This image, Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife by Hokusai, makes me think of a man I loved long ago. Somehow I mentioned to him I like pictures of an octopus doing it with a person.
Who wouldn’t think this was hot? Am I a pervert? Well, if so, yes. I will be a pervert.
This man I liked was surprised–maybe he’d seen me as more straight-laced than that? It made an impression on him. Ever after, he would see pics of a woman having sex with an octopus, and send them to me. Or a naked woman tattooed with a beautiful octopus, or anything octosex. He would share it with me.
I enjoyed the art, but also I was not sure what he was doing that for. Was it a special way of flirting with me? I think he just got a thrill to give me a thrill. It was idle connection.
In a way I liked it, but in a way it annoyed me also. Like–if you’re trying to arouse me, why don’t you just go the full distance, fuck me, and be my boyfriend like I’ve been wanting?
cuddle buddies
For so long I had a crush on this guy, like around eight years, and he wasn’t interested. Then something changed one day, and he was suddenly curious about me. So we went to breakfast and started being friends, then good friends, then cuddle buddies.
He’s the one I would cuddle with on his couch. I liked that he would go to that middle place with me. The liminal is my joy. He wouldn’t have sex with me, despite the boners. But he would cuddle me whenever we got the chance.
Later things fell apart when God spoke to me, I told my friend, and my friend laughed at me. That’s a whole other story. He was condescending and thought he was much smarter than me. According to his world view, God talking to me meant I was stupid, and he was smart. His atheism was part of his self-righteous misogyny, and I don’t talk to him anymore.
throbbing erections
This is not the first or last man who would get hard for me but not have sex with me. His body wanted it, but his life was not ready for hurricane Nest. Yep, the man I refer to as my abusive ex strung me along for a year. He had his erection throbbing on my back, and obviously part of him wanted me like that! But most of him said no.
As long as he held out, he could have power over me. He knew (from his own past experience) that if he had sex with me, everything would change, and I’d be able to have power over him. He didn’t want the power to change, so he had me in a girlfriend role emotionally, but would not go there with me physically.
Both these men I’m talking about used a lot of porn–they preferred to meet their own needs by hand with the help of sexy videos, than be vulnerable to another person. I was the actual lady who was curious about doing something different. I’d be there for them emotionally 24-7, while they’d pop in and out, get needs met, and be there for me minimally if at all.
sad
Feeling sad about these men, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. I could just avoid cis white guys, as they are the main demographic of people who’ve treated me this way.
Reading the wikipedia article, I see this painting Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife is really titled something else in Japanese pertaining to the woman pictured being a diver. She was the fisherperson, doing important sea work. Not the bored lady at home idly mending nets, eating bonbons, and fantasizing about sex with cephalopods.
The mis-title and misunderstanding feels pertinent. I too was never the fisherman’s wife. I was always the fisherperson. When God spoke to me, my friend should have ditched his atheism or at least considered I could know a thing he might not know.
But in a way I’m glad he was an asshole to me, because I was able to move on. I can seek out my own octoerotica now, diving for it myself.
