owning Pink Posse and more specifically through Megan Harner’s “Journey to Health” blog.  We connected and cheered each other on in our spiritual and healthful paths.  In the following Caren shares how her “sexy journey” led to a big realization about what she really wants out of relationships and life. You can read more from Caren at her website The Perceptive Woman.

A Different Kind of Sexual Awakening

I don’t remember when I first discovered I was a sexual person perhaps it goes so far back that my forty-six year old brain has tucked it away for safe keeping. Suffice to say, I learned at an early age how to use my looks and sexuality to get what I wanted, or so I thought. I have been defining myself by my sexuality for years. Never really looking for love but more for the relationship or encounter of the moment was how I lived my life. I dated but the ultimate result ended up being a very hot sexual relationship more than a meaningful, mindful one.

I can remember being on an airplane in my late thirties and reading a book with a political subject and having a man look at me and say, “YOU are reading that book?” As if to assume that me; with my big breasts, perfectly manicured toes, perfect hair and makeup, could not have a brain. At the time, I thought it was funny, giving me more reason to look at men as a game rather than a partnership.

I didn’t realize this was what I had been doing until, I saw something about an ex boyfriend on the internet. He and I had dated and could have gotten married. But he broke my heart and I never fully recovered. It was in that moment that I used my insecurities to give way to a lifestyle without love but filled with plenty of physical contact.

No longer was I looking for a relationship, that idea left me in my late twenties, I was more about casual dating. No man was going to get the best of me. I was not going to be hurt again. But it was the underlying current of the past that I finally realized why I was using sex as a means to find love. I let myself be defined by my circumstances at the ripe old age of twenty-one. My pattern went on for years and then as easily as it began, it stopped for a while. I was in a self imposed sexual drought. I put on weight so that no one would want me. I became best friends in the gay community and set out on a sexless road. That lifestyle came to a crashing halt several years ago when I met one of my latest ex-boyfriends.

He was a catalyst for me to be sexy and sexual again, but the reality was the pattern was about to repeat itself. After he and I dated for a short time, we decided to just be friends with benefits and so it went for another year. I finally had enough of him and embarked on internet dating, where I went on countless dates. I met so many men, but they just wanted to take me home. I didn’t go. I finally met someone online and embarked on a relationship that was not all about the sex. There were real feelings there.

So fast forward about two years and I have finally realized how much I allowed my sexuality to not be sacred. I put myself into that box and am now climbing out of it slowly. I no longer want to be seen as a sexual being, but a woman, with beauty and brains. I cringe at the men that look me up and down. I know men will be men and they are visual creatures but I have yet to come to terms with it.

What I have come to terms with, is me. I am a vibrant, beautiful, and yes, sexy woman. I am smart. Beauty, brains, and sexy all rolled into one. I have been fighting the system and not dressing the part of the sexy woman, going so far as to not do my hair or makeup, all in the name of hiding. But what I am realizing is that I am hiding from me. I am re-learning that sexy is about confidence not just sex. I can be sexy and smart and still be respected, not just by men, but by myself. It has been a re-birth of sorts for me to awaken to a new kind of sensual and sexiness. The kind of sexiness that is just for me and whomever I feel like sharing it with. I share it because I want to, not because I have a need to prove anything. I find my validation in other ways. Life is so much sweeter when you find what you have been searching for all along is inside you. I want that version of me to emerge. I will now only engage in the physical when it is for me and my partner. No hidden agenda, just love. This sexy woman is now looking for love in all the right places.

Jeff’s Click

The following is another great story from an interesting Tweep!  You can follow Jeff on Twitter here. I am ever-grateful that he approached me and offered to send in his “click story.”  Enjoy!!


So let me set the scene.  It was 2000, my wife and I had been married for 2 years, and we had decided it was time to start a family. (Ah, the blissful ignorance of youth). Because of my job at the time and some upcoming changes with it, we thought we’d try to “time” the pregnancy so as to be more ready for it financially…and yes, I’m aware that all you parents out there are doubled over in laughter with that last statement. That was about as likely as accurately timing Charlie Sheen’s next meltdown.

We started out by saying “OK, let’s say it takes us 6 months to get pregnant…plus 9 months of pregnancy…yeah, that should work out about right.” Besides the fact that we were thumbing our noses at Murphy’s Law, this brilliant analysis failed to consider several factors, not the least of which would be the unexpected enthusiasm that my, uh… “swimmers” would have for the project.  We’re talking Michael Phelps type stuff here. Ruthless.

So, as fate would have it, we found ourselves staring at that little blue plus sign THE FIRST MONTH WE TRIED.  This was a mixed blessing for me.  Of course there was the joy that we were going to have A baby (more on that later), but on the other hand I got screwed (pun intended) out of at least a FEW months of trying! Kind of a rip-off there if you ask me.  Strangely, my wife was entirely unsympathetic to my plight. Women.

At about 10 weeks or so (give or take), we were at the OB’s office for the first prenatal visit.  Everything was going swimmingly (see what I did there?)  Weight? Check. Morning sickness? None. Fetal heartbeat? Check. Okay, I guess we’re good, right? The OB, a friend of mine, casually offered to check an ultrasound. “It’s not necessary, since we’ve already heard THE heartbeat” he said, “but if you guys want to just see what things look like at this early stage, we can take a quick peek. You’ll really only be able to see A little ball attached to the uterus.” We looked at each other and shrugged…why not?

The first surprise, which would pale in comparison to the second, involved the actual mechanics of the ultrasound… a “transvaginal” ultrasound.  (Again, I hear all you ladies snickering out there). I didn’t anticipate the doctor pulling out what could easily have passed for a… let’s say “toy”, slapping a condom and some lube on it, and proceeding to violate my wife right in front of me.  Um…OK.  We can all be adults about this, right?  But then, as he moved the probe around and studied the screen, he began to chuckle.  Now hold the phone here, is he enjoying this?  What the hell could be so funny?  He turns to us, points at a little round ball on the screen, and says “well, what you see there is ONE baby…” (pardon me?), then adjusts the probe and points to what is evidently NOT the same round ball, and says “and there’s the OTHER baby.”

WTF?  After pulling my jaw up from the floor and calling a code blue for my now only semi-conscious wife, I looked at the doctor and through the fog could only manage to say “TWINS?”. No stranger to the look of complete bewilderment on my face, I’m sure, he just smiled and said “congratulations.” That moment is etched in my brain for all time.  But in a good way, not like when they brand a defenseless cow or something.
In short, our lives changed forever that day, and the absurd fantasy of planning something on an actual SCHEDULE became a distant memory, almost like an old wive’s tale. Nobody really believes in that stuff anymore, do they?  But it’s been an incredible journey.
By the way, I still want those 5 months of “trying” back. I’m serious.


In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided to write about sex.  The tricky thing is trying to write about the topic without giving away too much information about my private life.  I mean there are some people reading that I’m sure just don’t want to know…

Last week we watched the movie Watchmen.  I’m almost ashamed to admit I liked the movie, but I did.  It was well done and interesting.  It was the violence that got to me (thus the shame).  It was horrific.  You couldn’t tell the bad guys from the good guys, they were all bad…and good.  Women were beat up, a pregnant lady shot, and one guy got a hatchet through his skull.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such extreme violence.  There was, however, a love story within the movie and they did include one sex scene.  After over an hour of blood and guts, guns and blades we were subjected to 15 seconds of nudity and simulated sex.  They were so very careful not to assault the audiences’ sensibilities with any dirty sex.  It was quite beautiful and sexy.  I could have watched that for a couple of hours without feeling like I needed to take a shower and ask God’s forgiveness.

So this brings me to the question.  Why do we embrace violence and demonize sex?  Why are we more inclined to change the channel if a show has sexual content then violent content?  And how does this attitude affect our intimate lives when we are adults?

I read this article months ago on Owning Pink and I was surprised to find out that more than half of married couples have sex a few times a month or less.  When we’re dating someone, sex is a big issue.  If you’re not doing it, you wish you were.  If you choose to abstain than you at least have the desire to fuel the romance and passion.  If you’re doing it than you’ve got the doing it to fuel the romance and passion.  So what happens after we get married?  Routine, I guess.  Our minds are in a thousand other places and well sex is dirty anyway(this may not be at the forefront of our minds but I’d be willing to bet it’s in there somewhere), so let’s just put it off.

My attitude towards sex, like many other things, has certainly not stayed consistent.  It has ebbed and flowed depending on my life experiences.  It’s affected by how I feel about myself, which role I identify with the most, the long list of goals and to-dos waiting to be accomplished, and most certainly those “messages” from society that have bombarded me since childhood.   But despite all of that, I also (now) embrace that sex is good for me and it’s good for my marriage.    When Mark and I were engaged I read the “Love Languages” book and realized pretty quickly that my language is touch.   It’s not surprising then that when I began to make sex a priority, all of my marital pet peeves disappeared.

I understand that a lot of people have real biological problems with sex drive and of course to that I can’t speak.  But I know there are also a lot of people who are just too busy to be interested.  If this works for you and your relationship then great, keep on chugging along.  But if you wish things could change in that department then I challenge you to change your attitude.  Take the time to connect with your partner and be mindful of the experience.  Focus your complete attention on every touch and kiss.  Treat it like a spiritual experience, empty your mind of all the junk and open your heart.   And for those of you reading this who are single…I still say sex is good for you, even if you’re “flying solo.”

@WhyisDaddycryin’s Click

I have mentioned @whyisdaddycryin on this blog before.  Like so many of my cyber-friends and “click story” contributors, I stumbled into him on Twitter.  Like Nicole, he is one of those tweeters that makes the extra effort to connect with people.  He is also an incredible writer and I’ve been telling him since the first time I read his blog that he must write a novel.  You can read his blog here and in the following click story you can read how it all started!  You can also now become a fan on Facebook as well!

My “click moment?”

In high school I journaled….mostly about all the hot young ladies who I loved, yet would never give me the time of day. Mostly about how much I wanted a piano to fall from the sky and land on my father. Mostly about how I couldn’t wait to get the hell out and go to college.

In college I majored in journalism and minored in professional writing. Taking tests was like asking me to slam my head in a door for hours on end. Writing pages and pages of fiction and non-fiction was like asking me to take the hottest lady in college on a free trip to Vegas for the weekend. Well….maybe NOT so much like that, but you get my drift.

I wrote…some….in college—enough to get a taste. Enough to get a reaction from professors and other students that were somewhat warm and encouraging.

I graduated…served as an editor for a newspaper….got into marketing and public relations….started a family with the wifey—writing took a backseat. But it was always there…lurking…nagging….and categorized low amongst many other priorities.

This past summer we became friends with @momomatic . A hilarious blogger, amazing jewelry maker, and damn good friend. Our sons went to the same school and the wifey came home one day, “so one of Grayson’s friend’s mom is a blogger and on Twitter, you should check her out.”

So I looked her up, read her tweets, checked out her blog and immediately dug her humor. It’s unfiltered, unadulterated and honest humor about the stuff most people won’t talk about.

A month or so later after we’d met, started hanging out, and talking – she says, “I know you’re saying you wanna blog….you should write something as a guest blog and I’ll post it!”

Within a day I’d knocked out a post about how I’d recently learned my wife loves afternoon sex, but how unbelievably inconvenient that is for our lives with two kids. The feedback I got from that post was unbelievable. It was like being handed my first hit of crack, taking it, and knowing I was hooked.

The proverbial “click” was defining. Humbling. Exciting. Overwhelming. In August I launched and immediately started ramping up my Twitter relationships by just engaging with those following me. It’s been an experience ever since. But I can say, the relationships, the lessons learned, the support, the feedback….it’s all been an amazing whirlwind.

I can’t thank @momomatic enough for breaking down that wall I’d placed in front of my writing. Her encouragement, friendship and motivating prose have thrown me into the realm of my brain I’d always been hesitant to enter. And, I thank her dearly and promise to never pee in her rose bushes again.

I’ve enjoyed being real, being open, being honest, being true to putting my life out there. I have tons of ideas where it will all go, no clear direction and so I just continue to sway down this crazy road and digging every minute.

Sexy Poetry from Deborah Horton

Please welcome another guest poet, Deborah Horton!  I chose this poem from her myspace page b/c it’s super sexy and I tend to get a lot visits here from people searching for “Sexy Poetry.”  You can find Deborah on Twitter and Myspace.


Closer now entwined with you
how I crave the things you do
slowly it starts with just a touch
making me want you oh so much

Breathing you in the smell I crave
each scent makes me more now your slave
wrapping around you as we become one
feeling my body start to come undone

Each touch each kiss I crave you all the more
taking me to places I’ve never been before
building now each movement brings a scream
so real so real far better than the dream

With every wave of bliss I crave you even more
let me show you every way that body of yours was made for
closer closer the edge of forever taking me now again
now with you the happiest I have ever been

Nicole’s Click

The following post is written by a Twitter friend, Nicole.  Nicole really brightens up the Twittersphere and is loved my so many!  I am honored to have her write for me.  On Twitter she is @Kitterztoo and you can also visit her extremely open and honest blog here.

In high school, I wanted someone to love me.  I didn’t feel loved by my parents, and I so desperately wanted to be loved by anyone. More importantly boys, of course.  The first guy to say he loved me, had my heart.  I soon discovered that the only way to keep that first guy was to have sex with him.  I didn’t think very much of myself and it pained me to be rejected or ignored by guys.  I wound up accepting whomever would have me as a girlfriend.  I learned to tolerate and even think I deserved abuse from them.  My first three boyfriends treated me horribly either through emotional or physical abuse.  To add insult to injury, they told everyone what they were doing to me.  I felt I deserved it and kept coming back for more.

When those guys graduated, I had a year left in high school.  I was desperately seeking anyone that would love me. I chased after guys I hoped would treat me better.  Eventually, I gave up trying. I figured I wasn’t worth being loved.  I thought for sure I would just be alone forever.  I gave up.  By this time I was punishing myself for being lower than dirt by self-injuring.  I hid my emotions behind a bitch exterior.  Nothing could affect or bother me that way.  I remember one guy showing an interest in me, so I took a chance and wrote my feelings to him in a note.  What I didn’t know, is he passed that note around to all of his friends and cracked jokes about how he got a “senior” around his finger.  Luckily, he did not make it to the boyfriend stage.

Marching band season started up, and after a football game I’d performed at, I changed and went to my car to head home.  One guy happened to be out in the parking lot leaning against the hood of my car.  I recognized him immediately.  Phil was a friend of my best friend, but I had no idea why in the world he was hanging out by my car.  I was so stunned by him being there, that I don’t really remember much of what he had to say.  He did ask me out though. I was shocked.  I wasn’t pursuing him, wasn’t chasing after his affection, and I didn’t see it coming. Something in his eyes seemed different, genuine.  Hell, I think I was more confused as to why he would even remotely be interested in me.  As he shut the door to my car, my brain was swirling with thoughts.  I don’t think I quit smiling for the whole drive home.

That was the beginning of our relationship.  Phil was so kind, funny, and he even stood up to my mother. That took guts since my parents made Mommy Dearest look like the Snuggle Fabric Softener Bear.  When I started feeling like sex was the only thing that would keep him interested, I asked why he hadn’t pushed it with me.  He said that it if it happened eventually, it would be a bonus, but that wasn’t the main reason he was with me.  I also asked him, “Why me? Why are you interested in me?”  Phil saw the note that got passed around that I’d written a month earlier.  He thought, essentially, there were feelings behind the bitch exterior.  He’d found me behind my wall of protection, and liked that side of me.

Phil and I were together about a year.  He treated me with the utmost respect. I truly felt loved and cared about. He showed me I was worthy of love and kindness.  I could say anything and not be afraid.  He treated me like a lady and I loved him for that.  He had a wicked sense of humor and made me laugh a lot.  When I was in a car accident, he was there for me.  When my parents beat the hell out of me, he was there to allow me to cry on his shoulder.  I realized this is what love should be and how I should be treated.  When we finally did have sex, I felt so loved and attractive.  I never regretted that decision ever.  Phil was amazing.  He sort of was like the character, Lloyd Dobbler in the movie “Say Anything”.  He’d be the one who could say, “I can’t figure it all out tonight, sir, so I’m just gonna hang with your daughter.”

When I left for college, it sort of ended our relationship.  I won’t go into why the relationship ended because that’s not the point. That’s now how I remember him or what we had.  Phil would become the template I would measure other guys against.  I don’t think he ever knew that fact.  In college, I knew I deserved all the things he gave me.  He showed me I didn’t have to compromise when it came to being treated with respect.  He opened my eyes to the beginning of self-worth. In fact, when I met my future husband, I looked for the same qualities Phil had.  He had to be sensitive, humorous, and above all, I had to feel safe.  Even to this day, I choose friends with that same “template”.  Ironically, just when I was thinking about him a few months ago, he sent a friend invite to me on Facebook.  I thought I’d never hear from him again, but it’s strange how positive people you think about from your past have a way of finding you.  Phil was my first “click” moment, and because of that I can’t thank him enough.  He has meant more to me than he’ll ever know. So, Phil, thank you.

Truthwalker’s Click

The following post is written by the author of the second blog I started reading regularly.  I found Israel’s blog around the same time I found Kelli’s by searching “self-discovery.”  He writes about his spiritual journey from being a very devout pentecostal to a very peaceful atheist.  I have enjoyed reading about his experiences.  His blog is very eye-opening and not just on the topic of religion.  His series of posts on the health-care debate provided me with a great deal of insight on that subject.  Currently he is in the process of ending his current blog and starting a new one.  If you read his latest post you can find out how to continue reading his thoughts…

High School Sexual Culture

The trip had begun like most of our church youth group trips had, with me working on the 1970-too old, Dodge Crap-O-Van. Was it a new water pump that time or a bad alternator? I can’t remember. I do remember the crunch of gravel under my feet and the singing of the cicadas from the church parking lot’s only tree, so I know it was in August. I remember praying to God for the strength to get through the whole repair without using sinful language, but I prayed that prayer frequently working on old vans.

I can’t remember what the trip was for, either. Were we going to some Bible college? A Christian rock concert? Or was it the trip to Denver where we spent two weeks doing vacation Bible school puppet shows? It’s been so long since then, but those youth groups trips were incredibly important to me, at the time. My father’s post traumatic stress and my mother’s agoraphobia created a home where friends weren’t very welcome. We lived deep in the cornfields, where dad could shoot paper targets until the fear went away and mom could drink in the sun and trees until the strain of normal life was lifted. I came of age not at school, not hanging out with my friends, but at Bible camp, in Sunday school, and on the sticky vinyl seats of our church’s 15 passenger van.

For whatever reason we’d gone, I will never forget the trip back. We were exhausted, and all of us were fading in and out of sleep. The engine was a continuous roar, drowning out conversation and the tires droned out a hypnotic hum down the interstate. I was in the first passenger seat, in the middle between several thousand dollars of sound equipment on the left, and Darcy Trigg was on my right. I laid my head against the cold, hard fiberglass of the roadie boxes, and closed my eyes.

We hit bump and I awoke, conscious only of scratchiness across my face. I moved my hand up to the scratchiness, and confusingly found something soft, and warm. The fog of sleep clearing, I realized that in my sleep I had turned away from the hard case, and turned instead to Darcy. My eyes fluttered open, and I froze. The scratchiness was the collar of Darcy’s sweater, stretching across my face from chin to widows peak. Not only had I turned to her in my sleep, I had laid my head on her chest and slid down. One eye looked down the front of her sweater, but the other was on the inside, her ample breasts and white satin bra, cast a warm pink by the sunlight shinning through her top.

She must be asleep, I thought, and there is no way, that if she wakes up she is going to believe this is an accident. She’s going to to know what a disgusting pervert I am, and no girl will ever talk to me again…I will be “that guy.” I closed my eyes, and very carefully and very slowly moved away, sitting perfectly straight, and not opening my eyes until I was in a position to stare straight ahead. Then, and only then, did I slowly turn my head to Darcy.

Her chin was in her left head, her arm on the window sill, watching the cornfields shoot by. She’d been awake the whole time! Clearly she hadn’t pushed me off or woken me because she was mortified with embarrassment. I was so ashamed, and yet I didn’t want Darcy to think that I thought she was ugly. I wanted to say that I thought she was beautiful but at the same time I was terrible sorry for violating her. My mouth was dry and I felt shaky.

“Darcy..” I whispered loud enough for her to hear, but too quiet to carry over the road noise to any other listening ears, leaning towards her for greater privacy.

“I…I was asleep…I…didn’t…” I stammered.

She turned to me slowly, her eyes big and kind, bashful from underneath her brow, a slight smile upon her lips. She leaned toward me, closing the space between us I’d made by sitting up straight, and laid her hand on my knee.

“I didn’t mind,” she said softly. She searched my eyes, her serenity and kindness pitying my confusion and fear. Squeezing my knee, she sighed contentedly and returned to watching the landscape out the window, giving me a last over-the-shoulder smile.

I sat in total confusion. Darcy was the kindest, most gentle soul I knew at the time. Growing up in a world that divided women into nice girls and sluts, Darcy’s credentials as a nice girl were impeccable. She was quiet, demure, modest, and serious. She knew the Word, and walked the walk…and she told me that I had done nothing wrong and she enjoyed having my face down her shirt. I realized then that maybe good girls did want to be kissed, held, and touched. Maybe, just maybe, good girls might have sex drive, and maybe a girl could want me, the geeky guy with the thick glasses, because I was OK, and not because she was screwed up.