Sexy, sexy karma.

Last night, my hot long-distance internet flirt-buddy The Cartoonist randomly got in touch to tell me he’s been experimenting with eyeliner lately – and send me photos.  At almost the exact same time, I was chatting to Minx on Facebook and affectionately called her a narcissistic bitch; she responded by taking a provocative selfie with her cell phone and sending it to me.

Two days ago, The Latent Heterosexual texted me a photo of himself in drag.  He’s been texting me photos periodically for a while now, either in girl-clothes or naked, because he knows I enjoy them.

Three days ago, Link sent me a link to photos/video of a hot pair of gay male porn stars who are also identical twins fucking/kissing each other/etc.  Link has also sent me hot naked photos of himself from time to time.

A few weeks back, The Doll went to New York for some fetish convention thingy and was wearing a lot of latex.  He asked me if I’d be interested in seeing a photo from that time that I may enjoy.  I said yes.  He sent me a pic of himself lounging on a couch in a little latex mini-dress.  It was awe-inspiringly lovely.

None of these people ask for anything back.  They’re not plying me with hot pics to try to make me send some in return.  They just send me these little offerings purely to please me – or perhaps because they get off on knowing it turns me on.

People like to act as though men and women are two entirely different species with different ways of thinking, but I really think that this shit mostly works the same way for everyone: I value people’s friendship even if I also happen to want to fuck them, I don’t objectify anyone without their consent, and I know that flirting or a sexy photo does not constitute a promise of sex, and so guys feel comfortable sending me pretty things.

It wasn’t always this way.  I used to be a lot more single-minded in my pursuit of sex.  A lot of dudes claim they’d love to be objectified or “used for sex” but in reality I do not think they would like it (as I’ve discussed before).  The times I’d ask a guy out, or ask a guy for sex, and he said no and I froze him out with a palpable air of “Well what fucking good are you, then?!?” they didn’t seem to get off on it.  The time I called up a guy I was seeing, looking to get laid, and he kept waffling over whether or not he could come over and I snapped “Look, are we doing this or should I call someone else?” he did not appear to enjoy it.  When my husband came home and I was like “I’ve been reading erotica online all day and I really wanna get fucked – how about it?” it turned him off – I was wanting sex in general and his dick was a convenient outlet for it, whereas he wanted me to want him in particular.  Which is understandable.

During those dark ages of my sexuality, men were not particularly generous with me because I was not particularly generous with them: I was looking at them more as targets than as people.

Somewhere along the line, my attitude gradually began to change; I started trying to meet people I genuinely liked, not just people I wanted to bang, and if I wanted to bang one of these awesome likable people but it wasn’t mutual then I’d enjoy their company platonically without resentment.  And I made a conscious effort to stop seeing intercourse or orgasms as the be-all and end-all and find fulfillment in the many other sexy fun things two or more people can do together.  I’ve stopped demanding monogamy, even – partly for self-serving reasons, yes, but partly because I want whomever I’m seeing to be happy even if their happiness includes fucking other people.

And now…my sex life has kind of bloomed.  And I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

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