A curious thing happened to me while reading NY Magazine's "The Sex Diaries: A Critical (But Highly Sympathetic) Reading of New Yorkers’ Sexual Habits and Anxieties"--in which writer Wesley Yang reviews a 132-week run of mostly naughty, dysfunctional and totally real confessionals from strangers dating, hooking-up or in relationships. Some of it was torrid, others kind of nauseating, none of it was really glamorizing the joys of singlehood without talking about the messy, lonely, heartbreaking bits. And yet, I was jealous. Which is totally dumb--I am in a relationship that is, for the most part, pretty darn good.
The great thing about my relationship with Thespian is that we don't play games. It's just that sometimes I miss the game, as stupid as that is. And I've been thinking it's a this one or the other kind of thing. Which is wholly depressing. Makes me feel old, like I lost my sexuality and heat. But what if the secret is to combine the two--put the game back in the relationship? 'Cause we all know you can't put the relationship in the game. So there you have it.
Perhaps I should start calling Thespian, Mr. Thespian, from now on...(you know, like the famous French actress-writer couple, Arielle Dombasle and Bernard-Henri Levy?)
"All theoreticians of eroticism know when there's no distance, there's no border, when there's no border, there's no taboo, when there's no taboo, there's no transgression, and when there's no transgression, there's no desire" --Bernard-Henri Levy
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