Hotel Bliss Guest Blog

Lover and Beloved

Hello everyone, sorry for the long silence. I have been incredibly busy. <3 Evokateur

Lover and Beloved 

Do movies inform our opinions on how life should be, or do they reflect what we think life should be like? Maybe it’s both.

I ask, because I have been thinking about romantic movies lately. Can you remember the last one you saw? Boy wants girl, boy chases girl, boy messes up but eventually repairs things. Boy chases girl. And for many women, this is how it should be. This reflects how we are raised and what we expect out of romance. A man is supposed to ask a woman out.

Now think about the last movie you saw where a woman has an obvious interest in a man. She will do one of three things. The more common one is that she is a part of the movie from the previous paragraph and will blush and stammer demurely and wait for her Prince Charming to make a move. Then there’s the smoldering temptress who is almost alarmingly forthright and is trying to take the guy’s pants off as soon as look at him. But face it, how many women are actually like that and not the byproduct of fantasy?

Then the most insulting option of all, the girl who tries too hard. She’s the girl who offers to help him whenever he needs it and throws herself out there to show him she’s into him. This is almost always portrayed as negative, clingy, needy, and desperate. This just reinforces the idea that the girl who gets the guy is the one who sits around and waits for him.

Now, as a bi-girl I want you to think about the implications of this for your love life with other women. You are both raised with the expectation that you will be pursued.

This brings me to the important, rather poetic duality of relationships: the lover and the beloved.

Usually women expect to be the beloved. The beloved is the object of adoration, the person being chased, the subject of poetry and love letters. Some of the most beautiful art has been created for and about the beloved. The lover is the troubadour, the seeker of love, the creator of beautiful things, admirer of the beloved. They are the one that chase. I doubt you could be a poet without having some of the lover in you. As an aside, my sociology of love professor mentioned that loving someone was far more important an experience than being loved.

Now, while you can be both lover and beloved in one relationship, it is rather unlikely for two people expecting to be the beloved to start a relationship. You both are expecting the other to make the first move. The lovely woman you’re admiring from afar may be doing the same thing to you, waiting for you while you’re waiting for her.

Don’t you hate feeling so passive? In the past, I have felt almost like men are cheated because the female body has so many wonderful things to adore about it. Most men will not let you explore and enjoy the majority of their body. So, women become the receivers, the beloved, in sex as well as in relationships in general. When two women get together they have to overcome this expectation and routine that their partner will do most of the work.

And yet I say a resounding no to this vision of the way it is supposed to be. I am not just going to sit there and wait. There is nothing wrong with being pursued and being loved. But loving and pursuing the object of your desire in an active, not passive, way… It has its place and its moments in your life.

Wanting and pursuing someone does not make you desperate. It does not make you sad. You are richly sensual with powerful desires. You are an Amazon, hunting out your quarry. You are a troubadour, for some of the troubadours were women disguised as men, searching always for your lady love.

Sometimes it’s not enough to be beautiful and be loved; sometimes you have to worship the beauty in others.

So… go be a tiger and chase down that lovely deer.

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO - CHAPTER ONE

Dearest Readers -
Please welcome our newest guest blogger from New York City, Violet. V. is a Ph.D. candidate, performer, writer and all-around fabulous bi-girl. In a serialized blog, V. will share the true and powerful tale of her relationship with her man and the female lover she met through him. Every other week, V. will return with a new installment of this passionate, true tale.
XOXOXOXOXOXO - BLISS WARRIOR

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO

There is a moment, we all have them, just a moment maybe only long enough to breath in and out and blink a couple of times but you know something compelling and immediate has passed, a contract, a promise has been made with another person. Sometimes you aren’t even sure what it is you have signed on for but are acutely aware a silent pact has been made. A promise which you know somewhere in your heart you will honor. In my opinion, desire works in just this way and in my experience it always wins; it stems from an ethereal inarticulate place and waits to be manifested.

I was sitting with my man, my love, at a Moroccan restaurant in London. Months before, our silent contract began. I was conducting an interview in his office and without warning, in a split second, the air shifted and his gaze suddenly became intently steady and my once direct look dissolved into a series of sideways glances. After I concluded the interview and the tape recorder had been turned off we shared a passionate kiss and with spinning heads we handed each other our hearts. Anyhow, here we were many months later, and he was quietly eating some hummus. As he ate, his fingertips occasionally found the inside of my left thigh and he listened as I became immersed in a passionate discussion with the vivid but slightly nervous creature to his left. She and I were nonstop with words, laughter, and the occasional gentle verbal poking at this man whom we both knew from entirely different vantage points. He was my lover and she was his colleague, well employee to be more precise.

After our dinner plates had been cleared from the table, there was that moment again. As the moment passed between she and I, the tone in our voices changed. I unwittingly began to bite my lower lip and look at her from under my now slightly-lowered lids. While not being remotely predatory, I could feel her eyes taking in my collarbone, hands, neck, and I did nothing to dissuade or disconnect the silent exchange. Just as quickly as it arrived, the moment vanished, and the tempo of the conversation picked itself up and we ordered a round of coffee.

As she had a two-hour drive home, our goodbyes were rushed and hasty but with the promise of connecting again when she was back in the city. I took that extra second to kiss each cheek allowing the spicy scent of her perfume and the lovely smell of her freshly shampooed hair to mingle and flood my senses. She hopped in her car and was gone. Louis wrapped his arm around my waist and the light summer night guided us back to his flat.

I am no withering flower nor am I an innocent, far from it, but my heart still races when faced with these moments. I never expect them and suddenly I am nervous. A person can never fully know where this unspoken promise will lead until the journey has already begun and had it begun or had I imagined it? These instances thoroughly disrupt my sense of order and control. Attempts at effective or productive analyzing are utterly futile. I am forced to surrender into a familiar territory, but a territory made disarmingly new again by an unfamiliar person. Initial surrender has never been my strong point.

The next morning, I opened my eyes for a second time to find Louis but instead of feeling him moving inside me, gently fucking me out of slumber as he had earlier, he was now packing for a week away on business. The soft white cotton of the sheets caressed my bare skin and he came over to deliver one last deep kiss before leaving for the airport. He looked into my eyes, his finger lovingly traced my tummy and my breasts as he lightly kissed each of my eyelids.

“I love you, every cell of me will miss you, and I will call you when I land.” He started for the door, but then stopped and turned. “Oh, and while you were sleeping, upon request, I sent Gemma your mobile number.” I blinked at him. He regarded me for a moment and finished with, ‘”I only ask that you tell me if anything happens while I am away.”

In all honesty and genuine seriousness I asked him what he meant. My answer came as a sideways glance as he headed out the door.

As the front door closed behind him, I looked at my phone and there she was…

XOXO
V.

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IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BLOG, YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY READING THESE TRUE TALES WRITTEN BY OUR FABULOUS GUEST BLOGGERS:
FROM JUNGLE JANE:
A GIRL’S FIRST VIBRATOR: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
GETTING HER NUMBER: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
FROM DAPHNE:
TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN: A BI-GIRL SHARES HER FIRST S&M EXPERIENCE
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BRUNCH WITH BLISS THIS SATURDAY IN WEST HOLLYWOOD!
WE HAVE OVER 15 BI-GIRLS COMING OUT TO BRUNCH THIS WEEKEND.
SOME ARE BRINGING PARTNERS, SOME ARE COMING WITH FRIENDS.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN US?
E-MAIL CAMMIE ON MY TOP FRIENDS ON MYSPACE.COM/THEBLISSWARRIOR OR E-MAIL ME AT BLISS@BLISSWARRIOR.COM FOR THE TIME AND LOCATION.
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GETTING HER NUMBER – A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY

Darling Bliss Warriors, Our featured guest blogger, Jungle Jane, returns, sharing the true story of a baby bi-girl’s search for the perfect girl. Enjoy! XOXOXOXO BW

My favorite coffee/wine bar has the cutest barista named Violet. I’ve been several times and she’s always my server.

One night I visited the shop with three of my guy friends and, like always, Violet was our barista. She was wearing a black mini-skirt, black and white striped Alice in Wonderland socks, low-top black Chucks, librarian glasses, and a tight Led Zeppelin t-shirt that clung to her all natural, perfectly large breasts. Goodness, she was charming, vintage, and such fine service.

Our table of boys was slobbering and so was I. “Should I get her number,” I asked David.

“What are you my agent?” he snapped at me.

“Not for you, for me!” That was how I came out to my friend.

He looked at me with bug eyes and a surprised smile. “No, really? You wouldn’t, you couldn’t…”

“Watch me,” I said.

Violet came back to our table and I ordered a hot toddy, looking right into her eyes. The boys stumbled over their words as they tried desperately to hit on her.

“You’re into soccer,” David found out a piece of information about Violet. They’re all soccer players and immediately tried to convince her to join their team. She sweetly declined.

She came around my side of the table to ask how I liked my drink. “It’s good, huh,” she asked with prettiest smile.

“Very,” I said.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

“It’s made with Black Bush liquor. How could I not,” I asked flirtatiously.

She smiled big, flashing me her pearly whites. “Exactly. How could you not,” she said with a blush.

“You should come to the party on Friday,” I said.

“Yeah! The whole soccer crew will be there,” the boys jumped in.

“I tell you what. I’ll come if she calls to invite me.” She looked at me and asked, “Can I give you my number?”

“Please do,” I said, feeling all smooth in front of the sloppy boys. She smiled as she wrote her number on her pad and ripped it off and handed it to me. We watched her walk away to continue to do an amazing job serving her customers.

The boys turned and looked at me in amazement! It was just too easy.

I did call her. She didn’t answer so I left a message. She didn’t call till the next day to apologize about whatever came up. I thought it was nice that she called to explain - she could’ve completely flaked.

I didn’t see her after that until last weekend. My man and I brought our friend from out of town to her bar. Violet saw me walking up, waved, smiled her big, beautiful grin, and said, “Hey, Jane!” What a nice way to start a night, right?

After a bottle of wine and laughing till the bar closed, I invited her back to the studio where we were taking the party. She really wanted to, but it was the end of a long shift and she was tired. We all gave it a valiant effort to change her mind - sometimes girls need to be convinced. But it didn’t work.

She called me the next day and we had a nice long conversation. She invited me to an art show with live music. Finally, she asked me about my relationship with my man. I mentioned my bisexuality and the conversation quickly ended. She told me she would call with the details of the show, but I never got the phone call. I called her just to check in, but no answer, and no return.

I could’ve read it all wrong or she could’ve been into it, but afraid of it or she may just be a flaky chick. Whatever the reason, it was slightly disappointing, but the flirting was still fun. Good practice!

Until the Next Time,
Jungle Jane

P.S. Thank you to all the lovely ladies who commented on my first blog.
It’s fun to share this journey with such a foxy audience.

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If you missed Jungle Jane’s first post, click here to read: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY.
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If you enjoyed reading this blog, you may also enjoy:
MISS BLISS, FIND ME A BI-GIRL
ADVICE FOR BABY BI-GIRLS: FINDING A FEMALE LOVER
ASK MISS BLISS: THE ART OF FLIRTATION
WHEN YOUR STRAIGHT FRIENDS FIND OUT
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A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY

I’m writing this blog for those bisexual readers that have yet to make love to a woman, but dream of the day. I’ve noticed there are quite a few of us baby bi-girls reading Bliss Warrior that are new in figuring out our complex sexualities. If you are anything like me, you are thoroughly enjoying the learning curve. Especially those sharp turns like becoming the bi-girl you want to meet. Meet being the key word.

Maybe, like myself, you are in love with a man that supports your courageous decision to live life openly. I am enjoying this new freeness and openness with my man. It has brought our relationship to a new level of intensity and desire. I fully enjoy admiring women with him and sharing our fantasies. Honesty is extremely sexy. It turns me on like crazy.

Maybe you’re single and looking for that lover wherever the universe is leading you to finding her or him or both. There is no one type of bi-girl. Wherever you’re at in life, your bisexuality should be exciting and empowering and radiate off of your soft glowing skin at home and in public. I am radiating myself and feel compelled to share this journey with all you dynamic bliss warriors.

I have the BW blog to thank for my coming out. I do not mind a bit telling my friends the truth anymore. It’s like my new magic power. I say things that make both sexes blush and come out of their shells. I was never a big fan of small talk!

I will use this blog to give you a little background in growing up loving girls, because that’s always fun and insightful. Talking and hearing about our childhood girlfriends is sweet and reminds us all of how innocent and pure love really is.

I believe if I ever were such a thing as bi-curious it started at a very young age and I grew into bisexuality. I think adding the word curious to the title is unnecessary. We are all inherently curious. I believe even the straight girls are bi “curious”. That’s just me, feel free to disagree. I may not have ever “been” with a girl sexually, but I know that I’m attracted to women and always will be. When I speak about my bi virginity, I am speaking about it from the adult perspective. I had plenty of action as a young girl, but none as an adult.

I will write about the now: the flirting, the fantasies, and the realities (which can sometimes be irritating). I’ll let you in on all the details of my pursuit of losing my bisexual virginity! I’ll be blogging about my search for a lover that fits like a puzzle piece. A lover that will be as comfortable with me and my man as he and I are together. A girl that wants me to write to her, about her. So that she can have it to read over and over whenever she needs to hear it. A girl that gives back and doesn’t shy away from the truth no matter what it may be.

I want sexy in whatever form it takes! Sexiness comes when you OWN IT! I look for girls who don’t really give care about what you may or may not be thinking about them. They’re simply hot and they know it. I love clever, charming, funny women that laugh loud and often. I love women who love women. That’s why I want to share in the BW community because you all know what I’m talking about. Can I get an amen?
…………………………

It must have all started when I was five. Sounds about right. Her last name was Ham. She used to chase me around the sitter’s house trying to “teach me how to french kiss”. I let her a few times. Gave her some freebies, but she wasn’t my type. She pissed me off mostly. She may have been my first kiss, but I can’t really remember. I do know that I got a lot of action when I was five.

My best friend was Emily. I never kissed her. She was my innocent, fragile friend that I handled with care. She was very churchy. Even more so than I was at that age which was tough to be. Jesus was my boy! Emily was my girl, but I played too rough for her. We had some fun times, but third grade came along and changed it all. We started at the elementary school across town: new playground, new places to hide and seek, new teachers, and new best friends.

That was when Leah came into my life.

Leah had a best friend, too, named Deedee. Deedee and Leah kicked it like Emily and I. They had a bond, an agreement and were “best friends”. Being “best friends” at that age meant something — something sacred.

Shortly after meeting, Leah and I started passing notes, telling secrets, talking on the phone, walking to each other’s house after school, and walking to school together. And, we knew what it meant. It meant that Leah and I had become best friends. In order to carry on properly, it was only fair for us to tell Emily and Deedee what was going on. We talked about it, planned it out, wrote our notes, and handed them off to our soon to be ex-best friends.

It was on! She lived a couple blocks from me. We were crazy bike riders and spent days and nights together. Doing homework, fighting with her brother and his friends, playing nintendo, and feeling up our bodies and all the changes they were going through as the years went by. We called our new pubic hair, peach fuzz. We called our new boobies, mosquito bites. Those mosquito bites seem to grow overnight in the puberty years. We would give each other massages as a way to touch each other’s new breasts. I’ll never forget it and it still turns me on.

Once upon a time, on Leah’s mother’s bed, Leah and I exchanged massages. Leah got the first massage. I put lotion all over her back and started rubbing out two circles over her shoulder blades while my thumbs slipped up her spine. Admiring her body and melting in my panties, my face was red and she was smiling. I started moving my hand under her arms. Inching my way towards her little breasts, not believing that I was actually going for it — and, unexpectedly, she cut me off.

“Your turn!” she said. I wasn’t really done, but I knew she wasn’t ending it so I smiled big and flopped down in front of her. On my stomach still, because we were “giving massages”, she squirted the lotion all over my back and began to rub me down. She glided her lotion soaked hands right under my arms. She got me nice and slippery and then slipped her hands further down and over my nipples as I rose up off the bed to give her room. She massaged my breasts and squeezed my nipples. She brought her hands back up to my back and asked me how it felt. I said, “It tickled,” and she reached down immediately to grab them again. I lifted up again and my ass pushed into her lap and I could feel her warmth from behind. Mmmmm… Leah was in control, making my shy self incredibly comfortable.

Our relationship was rocky though because she had another friend that she spent a lot of time with. I was so jealous of that girl. The last time she and I hooked up came in 7th grade at the movie theater. Leah and I had joked about having a real date. Going to the movies…together…as a couple. I think we even told our mothers that was what we were doing, but they just thought we were being silly like usual. But no. We sat in the back, held hands, rubbed each others arms, until we couldn’t hold it anymore and we turned to each other and kissed. Stopped, looked at each other, then french kissed like mad. Grabbing each other’s hair, breasts, face. We were both a little advanced in our kissing and making out. Then she startled me. She got out of her seat and crouched down in front of me and spread my legs apart and unzipped my jeans and ran her hands down my chest and into my unzipped jeans and then……….I freaked a little. I think it was the reality of being in a theater that did it for me. I wanted her so bad, but I chickened out. I made her stop. She said she understood and we finished out the movie holding hands both unsatisfied. I think it pissed her off a little. We were never the same. That was my last experience with a girl sadly enough. I’ve had plenty of crushes, but never any action.

I think these type of experiences mean something. A LOT of little girls have these type of experiences.

Have you had similar experiences?
Do you feel those experiences were your first bisexual ones?

I remember it all as the beginning. I feel that sex with a woman does not make you bisexual, the desire to be with a woman does.

Until the next time, I will still be searching for the girl who is the one.

xoxoxox
JUNGLE JANE