I Dream of Arcadia — 100 Episodes of Lust, Loss, and Liberation

Transcript

Speaker1: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening. Wherever you are, I hope you have blue skies, a breeze on your back, and sand between your toes. Welcome to the Other Lifestyle Podcast. I'm your host, Jason. Leave vanilla behind as we dream of Arcadia. This show is for adults only. We will talk about sex, relationships, the lifestyle, and ethical non-monogamy in an honest way with lots of real talk. No code words here. If you were under 18, I say this every week. Stop listening. Around here on the beach is a sexual freedom, consent, education, good times. Everyone is welcome. Lifestyle, vanilla, or just the curious. Whatever your gender may be, identity, expression, truth, flavor, whatever, you are welcome here. I do my best to use inclusive language, though you may hear words like husband or wife or man or woman to keep things simple. My email address is host at thatofthelifestyle.com. My website, thatofthelifestyle.com. Noticing a pattern. If you really like what I do and you want a little bit more, join the after party at patreon.com. slash that of the lifestyle or hey just buy me a cup of coffee send me a tip at buymeacoffee.com slash that of the lifestyle i could say do not weep my friends for arcadia that place we go when we lose ourselves in glorious lifestyle liberation do not sift through memories of past lovers looking for meaning or reason or even longing do not breathe and sigh the scent of lovers lost and gone i could tell you do not mourn the touch of passions embrace the heavy hand around a throat, or the soft hand around a waist. Do not greet the sunrise with sadness after a night of glorious physical intoxication. I could warn, do not let words not spoken freeze your heart. I could say not to dwell on words spoken in heavy moans. I could say all that, but I won't. I will say, do not let Arcadia be forgotten. Know that golden land still waits for us over the mountains, across the ice, and south of the great seas. Arcadia. Today, we speak of Arcadia, friends. Why? The phrase, I dream of Arcadia, has been circling my thoughts for months, and I still don't know why. I don't know where the hell the phrase came from. Those four words have been floating around inside my mind for a while. So for this, my 100th episode, I decide to let it free and see where it wanders, follow their wisdom, follow their trends through the red door, up the stairs, into a soft room, and stiff. The kind of freedom you find in a room full of black lights and artificial substances with your face buried between a woman's legs. The kind of place where I yell, sit on my face, and a woman says, yes, sir. The kind of place where reality gets crunchy and when you want to live there forever. But for us suffering bastards, we can't. A phrase to be rough shorthand for a feeling we never quite name, we just circle. It's like compersion. We know what it is, but you can't 100 times I've turned on this microphone, and 99 of them were stories, advice, rantings, and ramblings. I honestly have no idea how many episodes I have published, though, and I honestly have taken some down. They're just now lost media. I figured there are some stories that are just too hard to listen to, some stories I would rather no longer exist, and some stories that did their task and now must be put to sleep. I've written 99 episodes, maybe? Possibly? Possibly the count got knocked off. This episode is different than all the others. It has gestated in my brain for months, probably since October, surging forward today right now demanding I talk about it. I've tried many times to write about Arcadia, that feeling. Three half-written scripts sent on my computer named Arcadia 1, 2, and 3. I'm very creative like that. Each script influenced by an event, a date, a woman, an argument, a conversation, or again a feeling. Each time the words fall apart halfway through and I move on to easier stories. Every time I tried, that script would fight back, refusing to be cracked and documented. Three times I've tried to write about Arcadian, what it means to me. Sometimes in life you just have to be blunt. It is a feeling. The lust, the power, the trance. you barely know or the caress of a woman you have known for years. The heat of her skin, that drowning, the dying, the good vibrations of the universe when the beat drops and the lights flash. Fuck me, please, till I am gasping. Ride me to glory, dammit. Send me to Valhalla so I can kick in the great doors of that hall and hear the cheer of my ancestors. Break me so I can remember Arcadia. Write about it on an early spring morning in the darkness. Dawn always comes though, and sharp memories will get muddy in the light and I am left hollow again, dry tender in the soul waiting to burn again. I have dreamed of Arcadia. I have known Arcadia in the arms of beautiful women. The women that can choose, hypnotize, drive, give, and finally ruin. The women that take and laugh, the women that smile, the little eyes and the bright eyes, warm hands and warmer moans. I have laid in the fields of Arcadia many times, naked, bodies twisted together, some I remember, some I have forgotten, and some I choose to forget. And all those times, they leave marks on the soul. We can lie to ourselves and say that every engagement doesn't matter in this, doesn't leave a residue, but that's a lie, and we know it. Every insertion is a story, every kiss is a reason, scars, burns, little rips of radiant pleasure. We, in this community, we're a people of fiending ghosts, either haunted by the past or chasing the next bump of novelty from the end of a spoon or a dick to ease the pain of memory. We are a people forever chasing dragons, chasing the ever-running sun, desperate to stay in the light of a passionate night and embrace a conversation or simply a look. A people who dream of Arcadia, knowing it can never last, knowing the party ends, the lovers leave and all we are left with is a scent of life and crusty dry juices lingering on our skin. I dream of Arcadia. I honestly, No fucking clue where that phrase came from. Maybe a lost poem, maybe a movie, but today it seems appropriate. Not as a summation of 100 episodes, but simply a place to lay down and rest until the next story comes along, until I spend another weekend looking for a story to share. After 100 episodes of that of the lifestyle, I can say confidently, not every weekend leads to a story worth sharing. for one episode, and other Saturday nights, there is regret in even leaving the house. But hey, after 100 episodes, you're here, I am here, we are here together. And honestly, for a whole year now, I knew this was coming, and I pondered what the 100th episode should be. Maybe something special, right? Maybe my wife would finally join me on the microphone. No. Maybe a controversial episode looking at gender identity and the lifestyle. Finally confront the beast of bisexuality and male erasure. Nah, nothing heavy. Not that. Maybe a bunch of truths we all deny, and I really wasn't in the mood for that this week. Or a love letter, a cry, a roar, maybe another story. And to the fans of the stories, there will be more stories, I promise. The lifestyle is very ready and needs an interconnected narrative about couples and our experiences told from inside the furnace. All that to say, Arcadia, wanting to write about that feeling. There is history to this. Arcadia is a region of Greece that is known for its pastoral beauty and mountains. During the Renaissance, painters and poets lashed onto this idea of simple beauty, quiet living, no strife. It was the place of rest and ease, a near mystical place for the wary and travelers to find comfort for a night, immortalized, fantasized, and longed for. It lives on in myth, a shorthand for fictional stories of longing, fantasies, about youth and happier times. What is more simple and happier than good sex, I figure, right? And I dream of this place. Dreaming denotes that I have been there and I can remember it, but I'm not there right now at this moment. That, friends, is the tragedy of Arcadia. The moments of passions we feel in the lifestyle, the fucking, the fun, the shenanigans, we can't stay there. How many nights have we stood on hotel balconies hoping the party inside never ends? How many nights do we dance till dawn, wanting to push the sun back down? How many nights have we spent in fast, hurried, sexually charged texting conversations? And how many times do we wish we could go back to a single point? How many times do we look to the future, hoping that it's all going to happen again? How many times do we try to rub those memories back to life in our own bodies, hands contorting into arcane symbols on our flesh, trying to find an orgasm in the lost songs? I hear my friends' stories. I hear the nights they eulogize, share, elevate. I hear the times they went hard into a pile of bodies. I hear the times they fall softly into another person. I hear the stories of parties long ago, learning with every telling a new revelation about a party that happened at my own fucking house. I hear desperation in some of the voices, sadness in others. Sadness that they can't be at every party, every event, that they won't be part of every story. No, Arcadia itself is beautiful. The tragedy, my friends, is both when it ends and when we are diverted. The ending is there. It will end. It will either end in orgasm and happy people or frustrated diversion. The little slice of time and reality occupied by furious fucking frantic fellowship and fiery friendships. That's gonna end. We have all stood at the ending wondering if we caused it. We did not. It must simply end so the story can go on. No one can stay in Arcadia forever. No one can stay in that feeling forever. The other tragedy is diversion. When there is so much buildup and anticipation and want, then nothing on the other side of the mountain. So much hope and desire and want, and then nothing. Someone drinks way too much tequila and passes out before the fun even starts. We clamber and crawl our way, fighting the whole way, and then nothing happens. You can't close the Shit happens. They happen in a way that causes nothing to happen. When confronted with these nothings, all you can really do is laugh it off. Don't carry resentment, no pleading, no begging is going to change it. So you stand up and try again. Now, I can tell people how to avert the diversions. Don't fucking drink so much, right? How to navigate all of this confusing lifestyle? Close the deal. But with few who have been to that place, will tell you, after they have been ejected, it was still meant to end. The greatest secret of the lifestyle is not who is in it and who is out or who's fucking whom or even anyone's real ages or names. No, the greatest secret is the fun will always stop. Either by choice or force, it's gonna stop. Sure, there are memories to keep the fires burning, little nuggets of passion that burn and melt their way deep into the core of the cerebellum. Keep them. If you have them, you never know how long you're going to need to survive off their warmth. The great secret that is hidden from newbies, the great tragedy held close to the breast of those who have lived this story before. This will end. I think our greatest enemy in the lifestyle is not moral panic, is not being outed, is not being judged by the vanilla world. I've never asked anyone's permission to do this, so I don't give a shit, right? No, our greatest fucking enemy is time. always forcing change, always forcing us out of Arcadia. Second by second, minute by minute. But hey, had to find balance in the world. I guess the clock ticking can also be good. It can bring us one second closer to the next adventure. One second closer to a new lover, fuck buddy, or friend. One second closer to finally catching that dragon by the tail and waving it as a trophy. 100 episodes in, I share honesty dressed in the robes of nihilism. I fucking hate clocks, by the way. I hate their persistence. I hate the way a clock will pull us out of the tangle of other humans. I hate my watches always there reminding me that a good night is going to end. You ever try to look at your phone to change the music in the room while refusing to read the clock at the top? I have. It doesn't work. It's sad. I hate how time will leave us hollow and dry on the other side, the domain of beggars looking for a ride back to ecstasy. that clock taking us out of our happy place. Maybe a more well-adjusted individual could have compassion and understanding for that two-handed thief. But I am not well-adjusted. I am the one standing in the elevator dreading the ride downstairs, dreading sobering up, dreading the shower that will wash a woman's scent off my skin. Why do I hate clocks so much? Why do I hate this shit so much? Because I have tasted fire and I liked it. I have stood in the swirl of neon people on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean. a techno-colored dreamscape set to shitty music. I have been whisked up in an orgy only to stumble into another one. I have been fucked so hard I can't breathe, and I loved it. I have been cut, loved, fucked, and drunk. High, lost, confused, and determined. I know better, right? And every time I fall, smiling into those fuck-me eyes. I know exactly where the story is going to end, and every fucking time, there I am, the smiling fool, ready to go. in every single person. And to stand in that feeling is so beautiful because you feel so alive. I've stood on stages. I have been cheered. I have lifted millions of pounds of weight in my life. I have been congratulated by strangers, bosses, and friends. And there is not one of those sensations I can compare to that pure majesty of fucking two or four or ten people gathered to engage in the most primal, pure expression. This leads to a warning. A warning to the newbies out there. I don't know if anybody told y'all this. The lifestyle is addictive. That first amazing sexual experience. It might not be your first experience, but that first time, it's good. It's really good. It's going to fry the neurons in your brain and you're going to get fucking addicted. Trust me, if you have not felt it yet, just wait. It is coming. And yeah, there's some lucky bastards out there who are able to touch that live wire and walk away. The humans matter. Sure, the one-night stands and the sport fuckers don't really care about the human, and that's fine. They can have their ways and wants. If you stop, though, and you see the whole person, it opens up a whole new dimension to Arcadia and this feeling that I'm rambling about. No longer is it just a place where you stop for a night in a hotel room, then go skittering back to your life. But it becomes something that exists out there. You know it is there, and you can visit it much more often, much longer. There's a paradox about Arcadia. When you're in the moment, and you leave the moment. The shorter the stay, the more it hurts to leave. A one-night stand, brief, flash in the pan, it is either going to sear your soul or be forgotten the next day. And I dare say searing the soul and being forgotten are probably both pretty shitty. If friends are made in Arcadia, then the pain of leaving does not hurt as much because you know there is a way back. that feeling when we want it when we need it instead of wandering through the fog of a hotel takeover hoping we get lucky oh hey look we have friends here we can fuck friends we care we care about that matter to us they can guide us back to arcadia over and over again our visits no longer confined to one night or once a year with friends you can fucking visit this you can have this feeling on a tuesday night every single week and then go get tacos here's a heavy truth we need to hear and share. The friendships we make in the lifestyle can exist independent of sex. What? That's just crazy talk from a crazy man. Crazy talk of a wandering hermit no one likes. It's true. I know it's true. The best friends we make may be the ones we don't even fuck. The best friends are the ones we wait to fuck. Relationships can transcend the confines of a bed. This community has great people. The most loving and caring people who will drop everything. for a friend in need. We need more of this in the world. And yet at some point, those people you fuck every weekend, they will become your friends. Now, this shift, it can be resisted. Some people resist it. But I'm going to tell you, it's hard to resist it. Eventually, the conversations will turn from fuckery to life. Mundane, boring life. Vanilla life, kids, jobs, hobbies. Eventually, these people you fuck all the time, But I've learned the shorter the trip, the less I want to return with them. If I'm the odd one in the room of swingers, then so be it. Tired of pretending otherwise. A kiss on the dance floor is not the same anymore. It is not enough to ignite my passions like a conversation. Deciding to value connection. Quality over quantity. Alright, another hard truth. It can fucking hurt too. Yes, leaving Arcadia after a one-night stand. And there can be feelings. There can be searing of the soul. I like that analogy. Brief, bright flashes of what could have been. Brief flashes of wanting more. It is a dull ache on the soul that is quickly soothed by the vanilla world and distraction. Go turn on the TV and watch something. You get dressed, you leave, and you process it. You either feel good about it after or you regret it. So the pain is there. And there is this sinister desperation of an addict needing another hit. Losing connections, losing the time it took to build something, fucking hurts, man. If a person decides to become more focused on connections, the risk and the reward are both high. We will find, when you find long-term fuck buddies, I'll tell you 100% of the sex gets better, so much better. You'll learn the rhythms, what they like and what they want. That is damn near magical. It takes investment and time and conversations. All the building blocks look right there, ha ha, of a And we could deny their relationships forms, even accidentally, but it still does in some way. It's still there. There is beauty in hanging out on a Saturday afternoon with no expectations, four people talking, and no one gets naked. There is a price, though, for this reward. The risk is the loss. To lose that friend, lose that connection for either stupid reasons or external factors, that shit hurts. It is grief and regret having an ugly baby together. you can't catch that dragon in Arcadia with them ever again. Losing friends and the lifestyle sucks. And it doesn't have to be because anyone did anything. We are adults. Some people move to the other side of the country. You can meet an amazing couple who live on the other side of the country or the world on a cruise. Spend six days getting to know them and then poof, they're gone. Life gets in the way. Kids do dumb shit. Most of us are over 40, so yeah, we all got health issues. Sometimes just dumb shit happens. Text messages get misinterpreted. Someone says something in the wrong tone. Social circles shift. Or the ever-dreaded drama rears his deformed, mutated head. Yeah, I have lost friends in the lifestyle. The risk was there. The reward was great. There was certainly a risk. Friendships that lasted years and then poof, they're gone. It sucks. I grieve. I grieve for what was and can never be. I grieve knowing I won't ever walk those golden fields of joy. And oh yeah, the refrain, don't be sad for what you lost, be happy for what you had. I will tell you whoever said that never got a really good blowjob. I know what they mean, and yeah, it's fucking true. I've said that phrase to comfort people knowing damn well it doesn't help. If the time in Arcadia is always temporary, then the experiences we have will always be contained, bottled, and put on a shelf to be admired and stored. Look, it's the nature of the lifestyle, temporary containment of pleasure surrounded by the paperwork of an The other tragedy of Arcadia is what it does to us after we leave. Not immediately, not while we are picking up used condoms and making the beds. Not days after, weeks after. After the drive home, after the unpacking, after the way work slaps us in the face Monday morning. Or, you know, I could say that if I wasn't fucking unemployed right now. The way group chats go quiet is so eerie. We look around and wonder, what happened? One minute, we are warm and safe and good and the next we are not good. We are bored. We are being whipped by the normal. There's a way paradise stains the ordinary after. That is the second tragedy because to live so brightly for an hour leaves the rest of the world dim like there's a residue over our vision. What joy is there in grocery shopping knowing that an orgy happened three days ago? What joy is there in going through the motions when all we really want to do is get naked and fucked? Slap the mask back on, pretend we give a shit at the school dance recital, pretend we give a shit about whatever asinine nonsense all those fucking co-workers are rambling about. Words to the wise, never ask me what I did over the weekend because you can't fucking handle it, Linda from Human Resources. That was a hard realization I had about Arcadia. We can't live there forever, but damn it, we want to. Daily life feels thinner? Maybe that's a good word. And that thinner feeling, that's how we know that we were there. It's the proof that it happened. That's how we know we experienced something that mattered and was special. The fact we can look back and say, we enjoyed it so much that the lack of it is now noticeable. That's the measurement in case anybody is wondering. If there was a really good round of fucking on a random Saturday afternoon that we wish we could go back to, yeah, that was Arcadia. That was the feeling I'm talking about. If there was a Pop of Sex so good. We wish we could repeat it again and again. You found Arcadia. Is Arcadia all about fucking? No, I can say Arcadia is more about that. It can be felt without fucking. It's a wild concept, just like it's wild I spent my 100th episode rambling about four words that popped into my head randomly months ago instead of doing a big blowout with past guests in a party and da. Yep, very on-brand for me. Look, Arcadia, that feeling of contained happiness, is not just when we are fucking. It can really be anything in the lifestyle. Being surrounded by good friends on a boat in the ocean while you find out the hard way that you are allergic to sand fleas that live on the barrier islands of the coast. Yeah, it was very itchy, and I am currently itchy, but it was still fun, right? Feeling the good vibes emanate from others during a rave. Having a good conversation. It does count for something, too. It does. Arcadia can be found in many places in the lifestyle. 100 episodes in, I sit here drinking coffee at 3.44 a.m., writing, bark the cat, making the typing very fucking hard with this constant need to be in my arms. My hair is grayer now than when I started the lifestyle. Because maybe the lifestyle ages us. Living faster than most, our bodies take longer to recover, random patches of sore muscles arguing with me every morning. I think time moves differently in Arcadia. Every minute we are happy there is an hour out in the real world. Our mind slows while our bodies age in real time. So, all that. All that heavy shit. Why the fuck do we do this? Because of Arcadia. That's the answer. When I stare into the supernova of a woman's eyes and smile as it washes over me. When I can drink deep the cool waters of release. When I can hear a simple yes. I know I am wanted and chosen when I lock eyes with a woman who will gladly take my hand and walk butt-naked into Arcadia with me. That's the reason. That's the answer. There is no guiding grand philosophical motive besides wanting to get fucked, to fuck, and wanting to fuck off, out-fuck, and say fuck at all. Arcadia is fucking defiance. To say to the world, yes, I know I cannot stay here, but I choose to do this anyway. Defiance in its purest form, knowing victory, will be temporary and fleeting, enacting our freedom of choice knowing that this story will end at 2 a.m. when that two-handed bastard chimes, knowing we have to return to our vanilla lives tomorrow, never knowing when we will hang out when we're going to have our next grand adventure, but still trying, still raging against the ticking of the clock. I want to talk about two events coming up and since I cannot think of a good transition or a way to weave them into this whole script we will all pretend together that I have done a very subtle and deft segue and I am proud of how smoothly I did it and you will nod at my accomplishment of transition. April 30th through May 3rd, 2026 is Luminous presented by Risqué Lifestyle Parties. This is an epic two-night glow party Takeover. It is on Okaloosa Island, which is between Destin and Fort Walton Beach. Last year, last the end of September, same risque lifestyle parties at the same resort did Pulsify. This is luminous and they're going to do Pulsify again later this year. But this is luminous. I can tell you there is no other event in the country like this one. The resort is beautiful. It is on the beach. You can walk straight through the lobby and boom. There's the ocean. So we went to Pulsify last year, had a wonderful time going back for Luminous. My wife and I will be there. We will be glowing and just being heathens all fucking weekend. It is worth the drive or the flight. Glow Party is my favorite lifestyle event theme and we go out all out for it. So I encourage everybody listening, go all out with us. Come and party. Full details are available at RisquéLifestyleParties.com. If you decide to go, come say hi to me and go tell them that you heard it about from here. What I like about this event is something really cool. It is outside our normal geographic area, so it pulls in people we would not normally meet here locally in our travels. And look, if you're from a different geographic area, don't ever let distance stop you from a party. Don't ever think, oh no, I'm not going to know anybody. Fuck it. Go to a party in a different state. Getting outside your comfort zone helps so much. the country, whatever country you're in, helps. You never know the fringe you're going to make and possibly fuck unless you step outside your comfort zone. The other one, there is a new lifestyle event on the calendar. It's coming up later this year. Big, big fucking event. It is called Sultry Spirits. And we'll talk about this one more as we get closer to Halloween. It's going to be a four-day hotel takeover in New Orleans for Halloween. Most people out there have heard of New Orleans, Louisiana. And when I say that, you admittedly think of Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street. And as someone who is familiar with New Orleans, I can tell you that the local opinion is that shit is for the fucking tourist. There's a whole different side of NOLA. Learn something new. We call it NOLA. And there's a whole different side to this city. And it just oozes sex and dark corners and sultry vibes. And you really only get to experience that during Halloween. The city of mournful vampires and voodoo comes alive for Halloween. Nola is the perfect city for lifestyle folks because nothing shocks the locals anymore and sultry spirits. This really cool event lets you experience everything the city has to offer. Bourbon Street. If you've ever been to Bourbon Street, you know it is mass chaos. How fucking awesome would it be to go to a private bar takeover? of a place on Bourbon Street. Yeah, you get that with this event. You get the fuck away from the tourists, and you can really feel the pulse of this city. There are hotel parties every night. If you've ever wanted to experience NOLA, and the whole thing of Mardi Gras seems a bit much, which I ain't gonna lie, I am from close to NOLA. Mardi Gras is a lot. Mardi Gras is a fucking lot. This is a great option. Plus, the weather that time of year in late October, it is not. Not balls hot and unbearable like the rest of the year. Summertime in NOLA is fucking hot. Oh my god. It rains every single day. You will sweat in places you did not know that you could sweat on your body. October though is actually a really nice time of year to visit. So full details are available at riskalifestyleparties.com and another website I want you to go check out. Lsevents.llc lsevents.llc. There's a third event I need to talk to you about because this one is fucking epic and awesome. I've honestly never seen anything or heard of anything this big. So I'm going to be vague on it this week. Next week, I'm going to talk all about it. Thank you for listening and tuning in every week. Make sure you tell a friend about the show. And thank you to the love of my wife, my wife, who is on this wonderful journey with me. Thank you to my patrons. I have patrons. now. Jen and Chris, love ya. Thank you. I appreciate you. Did you know I have a Patreon? Support the show. Check out the extras I put over there. patreon.com slash thatofthelifestyle. If you want to reach out, ask a question, suggest a topic, argue with me, or tell me you want me to talk about something else, I don't care, send me an email to host at thatofthelifestyle.com. My website is thatofthelifestyle.com. Send me a tip if you want, haha, just a tip, to go to buymeacoffee.com slash thatofthelifestyle. My disclaimer, I am not a medical professional nor a trained and certified educator of any kind in any way. I am a guy with a microphone sharing my personal experiences with you. Okay, I got to take a brief aside here. Hanging out with my vanilla buddy who listens to the show one night, and he just starts fucking reciting my outro, so props to him. Love that. Freaking me the fuck out. This podcast is for entertainment purposes only, and please join us for the next episode. STDHERO. Love them. Use my promo code TOL15 for 15% off your order at STDHERO.com. Go get tested. Takes a community to make a difference. What you may do tonight or tomorrow or next week or next month. You should probably come to Luminous though in about two weeks. Come hang out with us. I hope you do it with enthusiasm, consent, curiosity, and a whole lot of spice. You're appreciated and loved and I will see you for the next episode.