I am the type of person who always has music on. It's not just for ambiance. I like to attentively listen to the heartbeat that is the bassline, the palpitations of the drums and the salacious sound of a human being using their voice as an instrument, turning poetry in to a whole new art.
I know, I know. I'm an artsy-fartsy sap.
Sometimes I get fixated on one song that, excuse the cliché, speaks to me.
Today it was "Four Letter Word" by Gossip.
After listening to it 19 times, according to my iTunes play count, I decided to press that handy little Genius button that creates a playlist for you.
Most Genius playlists are unimpressive and lackluster. This one, however, was so perfect that I listened to the whole thing without skipping a song and nearly cried at the end as The Kills' Black Balloon played. I'm not one to cry, ever. Bad girls don't cry.
This is my playlist.
Love it.
I do. More than I've loved anything in a long time.
Four Letter Word - Gossip
Tape Song - The Kills
Hold On - Hot Chip
Teeth - Lady Gaga
Taste In Men - Placebo
Heavy Cross - Gossip
Get Myself In To It - The Rapture
Feel The Love - Cut Copy
Front Row - Metric
Careless Whisper - Gossip
Of Moons, Birds and Monsters - MGMT
Jimmy - M.I.A.
Konichiwa, Bitches - Robyn
No Wow (MSTRKRFT Remix) - The Kills
Without You I'm Nothing - Placebo feat. David Bowie
In The Privacy Of Our Love - Hot Chip
The Bitter End - Placebo
Hearts On Fire - Cut Copy
Whoo! Alright-Yeah...Uh Huh - The Rapture
Man - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Pop Goes The World - Gossip
Where Is Home? - Bloc Party
Sex Bomb - Spinnerette
Nantes - Beirut
Black Balloon - The Kills
It is these last two songs that sum up the whole playlist and tug on my heart strings. If you're only going to look up 3 of these songs, please pick the first one and the last 2.
Showing posts with label Raw Knee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Raw Knee. Show all posts
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Your Dime, My time.
Sexual confidence emanates with every click of a woman's high heel. Click, clack, click, clack. Heaven forbid she runs, delicately pounding out a Morse code mating call.
My own high-heel boots are clicking almost inaudibly over the music in my headphones as I walk down York Street in Ottawa. I'm walking an all-too-familiar stretch, Eastbound from The Dominion Tavern. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought I was walking to my ex-boyfriend's apartment. For a moment, I forgot that his place was not my destination. In that moment, something shiny caught my eye.
A dime.
What a beautiful piece of Canadiana.
Dimes haven't always been significant to me, but for the past few years they have meant more than a stack of hundred dollar bills ever could. At this particular point in time, all you need to know is that, to me, finding a dime is a sign. It's rarely a warning, but a reminder that someone is watching over me. I tend to find them when I am uncertain about something. A job, a lover, a purchase, decisions big and small - the dimes guide me.
The dime on York Street, a rare occurrence thanks to the resident crackheads and panhandlers in that area, is an unignorable sign.
I pick up my shiny treasure and cut through a parking lot towards Rideau Street. I have no more business on York Street tonight.
Later in the evening, right before boarding a Greyhound back to Montreal, I drop some currency from my pocket. Of all the change that's been burning a hole in my coat for days - only two dimes fall to the ground.
Surely I'm making the right decision.
My high heeled boots are sitting by the door. I will put the on again tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be clicking a more confident tune than they have been for quite a while.
My own high-heel boots are clicking almost inaudibly over the music in my headphones as I walk down York Street in Ottawa. I'm walking an all-too-familiar stretch, Eastbound from The Dominion Tavern. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought I was walking to my ex-boyfriend's apartment. For a moment, I forgot that his place was not my destination. In that moment, something shiny caught my eye.
A dime.
What a beautiful piece of Canadiana.
Dimes haven't always been significant to me, but for the past few years they have meant more than a stack of hundred dollar bills ever could. At this particular point in time, all you need to know is that, to me, finding a dime is a sign. It's rarely a warning, but a reminder that someone is watching over me. I tend to find them when I am uncertain about something. A job, a lover, a purchase, decisions big and small - the dimes guide me.
The dime on York Street, a rare occurrence thanks to the resident crackheads and panhandlers in that area, is an unignorable sign.
I pick up my shiny treasure and cut through a parking lot towards Rideau Street. I have no more business on York Street tonight.
Later in the evening, right before boarding a Greyhound back to Montreal, I drop some currency from my pocket. Of all the change that's been burning a hole in my coat for days - only two dimes fall to the ground.
Surely I'm making the right decision.
My high heeled boots are sitting by the door. I will put the on again tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be clicking a more confident tune than they have been for quite a while.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!
Did anyone notice that I changed the name of my blog again?
It's long overdue that I make this announcement:
After spending most of my life, including my entire adult life thus far, in Ottawa, I have decided that it's time I try on a new city. On November 6th, 2009, I will be packing up and moving to Montreal.
I can't really blog about smut in the Capital city when I'm not there, can I?
To those of you who call yourselves my fans, thanks for your readership and loyalty! I'm not abandoning you entirely; Veronica's Closet, my column in Upfront Magazine, will continue to run as a Q+A column. Unfortunately, I will no longer be a voice for the Ottawa scene - but I'll still be helpful and witty... as much as I ever was, anyway.
This blog will also live on, with a bit of a new style. The posts will be more universal and I hope to write more personally.
I have big plans for Montreal and you can expect at least one or two posts on my grand adventures in what once was Canada's largest city and is now a mecca of kink, fetish, art and hedonism. (I think I'll fit right in!)
Oh, and just so you all know. I'll be back in Ottawa before you know it! The plan is to spend a year in la belle Province.
Those of you Ottawans who know or recognize me can see me in my usual hangouts for the next 2 months before I go. Come say hi! I don't bite... and for those of you who are Rockalily fans - just wait 'till you see what I've been working on for October 30th. Save the date! My last confirmed show with the burlesque ladies is going to be epic!
XOXO
RawKnee
It's long overdue that I make this announcement:
After spending most of my life, including my entire adult life thus far, in Ottawa, I have decided that it's time I try on a new city. On November 6th, 2009, I will be packing up and moving to Montreal.
I can't really blog about smut in the Capital city when I'm not there, can I?
To those of you who call yourselves my fans, thanks for your readership and loyalty! I'm not abandoning you entirely; Veronica's Closet, my column in Upfront Magazine, will continue to run as a Q+A column. Unfortunately, I will no longer be a voice for the Ottawa scene - but I'll still be helpful and witty... as much as I ever was, anyway.
This blog will also live on, with a bit of a new style. The posts will be more universal and I hope to write more personally.
I have big plans for Montreal and you can expect at least one or two posts on my grand adventures in what once was Canada's largest city and is now a mecca of kink, fetish, art and hedonism. (I think I'll fit right in!)
Oh, and just so you all know. I'll be back in Ottawa before you know it! The plan is to spend a year in la belle Province.
Those of you Ottawans who know or recognize me can see me in my usual hangouts for the next 2 months before I go. Come say hi! I don't bite... and for those of you who are Rockalily fans - just wait 'till you see what I've been working on for October 30th. Save the date! My last confirmed show with the burlesque ladies is going to be epic!
XOXO
RawKnee
Sunday, April 27, 2008
"Never Gonna Drink Again"
Last night my friend, Anglea, threw a housewarming party for herself. It was an all-around good time. Early in the party I ran into an acquaintance of mine named Ed. He snuck up behind me while I was having a cigarette next to the window and said "Hey, Sex Columnist!". I guess he forgot my name. He spent the rest of the night trying to engage other men in conversations that were probably pre-determined and rehearsed (by Ed) to make himself come across as superior and intelligent, and trying to impress each of the women with his intellect and confidence. The problem is: what he tries to exude as confidence just comes across conceit and a superiority complex. I'm not usually one to talk shit on the internet - but every time I run into this guy he either says something really offensive to me without realizing it or he tries way too hard to impress me. All I get from him is 'CONCEITED'. I had a feeling that his attempts to impress me, personally, are for the point of seeing his name in print. Last eve, at the party, upon my departure, he said something totally forgettable - I just remember him smirking and saying "Put that in your column", like he was so fucking clever. So here, Ed. I'm writing about you.
After Angela's party my new pal, Julie, and I managed to catch the last bus from (undisclosed area) to downtown. She stayed on the bus to go home and I got off at the end of my street. I made it 2 or 3 blocks before going into one of my regular watering holes for one last pint.
The bartender and the cocktail waitress are two people that I would consider very good friends of mine. I've been friends with the latter of the two since I was 15 and she was 16. I ended up drinking my pint (slowly) and watching the last of the patrons clear out. They locked the doors and we did a shooter and each had one more beer before heading back to my place where a bottle of wine, a bottle of Jack and endless porno awaited.
After a few shots of whiskey and a glass of wine, the Cocktail Waitress, who we'll call Betty, passed out in my bed; leaving Bartender, who we'll call Ralph, and I to chat and drink into the morning light. So that's what we did. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the relationship we've built with each other over the last year and a half, perhaps he just needed someone to talk to and I was the right person by profession; Ralph opened up to me and I got to discuss candidly how this particular divorced, male, 40-something, bartender feels about the opposite sex and his interactions with.
Ralph (obviously not his real name) kept giving me permission to write about our conversation. Unlike Ed (definitely his real name), Ralph isn't looking to see his name in print (or blog, as it is). Ralph is a good friend who enjoys my company and my writing. He's offering up his insights for my own gain - not his.
Ralph and I drank and talked until about 6:15 am. He wasn't looking for advice - just wanted to chat and I enjoyed myself
greatly. He seemed a little discontent. given the subject matter of the conversation, I would be too. I hope I cheered him up a bit, just by listening.
He did ask me one question though, just one. I'd like to share it.
Ralph: What can a man do to make a woman feel good?
Veronica: Aww, you know I can't tell you that for sure. Everyone's different. I know that every woman loves to be told that they are attractive. Just reassure her that she's beautiful and that you're lucky to have her.
I just love a man who is determined to make a lady feel good. Even as just a friend, I feel good around him.
Some guys just know how to treat a gal.
So needless to say, after last night, I'm a bit of a train wreck. I've been sleeping on and off all day, trying to rid myself of this "skull too small for my brain" feeling. I would hate for my entire day to be a writeoff - at least I can say I accomplished one blog entry.
I promise, no more personal stuff for at least another month ;-)
xoxo
Raw Knee
After Angela's party my new pal, Julie, and I managed to catch the last bus from (undisclosed area) to downtown. She stayed on the bus to go home and I got off at the end of my street. I made it 2 or 3 blocks before going into one of my regular watering holes for one last pint.
The bartender and the cocktail waitress are two people that I would consider very good friends of mine. I've been friends with the latter of the two since I was 15 and she was 16. I ended up drinking my pint (slowly) and watching the last of the patrons clear out. They locked the doors and we did a shooter and each had one more beer before heading back to my place where a bottle of wine, a bottle of Jack and endless porno awaited.
After a few shots of whiskey and a glass of wine, the Cocktail Waitress, who we'll call Betty, passed out in my bed; leaving Bartender, who we'll call Ralph, and I to chat and drink into the morning light. So that's what we did. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the relationship we've built with each other over the last year and a half, perhaps he just needed someone to talk to and I was the right person by profession; Ralph opened up to me and I got to discuss candidly how this particular divorced, male, 40-something, bartender feels about the opposite sex and his interactions with.
Ralph (obviously not his real name) kept giving me permission to write about our conversation. Unlike Ed (definitely his real name), Ralph isn't looking to see his name in print (or blog, as it is). Ralph is a good friend who enjoys my company and my writing. He's offering up his insights for my own gain - not his.
Ralph and I drank and talked until about 6:15 am. He wasn't looking for advice - just wanted to chat and I enjoyed myself
greatly. He seemed a little discontent. given the subject matter of the conversation, I would be too. I hope I cheered him up a bit, just by listening.
He did ask me one question though, just one. I'd like to share it.
Ralph: What can a man do to make a woman feel good?
Veronica: Aww, you know I can't tell you that for sure. Everyone's different. I know that every woman loves to be told that they are attractive. Just reassure her that she's beautiful and that you're lucky to have her.
I just love a man who is determined to make a lady feel good. Even as just a friend, I feel good around him.
Some guys just know how to treat a gal.
So needless to say, after last night, I'm a bit of a train wreck. I've been sleeping on and off all day, trying to rid myself of this "skull too small for my brain" feeling. I would hate for my entire day to be a writeoff - at least I can say I accomplished one blog entry.
I promise, no more personal stuff for at least another month ;-)
xoxo
Raw Knee
Friday, March 21, 2008
I'm still alive
Raw Knee and JennStar get cozy
I won't lie, I just love this picture. She's got such pretty blue eyes!
I ended up writing something pretty heavy for the April edition of Veronica's Closet and it took a lot out of me.
I'll have a new, interesting entry for you dudes here soon.
In other news, my friend, Josh, started a new blog. He does lists of top 5's.
I love lists.
Check him out at In The Top 5
Saturday, February 23, 2008
A Missing Piece
This is my very own Vagina Monologue. It is an entirely true story from my own life. I hope you can get a laugh out of it and maybe even learn something. This is a story that I've been sitting on for some time. After seeing Ottawa's performance of The Vagina Monologues at the Bronson Centre last night, I feel like I need to share it.
I was 15 when we started dating. He was 17 and the first man I willingly had sex with. I didn't know it at the time, but we would go on to see each other on an off for 4 and a half years, finally parting ways permanently when I was 19. He was the one who I began learning about sex from. I wish I had known what a bad teacher he was, but when compared to my Catholic High School Phys-ed teacher, he seemed like a guru.
One day we were hanging out with another couple and we came across some graffiti of a naked lady. Now, don't picture a pinup girl. We're talking green spray paint, and only green spray paint. This green woman was comparable to a Ziggy cartoon character. The other 3 found this picture incredibly amusing. As elementary as it seemed, the artist, if you could call them that, had drawn a little bauble for a clitoris. I didn't understand. I had only ever heard the word "clitoris" before and I had never bothered to look it up. My confusion got the better of me - I had to ask. My boyfriend became extremely embarrassed. My own naivety showed that I was not the only one who didn't know where my clitoris was.
I had realized that there were many blanks left to fill from my so-called sex education. The Catholic School system had failed me miserably. (I was having uninformed, unprotected sex at age 15. The schools could have at least taught us about condoms. Sure, I knew they existed - but did I know how they work? No. And you can safely assume that my partners, as a young teenager, took advantage of my miseducation) I took it upon myself to read up on and experience everything I could so that I would know and understand what I was doing and what was being done to me. I explored partner sex to a degree that most people didn't even fathom of, but I never explored my vagina or masturbation.
Let's skip ahead to when I was 17. A close girl friend has become open about her masturbating habits. She gives herself amazing orgasms and she wants to share with me. Why? -Because I don't masturbate. I don't just say this out of shame. I still don't know where my clitoris is, rather, I'm convinced I don't have one. I still refuse to experiment with masturbation, although I had become a very liberal sexual being when it came to my partners.
It was during an impromptu orgy with some of my friends that I finally found my clit. It was not an amazing moment of clarity or realization; and it was not a surprise orgasm. No. I asked one of the other girls to look because I couldn't find it and I didn't think I had one. She was a stripper at a local bar and for some reason I thought that this made her a qualified candidate for clitoral spelunking. After about 3 or 4 minutes of her poking and prodding at my splayed vagina with her dangerous fake nails she found it. "Holy Shit!" She said "It's tiny! You almost don't have one." She showed me where my dwarf of a sex organ was. In time I began to hone a masturbating technique to coax orgasms out of myself.
This was not an overnight sensation. It took months and months. One day I finally bought a vibrator and I was hooked. I was a woman empowered, I no longer needed my "liberal" sexuality or even a partner at all.
The on/off boyfriend and I got back together again after several months separation. It had turned out in that time that someone else had taught him about clitoral stimulation. The sex between he and I was suddenly phenomenal, it was just too bad that by this point the only interest we had in one another was sexual. He and I don't speak anymore. My clit and I, however, are the best of friends. Last time I checked, the green lady was still where we left her, clitoris intact.
The Vagina Monologues will be performed again this evening at The Bronson Centre in honour of V day. All proceeds are going towards ending violence against women via the Sexual Assault Support Centre of Ottawa. This is a cause close to my heart. Please show your support! http://www.ottawavday.ca/
I was 15 when we started dating. He was 17 and the first man I willingly had sex with. I didn't know it at the time, but we would go on to see each other on an off for 4 and a half years, finally parting ways permanently when I was 19. He was the one who I began learning about sex from. I wish I had known what a bad teacher he was, but when compared to my Catholic High School Phys-ed teacher, he seemed like a guru.
One day we were hanging out with another couple and we came across some graffiti of a naked lady. Now, don't picture a pinup girl. We're talking green spray paint, and only green spray paint. This green woman was comparable to a Ziggy cartoon character. The other 3 found this picture incredibly amusing. As elementary as it seemed, the artist, if you could call them that, had drawn a little bauble for a clitoris. I didn't understand. I had only ever heard the word "clitoris" before and I had never bothered to look it up. My confusion got the better of me - I had to ask. My boyfriend became extremely embarrassed. My own naivety showed that I was not the only one who didn't know where my clitoris was.
I had realized that there were many blanks left to fill from my so-called sex education. The Catholic School system had failed me miserably. (I was having uninformed, unprotected sex at age 15. The schools could have at least taught us about condoms. Sure, I knew they existed - but did I know how they work? No. And you can safely assume that my partners, as a young teenager, took advantage of my miseducation) I took it upon myself to read up on and experience everything I could so that I would know and understand what I was doing and what was being done to me. I explored partner sex to a degree that most people didn't even fathom of, but I never explored my vagina or masturbation.
Let's skip ahead to when I was 17. A close girl friend has become open about her masturbating habits. She gives herself amazing orgasms and she wants to share with me. Why? -Because I don't masturbate. I don't just say this out of shame. I still don't know where my clitoris is, rather, I'm convinced I don't have one. I still refuse to experiment with masturbation, although I had become a very liberal sexual being when it came to my partners.
It was during an impromptu orgy with some of my friends that I finally found my clit. It was not an amazing moment of clarity or realization; and it was not a surprise orgasm. No. I asked one of the other girls to look because I couldn't find it and I didn't think I had one. She was a stripper at a local bar and for some reason I thought that this made her a qualified candidate for clitoral spelunking. After about 3 or 4 minutes of her poking and prodding at my splayed vagina with her dangerous fake nails she found it. "Holy Shit!" She said "It's tiny! You almost don't have one." She showed me where my dwarf of a sex organ was. In time I began to hone a masturbating technique to coax orgasms out of myself.
This was not an overnight sensation. It took months and months. One day I finally bought a vibrator and I was hooked. I was a woman empowered, I no longer needed my "liberal" sexuality or even a partner at all.
The on/off boyfriend and I got back together again after several months separation. It had turned out in that time that someone else had taught him about clitoral stimulation. The sex between he and I was suddenly phenomenal, it was just too bad that by this point the only interest we had in one another was sexual. He and I don't speak anymore. My clit and I, however, are the best of friends. Last time I checked, the green lady was still where we left her, clitoris intact.
The Vagina Monologues will be performed again this evening at The Bronson Centre in honour of V day. All proceeds are going towards ending violence against women via the Sexual Assault Support Centre of Ottawa. This is a cause close to my heart. Please show your support! http://www.ottawavday.ca/
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Veronica Fever
I'm only going to explain this once more.
My name is Veronica.
Raw Knee is a pseudonym. Back in the teenage years my peers often opted to call me "Ronnie". I never really liked it. At one point I said "If you're going to call me Ronnie you have to spell it like this: Raw Knee" It stuck (with most people).
I may be a fellatio aficionado, but I'm not a self-depreciating hoe-bag. If I ever have raw knees it's because I'm a klutz and I fall a lot, not because I'm constantly on my knees sucking cock.
Capiche?
You should listen to "Veronica Fever" by the Ravonettes. I kind of think it was written about me. (wishful delirious thinking).
The Brainstorm meeting for the March issue of UpFront is this afternoon. You can count on me to have absolutely no ideas nor creativity - but to pump out another informative column.
Due to space issues: the entirety of the "bottom 10's" didn't get printed. I'm considering posting the rejected categories here.
Yeah, I think I'll do that. Keep your eyes peeled. It'll probably be a couple of days.
Love,
Raw Knee
My name is Veronica.
Raw Knee is a pseudonym. Back in the teenage years my peers often opted to call me "Ronnie". I never really liked it. At one point I said "If you're going to call me Ronnie you have to spell it like this: Raw Knee" It stuck (with most people).
I may be a fellatio aficionado, but I'm not a self-depreciating hoe-bag. If I ever have raw knees it's because I'm a klutz and I fall a lot, not because I'm constantly on my knees sucking cock.
Capiche?
You should listen to "Veronica Fever" by the Ravonettes. I kind of think it was written about me. (wishful delirious thinking).
The Brainstorm meeting for the March issue of UpFront is this afternoon. You can count on me to have absolutely no ideas nor creativity - but to pump out another informative column.
Due to space issues: the entirety of the "bottom 10's" didn't get printed. I'm considering posting the rejected categories here.
Yeah, I think I'll do that. Keep your eyes peeled. It'll probably be a couple of days.
Love,
Raw Knee
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Blowjob Manifesto pt 3 - Regret, Stigma, Empowerment And Feminism Through Cock Sucking
There are times, after performing fellatio, that a woman can feel like she's been subordinated or otherwise used and starts to feel shame. This does not always happen and it doesn't happen to everyone. When it does happen it could be immediately afterwards or even years afterwards.
I was into him like white on rice, and he expressed that the feeling was mutual. The first (and only) time I ever gave him head I had him screaming in ecstasy. The man was screaming my name so loud that I'm sure all of downtown Ottawa heard it (bear in mind that my name is not actually Raw Knee). He always told me that I was the best he'd ever had at everything we ever did, but never with as much enthusiasm as he saved for that blowjob. He shot my ego through the roof.
The best way to avoid this feeling is to only go as far as you are comfortable with someone, although the regret feeling isn't always avoidable.
A year and some odd months ago, I dated a man for a brief period of time... less than 2 months
I was into him like white on rice, and he expressed that the feeling was mutual. The first (and only) time I ever gave him head I had him screaming in ecstasy. The man was screaming my name so loud that I'm sure all of downtown Ottawa heard it (bear in mind that my name is not actually Raw Knee). He always told me that I was the best he'd ever had at everything we ever did, but never with as much enthusiasm as he saved for that blowjob. He shot my ego through the roof.
As previously stated, this was a very short relationship, if you could even call it that. It also ended very abruptly and on bad terms. I spent months moping over it. During those months, and even now sometimes when I think about it I feel a tinge of regret and my self worth takes a temporary nose dive. I regret blowing him because he never treated me as well as I treated him.
I've found a way to counter this feeling, and it has everything to do with my key to avoiding it in the first place.
I've found a way to counter this feeling, and it has everything to do with my key to avoiding it in the first place.
I sucked his dick because I WANTED TO.
I had the power in that situation. He didn't make me do it, I wanted to and I did a damn good job. The poor bastard will probably never be so lucky again. So why should I feel bad about it?
I was exerting my power as a woman. He's never going to forget me and he might even regret how he treated me in the end. So really, who should have the regrets?
If you ever get that post-fellatio feeling of regret just remember that you did it because you wanted to, that he's a damn lucky guy to have had you and that you can take away the privilege at any time.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
A reader concern
Hi, Paw Knee
I don't have a question so much as a comment. In your January response to a man who asked about non-exclusive relationships, I found your comment that "(most) women, by nature, want to be in exclusive partnerships…" rather offensive. I have an open mind about people's choices, and women, just as men, have the choice to engage in whatever relationship they want to, which includes nonexclusive relationships. I am wondering what is the natural and innate aversion women have towards an open relationship? I am a woman and I have yet to be handed a guide which tells me I want to be in an exclusive partnerships, or know my nature to be against nonexclusive relationships. I did enjoy the rest of your responses, but I'd appreciate some future care with the unsubstantial conclusions you make.
(Name withheld at my discretion)
(name withheld),
I am truly sorry to offend. I hope you understand that it is not my intent to do so and I very much appreciate your feedback.
I also keep an open mind about people's decisions, however, when asked such a generic question I have little choice but to answer based on the majority - and the fact is that women are psychologically predisposed to long for exculsivity within a partnership. I fully acknowledge that it is not always the case. Polyamory is a legitimate lifestyle choice, although uncommon, as are casual encounters and extensive casual relationships. What I've learned through studies, experience and social observation is that women prefer monogamy for a few key reasons, most notably: social conditioning. We are bred from birth (by various media outlets, religions and for many, our families) to believe that the proper adult relationship is a man and a woman together... generally for the purpose of procreation.
I don't really agree with it, although my opinion is not what matters. The matter is that I gave a generic response to a rather generically formulated question. If you have any more questions, corrections or comments please feel free to email me and I would be happy to consider the issue(s).
Keep reading and be safe!
Raw Knee
I don't have a question so much as a comment. In your January response to a man who asked about non-exclusive relationships, I found your comment that "(most) women, by nature, want to be in exclusive partnerships…" rather offensive. I have an open mind about people's choices, and women, just as men, have the choice to engage in whatever relationship they want to, which includes nonexclusive relationships. I am wondering what is the natural and innate aversion women have towards an open relationship? I am a woman and I have yet to be handed a guide which tells me I want to be in an exclusive partnerships, or know my nature to be against nonexclusive relationships. I did enjoy the rest of your responses, but I'd appreciate some future care with the unsubstantial conclusions you make.
(Name withheld at my discretion)
(name withheld),
I am truly sorry to offend. I hope you understand that it is not my intent to do so and I very much appreciate your feedback.
I also keep an open mind about people's decisions, however, when asked such a generic question I have little choice but to answer based on the majority - and the fact is that women are psychologically predisposed to long for exculsivity within a partnership. I fully acknowledge that it is not always the case. Polyamory is a legitimate lifestyle choice, although uncommon, as are casual encounters and extensive casual relationships. What I've learned through studies, experience and social observation is that women prefer monogamy for a few key reasons, most notably: social conditioning. We are bred from birth (by various media outlets, religions and for many, our families) to believe that the proper adult relationship is a man and a woman together... generally for the purpose of procreation.
I don't really agree with it, although my opinion is not what matters. The matter is that I gave a generic response to a rather generically formulated question. If you have any more questions, corrections or comments please feel free to email me and I would be happy to consider the issue(s).
Keep reading and be safe!
Raw Knee
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