(un)Scripted Sexuality

Toybox - Door jam cuffs

2010-08-26T09:36:00.006-06:00

Attention fellow penny-pinching kinksters: If you (like a certain blogger) are proudly kinky and sexy, but can't afford to outfit an entire dungeon, you NEED to get these door jam cuffs from Babeland.

The concept is simple, really: A pair of separate soft, comfortable velcro cuffs are attached to flat nylon straps with a perpendicular plastic tube at the end. Using the cuffs is just as straight-forward: Hang the plastic tubes on the opposite side of your door, with the straps running over the door itself, cuffs facing you. Then close said door.

And then, lo and behold, you have instant cuffs with which to tie your lover standing against your door. And perhaps it's just me, but I really, really love the sight of my boy stretched out in front of me, all exposed and vulnerable and delicious... Speaking of...

Anyway - not only are the door jam cuffs SUPER easy to use, they're actually really quite strong.

I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting the velcro cuffs to support my weight, or my boy's pulling against them - which has already claimed parts of my bedframe... To my surprise, though, when my boy strapped me in to the cuffs, pinned me against the door and pulled both my legs around his waist, the cuffs didn't budge. Even on my antique door frame, the cuffs solidly held me, even as I wrapped my hands around the straps for support. And, yknow, I'm not a tiny person.

And when you're all tuckered out, the cuffs are easily tossed into the bedside drawer or toybox, without any damage to furniture or doorframes. (Which is especially good news for kinksters who rent and can't put holes in the walls.)

Combined with my under-the-bed restraint system, my room is becoming quite the unassuming dungeon. And if the bruises and scratch-marks are any indication, it's only going to get better.

Rating: Five out of five stars!

So, yes. Go get these cuffs! And the only way to make them better is to get them from Babeland, the sex-positive, women-inclusive online and store who so graciously gave me the cuffs to review! Babeland, the boy and I owe you. Big time.

i AM that girl

2010-07-14T10:42:00.003-06:00

Last night found the boy and I tangled in the sheets, panting and writhing against the muggy summer heat and licking the sweat from each other's bodies, stopping only to rearrange, and sometimes to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Laughing at the absurdity of the two of us being there, together, at our uncanny similarities and our fundamental differences.

I fell back onto the pillows he'd piled up behind me, my face flushed and his glistening. As I caught my breath, he layed down next to me, stroking my hair and wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. He smiled at me and I managed one of those exhausted, mind-melted smiles that only happen after your body has been completely, deliciously ravished.

We babbled incoherently for some time, going over the details of our exorbitantly fantastic sex life. Then he kissed my forehead and brought his eyes down to mine.

"I'm going to say something really sexy," he told me.

"OK. What is it?" I asked.

....

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fucking STARVING. Thank god!" I replied as I threw my legs around to the edge of the bed.

And then we climbed out of bed and raided my kitchen. n

So yes, I'm that girl. The one who loves sex, especially when it's kinky, and isn't afraid to say it. I'm that girl who likes to kick your ass at video games, and talk smack even when she's losing terribly. I'm that girl who hangs out with the boys.

And I'm that girl who's afraid of scary movies, and loves snuggling, and wants you to notice when she gets made up or buys a new dress.

But I'm not the girl who wants grand proclamations of unending love. I'm that girl who is maybe a little too blunt for her own good, but manages to hang on to her friends anyway. I'm the girl who wants a comfortable relationship, where she can simply be with you, rather than having to conform to someone else's definition of happiness. I am that girl who wants to have a home full of love and positivity and puppy kisses.

And, for maybe the first time, I finally AM that girl.

The need.

2010-06-03T19:37:00.004-06:00

It was efficiency sex. The kind you can only have when it's been too long and both of you know it. When the pleasantries are almost nothing but, since it's almost intolerable to keep your hands to yourself through drinks and conversation and the obligatory nighttime rituals. When neither of you can be bothered by worrying about how you feel about each other, and no one needs to say much of anything.

When every word you say only barely hides the innuendo behind it, because how could you possibly need to talk about anything when the only thing you can focus on is the need itself? The kind where when you finally start touching, there's an electric charge that doesn't disconnect, and just keeps running through your two bodies, feeding off itself to grow stronger.

Where a finger stroke is all it takes to completely void your mind of anything but the pulsating need to be filled. And a hand is brought to your neck, not bothering with a gentle caress but grasping on, hard, to bring your lips to the waiting pair, only momentarily shielding the tongue and teeth that now have you locked together.

And fabric rips, because you can't be bothered with buttons and zippers and propriety when your skin is this hungry. So nails find fresh, warm flesh, and lungs breathe in stolen air when they remember to function. You couldn't be untangled or properly identify which parts of what you're feeling are your own if you tried, but that doesn't matter for even a split second.

And you almost wince as you finally find the satiation you've been looking for - warm and hard and even better than you remembered. You feel more and more full, drop your hips lower into the sheets to raise them higher and feel it deeper...

So your knees are brought to your chin and your ankles are locked behind his neck before he even finishes sitting up. He leans down to you and his teeth find your bottom lip and pull and you breathe him in and for a moment make this stunning eye contact that bores into you somehow even deeper than he is, with you folded underneath him. You've lost agency of yourself to your desire and can't stop your hips from finding their rhythym with his. He pulls his head up as you thrust harder, and you swear you can feel it in your abdomen, but god is it fucking good. And so you raise your hips faster, and he matches your rhythym with increasing intensity.

Your nails dig into his thighs, and then you drag one hand up his body, shoving two fingers in his mouth. His teeth hold you tight as his tongue licks up and down and circles your fingers and you draw your hand out of his mouth still glistening with his spit. And without hesitation, your hand reaches between your legs, still clenched against his chest. He looks down at you as he fucks you harder and you rub yourself with your fingers, wet from him. His hand finds your neck, and he keeps staring into you as he tightens his grip. Your pulsing becomes more frenetic, raising your ass off his folded legs and slamming back into him harder and faster.

It starts there, as the muscles in your body tighten as the heat spreads from your pelvis to your thighs and abdomen, to your calves and your tits and your chest tightens as does his grip around your neck. Gasping and still holding eye contact, you can feel him slamming into you, harder and harder, filling what you both so desperately need. Finally, the heat spreads to your mouth, and you can't keep your eyes focused on this world as your toes curl and your entire body tightens itself around him, feeling him expand inside you, and everything just becomes heat and you don't know what you're saying but every part of your body is screaming at the same time, releasing everything it's been holding on to in one moment that rips through your body and tears into him, both of you lost to the need.

And everything you had been holding is gone, and neither of you can do anything but collapse onto one another, still unable to tell whose body belongs to whom. For just a minute, you lie there, quivering and afraid to touch but unable to disconnect. As your breathing slows to find its sync with his, you manage to look over at his face, shining with sweat but his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. You manage a chuckle.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

I need your help!

2010-05-10T19:23:00.002-06:00

My dear readers,

I have a favor to ask you. I've written a few times about my new boy. Things are going really well. He treats me well, the sex is fantastic, and most importantly, I really, really like who I am when I'm with him. I'm proud to introduce him to my friends, I love going out on real dates with him, just like I love staying home with him.

So, as I mentioned, the sex is awesome. He's interested in poly relationships (we're still expressly non-monogamous, though neither of us is sleeping with anyone else), and he's finding that he's kinkier than he thought he was. (All it takes is a good, kinky girl to bring it out, hehehe.) Generally, he tops me, because he's bigger and the man and I'm a sub.

But he's asked me if I'll try domming him. Usually I would say no, not my thing, but I really trust him and I actually feel comfortable trying new things with him. He's already changed my mind on a few things I didn't think I enjoyed, so why not keep it going, right?

And here's where I need your help, my dear, sweet, kinky readers.

I need advice on domming my boy. I'm generally not a top, so I don't have much experience, but I am willing to give it a try. Are there any tips for getting into a Dom mindset, the same way you can get into sub-space? I think being able to check my inhibitions will be crucial, because I'm always worried that I'll look stupid. (Hence my not talking during sex for fear of sounding like a bad porno.) He and I will obviously have the discussion before-hand about safew0rds, hard limits, etc., and I know what kind of sensation he prefers (he's stingy, I'm thuddy).

So. How do I get in the right state of mind to top my boy? It's a gender role reversal (for the bedroom, at least. Our actual relationship generally does buck gender stereotypes), as well as a reversal of the usual sexual hierarchy we have. Also, he's larger than I am - taller, heavier and stronger - so how do I work around that?

I need your help, dear readers! And in return, I promise to give you super-hot details after the fact. Maybe even pictures. We'll see how he feels about that. Then again, I can be pretty persuasive...

The New Normal

2010-05-04T11:08:00.002-06:00

"Ecstasy's a pill, and not a stolen kiss.
Character is vinegar without the piss
And pounding heart's not for love or art, but a beauregard's
And plastic knives will save your lives when they break apart

It's the new normal,
The new normal
The old way was OK
But this year's a new day...

And genius lost its meaning, it got kicked around
and slapped on fresh-faced artists
with that brand new sound..."

-The New Normal, by Mister Mann

Ironically enough, this is an artist The Optimist turned me on to. He's a Canadian singer-songwriter, and while his lyrics are rather depressing, I actually think the message is one of hope.

Or maybe that's just how I'm perceiving it.

Regardless, my new normal isn't what I would have thought it to be. It doesn't include certain people who I took to be fixtures in my life, and it does include those who I never would have guessed would mean so much to me.

And I'm OK with that. Because actually? I'm happy. I really am. And it's a strange sensation. I still second-guess myself when I say something stupid to the boy, automatically assuming he's going to knock me down a notch for it. Instead, he tends to laugh and say something equally ridiculous. Or he just leans over and kisses me. Tells me I'm adorable.

And it isn't patronizing, which is fascinating. The dynamic between us is something unique for me. I am so exceedingly comfortable being myself - my full-on, crazy, nerdy self - and that doesn't for a moment compromise how wanted I feel. In fact, I feel more consistently wanted and worthwhile than I have in a long, long time.

So I guess Friend was right about one thing - apparently my I-can't-be-a-girlfriend complex WAS utter bullshit. Of course, it took someone ELSE to show me that. But that's OK. Because the person who's showing me that is doing it so genuinely, and so compassionately, and so well that I'm actually not able to second-guess him.

I believe that he wants to see me. I enjoy being a part of his life, his family, his routine. I believe him when he kisses me and I feel it in my toes. I believe him when he says he wants to come to shows, parties, dates with me. Because he does.

And I certainly believe him when he pins me to the wall, his body pressed into mine as his teeth close down on my neck. I believe him as he strips off my clothes and throws me onto the bed, tying my hands above my head, his eyes all fire and passion and stormy seas.

So then I believe him as he traces his tongue down my body, lingering at my breasts and hip bones. And then I lose track of everything as his tongue finds what it's searching for, his fingers pumping in and out of me and curling inside me as his tongue traces and licks and laps at my clit. As he moans into me, my hips rise to meet his mouth and I can't stop moving. And he keeps going and I keep moving, and faster and faster and oh fuck oh god yes please don't stop fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

And then I'm shaking and he's smiling as he kisses his way back up my body.

And I do believe him, maybe most of all, as he lies down next to me and wraps his arms around my body, gently kisses my neck and pulls me tighter as we fall asleep together.

And just in case I find myself doubting, I am reassured when, in the morning, he's still there.

HNT: Southwestern

2010-04-29T08:00:00.000-06:00

That's right, I'm back, folks! I'm committed this time, I swear.

Also, don't tell anyone, but I'm actually in a relationship. A surprisingly healthy one. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm trying to just enjoy it.

One of the things I'd forgotten about having a regular partner is that you sometimes end up with their clothes. And for me, when I'm dating men, I always hope I'll look appropriately adorable in their shirts.

Which I promptly steal. Or, in this case, my boy "forgets" to ask for his shirt back when I go home.

So then, to make up for my theft, I figured it's only fair that I at least share the way the shirt looks on me. So this is the photo I snapped when I got home and snuggled into my boy's shirt on a night when he wasn't staying with me.

Of course, I sent him this photo first, but I don't think he'll mind my sharing it with you lovely folks.

HHNT!

I wonder...

2010-04-26T23:28:00.002-06:00

I wonder if it's possible, that after all my insistence that I am not now nor will I ever be so-called girlfriend material, while I was so busy telling myself and everyone that I wasn't capable of treating anyone well or being good for someone... that I was actually, in fact, gearing up to become a decent girlfriend?

I'm ahead of myself a bit, of course, in that the GF word is still terrifying to me as the BF word is to him. But the signs are there. And it should terrify me much more than it does. I should be concerned that the kind things he says to me unprompted are just lines. I shouldn't believe him when he tells me how much he enjoys being with me. It shouldn't phase me that he wants me to meet his parents properly.

And I shouldn't be so satiated with the amazing sex I'm having with him, and only him.

Of course, officially, everything is still entirely non-monogamous, and I wouldn't change that. I like having the freedom to do what I like. But the chemistry between he and I is absolutely absurd. When we both turn it on, it's like a carnal incarnation of lust. There is no reason, or pain, or world outside the two of us. We are all that exists and we simply must have more of each other.

I wake up bruised and bitten, and he wakes up with scratches that have broken the skin down his back and chest and thighs. I always apologize when I see them in the morning, and he always just smirks and tells me he likes them. And then he kisses me softly and pulls me back into his arms.

And I am happy. I am exceedingly happy. I'm trying so desperately not to over-analyze, and instead just to focus on how much better he makes my life, right now. With no expectations, but also with no limits.

At the moment, my life is good. I am content. I feel loved and appreciated. And I still have a fantastic sex life.

Is this what being in a relationship is like? Because if it is, then I don't know why the fuck I was so terrified.

What I do and do not owe

2010-04-22T23:09:00.002-06:00

I don't owe you an apology. Not only because I didn't do anything wrong, but because I'm not sorry for being angry. I had a right to be. I was justified in my anger and frustration and disappointment and I refuse to believe that you had any moral ground to make me feel guilty about that.

Because I know that there are always excuses. So do you. And you know, likely better than anyone, how much the excuses aren't the problem. You know, for a fact, that I don't mind waiting. I don't mind being second. Other things take precedence and that is right and good. They very much should.

But, given that knowledge, you must also intrinsically have some notion of how difficult this is for me. You MUST. I'm simply not able to believe that after spending this many years in one another's lives, so varied and intimate but almost always there, that you really can't imagine how hard this is for me. You KNOW how much this hurts me. And you know how bad it must have been, for me to choose this difficulty over that pain.

So if you know, then I'm left only to conclude that it doesn't affect you. And perhaps it shouldn't. I wouldn't be so presumptuous - except I would - to presume that you meant the words you said to me so many times. But that's beside the point, really. Because the point, really, is that you honestly don't care now.

You're a smart man. You always have been. Knowledge has never been your issue. So clearly, you know. But the caring? Well, that's a different skill, I guess.

And truly, I can't hold you responsible for a skill-set you simply don't have. Just like I can't do science, maybe you just can't do love. Or honesty.

That's OK. I wish you the best. I do. And the honest truth is, I miss the things you brought to my life. Not all of them. I don't miss the anxiety over whether or not you were going to show, or the frustration with never knowing how you actually felt. (Problem solved, incidentally.)

But I will miss the way you made me laugh. I will miss the intelligence you brought out in me. I will miss running hypothetical theorems about social theory with you. I will miss laughing at your ridiculously uncanny vocal character impressions. And how silly you were. Especially after sex. You were always good at making me happy.

At least, on those rare occasions when we were actually together.

So you should know that all this? Ultimately, it makes me sad. Because I think we were good for each other in more ways than you realized. It makes me sad that you probably won't realize what you lost, so I won't even have the opportunity to point out that you have, indeed, lost it.

HNT: My own space

2010-03-18T08:00:00.000-06:00

No apologies this time. I'm getting better - I am! Just a tiny little explanation.

As I've mentioned (I think?), I just moved into my own place downtown. It's the first time I've lived completely financially independent for an extended period of time, and I love it! I love the feeling that comes with having a space that's really, truly yours. I like to take advantage of that fact whenever possible... Like walking around my apartment wearing very little. (OK, not when my roommate and her boyfriend are home, although there have been some fun times with immediate post-coital roommate chit-chat.)

But on mornings like today, when I've got the house to myself, it's kind of fun to prance around the house not wearing much. Making breakfast seems way more exotic if you're doing it without clothes on. And really, who likes clothes anyway?

Not me, apparently.

I do, however, love those underwear. They're one of my favorite pairs, for no particular reason other than they're comfortable, and I think they're cut nicely. Any input?

HHNT!

HNT: Housewarming

2010-03-05T10:14:00.004-07:00

I feel like all I do here these days is apologize for my absence, so hopefully you lovely readers will allow me to make it up to you. I've spent the past two weeks moving into my own place, getting settled, and getting the energy right in my place. I think I've pretty much got it - thanks in no small part to a few friends of mine who have helped me... ahem.. shall we say christen my new bedroom?

There are many, many stories in the works about those sleepless nights.

For now, though, I hope you'll be willing to settle for an HNT in my new space. I have this fabulous vintage dresser with a vanity mirror on top, and it's rather perfectly positioned for sneaking peeks when I find myself, say, bent over the footboard of my bed. Hypothetically, of course.

HHNT!

Hello Seattle

2010-01-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

Play this:

Read this:

I was buzzing with anticipation the entire flight. Did this flight used to be two and half hours long? I swear it used to be shorter. It shouldn’t take me this long to get to you. Not after so much time. I guess, if you really think about it, it took me months – no, years – to get to you. So you can’t hold it against me that I’m so excited I can’t sit still. The poor woman next to me? Yeah, she might be holding it against me.

But I can’t manage to make myself think of anyone, or anything, but you. And I’m a terrible mess of excitement and nerves and desire and fear. And that fear kicks in more when our meeting doesn’t happen exactly like I thought it would. It was silly of me, of course, to want something so cinematic, but that’s what happens when I’m left with only my memories for four months. I get a little crazy.

The fear damn near takes over when you mention that the couch is available. My heart drops to the ground floor of your swanky apartment building. But before I can gather my thoughts, you point out that your bed is available, too.

And the way you say it, I remember that you’re just trying to be careful with me, not presumptuous. Of course, when it comes right down to it, you probably aren’t presumptuous enough if you compare it to the thoughts running through my head. So we pass some more pleasantries, and finally find ourselves in your bed. And that’s when it starts.

The next four days are a blur – a medley of your hands and your lips and your legs and your smile and the intensity you exude. I catch myself in disbelief every time you take my arm as we steel ourselves against the damp cold. And that cold isn’t anywhere near as pervasive as I remember it being. In fact, this city, which I was so ready to escape from, looks completely different when I’m looking at it standing next to you. Maybe it’s because you bring out the best in me and don’t allow me to fall into my pessimistic cycles… As if I could around you.

I can hardly recall the details of how we spent our time. But I know that I learned so much more about you. And I learned that you’re human. Which sounds silly, I’m sure, but it was important for me to be reminded of that. The funny thing is that realization, that fall of the idol, for lack of a better term, didn’t make me want you any less. In fact, it reinforced everything I thought about you.

And the balance we achieve when we’re together is incredible. I’m less neurotic, and you seem less hesitant. I love seeing your life, and pretending, even for those few days, that I’m a regular part of it. I love watching you play while I sit curled up on your giant chair with a glass of wine. You’re majestic, you know.

Somewhere between your arms around me as we fall asleep – and I love the tiny noises you make in your sleep – and the look on your face when I finally convince you to open your eyes, and you stretch your gorgeous body just to wrap it around mine again, I know. Somewhere between your kisses in the elevator, and picking out cheap wine at Trader Joe’s, I know. Or maybe it was somewhere between the waterfront and looking for your name on the tiles of the marketplace, I know. I may never be able to put my finger on the exact moment, but by the time I’m forced to get on a plane and leave you – with tears running down my face as I listen to the music you added to my playlist – I know.

I know that this – that you – are something incredible. I know that this will be different. I know that you are what I want – what I need – in my life. And I know, strangely enough, that neither of us are going anywhere.

The return of the HNT

2010-01-14T18:23:00.003-07:00

I haven't forgotten about Half Nekkid Thursdays... I promise! I just haven't been feeling particularly sexy lately, so I haven't been overly prone to getting half nekkid.

But that changed last night. I had a particularly awesome night with Friend - It was more date-y than our time together usually is. We went to the theatre, had several real conversations, then came home and were very silly. And then, as sometimes happens between he and I, the sillyness turned into sexyness. It's one of my favorite things about our relationship.

And he seemed more excited to see me than usual. Of course, it might have been the dress...

Coming back

2010-01-03T13:11:00.003-07:00

I've been away for a long time. From this blog, but also from myself. I've been trying to balance the person I'm becoming with the person I was, with the person I want to be. And that's been hard.

But this morning, I feel like my old self again.

I remembered what it was like to wake up in the morning next to someone, memories of the night before still fresh in your mind. I remembered what it felt like to feel insatiable - that writhing, grasping, gasping mixture of pain and pleasure and desire and sweat all mixing to produce such a potent and poignant high that you can't focus on anything but the hands and mouth and skin roaming freely over your body.

And the fingers intertwined in dark hair, pulling my head back to bring exposed teeth to bite down on my neck, harder, harder, dear god please harder. And the growling, scratching, pulling as my hips move of their own accord toward what they clearly want and need fuck me please fuck I need you.

And the blue eyes staring into mine staring back - hungry, starving, for the escape of release. Or the open hand, brought to my neck and up towards my chin, just enough pressure to leave me gasping and dripping. And then back to a mouth on mine, biting, pulling at my lip, then slowly moving down past my collarbone, following my breath to my breasts, as a hand moves down to my hips, still pulsing methodically. So then the tongue follows and I have nothing left to fight with as the world closes in around me and we are all that exists. Until I finally can't take it anymore and you look up at me, smirking and content, and my head is spinning and my breath has left my body and all I can feel is you.

Or the sounds made as my hips move, circular, forward and back, up and down, my breathing in time, your sighs and moans and hands and body underneath me getting me higher and harder. The fingers pinching, scratching, taking a handful of my breast as another set finds its way to my pelvis, and my motions become more urgent. And then the hand on my face, pulling me down to your face as you whisper "bite me. scratch me. harder!" and then my hips move faster as our breathing gets harder and your hands on my hips gripping tighter until we finally collapse, exhausted and glistening and panting and very, very happy.

"Holy shit. We've gotten much better at that," I say.

the thing about rape culture...

2009-11-13T10:23:00.001-07:00

This morning, my real life and bloggy friend Champagne and Benzedrine posted this article about rape culture - something he'd previously argued was, essentially, not as existent as many people claimed it was. His post essentially reversed his previous argument, conceding that perhaps he just hadn't been aware - or even able to be aware - of just how prevalent rape-culture is. But this is the graf that really got me:

Now, I'm too unevolved to start burning my bra or joining in any marches - but considering that I take certain jokes personally (like cracks about having ginger hair) it made me realise that it must be pretty rough to be a woman who's been the victim of sexual violence when it seems like the entire world (including plenty of other women) are making light of your experiences.

I was going to leave a comment, but then I realized it would probably turn into a post-sized rant, and, well I haven't written here lately, so I thought I'd take the inspiration and motivation and run with it.

I wanted to start off by thanking C&B for being willing to look at the issue through a different lens. And being able to recognize the types of unique sensitivities we all share. For example, I can't especially relate to being discriminated against or made fun of because of my hair color or complexion... My hair has always been blonde-ish brown, my eyes are hazel-ish, and those features are particularly unremarkable. So the best I can do to relate to C&B's offense at the "ginger" crack is to sympathize. But, of course, that doesn't mean I can't relate to other instances of being made uncomfortable by something "The Majority" finds hilarious.

Like rape.

Amanda Hess over at The Sexist (which, by the way, if you don't read, you SHOULD) posted a great deconstruction of rape culture and how it gets perpetuated and avoided by "bros" who don't consider what their buddy did rape. She phrases it especially in context of college life, and I think that's an apt placement. (Not, of course, that rape and rape culture doesn't exist outside college, but I do think the macho-fraternal camaraderie that many college atmospheres evoke does make such things more prevalent... or at least more evident.)

I just graduated from a relatively prestigious, four-year university. A big school of about 20,000 students, on the East Coast. As a journalism major with a minor in LGBT studies, I wasn't exactly the most involved with "stereotypical" college organizations. I ran the campus alternative magazine, spoke on my LGBT studies program, and never once attended a Greek function.

But all of my friends were dudes. And I do mean ALL of them. They kind of came in groups - there were my fellow journalists, my fellow LGBT people, the musicians, and then, oddly enough, a group of frat boys. Only a few of them were actually fraternity members, but they all lived together in this house that could have passed for an Animal House soundstage.

So, what I generally considered boyish "bathroom" humor often prevailed. C&B mentioned in his post that perhaps he just wasn't really able to be aware of the so-called rape culture because he isn't a woman, and hasn't been a victim of sexual assault.

Well, here's the thing: I'm both.

While none of my friends in school ever assaulted me, (most never even drunkenly hit on me,) the prevalence with which I heard jokes about rape was shocking. Literally, there would be jokes where the punchline essentially equated to "then she got raped!" hahahahah! Of course, the instances weren't always so obvious, but there was an insane amount of victim-blaming, apologism, and minimizing or dismissing of the experience.

This Boy's Club mentality - along with the "boys will be boys" excuse - absolutely aids in the creation of a rape culture. I won't say it's entirely responsible, nor will I even say that every person who makes or laughs at a rape joke is a rapist. Also, for the sake of argument, I know here I'm speaking in pretty strictly men-are-the-rapists, women-are-the-victims dichotomy. I am all too aware that is NOT the only scenario in which rape happens. But that is my personal experience, so it's what I can write on.

But there's another side of the rape culture that doesn't get discussed as much - the effect it has on the survivors of sexual assault.

I was raped a long time ago. The experience doesn't hang over me anymore, and while it will always color my sexual experiences, I haven't had a flashback in a long time, and I'm not afraid to walk downtown anymore in the areas I know he used to hang out in. But every time I hear a rape joke, it does bring me back to my own experience. Not in a crippling sense, but it's a reminder, and not a pleasant one.

Now, compound that with the fact that I DO NOT laugh at rape jokes. I think there are some things that are never funny, and rape is one of them. But when you're sitting in a room with 10 of your guy buddies, and someone cracks a joke and rape is the punchline, and they start howling, what do you do? My inability to laugh when everyone else was busting a gut just drew more attention to my discomfort. A few times, someone actually called me on it. Asked why I wasn't laughing. And what the hell do I say there? I'm certainly not about to tell a room full of people that, oh yeah, I was raped, so I don't think that's funny. (Although I just told the entire interwebz, but I suppose that's the benefit of blogging anonymously...) My usual response was to get defensive and get up on my soapbox, talking about how rape is never funny, and maybe even mention rape culture... Until I'd get cut down by the Boy's Club collectively deciding I was too sensitive or a bitch or a whackjob or at the very least killing their buzz.

So the conversation would move on, and I would feel terrible, all over again. Because it was like my experience - regardless of the fact that my friends didn't know about it, and certainly weren't trying to hurt me - had just been minimized, trivialized and dismissed. Again.

Often, when we talk about rape culture, we talk about the fact that it perpetuates rape. That it creates more victims by blurring the lines between what is and is not rape, when really, that line is pretty fucking clear. (For the record: No consent? Then it's rape.) But it also minimzes the experience of those who have been assaulted, while simultaneously reminding them of that trauma. Which, if you ask me, just perpetuates the damages, and makes those wounds even harder to caulderize.

80s music cures all ills

2009-10-21T12:20:00.000-06:00

OK, so ignore the images on this video - it was just the only embed-able video I could find of the right song. I don't know the people in the video, and I'm not implying anything by including the video here.

I adore this song. I can't say I totally understand what it's about, but I get a strangely inspirational vibe. In that screw-everything-and-follow-your-dreams sense. Which is something I could use right now. It's getting grey out here, and I'd love to blame the sadness that I can't seem to shake on Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I think it's more than just the lack of sun that's got me down.

I just wish I could place a finger on what it is, exactly. Last weekend, I was really not myself, and needed to leave suddenly on a night I was hanging out with The Scientist and Nonboyfriend. They hadn't done anything wrong, and the night had been quite low-key, but I suddenly was just so upset that I couldn't stay in the room, or the house, or that part of town with them. I just got up and left. I haven't done that in a long time.

Things are starting to feel out of control again. Work is picking up, and as the holiday season approaches, it means I have an exponential increase in events I'm covering, videos I'm editing, promotions I'm organizing, and, oh yes, when I have a spare moment, articles I'm writing.

I can't control how often I see my friends - none of my closest friends are in the same town. Certainly, it's nowhere near as inconvenient as when I was at school across the country, but it's almost more infuriating to be an hour or two's drive from people who I so desperately want to see.

At the same time, I'm feeling so incredibly drained. I'm back to being tired all the time. There is a part of me that's just going through the motions. I'm feeling like I don't have anything left to give. Which in turn makes me feel worse, because I don't want to not be able to be there for the people I care about. That's what I mean by a loss of control.

Maybe I am a control freak. Actually, I know that I am. I'm a backseat driver, a bit of a neat-freak, and it drives me crazy when people don't use the shortcuts on computers or take a longer route to get somewhere. I get so upset when plans fall through largely because it was something out of my control.

So I need to try focusing on the positive things. The areas of my life where I am in control. And there are a few. I have some concrete plans coming up in the next few weeks about which I'm really excited. Even though they're concrete, I'm still a little scared to say them out loud - or put them in print, as it were - for fear that something will change them. So you'll hear about those events after they happen. Who knows, maybe it'll even bring about a revival of my HNTs. I know they've been absent. But part of the lack of control is accompanied by a lack of feeling sexy. Which, of course, doesn't help my mood.

It's all rather cyclical, isn't it?

"I never took the smile away from anybody's face

And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is

still a child

In a big country

Dreams stay with you

Like a lover's voice

Cross the mountainside:

Stay alive

I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered

But you can't stay here with

Every single hope you had shattered

I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert

But I love and breathe and

see the sun in wintertime.."

Toybox: Fusion Duality

2009-10-20T21:41:00.005-06:00

OK. So Babeland sent me the Fusion Duality to review. The site's description (and the toy's packaging) boasts that the Fusion has "16 different vibrating combinations!" Woo!

Per usual, my nondescript brown package arrived about a week after I ordered the toy. (My roommate has told me she's always curious about what new toy I've acquired whenever I get one of those boxes... hehehe.) The Fusion's presentation was nice - in its own little tin, packed with black foam padding. Certainly seemed promising. And really, who could complain with 16 vibrating combinations! And a curved head to hit your G-spot! And a rounded, bulbous end that's also insertable! Wowee!

Well, apparently I'm that person who could find something to complain about. Maybe complain isn't quite the right word, but I think this toy fell victim to the trying-to-be-too-much syndrome. In my experience, the toys that I enjoy the most do one thing, and they do it well. When toys start to make an effort to be too many different things, everything ends up falling short of the mark.

The hard, phthalate-free material was pleasantly silky to the touch - which is a quality I like in my toys. It's purple, which is fine by me... I tend to be drawn to purple in a lot of aspects of my life. Anyway. The Fusion requires four AAA batteries, which aren't included. I know they're small, but, really? Four? Bleh.

And that much-touted 16 combinations? Well, what they mean is that each side has three settings. Which, with all that fancy math-stuff that's beyond my pretty little head's comprehension, means there are technically 16 combinations. Which is fine. But, of course, if you have one side of the toy inside you, different vibrations on the other side of the toy are going to be pretty difficult to discern. Of course, it's entirely possible that others have more sensitive cunts than I do, but I couldn't feel much of a difference anywhere except in the hand that was holding the toy inside me. Too many things.

I was also excited about the interesting curved shape of the Fusion Duality. The curved end is almost flattened, like a spoon, with a little nub along the shaft of the toy that is, near as I can tell, designed to hit both the g-spot and the clit simultaneously. Which would be awesome. If it worked.

I'm finding this with several different toys, so maybe I just have a weirdly shaped cunt, but this toy wasn't even close to hitting my g-spot. Or my clit. Which was, to say the least, a bummer. If I moved the toy deep enough to hit my g-spot, then it wasn't on my clit, and vice-versa. Again, too many things.

The bulbous end was nice enough, but notably shorter than the curved end. And the buttons are on the bulbous side, which means the insertable length is even shorter if you want to change to a different one of those 16 vibration settings. Shocker: Too many things.

Overall? I'd give the Fusion Duality just one star. It might work for some people, and the site suggests trying it as a double-ended toy with a partner (although I'm not sure it's long enough to do that well), but at least for me, it just wasn't the right fit.

But this is the first real strike-out of anything I've reviewed from Babeland. So it should definitely NOT discourage you from going and checking out all of the awesome stuff this women- and sex-positive store has online. Or, if you think it might work for you, go check out the Fusion Duality!

my feminism trigger

2009-10-08T23:37:00.003-06:00

I'm not a feminism apologist. I don't feel the need to assert that "oh, no, I'm not a femi-nazi" before I say anything regarding equal rights for women. Still, I've never really considered myself a feminist. Because, frankly, that's never where my real passion for equality has lay. I've always been passionate about lgbt rights (perhaps as a reflection of which of my own personal identities I take to be more prevalent or important... I don't know.) (Although in a chat a few nights ago, Nonboyfriend's girlfriend pointed out to me that she's always considered me a feminist precisely because I was so adamant about queer rights. She considers them inherently connected, and I think there's something to be said for that... Aside from the sometimes stereotypical feminist disavowal of automatically equating feminist with "man-hating dyke." But that's a whole other post.) So for something to trigger my feminist rage, it generally has to be pretty agregious. Or at least really, obviously, patently sexist.

Which I encountered this evening.

I was pulling into the parking lot at my neighborhood Target. The parking lot was somewhat busy, but my mom's boyfriend (the only other person in the car with me) noticed a spot in the aisle over, so I went to homestead until the SUV parked in the spot finished backing up. Because of the location of the spot and the terrible turning radius of the car I was driving, my first effort at pulling in placed the car diagonally across the spot. (I am admittedly terrible at parking in normal spaces, though I'm an EXCELLENT parallel parker... which is weird, I know.) But I knew I was going to have to back out and 3-point the turn, essentially. So I put the car in reverse but kept my foot on the brake, and looked behind me, and checked both mirrors. On my left, there was a cop SUV, patrolling the lot, but waiting for me to finish adjusting the car before he passed me. On my right, there were two pedestrians who had stopped, a car away from me, to let me continue readjusting. So I pulled the car halfway out and back into the spot significantly straighter. (But still not in the center of the spot. Because, literally, I'm incapable of it.)

And as I got out of the car, I noticed the cop was still idling directly behind my car. With his window down. I made passing eye contact, but didn't really pay any attention. Until he called out at me from his car.

"Hey there, you be careful with those pedestrians, OK sweetheart? We wouldn't want you to hurt anybody."

SWEETHEART?... Sweetheart?! I just stared at him, flabergasted. "Yeah, uh, can do," I managed, without any intonation.

"OK, well just be careful, honey."

I didn't look back as I speed-walked to the door, but my mom's boyfriend pointed out that the slimeball stared at me all the way to the door. As soon as the door shut behind me, I started muttering "Sweetheart? I'm not your fucking sweetheart. Don't fucking call me sweetheart."

Now, I realize this doesn't carry over as well in text, because I can't get the proper inflection. And his words, if they were said differently, could have been a simple caution. (That I didn't need. As I'd checked for pedestrians before I had pulled back out, and even made eye contact with the ones who were clearly waiting for me to finish parking before they walked behind my car.) But this wasn't polite advice. It was the condescending, you-clearly-don't-have-the-mental-capacity-to-comprehend-parking-a-vehicle-because-you-have-breasts kind of tone.

I'm not sure I should need to mention it, but just to prevent trolls, I was wearing sneakers, jeans, a knee-length white peacoat and a mid-cut v-neck sweater. Definitely NOT overtly sexy or inherently bimbo-esque. (As if clothes were a determination of intelligence, anyway.)

But I was steaming about the "sweetheart" comment for a good few hours. I've cooled down a little, and there's a possibility I was being too sensitive... But I was genuinely offended. I haven't had anyone speak down to me like that in a LONG time. And I've been going car shopping lately... which, for my female readers who've done that, I can imagine you know what a point of reference that is. It was just so blatantly condescending. And yes, it DID feel like it was related to my gender. Admittedly, had he not said "sweetheart," I likely wouldn't be so put off. I still probably would have thought it was probably unnecessary to roll down his window IN THE SNOW to caution me against something I wasn't at risk of doing, and might have grumbled a bit, but you likely never would have heard about it here.

So, THAT'S what it takes to pull my feminist trigger.

/rant.

I should tell you...

2009-10-03T21:58:00.004-06:00

I've talked about my Ex by several different names on here. He's been a kind of supporting (or not, as it were) character in the background of many of the experiences you've read about here. The short history - we dated for five years... All through high school, and then for our freshman year of college, for which we went to schools on opposite coasts. We went to a tiny high school where, by virtue of his being utterly likable and my throwing nearly every major party anyone in our class or below went to, we secured a tight group of friends. Many of those people both of us remained close with.

Which of course, made it that much more awkward and painful when we broke up in a BIG way at the end of our freshman year of college. He was the one who ended things - at the time I believed he left me for someone else, and I did, in fact, know who it was. In retrospect, I saw it coming. We weren't right for each other, but he figured that out LONG before I did.

And so we've spent the past three and a half years, essentially, discovering new ways to hurt each other - also known as "being friends." We both took our turns doing and saying terrible, cruel, inhumane things, that managed to affect not just one another, but our mutual friends, who grew to make concerted efforts to keep us apart when we were in the same state. Almost a year and a half, I was in rare form (or not, depending on who you ask), and confessed to him that I'd cheated on him back in high school. I'd like to say I did it to try and make myself feel better or in the interest of honesty, but really, it was my drunken, still-heartbroken last-ditch effort to make him hurt as badly as I did.

Near as I can tell, it worked. There was a single email exchange wherein we decided that we were not going to speak to one another again. We were both still angry and hurting, but it was probably one of the healthier things we'd done for each other since we'd broken up. It was three years almost to the day after he left me.

And we didn't talk. Or see one another. Or communicate in any way. Our friends were already used to avoiding the subject of each other when we were around, but even that became more pronounced. I moved on, dated a few people casually - some of whom were good to me, like Nonboyfriend, some of whom weren't, like Edward. My ex didn't cross my mind much.

And then, this summer, tragedy hit our circle of friends. Without going into private details, a terrible, unfair and unexpected thing happened to my best girlfriend, C. The Scientist and I, specifically, threw as much of ourselves into caring for and loving her as possible, and to her credit - she is astoundingly strong. I'm confident I could not have gone through what she did with such grace, maturity, perspective, and strength.

About a month ago, things culminated in an event that saw all of us who love C together at her house to support her. My ex (again, a good friend of hers) had been flaking on his friends back home, and, in all honesty, I think he was guilt-tripped into it. It was a deserved guilt-trip, though. He should have been there for C all along, but he absolutely needed to be there on this occasion.

Which found both of us back in town. In the same house. Together. I knew he was coming, and I also knew that this was neither the time nor the place to deal with any lingering issues we had. I knew why I was there, and it had nothing to do with him. Besides, I didn't have anything left to say to him.

He came early and I was the first person he saw. He quite literally froze in the doorway. He paled, and I swear I could hear him swallow from across the room. I looked at him, said "Hi," and waved. "Uhm, yeah, hey," he managed, a stiff arm and twitchy-fingered wave complimenting the awkwardness. Throughout the afternoon, he and I were pleasant with one another - I started a conversation or two with him... Just pleasantries. But I think we were both impressed at how we were able to BE so pleasant with one another. I found myself almost enjoying his company. Well, at the very least, not minding it.

As the evening wound down, C asked her friends to stay and party with her. Of course, we would have done anything for her, and this was hardly a stretch for any of us. We ended up going to a concert - C, her boyfriend, The Scientist, myself and my ex. We eventually convinced Nonboyfriend and his girlfriend to come down to town as well, because the occasion called for everyone to be there. (C, the Scientist, my ex and I all went to high school together, and the Scientist, Nonboyfriend and my ex are childhood friends, so Nonboyfriend had been incorporated into our circle early in its creation.) We all had a great time at the show, dancing, letting go of whatever we needed to.

At one point, as I was dancing, I took a step backwards and accidentally backed into someone I didn't know. I turned around to apologize, and the guy started hitting on me. Asking me to dance with him, what's my sign (seriously? people still use that?), and I tried to politely decline, telling him I was just there to be with my friends. He didn't go away. He wasn't doing much more than invading my space, but my ex caught my eye, dancing maybe 10, 15 feet away from me. He mouthed "you OK?" at me, and I kind of shrugged and made an "eh... uhm... sortof..." face. Before I could do anything more, my ex was next to me, put his hands around my waist, and pulled me to dance with him. The other dude vanished into the crowd. And I stood there, rather dumbstruck, staring at my ex. I managed to thank him, but I don't think I communicated how genuinely touched I was. I know looking out for someone in the group, protecting them from a creeper, is pretty standard friend behavior, but for my ex and I, the interaction was the friendliest, kindest we'd treated each other in years.

As the concert ended, we took several cabs to various places, some of us stopping at cars on the way, then all of us ending up back at Nonboyfriend's house. For a portion of the trip, it was just my ex and I in his car, after we'd dropped off C and her boyfriend so they could go in their own car. There were some awkward silences, but we did agree that it was, surprisingly, nice to see one another. We both seemed scared to make that assertion... like it might ruin the good we'd managed to accomplish that night.

But back at Nonboyfriend's house, my ex began playing guitar. And I realized he was playing songs that used to be ours. The rest of the group trickled back into the house, leaving just he and I on the patio. Him still playing guitar.

And then we started talking. The conversation started off slow, hesitant, cautious. But soon, it became open, and honest. He started the conversation. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and said "It killed me, to not speak to you for so long. I hated it. I tried to be angry at you, I really did. But I can't. You are such a part of who I am, and that will never change. You ARE important. You always have been." It broke my heart and healed it all at once.

We kept talking for almost an hour. There were tears shed, but I think more than anything they were a form of release. The most amazing part was that there was no anger. I think we've finally used it up. We were able to talk about what had hurt us, but also what was good. We were able to appreciate how utterly and completely and honestly in love we were with one another... once upon a time. And we were able to move forward.

He hugged me several times that night. And it was good to be back there, my head buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around me. It was sincere. It was necessary. But it wasn't inappropriate. There is no romance left. The fire that once burned so bright for him nearly consumed me... and now all that remains is warmth.

I can finally truthfully say that I no longer have any ill feelings toward him. There are still traces of the boy I fell in love with almost 10 years ago inside him. I needed to know that. I can look back on what we had fondly and without pain. I can wish him well and happiness with his girlfriend, and mean it. And I can mean it when I tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him when he's back in town.

So while I've called him many, many things over the years, and even over the course of this blog, really, the way I should refer to him is as my First Love. Because he was. And he deserves all the import that title commands. Part of who I am today is because of him, and that experience will always be a part of me.

And, finally, thank god, I no longer resent that fact.

"I should tell you

that you were

my First Love..

So it's Christmas time,

It's been three years

And someone else is knitting things for your ears

I have come to know I'll only see you

Interrupting my dreams at night

But that's all right

That's all right

I should tell you

that you were

my First Love

And it's all right

We were seventeen again together,

We were seventeen again...together."

Toybox: The Divine Vibe

2009-10-02T20:59:00.009-06:00

Sometimes, you just want something simple. Sometimes, all the bells and whistles and buzzing patterns and multiple heads and all that jazz are a little too much. Sometimes, you just want something that will get the job done. That will do the job well, and consistently, and perform exactly as you expect it to.

So sometimes, I absolutely crave my Divine vibe. The folks over at Babeland sent me one of the Doc Johnson toys (in black, no less!), I was stoked to try it out.

The Divine is made of ABS plastic, and as such is HARD. It takes three AAAs (which, I'll admit, I had to go out and buy), and has three settings, switched by the press of the only button on the toy, about halfway up the bulbous base. The settings are simple: low, medium, and high. No frills here.

But again, sometimes that's what you need.

The vibrations are consistent, and while not weapons-grade, to borrow a phrase, they escalate nicely from one setting to the next. They do have to be buzzed through sequentially, though, which is sometimes annoying... If you have it set on medium, for example, and want to turn it off from there, you'll have to go to high, then off. Likewise, you have to cycle through "off" each time. Which, again, can be annoying.

But the best part of the Divine vibe? Its shape is PERFECT. At least for my body, the curve of the toy fits my cunt like it was made for it. And I love the way it feels in my hand - the notches line up great with my fingers, and the curvature means I can have vibrations on my clit, all the way down. Which is AWESOME. And, the way the Divine feels in my hands isn't entirely unlike a cock - so there's some easy fantasizing there... Either about having someone else's cock so close to me, or, yeah, having my own.

The Divine vibe has become my go-to sex toy. It's not especially intimidating, and can (and has) work easily into play with a partner. Or it's awesome solo, obviously. It isn't complicated, but it IS reliable. It will get me off, every time.

And sometimes, that's exactly what you want.

Rating: 5 stars. I love this toy.

Want your own Divine vibe? You can get one at Babeland, the super-awesome, sex-positive, body- and women-friendly sex store online and in New York and Seattle.

The absence

2009-10-02T20:53:00.002-06:00

I feel like I am always apologizing for being absent.

Yes, indeed, I've been a very bad blogger. I should probably be punished,

Any volunteers?

I have reviews to publish, I have stories to tell, I have comments to make.

So thank you to those of you who are still reading. I'm going to try to get a backlog going this weekend, so perhaps I won't be quite so absent. So bear with me, if you will. There are updates coming.

Toybox: Lover's Paintbox

2009-09-16T10:18:00.001-06:00

I don't like chocolate. I should preface this whole review by saying that. *insert "GASP! But you are a woman! How do you NOT like chocolate?!?!?!1!!" here.* I've never liked chocolate. It used to drive my grandparents crazy every easter, halloween, and any other holiday where adults stuff children full of sugar in celebration of... something.

Nevertheless, I did try all three chocolate flavors in the Lover's Paintbox which VibeReview sent me. The kit comes with three flavors of chocolate flavored "body paint:" Dark, milk and white chocolate. I expected to like the white chocolate best, but it was actually a little too tangy for me. I know white chocolate is really hard to get right (although I don't know why), but I think the sharp smell may also have set me off. Opening the jar smelled a little chemical-y... not my favorite scent. To my surprise, the dark chocolate was actually good. Still syrupy and sweet, but a nice, rich flavor. Tasted quite good when licked from one of my partners' neck. The milk chocolate flavor (which, to be honest, I didn't try until later,) wasn't overly memorable. Fine, but nothing to write home about.

The boys who had me tied up with my Under the Bed Restraints seemed to very much enjoy themselves with the Lover's Paintbox, though. They did abandon the "supple body brush" for their fingers quickly, though. (Also, there were two of them and only one brush, and while they were clearly good at sharing, there are logistical limits.) Had I been able to roll around more, I'm sure my sheets would have been even messier than they already were. There was a decided fine layer of sticky chocolate residue wherever they'd painted me.

But it was absolutely fun to have my body covered in chocolate and have the boys have a reason to run their tongues all over me. (A reason BESIDES having me naked and tied up, I mean.) Especially when one of the boys figured out to warm the jar in his hands for a little while before painting me with the chocolate - it went on smoother and felt even better on my skin.

So, while I wouldn't say that this is my favorite toy ever, it definitely added another layer to an already indulgent evening. If you're a chocolate junkie or a true fan of food+sex, this is absolutely for you. I can also see it being a fun bachelorette party gift or something of the like - silly, fun, and just a little racy.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars.

Want your own Lover's Paintbox? How about a great selection of other sexy toys? Then hit up VibeReview and take advantage of their great merchandise and fabulous prices!

Captain Queer strikes again!

2009-09-15T09:00:00.000-06:00

As I had previously discussed with The Scientist, I tend to have some capacity to, uhm... queerify my potential partners. I discussed it with him in the sense that I'd just hooked up with his best girlfriend who had never hooked up with a girl before. And I tend to find myself in threesomes... frequently... with two straight men.

Not the same two straight men, mind you. This marks the third different MFM threesome I've had. This year.

God, I love my life.

Which was, incidentally, exactly what I said when I walked back into my bedroom after my two boys and I had gotten back to my house and I'd excused myself to the restroom, as I opened the door and saw them both there, completely naked.

Yes, I have a very lovely life.

The night was an entirely random one. I went to dinner with C, came home and bought Bear a plane ticket to come visit me (huzzah! less than a month!), then was wanting to go play, but no one was around. Which is when a random old friend, who I haven't spoken to in at least two years, facechatted me. And we discovered we live about 10 minutes from each other. And made the executive decision that he and I were going to get drunk together.

He got to my place quickly, and I don't think we stopped talking the entire way home. Or for the stop at the grocery store. Or the liquor store. He was adorably excited, and there was gushing on both our ends. His poor boyfriend must have thought we were cracked out or something. We were just...buzzing... together. It was a blast.

We mellowed as the rum kicked in, and I got a chance to know his boyfriend better - and even bond over some similarities we have. We're the same age, and, oh, are both into BDSM and are total subs. It was one of those kind of nights where nothing is taboo. I loved it.

Eventually, a few of his boyfriend's friends came over... they had asked his boyfriend earlier, apparently, if there was REALLY a girl over. His boyfriend said "Yes, I promise, there is a girl here." By the time the friends got there, I was just drunk enough to introduce myself by saying, "Hi. I'm the promise. AKA Sasha." I thought it was funny, anyway.

I'm not sure it was ever really discussed, but rather it was just assumed from the time the friends walked in the door, that the two of them and I would all be sleeping together.

I didn't have a problem with that. Clearly, neither did they.

I don't know if the two friends have had a threesome with one another before, but they certainly acted comfortable and smooth enough around each other to make me wonder. They worked me like they knew what they were doing. But then again, I let them work me like that. I knew exactly what they were doing.

I knew what they were doing when one of them leaned in to kiss me while we were standing alone in the kitchen. I knew what they were doing when the other came in and found us kissing. I knew what I was doing when I stole away with the other and kissed him on the patio.

And I knew what we were doing when we all decided we were going back to my house.

"God, I love my life."

They both smiled at the comment, pleased with themselves and my reaction, I think. I barely had time to process their reactions, though, before they were both on me, damn near ripping my clothes off.

I will never get tired of the feeling of having so many hands on me at once. No two people's touch is ever quite the same, and, yes, the exhibitionist in me really enjoys it. Also, I've picked up quite the appreciation for naked skin from Friend (and others, but he and I talk about it regularly), and this is just such a delicious way to feed that hunger.

There is much more to be told about the night, of course... But I did get some fantasies fulfilled, which is always excellent. (Aside: I'm going to need to make a list of fantasies I've had fulfilled and which I haven't... I think the former list is longer. Awesome.) Check for details in upcoming product reviews - I do so appreciate when guys aren't intimidated by toys. In fact, that was part of our motivation for going back to my house - I was bragging about my toy collection.

God, I love my life.

Toybox: Under the Bed Restraint System

2009-09-14T21:19:00.005-06:00

So, the lovely folks over at VibeReview have been EVER so gracious and patient with me while I took my sweet time reviewing the last two of the toys they've sent me. To be fair, the last two required partners, and, well, those have been in short supply lately. Luckily, that changed this weekend.

I've been aching to test out my Under the Bed Restraints for, literally, MONTHS. The idea is so awesomely fantastic: Affordable, easily hide-able restraints that are not only easy to set up and fit to any bed, but, again, are AFFORDABLE.

As a recent college grad still living paycheck to paycheck (thank you, student loans), I love this fact about the Under the Bed Restraints. I also love the nylon straps that make up the bulk of the system. Laid out, the system looks something like an X with an elongated, straight middle. Maybe like two Ys on top of one another. It is easily adjustable - it fits my full bed comfortably, and I've heard of others who have larger (and smaller) beds saying the same. Essentially, you slip the straps underneath your mattress (between the mattress and the box spring, although I imagine it would also work on an all-in-one mattress, as long as there was something solid to the straps from just falling to the floor. The four straps are all adjustable with easy plastic clips (think of those on a backpack's straps) so even once you've got it set up, you can adjust them to go to the corners of the bed (and stretch you or your partner farther), or pull them to either side to really control how much movement your... ahem...subject has.

And I can tell you from experience - once you've got the straps tightened the way you want them, they are tough to wriggle loose of when you're attached to them. They kept me sufficiently restrained, even when I had TWO boys doing their damndest to keep me writhing as much as possible.

Basically, I love everything about the Under the Bed Restraints. Except the cuffs it comes with. I applaud the makers for including four cuffs, but they are soft polar-fleecey material with a little bit of velcro. First off, I hate polar-fleece stuff, but also, the velcro just didn't do the trick. If you or your partner are anything but a totally obedient and, well, submissive, sub, you'll pop them open. Luckily, I had my own leather and metal buckle cuffs to replace the default cuffs. Once we made this switch, it was smooth sailing. My cuffs were easy to hook to the circular metal rings at the end of each strap.

Yeah, NOT gonna do the trick.

But overall, I LOVE my Under the Bed Restraints. I can't wait to test them out again. Just need a volunteer. Anyone interested?

4.5 stars out of 5. Get yours now! Or just go check out all the sexy stuff at VibeReview!

What I need...

2009-09-06T23:05:00.003-06:00

What I need right now is to hear your car pulling to a stop outside my house.

What I need is to hear the door slam as I race out the side door, across the yard and into your arms. I need to feel the wind across my skin and your arms at my waist as you pick me up, spinning me around, literally sweeping me off my feet.

What I need is to smell you as I press my body to yours, my face into your neck, so I can inhale you.

What I need is to take you by the hand and nearly trip over the patio step as we race in the side door to avoid distractions. I need to almost fall down the stairs and have you grab my hand to pull me back, then pin me against the wall at the landing, and with your body pressing into mine, kiss me so hard that my knees go weak and my mind is erased of everything but you. So that when you pull away, I nibble on my bottom lip and can't do anything but giggle and blush just a little. I need to fumble our way down the last of the stairs, and still be locked in a kiss with you as we find our way into my bedroom.

I need you to slam the door shut behind you, never taking your hands off me. I need you to pin me against that door with your body again, your hands at my hips, lifting up my shirt. I need to feel that electric charge when your hands touch my skin. I need to feel those butterflies, that dizzy feeling I can't escape when your mouth is on mine. I need to feel breathless and fulfilled all at once and like I can't possibly be close enough to you.

I need to be grasping desperately at your belt, trying so hard not to be distracted by your mouth at my neck as my clumsy hands find the buckle, the button, the zipper. I need to be pushing the waist of your jeans off your slim hips as I feel your hands run up my torso, taking my tank top with them.

I need to feel my self-consciousness slipping away as you step just an arm's length away to look at me, flushed and increasingly disheveled though I am, and smile - just the corners of your mouth, and your eyes flash that beautiful green I've been stuck imagining for entirely too long.

I need to run my hands up your torso, bringing your shirt over your head and losing sight of it as soon as it leaves your body. I need to be tracing my fingers up and down your abdomen, around your pecs, and back to your hips, pulling you back to me.

I need to feel your warmth on my skin. I need to feel the contrast of your body, smooth and warm, against the door you still have me against, cool and unforgiving.

I need to feel your hands at my jaw. I need to feel you pull me to you, slowly, intensely. I need to feel your kiss through my entire body. I need to feel your entire body pulse as you kiss me. I need to feel your lips on mine. I need to feel your tongue on mine. I need to feel you biting my bottom lip, pulling just the slightest on my lip ring.

I need to hear you sigh, contented and hungry, as you tighten your grip at my hips. I need to feel the momentum as you pull me away from the door and push me onto the bed. I need to shiver as your mouth traces delicate patterns down my body. I need to see you look up at me with those gorgeous eyes as you slide my jeans off my hips. I need to feel your hands up and down my legs, then your lips at my ankle, my calf, my knee, my thigh.

I need to feel the breath, sharply inhaled into my lungs, as you bite at my hip. I need to hear you chuckle under your breath, like you know you already have me. And I need to throw my head back as your tongue starts exploring me.

I need to grasp at the sheets as your tongue finds my clit and your fingers curl themselves inside me. I need to whimper as I hear you moan into me, your tongue and fingers moving faster and in perfect discord.

I need to see that white heat that flashes by my eyes as every muscle tenses, as I can't help but gasp out "Fuck!" when I can't feel anything but you and pleasure and love and everything.

And, still shaking, I need to feel you kissing your way back up my stomach, my chest, my neck, until your body is back on top of mine. I need to feel your warmth and that electricity still humming between us. I need to see the smile on your face and in your eyes. I need your mouth on mine again. I need to kiss you so hard it almost hurts.

I need to kiss you with everything I've got. I need to kiss you like it's the first time and the last time and every time inbetween. I need to pull away for just a moment, whisper out another breathless "fuck," and intertwine my fingers with yours.

Yes, THAT'S what I need.

HNT: The damage

2009-09-03T00:00:00.001-06:00

As promised, here's the "worst" of the damage from my fabulous scene last weekend. By worst, I mean most awesome (and most visible) battle scars. The shot was taken when I got home after the play party, but those marks are STILL present. I love that.

HHNT!

Hungry eyes..

2009-08-31T22:27:00.003-06:00

No, not the Eric Carman song from Dirty Dancing. Although now I need to go listen to it or watch the movie. Anyways. On to the actual point.

Last weekend, I finally got a chance to see T and his partner, A, again. For those of you just tuning in or without your Sasha's-ridiculously-complicated-relationships Map handy, I met T and A at Thunder last year. A played with Essin' Em, and I played with T. It was my first time playing with a relative stranger in any kind of public setting, and I couldn't have asked for a better escort into the scene. Of course, at the time I was just astounded by how compassionate and kind he was in his aftercare and beyond - I didn't realize that a year later we would still be in touch and he would still be unofficially escorting me into the world of kink.

I hadn't seen T since Thunder (except for a few minutes when I stopped by his work a few weeks ago when I was in town. Which is not as stalker-y as it sounds, I promise, because...) but we had been keeping pretty regular contact with one another. Periodic text messages, emails and facebook pokes. He had invited me to several play parties he and A were hosting (at a local bdsm club) over the past year, but the timing has always been off. Finally, it wasn't.

The theme was pirates, and, well, you know me, I just can't resist a good pillaging. I went in early to help T, A and some other volunteers set up the space. In addition to going because I was invited, specifically by A, I also hoped that by going early to set up it might help me break the ice with people, since I knew T and A would likely be busy hosting for most of the night. And it worked - I got to chatting with a few people, some of whom were new like me, and definitely made some connections there, I think. I actually wasn't even especially expecting to get to play with T, because I knew he would be busy hosting. I would was content to just watch the scenes going on around the dungeon and chat with people.

But you wouldn't keep reading if that's all I'd done, right? Perverts.

There was a stage set up at the front of the dungeon with a St. Andrew's cross and stage lighting prominently highlighting it. It had been designated the "Public Flogging" area... for those scallywags who needed to be punished. (Pirates, remember.) T gave a nice - is it strange to describe it as such? - flogging to one of the women I'd been talking to when setting up. It's always fun to watch people I know, even casually, play. Not long after, T asked me if I'd like to/be willing to be publicly flogged. I pointed out that I'm not the biggest fan of floggers, and he asked if I'd like to do another punching scene, as we had done at Thunder.

I hope my excitement wasn't TOO embarassingly obvious.

He led me up to the stage, and helped me strip down to my underwear - gentleman that he is. (Aside: It's always fun, when you're in a room full of people, to be applauded when you take your top off. Awesome.) We went over safewords, signals, and confirmed consent once more. I love that part so much about the kink community. Consent is ALWAYS informed, and reconfirmed as needed. I think the world would do better to apply this standard more often. He set me facing the cross with my exposed back to him. Then he ran his hands down my back a few times, and started hitting me.

He was obviously warming up, but even with the lighter strikes, I could start to feel the energy flowing. Obviously there's a fair amount of mechanical energy, but there is so much spiritual or emotional energy being transferred, too. His hits came harder, faster and more varied as I concentrated on my breathing, revelling in each irregular breath that escaped my lungs as he hit me. He moved positions periodically, and used different strokes. He punched near my shoulderblades, the muscles running along my spine, and down to my ass. He used his knees, his feet, his knuckles, anything he had to leave me black and blue.

He leaned into me and grabbed a handful of my dark, tousled hair. Pulled me backwards and turned me around to face him, my tender back against the cross. Instinctively, I closed my eyes. I felt his hand on my face, or my head, again, and knew he wanted me to open my eyes. I remembered this about the first time we played - without speaking a word, he asked me to maintain eye contact with him. So that's what I did.

I met his gaze as he punched both of my breasts with his right hand. I didn't break contact when he stuck a knuckle out in his fist as he struck the fleshy space between my breast and collarbone. The only thing I saw were his eyes as he used both fists to punch both breasts, hard enough to knock me back. I followed him as he moved to my side to strike me with the side of his arm and his enclosed fist.

After the first hit with him on my side, he smirked a little. "Have you been wanting this for a while?" He asked, not entirely incredulously.

I think I managed a nod or a chuckled retort. What I should have said was "Not wanting. Needing."

"Because you look... hungry for this," he said, as his fists met my body again. At that I did almost crack a smile. Because it was all too true. I just didn't realize the look was that plain on my face.

He moved back in front of me, winding up to punch me - hard - with both fists. With the first, I couldn't help but cry out a breathless "Fuck!" as his fists and energy knocked the wind out of me. "We're going to do two more of those, and then we're done, OK?" he said.

I nodded, but there was a part of me that wanted to ask him to keep going. I could feel the release just behind my eyes and held up in my chest. I was pretty confident if he'd hit me a few more times, I would have started crying. Not sobbing, and not because I was hurt, but because I would be able to let go of everything that has been making me so tight and crazy and miserable lately. But he spoke before I did, and I didn't want to ask for anything more.

He hit me twice more, hard, and keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time. As my body stopped resonating from the last strike, I half-stepped, half-fell forward into his arms and we held each other in a tight, warm, electric hug. I took a deep breath and he helped me off the stage. The room wasn't quite spinning, but my feet weren't quite touching the ground, either.

I kept floating like that for a while - a new acquaintance or two offered me hugs, caresses, and conversation. This is another reason that I love the kink community. You might not think it would be the case, but there is so much love and compassion and warmth and understanding within the community, it's almost unparalleled.

As I came down from floating, what T jokingly refers to as my "Bubbles" arrived. I get really happy and hyper and carefree. Again, it might not seem logical, but it's a direct result of (CONSENSUALLY) getting my ass kicked. It lets me let go, give control to someone else for a while, and functions as such a release for so much stress that I just feel infinitely better and lighter afterwards.

And as T and I were talking throughout the rest of the night, there may be other fun adventures in the works, as well. I can't wait to go back.

Of course, I probably SHOULD wait until the bruises heal... See the damage on thursday for HNT.

It feels like we've been here before...

2009-08-25T10:00:00.001-06:00

It's been a while since I've written anything overly personal on here. With my real-world job as a web editor (did I mention that I have a real-world job now? Like, an actual career?), I spend my entire workday staring at a computer screen, so sometimes I'm not overly eager to run home and do the same. I've been trading online interaction for actual, real life socialization. Imagine that!

But there are other reasons for the relative silence of late, too. And I haven't written about them in hopes that they would get better. But, the truth is, they aren't getting better. And I'm starting to feel myself slip down into those dark places I inhabited years ago... And I don't want to do that. In the past, you, dear readers, have been so incredibly helpful and gracious and insightful, that I thought perhaps I would turn to you again.

I've noticed changes in some of my habits. i think some of it is just antsy-ness - this is usually the time of year I would be headed back to school... So it's possible I'm still adjusting to and realizing that this is, in fact, my life. This is not a summer job and a summer apartment and summer flings, but rather the real thing.

Well, in some regards. Of course, it seems the things I wouldn't mind being temporary - the things I wouldn't mind trading out - are the things that are stable, and the things I so desperately want to hang on to are those which are slipping away from me. And it's started getting to me. I'm exhausted all the time. Regardless of how much sleep I get. Waking up is brutal, although I was getting good at waking up at 7am for work without much difficulty in the past month. That has stopped. Of course, when I do fall asleep, it's never through the night. This in and of itself, of course, doesn't mean much, but it seems to be just one part of a series of small problems that add up to something that feels unconquerable. I've gone back to always feeling rather sick - a combination of allergies and near-constant nausea that hasn't been so pervasive since, probably, high school.

If it hasn't been clear from my "frustratingly abstract" (according to Friend) posts, The Optimist is gone. Through no fault of his own, and no fault of mine. The universe decided to throw him a curveball, and he took the good, responsible, compassionate route out. A route that led him, suddenly and without a goodbye, far away from me and his other friends in this state. I don't hold the decision against him in the slightest - actually, quite the opposite. His making this sacrifice confirms my belief that he is this incredible, compassionate, giving person. It makes me respect him that much more. It absolutely supports my fascination with who he is and how he became this truly singular individual.

But his leaving hurt more than I thought it would. I've talked to Nonboyfriend about it - since he and I were in essentially the same boat, being unpleasantly surprised by The Optimist's sudden departure. I felt like (after convincing him that, no, I really wasn't going to turn into some crazy stalker and terrorize his best friend... Because we all know that I do that regularly) he and I could at least identify with each other's heartache. I don't say heartbreak, because that sounds too dramatic. But there is absolutely an ache. And it is palpable. And harder to ignore than I thought it would be. I'm not angry in the least. I am just very simply and without anything else, very sad. It's a pervasive kind of sadness that is at the same time purer than anything else I can remember feeling. I am sad for the loss of the memories I was so looking forward to making. I am sad for the departure of the butterflies that only inhabit my stomach when he's around me. I am sad to not feel that electricity when he touches me. I am sad to not feel his lips on mine and hope my knees don't give out but know even if they did he would catch me - and probably have some perfectly eloquent comment about it. I am sad to not know when I will see his face again. I am sad.

But I believe him (and Nonboyfriend) when they remind me he will be back. I know he will. And he hasn't misled me yet, so I don't expect him to begin now. (Right down to his parting salutation on the phone, which was, verbatim, what I've always told friends I wanted to hear from someone who wasn't sure when the next time they would call might be.) And, again, his reason for leaving is so good and so... HIM... that I couldn't do anything but support it. There was never any other option in my mind. I couldn't not support him. And I hope he knows that. The last thing I would ever want to be or do would be an additional burden for him. That isn't what good friends do, let alone lovers or partners or whatever we were. But it does leave me pining a bit for something I know I can't have. At least right now. And the uncertainty of when I may or may not see him again is eating at me, just a little. It makes it harder to overcome the sadness, because I don't have a set point to look forward to. It's too abstract.

And I know that wound, if that's what we'd call it, is especially fresh. It will caulderize with time... Although I hope my feelings for him don't. I love that I simply cannot have my walls up around him. I love that I feel safe and comfortable and happy knowing he's in my life. I love that he talks to me about life and art and philosophy and also that we can get drunk with my roommates and write haikus about a missing cat. Like I said, he's rather singular. I've never met anyone who affected me the way he does. And just like how it's so easy to get used to sleeping next to someone, and so difficult to get used to sleeping alone (I still sleep on my side of the bed, although I haven't had a regular sleeping-over partner in years), accepting that affectation makes it that much harder to forget about.

And other relationships are suffering as a result. A few nights ago, I completely flaked out on Bear. He was having a rough night and needed someone to talk to, and I just... fell asleep. And I felt so incredibly guilty in the morning. And he's told me that he's not upset, although his tone indicated otherwise. Mostly, though, I just feel awful for being such a shitty friend. My friends deserve better. And usually, I can deliver. I don't know why I couldn't then.

And my best girlfriend, C, is going through some really serious things. I want so badly to be there for her, and it kills me that there's only so much I can do. Going to dinner with her and giving hugs and texting everyday seems so inadequate for how much I love her and how much I want to make her pain disappear. And I know, ultimately, there isn't anything I can do to make it stop, to make it better for her. I just wish there was. But I do know she reads this, so I just want to reiterate, my love, that I am here for any and everything you might need. And I love you more than words, and I only wish there was more I could do. I want to make all this stop for you. I want to fix everything. And I know that I can't. And that just... destroys me.

Maybe that's the best adjective for how I feel right now. I feel destroyed. Not by any single event or person, but I feel just so helpless and out of control, that it's driving me crazy. I'm falling back into old patterns of coping with that loss of control. I don't even know HOW to process these things in a healthier way. And the last thing I want is help, as strange as that might seem. I just want to feel better. I want these things that hurt the people I love to vanish (yes, even when I am one of those things). I don't want any of this. I don't want to feel like this.

another day...

2009-08-24T10:59:00.002-06:00

..and the sadness continues.

Aside: I know this video is ridiculous. I have no idea why Amy Lee is wearing black angel wings. I suppose it's some kind of attempt at post-apocalyptic trailer-park goth? I don't know. Anyway. Ignore the video in and of itself, and I know the song is emo, but I maintain that it's also pretty much gorgeous. And it works for me right now. So that's all I've got.

funny story.

2009-08-22T11:58:00.002-06:00

I don't miss you anymore. I really don't. I think you might be one of the few people I have entirely moved on from. I don't even want you anymore. I don't remember what you smelled like.

I only barely remember what you made me feel like.

And in so many ways, that's such a good thing. You have moved on so completely, and so have I. Of course, your recipient is ohsoclose to you, and mine is - once a-fucking-gain, a thousand miles away. But that's the way it is, I suppose. But it was, I'll admit, hard to bite my tongue when we got into specifics. Because under any other circumstances, we'd be sharing this information. Which in no way means you have to share.... I'm just saying.

But it's funny, because there is a difference. There is a difference in how I feel. There is a difference in what I do. I wouldn't go so far as to say something crazy, but I do feel some kind of strange connection. And I know you do too. In case you forgot that I know you read this. Lovelovelove. I'm not ashamed to say it. It's ALWAYS a good thing to send more love into the universe.

And I won't apologize for it. Especially when I'm pretty sure love is what you most need right now.

Toybox: Corset Vibe

2009-08-20T23:05:00.006-06:00

I LOVE corsets. Part of it is the sub in me, part of it is the Ren Faire nerd in me, part of it is the fashionista that adores the idea of anything that accentuates my tits and minimizes my waist. Brilliant idea!

So, not surprisingly, I was drawn to the Corset Vibe when it appeared in my Babeland Affiliate email.

I was thrilled when the (pleasantly nondescript brown) package arrived at my house about a week later. (Aside: It's impossible to keep your sex blogstress status a secret when you share a house with roommates who are a little suspicious about packages with alliterative psuedonyms as addressees. hah.) Inside the box was surprisingly decorative packaging, and what I discovered is officially called the "Girdle" from Touche. I must admit, I prefer the imagery of a corset over that conjured by the word "Girdle." So I'm going to keep referring to it as the Corset Vibe.

Two important things. The Corset Vibe is 100% silicone and phthalate-free. Yay for no scary chemical molecules making us sick! Of course, since it's silicone, that means NO silicone-based lubes. Melted, gooey silicone vibes are no fun. Especially when they're as good as the Corset Vibe.

The silicone is soft but not slippery, and the vibe itself is bendable, if not entirely prehensile. The folks at Touche have kindly included two AA batteries, which saves the near-obligatory raiding of household battery-run objects. It took me a minute to figure out how to turn the damn thing on (Hint: Hold DOWN the button. Right. I'm college-educated, I swear.), but then it was easy to change the settings - just a single click on the single button on the bottom of the toy.

The Corset Vibe boasts five different vibration patterns... All of which, actually, I like. There are slow, medium, and high constant buzzing, in addition to two differently timed buzzing patterns. (Think buzzbuzz.....buzz. and buzzzz....buzzbuzzbuzz....buzzz.) The slowest/lowest vibration setting was a little soft, even for me, but could definitely be fun for warming up or cooling down. The rhythmic patterns are simply fantastic, with pauses just long enough to keep you aching for the next just as it is delivered.

So of course, the namesake of the vibe comes from the corset-like "lacing" pattern up one side of the shaft of the vibe. I was wondering if these would really make a difference - or even be noticeable - when the vibe was actually inside me. Well, I never got to find out.

I tried, I really did. But the head of the Corset Vibe was just too big to fit comfortably inside me. It's a lovely shape and I'm sure for some people it might work wonderfully - but it felt too snug in me. And my cunt seemed to dull the vibrations - which makes sense, but made me sad because they felt so awesome on my clit. So my only complaint is that the Corset Vibe is too big to fit inside me.

But I LOVE the vibrations it gives off. And while using a dildo-sized toy singularly as a clitoral vibe might seem a little excessive, the speed and variation and intensity of the vibrations are just so PERFECT that the Corset Vibe has become my new favorite vibe.

So, I give it 4 our of 5 stars - because if I could feel those same vibrations in my cunt, I'd imagine they would be even better.

Want your ownCorset Vibe? Check out Babeland, the fabulous, women-friendly and sex-positive place for all things sexy. Check out Babeland online or at their stores in Seattle or New York.

fuck.

2009-08-19T22:46:00.001-06:00

...

........

My heart hurts.

I forgot about THIS part of caring for someone.

Shit.

I'm in love...

2009-08-18T16:19:00.002-06:00

...with Jason Mraz.

All over again.

(Yeah, you can all relax now.)

I started listening to his music back in my freshman year of college, spent in Seattle. My friends and I went to a fabulous concert of his at the Showbox, where a just-before-he-blew-up James Blunt opened. Both Mraz's and Blunt's music is so gorgeously soothing and mellow that it has come to characterize Seattle for me. I can't listen to it without flashing back to fond memories of the people and the places I left back there.

And recently, my best friend from that year tipped me onto Mraz's blog. He's been running a series of posts where he answers questions tweeted to him by fans. This week's installation particularly reminded me why I love him and all of his crazy hippie-zen sex-positivity.

From freshness factor five thousand, first the Tweeter's question, followed by Mraz's response.

klneville2004: What advice do you have for the commitment-phobes?

Assuming your talking about being in a dedicated relationship, if commitment is an issue, odds are there is something you aren’t admitting to yourself. You might have hang-ups or further adventures elsewhere that need attention first. You should talk about EVERYTHING with your partner and see how they handle the REAL truth. He or She will either support you, send you off on your journey, or you two will become even closer and realize that commitment is easy when sharing what’s on your mind. Commitment is listening. Not committing is possessive. To honor your word is to be of good service. Shying away from the truth is to carry a belly full of poison. Flush it out and let freedom ring.

I particularly enjoy that he doesn't equate commitment with monogamy. And I totally agree. While I respect those who associate monogamy with commitment and can be happy and fulfilled in monogamous relationships, I don't think the two are dependent on one another. Commitment is important, but like Mraz says, I think the term says more about honesty than it does about exclusivity. I believe it's entirely possible to be in a committed relationship with more than one person simultaneously. I don't think there's any fundamental contradiction there. In fact, I like to think that's exactly where I've found myself, relationship-wise. It involves making a commitment to be honest with my partners, to (as Mraz suggests) communicate as needed, and to do my best to make them and myself happy.

And none of that hinges on monogamy. Which I think is brilliant.

(Of course, at the same time, it doesn't exclude monogamy, either. I've actually been sincerely impressed with my partners' acceptance of what I need to do/experiment with, monogamy-wise. More on that in the coming weeks.)

Not the doctor

2009-08-11T09:35:00.001-06:00

I don't want to be your idol, see this pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights...

My one-track mind...

2009-08-05T09:00:00.001-06:00

..and how I worry it sometimes hurts people.

Well, maybe not hurts, exactly. But I do have a tendency to get singularly-minded and focus a great deal of my attention and concern on a single area. I like to finish something that I start. If I hear a new band that I like, I want all their music, and I will listen to it on repeat until I know all the lyrics.

It's part of the reason my job as a Web Editor is tough for me - it's so multi-dimensional, and there are so many big things happening simultaneously that I can't ever finish any single "project" in a day. That can get frustrating.

So, too, I'd imagine, can being my friend when I'm really excited about someone or something. I've realized that the past few weeks, my personal posts have all focused on The Optimist. And, indeed, he is becoming a consistent part of my life. I love that. I love that he's in my life and he honestly fascinates and excites me in myriad ways.

But there are other people in my life, too. People who, maybe, are a little more unsung. Perhaps it means I take them for granted, but especially in regard to one, I feel he's been making an effort to be more present in my life lately, and I haven't acknowledged it as openly as I should. I suppose affections and obsessions wax and wane naturally, but I'm pretty sure it's been a while since I've written a post really talking about Friend. (Who, rightfully so, points out that his nickname is the least inventive of those I am or have been involved with. I still contend that's primarily because he is first, foremost, and always, my friend.)

As a refresher, I've known him for a long time, and we've been sleeping together, on-and-off (off when I was out of town or when I test out monogamy, not because we're fighting) for a couple years. He is very, very smart, and some of my favorite memories with him are conversations we've had where we get in often one-sided debates railing on the uneducated masses. (Snobbery, you say? Never!) Especially when we are together, we are exceedingly silly. He is one of the few people in my life I can always count on to cheer me up when I need to take my mind off something by just being goofy. A week ago or so when he came over for dinner, we found ourselves playing in the rain in a sweetly romantic gesture.

All of these attributes aren't anything new, though. They are things that have always and continue to attract me to him. I love and appreciate them. What I wanted to recognize is what seems to have changed, especially since I've moved back after graduation.

Sometimes, when I was home for summers or vacations or whatever reason, I would get frustrated with Friend's seemingly inherent flakyness. It never felt malicious, it was just kind of... saddening when we would have plans and he just wouldn't show or he would fall of the face of the earth conveniently for the week I was home. I talked to him about it on various ocassions, and while he would apologize where appropriate, I didn't see any change right away. I had recently resolved to just stop letting it bother me. It was, I figured, part of his personality, and therefore part of our relationship. I could deal.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed him making - what feels like, at least - an increased effort to include me. It's nothing major, but they are those little things that I really appreciate. If he's running late or has to cancel on our plans, he'll shoot me a text. Whereas I've historically been the one to ask him to hang out, there have been several cases recently where he called me and wanted to see me, not the other way around. A few nights ago, he called me up to come help him build some things for work. Admittedly, he needed an extra hand, but it was still nice to feel like he'd thought of me. It was nice to feel included in a part of his life that's normally cordoned off for me.

(It's important here that he's not the only one cordoning off areas of his life. I do the same thing, and as such our times together are necessarily usually just the two of us. We are, essentially, one another's secondary partners. Other partners know about each other, but only in an abstract sense, for the most part.)

The past few times we've spent time together, actually, there hasn't been anything particularly sexual about it. Which, as strange as it might seem, makes it feel MORE like a relationship, not less. I'm not sure entirely WHY that is, but that's the result that often seems to happen.

Regardless, the point is that he's been making an effort. And it has meant something to me. And I haven't mentioned it. So now I am. Because it's awesome. And appreciated. Much love, Gun. ;-)

Workday procrastination

2009-08-04T12:20:00.003-06:00

Ah, the things I stumble upon when I'm scanning the blogosphere for work.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Via OMG! blog.

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

The Great Nationwide Kiss-In

2009-07-31T15:11:00.001-06:00

I don't usually get overly political here, but this is something I'm excited about, and want to spread the word to as many people as possible.

In response to three different incidents across the country where queer couples have been harassed (and, in one case, arrested) for kissing in public, we're holding Kiss-Ins. Throughout the entire country.

And I'm REALLY excited about it. I know there are other, maybe more important issues on the table right now, but this is something I care about, and something I think should be such a basic, no-brainer right that it matters that it's not. Of COURSE we should be able to kiss those we love. In public. Without being harassed. Or arrested.

So that's what we're going to do. On August 15th, at noon Mountain time (that's 11a on the West coast, 2p on the East coast), we're going to kiss. In public. So bring someone you love, and go here to find out where your nearest Kiss-In will be.

HNT: Satin III

2009-07-29T22:00:00.000-06:00

This is the last of the HNT photos The Pilot took when he was here last month.

I suppose that's fitting. I haven't written about it, but my Relationship with The Pilot is... well, it's over. We're negotiating our way back into a friendship, but that is a process. It's a process I think we're capable of accomplishing... but it will take some work.

So, mention of The Pilot will likely be somewhat more sparse. It isn't his fault, and it isn't anything terrible. It's just the way it is.

But here is another shot he took. And I know it's similar to another I've posted before, but the angle is a little different, and I think it's rather beautiful. So is he.

HHNT!

Quote of the weekend

2009-07-26T02:16:00.002-06:00

Compliments of my roommate... at about 1am, as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, we were discussing what my role was with her toddler daughter (who I help take care of when I can).

Roommate: Well, you can't be an auntie, because all of her aunties are old lesbians!
Me: Yeah, but when I grow up, I wanna be an old lesbian, too!
Roommate: You're not going to be an old lesbian, you're going to be an old... sex fiend!

I love living here. SO. MUCH.

HNT: Classic

2009-07-23T09:30:00.004-06:00

This is another HNT that's a little bit old school. I actually took it in Spain last fall, so it's almost a year old. I don't particularly remember why I took it, although I think there's a possibility it was to send to Edward. (Ick.)

In any case, I don't have anything exceedingly exciting or special to say about it, but it definitely is half-nekkid!

HHNT!

Toybox: Slippery stuff

2009-07-23T07:00:00.001-06:00

My cunt is a sensitive creature, apparently. I realized a few years ago that the reason sex with condoms was often uncomfortable for me was because I was allergic to something in them. I first thought it was the latex, but then realized that it was only SOME latex condoms to which I would have a negative reaction. So, like any enterprising, proud slut, I figured out which types of condoms DIDN'T cause a reaction. And only bought those.

Of course, those ended up being the more expensive and tough-to-find styles, and meant that I ALWAYS had to provide the condom in my encounters. Which can get annoying after a while. And really sucked if, after a particularly rough or lengthy sack session, a partner wasn't done and we wanted to switch condoms, but I didn't have any more.

Or in one particularly memorable instance, where I had two men who both wanted to fuck me... And only one condom to which I wasn't allergic. Weak sauce.

I had similar trouble finding lubes that didn't result in a similar allergic reaction... And yes, of course my first instinct was to go to the doctor and get checked out to make sure it wasn't an STI or anything of the like causing the discomfort. Nope. Clean. Just a fussy cunt. Thanks, body.

So I had just resolved myself to always having to be well-stocked on my upper-echelon condoms. And if I wasn't? Or if a condom or myself needed more lube? Well, that was just too damn bad, wasn't it?

And then came Slippery Stuff. I added it to my Wish List at VibeReview because other reviewers had said it was essentially hypo-allergenic. I figured it couldn't hurt to try a tester, right?

The lovely folks at VibeReview sent me a 4 oz. bottle in my super-sexy package along with several other products. In a habit I picked up from countless trips to the sex store and discussions with Essin 'Em, the first thing I did was put some of the lube on the back of my hand, and taste it.

Slippery Stuff claims to be odorless and tasteless, and while the odorless part isn't quite true (it kind of smells like kid's bubble solution, actually), it really doesn't have much of a taste. Well, it tastes like nothing, is what I mean. I wouldn't drink it with a straw, but it's just a sort of non-flavor. No gross saccharine flavors masking too much glycerin. In fact, Slippery Stuff is totally glycerin-free. And water-based. Which means it's compatible with condoms. Which is awesome.

Because it's a water-based lube, it is a little runny. Be prepared to pour it like water, because it will get all over the place. But that's OK in my book. There are times when adding a little extra mess isn't the worst thing in the world. Slippery Stuff doesn't dry sticky, although it does have a WEIRD stringy property. With a few drops on the back of my hand, each time I tapped a finger into it, I got several strings connecting the finger to my hand. Kind of like when you used to get those obnoxious strings of hot-glue off an otherwise perfectly round blob of glue. (No, I wasn't neurotic as a kid, why do you ask? Why, WHY, dammit?) Even so, it didn't leave my hand (or anywhere else on my body) particularly sticky. Which is much appreciated.

As for its actual lubrication qualities... Well, I should point out that I don't usually need or use lube when I'm alone. I suppose it's my cunt's way of making up to me the allergy - I don't usually need extra lubrication. But in the past, the condoms and lubes I have been allergic to have actually sapped away my natural moisture, leaving me physically uncomfortable... Which is just some sort of cruel joke.

Slippery Stuff didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, I did actually feel wetter, and the lube itself stayed moist much longer when I was actually using it than it did playing with it on my hand. It was silky and smooth and wet and lovely. The only complaint I have is that it made my glass dildo almost too slippery. There are worse things.

I would absolutely recommend this lube for anyone else who's had trouble with lubrication or finding products they aren't allergic to. I was particularly on the look-out for any kind of adverse reaction, and I had none at all. For that alone (even without the other great attributes), I give Slippery Stuff...

5 out of 5 stars

If you'd like your own bottle, or to read more reviews of Slippery Stuff, click here. If you just feel like exploring VibeReview (which I also highly recommend), check them out!

Fiction

2009-07-21T22:00:00.002-06:00

I couldn't stop looking at you. I couldn't stop myself from melting into your arms. It's a miracle I managed to keep my heart inside my chest each time you touched me. I don't think you have any idea how you affect me.

Because I notice the way your eyes flash when you look at me. How they're smoldering and cool all at once, and I know you see mine turn greener every time you mention my name. And I see the way you smirk at me when you think I don't know what's on your mind. Or maybe that's when you know I do know. Exactly what you're thinking.

And I can't get enough of the way your mouth just makes me melt. Everything about it - your kisses, with your soft, full lips that find such perfect rhythm with mine so easily. Your tongue, and the way it explores my mouth and my body and makes me shiver in anticipation. Your words, and the way they are so beautiful and eloquent and perfect that they can't be real. Because no one speaks like that in real life. No one is so cool and collected and graceful and simultaneously selfless and giving. That only happens in fiction.

And it must be fiction, the way our bodies collide and you wrap me in your arms. It must be fiction, how I can feel your whole body lean into the kisses you lavish on me and yet always leave me wanting more. Nothing you do is single-handed. All of it seems to incorporate your entire body, your entire being...

And it makes too much sense to be ironic when you tell me you take things hard and slow. The explanation proves too confoundingly true to be fact. The things you say to me must be fictional. The way you move inside me must be the stuff of fantasies, and not of this dreary realism we call home. Your beauty and your persistent optimism are too free of irony and naiveté to survive this place. Maybe to survive me. But at the same time, it's so infectious that I hear myself second-guess my negativity.

Your sincerity is too poetic to be composed. Everything I've seen you do is poetry.

Like when you throw me to the bed and don't for a second let our lips part. Or you pull away and I can feel both our flushed skin, and see your eyes radiating in the dark. Some mysterious color that no name would do justice to. It's all passion and intelligence and perfection and fiction because it couldn't possibly be reality. And when you slide your mouth down my body and don't bother stopping to ask permission and before I can protest, my hands are tangled at the sheets, grasping for anything to hold onto my grip on reality. Then you are relentless in your efforts, and suddenly you have control of my body and are pushing all the right buttons at the same time you're only pushing one and the room explodes and leaves just you and I. Me panting and floating, you smiling and gloating.

So I'll bring you to me because when it comes to you, insatiable doesn't begin to cover my appetite. There is, quite simply, nothing else on the menu, no other nourishment, when you are here. Everything before and everything after ceases to exist. There is only you and I and the only thing I can focus on is your skin on mine and the electric charge that comes from that contact, and hearing you say those beautiful, violent, obscene words with such eloquence and unrestrained passion that I can't believe it exists.

How to never be wrong about Gays.

2009-07-21T14:06:00.002-06:00

Via Joe.My.God.

Funniest thing I saw all day at work.

Toybox: The Magnificent Vibrating Glove

2009-07-20T20:06:00.007-06:00

OK. I'll admit it. I was pretty excited about getting my first package from VibeReview. I mean, the ability to test toys is probably one of the biggest perks of being a sex blogger. (In case you were wondering, you, dear readers, are the BEST part.) I was even more thrilled when I received a large, pleasantly discreet package at my door. My roommates didn't ask any questions about it, and the address is just a "Shipping Department" in Jersey, so anyone worried about being embarrassed openly buying toys needn't worry.

So you can imagine how elated I was when I found not one, not two, but FOUR products in that package. That's right, the lovely people at VibeReview really hooked me up for my first set of products to review. All of the items were on my Wish List, and there was a nice variety of products. I haven't gotten a chance to test them all out just yet, but don't worry... I will.

The first product out of that box was the Magnificent Vibrating Glove from Fukuoku. I had tried one of these gloves on once at a convention, but never used one myself.

So, I have to start with the obvious. I think it looks a little bit silly. The glove has a large palm and short fingers, which is precisely the opposite of the way my hand is shaped. Additionally, The wrist of the glove (where the battery pack is also attached) has elastic in it that was borderline too tight on my arm. Then again, maybe my strangely-shaped hands meant that band fell in a strange place. I appreciate that the glove is black and relatively unobtrusive, as far as black neoprene-type gloves go. Oh, and? IT'S WATERPROOF. Even the battery case (which includes the three AAA batteries, huzzah!) is totally waterproof. The Glove can be cleaned with soap and water, but CAN NOT be mashine-washed. Well, everything has it flaws.

On each of the fingers and the thumb are attached what feels like an oval-shaped plate which vibrates. This means that you still have complete movement of each finger and can place those vibrations wherever you want. The battery pack is attached to the inside wrist, and attached to that pack is the on/off switch. The Magnificent Vibrating Glove has two settings (well, three if you include "off"): I'd call them high and higher.

The vibrations themselves are subtle and buzzy. I personally like stronger, more rhythmic vibrations, at least to get me going. Because of that, it was a little tough to get myself off with the glove by itself. The high-intensity (although notably quiet) vibrations were borderline over-stimulating for me at any other time than immediately before I come. For that, though, they were GREAT. The highest setting is faster than any other toys I have, so is a great way to push myself over the edge. To be fair, the packaging brags that at the highest speed, each fingertip vibrates at approximately 45,000 vibrations per minute. And that's about what it feels like.

Again, the vibrations were nice, but a little too consistent for me. And those 45K vpm make your entire finger buzz... Which is a strange feeling, in my opinion. So while I have to admit that the Magnificent Vibrating Glove may not become my new favorite sex toy, it is AWESOME as a massager. Like, an actual massager. For sore muscles. I used it on an angry cramp in my calf, and it was like the soreness melted away. That in and of itself means it's a product worth having.

I also think the Glove would be great for people (or couples or threesomes or moresomes) who want a less-intrusive sex-toy. Because the glove fits over your hand (duh), the movements seem more organic and more directly connected to yourself or your partner(s). It's definitely less intimidating than a <massive, vibrating dildo, for example.And it IS a fun toy. It's not perfect, but I'm absolutely glad to have it in my repetiore.

3 out of 5 stars.

If you'd like your own Magnificent Vibrating Glove, you can find it here at VibeReview. Or, if you'd like to see any of the other fabulous, sexy products from this great, sex-positive company, check out VibeReview.com. You won't be left wanting. Promise.

Adventures in sexting

2009-07-17T10:36:00.006-06:00

I've written before about how I'm kind of awkward trying to say anything coherent or sexy during sex. I don't do phone sex because I'm afraid of sounding like a cheesy porno. But sexting (or sex messaging)? That I can do. I posted a series of sext messages from The Scientist a month or so ago.

Well, because I'm a lucky girl, (and, who knows, maybe you all are lucky readers,) I have more super hot sext messages that I got permission to post. The Pilot sent these to me a few weeks ago. He was mentioning that he was proud of them, but didn't really know how to show them off. I, of course, willingly offered him a place to do so. He made an effort to keep each paragraph to the 160-character limit imposed by his phone, so I'll post them as such.

Which makes me think, perhaps we should start using Twitter to post erotica. Yesss... TwittErotica. Maybe this means I'll be getting a Twitter for this blog. We'll see. Not sure how many I can consecutively handle.

Anyway, without further ado, The Pilot's sext fantasy:

The sun still lights the sky from behind the mountains, casting a warm glow on your white-clad form as you cross the yard to meet me.

You're wearing the now-iconic dress and the heavy glass pendant but I'm more interested in the smiling lips and gorgeous dark eyes that are now radiant with joy.

You grab me in what must be the hardest embrace you can and whisper "I missed you" into my shoulder. "You too," I smile, pinned against the car

as I return the hug with equal intensity. "I hear there's free drinks downstairs..." I quip, and you smirkingly take the hint.

Your roommates know what's up and keep the greetings brief and in minutes I'm listening to the pavlovian click of your door being locked.

Not even a breath later, you're against the wall with my hand on your neck and my lips pressed to yours. After a long kiss, I let my hand slide down between

your perfect tits, ending with one finger on your chest. "Stay" I quietly command, and move your chair sideways. "What...?" you start to say, but I'm kissing

you again as I guide you to the chair. "Ohh." You smile coyly as you wriggle onto the arm, your hips moving suggestively to meet the wall behind you.

"I knew you'd figure it out" I say, and kneel in front of you, slowly running my hands up the insides of your legs coaxing them wider and pulling your dress

along for the ride. I narrowly miss the hot mound between them, teasing a desperate whimper out of you as I stop at your hips and dig my thumbs into the

secret buttons I know are hidden there. Gradually releasing pressure, I begin to slide back down your silky legs, this time "accidentally" hooking

my fingers into your panties. With a little cooperation on your part, they're soon sylistically complimenting the rug behind me- leaving your pussy deliciously exposed.

You're already wet, and I can feel the heat radiating from you long before my fingers touch your soft flesh. You let out a moan and hurredly fumble

with my pants. My belt thuds to the floor and we share a chuckle before lapsing back into heavy breathing. My pants and underwear join your panties,

and before I know it, your beautifully feminine hand is caressing my raging hardon. Conscious thought momentarily pauses and I find myself gripping your

neck to keep from falling over. You choke out a gasp and forget to jerk me off just long enough for me to refocus on you. I let your hot cunt go and move my

hand behind your hips, pulling them away from the wall and towards my desperately erect cock. Moving slowly closer, I move the hand at your neck down to my cock,

guiding the head to just barely touch your cunt. "Hey" I get your attention with a lustful kiss and your dark eyes lock mine as I slowly lean into you...

Inch by inch my cock disappears into your hot, lathered hole. The feeling of your muscles tightening around me makes me growl with pleasure and I have to catch

myself with your neck again. I want to stop for a moment, to savor the feeling, but your hips drive into me as your hands find their way to my taut ass,

pulling me into you. I pause for a second and you dig your nails in, forcing me deeper and making me squeeze your neck indignantly. Not that I can resist for long.

Our rhythms begin to sync; my hand behind your hips and your nails on my ass lock us together and I fall forward, biting your neck around my tightened hand.

By now we're both panting with animal lust, sweating and grinding against each other in the frantic throes of lovemaking that's been denied for months.

As the room shrinks to only you and I, I start to feel the rush of the impending explosion building at the base of my cock and my thrusts take on a new urgency.

I can tell you're as close as I am from the short, gasping breaths that you're stealing through the hand on your neck and the palpable pulsing of your cunt

muscles. It's finally too much and my whole body tenses as I shoot hot cum deep into your clenching, dripping cunt.

My hips thrust rythmically of their own accord, driving my pulsing cock as deep as it will go. I can feel you gripping me with every movement, encircling my

solid erection in slick, throbbing heat. Your own frantic motions drag a breathless "ohfuckohfuckOHFUCKFUCK...FUCK!!!" from your lips. Your back arches

and my skin burns behind your raking fingernails, proving without words that Oh yes, it WAS good for you. Our breath comes in ragged gasps and through the tingling

semi-blackout of our shared orgasm I am only dimly aware of the juices soaking both of us from the hips down. Breathing slows, muscles relax, and after a few

breaths, I slowly, languidly slide out of you, lingering with each tiny sensation of skin on cum-slicked skin. I smirk and murmur into your neck

"I think we're gonna need a towel." A euphoric "Ha!" is all you can manage before sighing deeply and slouching into my arms. "But first, let's do it again," I grin.

my night inside a chick flick

2009-07-14T20:52:00.006-06:00

I shouldn't have listened to my insecurities. I shouldn't have worried so much. I shouldn't have been so pessimistic about it. Although, I guess that's the thing about optimism, is it always seems that much more striking in the face of such persistent negativity.

But I should have known better than to think I could resist. Not that I really wanted to. Or wanted to at all, in fact. Because just like I remembered, as soon as he smiled at me, I was disarmed. And I think I made it an entire five minutes before I just HAD to kiss him again. What can I say? I had to see if it lived up to what I remembered.

And, good lord. Did it. He put his hand along my jaw, just barely grazing my neck, and pulled me into his kiss. And just like I remembered doing, I melted. Urgency increased, his grip around my body strengthened, and we found ourselves falling into my bed. Or maybe it was the lounge chair in my room. I really couldn't say - I was already floating away.

I didn't used to be this way. What I mean is, I haven't been this way before. Where someone's kiss literally makes me weak in the knees. Clouds my head and distracts me from everything else I should be doing and where I should be going and who I should be seeing. But that's what happens. I forget there's anything else, and focus on the butterflies. Damn butterflies. Sneaking up on me like that.

At some point, we remembered that we had places to go and people to meet and time to spend together. So we walked, hand in hand, to the neighborhood bar to meet my roommates for a drink.

When the spontaneous evening plans we had fell through, we turned the car around and headed back to town. "We could take a walk around the lake near my house, if you wanted," I suggested. He agreed, recommended we grab a bottle of wine for the stroll. A bottle of wine became a bottle of champagne to accompany the perfectly warm night. And the stroll became finding an outcropping of grass and sitting near the water's edge, looking at the stars and the city lights.

Over champagne we shared secrets and laughter and those kinds of conversations that only come about when you're really interested in what the other person is saying. I kept looking from the city buildings to the sky which had cleared itself of clouds ("Just like I knew it would. I knew it would be a beautiful night," he tells me, without irony.) then back to him and I can't believe how often he's smiling at me. And how all of this seems so surreal and cinematically perfect.

Like when I suggest I want to go spin, and he stands up with me and takes my hands and we spin in circles until we're giggling and collapse on top of each other. And he kisses me in the grass until I'm breathless again and then helps me up.

We strolled back to the car, his fingers intertwined with mine. I drove us back to my house, where my roommates were drinking and listening to music. They greeted us with broad, warm smiles, told us how happy they were that we were back early. By the time I'd returned with our drinks, he was already engaged in conversation with my roommates, who seemed to be enjoying his company nearly as much as I was. ("Beautiful social graces," was my roommate's term for how open and inviting he was, and how he brought conversation out of even my quietest roommate.)

I lost track of what, exactly they were talking about, because the conversation went on for at least an hour. If there was any break in the flow, I didn't see it. As I stopped buzzing around the house and returned to the party, he situated himself near me, and put his hand around my waist. We stole a kiss here and there, and eventually excused ourselves. I blamed the need to wake up for work in the morning.

I stepped out before he did, so I sat down on the grass outside and stared up at the stars again. Took a deep breath, and couldn't stop smiling a smile I felt through my entire body. He followed a minute or two later. Kneeling in front of me on the grass, he murmured, "do you have ANY idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you in there?"

"Well, why did you, then?" I asked.

And with that, he was on top of me. Kissing me hard, and passionately, and so perfectly that I could do nothing but melt into him.

And the best part? None of this is fiction.

HNT: Hardwired

2009-07-08T22:00:00.001-06:00

I'll let you in on a little secret: my neck is one of the most highly sensitive erogenous zones on my body. I've known it for a long time, and so have my partners - it's a pretty clear indicator when I begin melting as soon as someone starts kissing my neck. Start biting, and you'll have me whimpering.

And, as The Pilot has learned recently, the fastest way to turn me into a puddle of desire? Put your hand around my neck. And start squeezing. Because, as it turns out, my neck seems to be pretty damn well hardwired directly to my clit. It's a fun tool for things bordering on orgasm control, too... because it's such an incredibly effective way to tease me.

There might be an entry forthcoming about how The Pilot learned to use this to his advantage to an extent I've never experienced, but we'll see. That memory might be just too juicy to share.

In the meantime, though, enjoy this preview:

HHNT!

It all makes sense now...

2009-07-06T22:18:00.002-06:00

I stopped by my mother's house today, and as she was helping me get the cat and dog fur off my little black dress, her boyfriend made a joke. I was standing with my back to her, and she was using the sticky-roller to remove fur from my ass.

"It's been a while since you've gotten a whuppin', isn't it?" asked the boyfriend about me.

My mom went on to explain: "The last time she got a 'whupping,' she was four. And I spanked her, and afterwards, she turned around and gave me a hug and said 'Thank you.'"

My response? "Wow, foreshadowing, much?"

And then we all busted out laughing.

Boycott love

2009-07-03T22:28:00.002-06:00

Happy 4th of July, everyone!

My favorite holiday.

"If I'm just bad news...

2009-07-03T15:01:00.002-06:00

... then you're a liar."

If you're going to tell me you believed what they said, then you weren't who I thought you were.

But then again, I guess I didn't turn out to be who we thought I'd be, either. And I apologize for that disappointment. I apologize for getting carried away and seeing things that weren't there. I guess I was so eager to see everything go well for once that I jumped the gun. And did silly things like I did.

"They said don't, don't let it go to your head..."

But I refuse to believe everything was made up. I'm not entirely delirious. I haven't fallen that far down. Because we both know that I'm NOT always such terrible news. Not anymore. Hell, you've even seen me smile. And sure, things aren't always running as smoothly as they could, but I refuse to acknowledge that as entirely my fault. I actually think I've done a pretty decent job of carving a life out of these ruins.

"You're a touch overrated, you're a lush and I hate it, but these grass stains on my knees, they won't mean a thing.."

Of course, you never really even saw the ruins. They were there long before you. And I should have known that what we created out of them would still be standing long after you. Or rather, I should have recognized that there would BE a time after you. It's not as scary as I thought it might be, not as dark. Although I guess dreams which build up so quickly and with such intensity burn out in the same fashion.

"Maybe I should hate you for this - never really did ever quite get that."

Maybe it's because it had such striking beauty while it lasted. Well, you did. No, scratch that. WE did. We were beautiful for those moments. That's all they were, really, when you compare it against a backdrop of an entire lifetime. There isn't much that really is significant. And maybe that's why there's just a dull ache, and not the sharp, stabbing pain of loss. It's all just a memory now anyway.

To be honest, I'm not sure it was ever anything more.

HNT: Satin II

2009-07-01T22:05:00.000-06:00

I don't have a special reason for posting this one this week, but it is one of my favorites. Again, compliments of The Pilot - he arranged this, also, what with the positioning of the satin and what not.

HHNT, everyone!

Babeland's got Pride!

2009-06-30T14:39:00.003-06:00

In celebration of the Stonewall Riots that took place 40 years ago, Babeland is offering a whopping 40% discount off their most popular toys! Click here to see the awesome products and fabulous discounts available.

But act fast! The offer is only good while supplies last!

Even if you aren't looking for the most popular items at Babeland, they've got a special deal going on - with any purchase, you'll get three FREE Babeland condoms if you enter the code PRIDE09. And hey, who doesn't love free stuff?

For those of you who don't know, Babeland is a fantastic, sex-positive toy company, both online and in stores. Go, shop, be satiated. :)

We're here, we're queer, we're fabulous, don't fuck with us!

2009-06-30T11:03:00.007-06:00

This past weekend was Pride here in my hometown. It's always one of my favorite times of the year - I love summer here in general, largely because there are so many festivals. And Pride, of course, is like one of those festivals... taken over entirely by teh gehys. Really, it's a queer takeover of downtown. And while I do love the festival and the parade, both seemed a little tamer this year than years past. The festival, in particular, felt more like any other fair held downtown, just with more rainbows.

In any case, though, Pride this year was no bust. My favorite part is the parties, and there was no shortage there. Friday night found myself and my roommate at a women's party, where I'd gotten comped admission so I could interview New York-based lesbian hip-hop and soul duo God-des and She. They were friendly, talkative, and, oh yeah, really sexy. I was so excited to meet them, and even more excited to watch them perform. They put on a wonderful show, and the crowd really seemed to love them. My roommate and I had a great time at the party, and she seemed genuinely glad to get out of the house for a girl's night on the town. Oh, yeah, and she got hit on. And kissed. It was a good night.

Saturday I covered the state's first-ever Dyke March, interviewing attendees (and Dykes on Bikes), listening to speeches, and running into the lovely Essin' Em and her partner, Q. I always love seeing her, and I've been looking forward to meeting Q since Em is always speaking so highly of her, I was just sorry that I had to cover the event as a journo and therefore couldn't really hang out with them.

That did make this year's Pride an interesting experience. Everything except for the party on Sunday was part of something I was covering for my magazine, so I felt I had to maintain a relatively professional demeanor. That meant just one drink at the party on Friday night, and wandering around awkwardly and approaching random people at the Dyke March. I wouldn't say it exactly hindered my enjoyment of Pride this year, but it certainly changed the way I experienced it. But the money will be much appreciated when it comes in a few weeks.

Sunday was my day off from professional capacities. I made it downtown just in time to watch the entire parade and meet up with The Pilot's younger brother, who had never been to Pride before. It was fun to show him around, and we got along more easily than I thought we would have. We knew each other casually from years ago, but haven't spoken in easily over a decade. I know he, like The Pilot, can have a tendency to be a little shy (as, actually, can I), so I made an effort to be a little more outgoing than I usually am. I think he had a good time - he also joined me for a BBQ back at my and my roommates' house. Where, lo and behold, Friend also stopped by! (I say this mostly teasingly because he and I have a tendency to go several weeks without seeing one another, despite living only a few miles from each other.) The BBQ went well, although I had to leave early to go to the official Pride afterparty, where, thanks to my fabulous coworkers at the magazine, I was VIP, as was my date, The Scientist.

The afterparty was, like last year, held at a club downtown with a great rooftop bar. As VIPs, we had a cordoned-off area, complete with bottle service. A few of my coworkers were there, and they seemed so genuinely happy to see me that I was really quite flattered. They said incredibly nice things to me, and insisted that they're sure I have the full-time job I've been gunning for at the magazine. (I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief and publisher next week to discuss my salary... so it's promising, but I'm not willing to believe anything until I sign some paperwork.) The party started early in the evening, and being that the sun doesn't go down until nearly 9pm lately, sitting on the rooftop probably didn't help my sunburn, which I began work on earlier that day, standing in the sun for nearly an hour and a half watching the parade. People kept commenting about it, asking if I'd ever heard of sunscreen. I have, of course, and I usually don't burn quite this badly. Oh well. It's already tanning out in all but the worst areas. I'll survive, I think.

In any case, The Scientist and I had a nice time at the party - it was mostly laid back, and we got a chance to talk, he met my coworkers, all around good things. Of course, being that I was in a good mood, I was due for something to screw it up. Cue...

Edward.

Yes, you read correctly. Edward. Of 70+ phone calls and twice as many texts and a few emails and facebook messages. I swear he has some sort of radar for when I'm happy. Since all that insanity back in March and April, I have blocked his number, blocked him on facebook and any other social networking sites, and I hadn't heard from him until about a month ago.

It was the night I was meeting The Scientist's friends, and about halfway through the night, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me someone had broken into her house (where I also used to live). Nothing was missing, but they were still calling the police. And the only things they found rearranged were in my bedroom. And whoever it was made their entry through the basement, which was where Edward used to spend most of his time when he was at our house (which was often... As I said, he's been in my/my family's lives for 10 years.) It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Edward had sent me a facebook message about a week before (I hadn't realized that I hadn't blocked his sending messages), which was about the same time frame as when he showed up at my mother's house right before I graduated. So we don't technically have any proof that it was him, and since nothing was stolen, we couldn't do more than file a report, but I can tell you that it terrified me to be back in that house the next day. (I stopped by to assess the situation, I don't live there.) I am essentially convinced that it was him, because there's no one else I can think of who it could have been. I was hoping that when he went in my room and saw that it is very obviously not lived in (no clothes in the closet, bed covered in cat fur, nothing on the dresser), he would give up and at least believe that I really don't live there anymore.

And I didn't hear from him again until Sunday. He called me four times in the course of an hour. He was calling from someone else's phone. He left a message each time. In the third message, which was the nastiest, he actually implied that perhaps I just didn't have his number anymore, so he left it again. Of course, that also functions as evidence that that was NOT the number he was calling from. He didn't say anything directly threatening, but did swear at me some more and tell me how it's so obvious that I never gave a fuck about him. And he told me he was coming into town "pretty soon here." Which is just vague enough to be rather terrifying.

And I hate that I get so skittish when he calls. I didn't answer any of the calls, because thanks to him, I don't ever answer numbers I don't know. If it's someone who knows me, they'll leave a message and I'll call them right back. But just hearing his voice on the messages (which I've copied onto my digital voice recorder, as evidence should I need it), hearing his tone change from pained to angry to that sleazy, faux-pained manipulative tone I recognize all too well, really throws me. I was Skyping with The Pilot last night, and I eventually had to hang up because I was just so upset and I didn't want him to see me all curled up and teary-eyed and pathetic.

I'm not really sure what to do at this point. I am a little scared to do anything active, like get a restraining order. I'm worried that would provoke him further, and it's not like my holding a piece of paper in his face is going to stop him from hurting me if he wants to. My current address isn't listed anywhere, and the only people who know where I live are close friends and family, all of whom know about the situation and understand the need for secrecy. But I was reading over some resources The Pilot looked up for me online, and one of the recurring themes about how to deal with being stalked was to tell people. So, dear readers, I'm telling all of you. I've kept some of the details and events quiet over the past few months, but I felt I should update everything now. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I can rationalize that he probably isn't really dangerous, but his persistence makes me nervous. And I hate that. I hate being scared in my own city, where there are so many great things and beautiful people who I love so much.

And there's only so much anonymity I can assume. I'm a writer. I refuse to publish under a pseudonym (well, aside from here, but I mean for paying jobs), and I refuse to let my fear of Edward totally run my life. It helps that he doesn't know where I live. But I hate that he seems so fucking determined to contact me. The Scientist and The Pilot have both suggested I change my phone number, but, again, I have contacts, professional and personal, who have my current number. Changing it would involve calling all of those people and explaining the situation, and it's so fucking frustrating. And terrifying.

The night Edward called, I got sufficiently sauced (The Scientist and I took a cab back to my place), and The Scientist stayed with me, so sleep wasn't as nerve-wracking as it sometimes is. Last night, I took some Tylenol PM to knock myself out so I could sleep without freaking out and waking up at every car that drives by my window. But if this continues, I'm really not sure what to do. It's draining and I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it before it takes an even more significant toll on my life, my happiness, and my ability to trust people.

On the absence.

2009-06-25T23:00:00.000-06:00

I apologize. Once again. For my absence of late. I can't really explain it. I just haven't felt up to blogging lately. But I HAVE been thinking a lot about sex. Yes, I know, what else is new.

The week The Pilot spent with me was particularly emotional, for both of us. We did a lot of talking, a lot of drinking, and, well, a lot of everything. All of it was needed, and I think we're in a good place now, but it was hard for me, in a lot of ways. Don't get me wrong, it was also wonderful, and loving, and sexy and a million other things, but I guess I wasn't entirely prepared for the emotionality that came with his visit. I learned quite a bit about The Pilot, but also a lot about myself. I don't know whether to say I've totally recovered from all of that yet. So I'm just going to list some of the things I've discovered as of late. I'm sorry for the lack of inspiration here, but I guess these are things I need to get out of my system before I can move forward, and hopefully get myself out of this funk in time for Pride celebrations this weekend.

I am not broken. At least, not anymore. I've written before about the fact that, beginning a few years ago, I've had a particularly difficult time climaxing with partners. It didn't seem to be something physical, as I could get myself off, but there seemed to be some kind of emotional block or something. It hasn't been as pervasive lately, but I've still wondered if I would ever regain the ability I used to have to have several orgasms in a given session.

Answer: Yes. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Yes. Perhaps one of my favorite things about The Pilot is how willing he is to indulge and experiment with me and just roll with the result. In this case, he found a few of my buttons, and learned to press them long enough and in the right ways to get me off. Five times. In a row. I'm pretty sure that's never happened before. He seemed pretty proud of himself, and I think he certainly had good reason to be. Needless to say, I was an illiterate, malleable puddle of girl by the time he was done with me. I couldn't even form a sentence, let alone any of my signature snarky, self-confident comebacks.

But, as we learned another night, there is a limit. And my being unbroken doesn't mean I don't also freak out sometimes. I freaked out HARD. It wasn't particularly anything he did, but my head was somewhere else. And then I just stopped and floated away. My head wasn't in the moment, and my body doing something my head wasn't up to speed with just shut me down entirely. The Pilot was good about asking me what I needed and listening when I finally was able to speak (or even acknowledge that he was speaking to me) again, but it was a scary experience from me, just in how disconnected I could be.

Which lead me to start thinking about being disconnected from sex in general. Not especially from my partners, because they are an important part of my life, but from sex itself. I'm well aware of the cliched woman who, while her man is having sex with her, is counting ceiling tiles or going over the grocery list, but I've never been that woman. And I like not being her. And while I wasn't bored with The Pilot when I freaked out, I just realized I wasn't really there with him. And I didn't like it. I don't like feeling disconnected from what I'm doing, especially in the bedroom.

There are certain things in my past that have taught me how to disconnect what my body is doing from what my heart is feeling. I know this. And I've known I was capable of doing this. But I haven't done it lately. Or at least I didn't realize I had been doing it. But thinking about it, I have been, for years now, disconnecting relationships (little r or capital) from sex. Not that I don't have sex in my relationships, I certainly do... and good sex at that. But I don't often equate that action with being dependent upon the relationship at all. I was talking with my roommate the other night, and she said she'd never had sex with someone she really didn't like. I have. I've had sex with people I couldn't stand outside the bedroom. On repeated occasions. Because it was just sex. Sex itself has been so inherently separated from relationships, or even love or real feelings, that I had forgotten there was any other way to do it.

Talking to The Pilot about this, he was pointing out his philosophy, which is absolutely at the other end of the spectrum from mine. He ONLY has sex with people he really cares about. And as such, sex is intense with him. It was an interesting reminder of philosophies about sex that I haven't had, really, since I was about 16. I think there are valid reasons why I haven't felt that way in such a long time, but it was fascinating to be reminded that not everyone does that.

And it made me wonder if it was something I could go back to. I don't know if there's been too much... everything... in my life to think that way any more. But I want to give it a try. I'm not resorting back to monogamy, but I am pulling back a little bit. I don't totally know how to do that, so I'm fumbling my way through it. It has already started with pulling away from a few people - one being Jacob. I ended things with him... Romantic, sexual, and platonic. It was a selfish decision on my part, but he is somewhere where he needs me in a capacity I can't provide. And it wasn't fair to either of us for me to try to string him along in hopes of sparing his feelings. I should say that he handled it well, and like the grown-up I so want him to be. But there's always a little heartache involved.

It also involves not actually having sex (intercourse, although I hate that word) unless I really want to. Maybe that seems overly simplistic, and I don't have a brilliant explanation for why I'm holding out on penetrative sex, but it's a big deal to me. I want to see if it's something I can make special again. I don't necessarily want it to be the end-all, be-all, and to be honest I don't think I'll ever be at The Pilot's level of intensity about it, but I'm working on that as a model. And appropriating it for myself, and my personality and my history. And we'll see how it goes.

And finally, perhaps the scariest part among all this re-evaluating, there are things that have remained the same. Things I'm letting myself feel instead of quashing them like I usually do. And I must admit, they're driving me a little crazy. It's hard for me to not stop myself, convince myself what I'm feeling is wrong and unreciprocated and silly. It's kind of a losing battle.

But at least no one can say I didn't try.

HNT: The Pilot's shirt...

2009-06-25T11:42:00.006-06:00

To continue the series of photos The Pilot took while he was in town last week, here's one of my favorites. I think I look even better in his shirt than he does. (Something about my boys' shirts seems to go over well...) Good thing he left it with me...

HHNT!

HNT: Satin I

2009-06-17T22:00:00.000-06:00

Now that I'm finally settled back home, and have my room set up, and am writing regularly (for money!), I can focus on other things. Like buying new sheets. And having The Pilot come stay with me for five days. More details to come on that. But he very kindly offered to take some HNT photos for me... That's right, folks, that means photos NOT taken in a mirror, or one-handed with my camera.

And I figured the satin sheets made a nice background, so I could justify the extravagance. So, compliments of The Pilot...

Polite conversation.

2009-06-12T18:29:00.006-06:00

The details on how we got from pleasantries and polite conversation to that couch at 1 a.m. are a little fuzzy. I do remember that it involved a few bottles of wine, a "game for swingers" circa 1972 (disappointing), and hugs which increased in length as the night went on. And strip Twister. But all of that is irrelevant.

She and I were sitting on the couch, leaning on one another. One of the boys who had come over late was heading out, and she called him over to say goodbye. Which she did so with a kiss. And I followed suit. Then she and I looked at one another, and without saying anything, she pulled me to her. She kissed me with intent, but with that softness and sensuality that I often expect from women. The boy we had both been kissing vanished. Both because we stopped focusing on him, and, I've been told, because we pushed him off the couch...when she began kissing me harder and pressed my shoulders down onto the couch, with her seated on top of me. Her legs were on either side of my wide hips, and I remember distinctly seeing her sitting up for a moment, so I could see her gorgeous curves fully.

She bent down to kiss me again, seeming hungry this time. I had just a moment to breathe while she moved her mouth to my neck and began kissing down my collarbone. Her movements were full of intent and, from what I could tell, honest desire. She moved her mouth, her tongue, from my collarbone to my neck, down between my breasts and back again. I was vaguely aware of the fact that we were still both clad in just jeans and bras, passionately making out on The Scientist's couch, in his living room full of people.

I was more aware of it when I heard The Scientist call out "Hey, you should try biting her! She really likes it!" I was about to flip him off when I felt her teeth close down, hard and close to one another, just above the line of my bra. I yelped in what might be the girliest noise I've ever made. She paid no mind to my whimpers, and continued biting and kissing my chest, neck and collarbone. I wrangled my hands free from hers and brought her face back to mine, my hand on her chin. I kissed her deeply, and as she pulled away, I felt her nibble on my lip, pulling it just slightly by the lip ring. As she bent down to go back to work on my neck, I pulled her up to me again. "I can't do this... not in front of an audience," I managed, between kisses.

"OK!" She chirped. In one fluid motion, she had righted herself, had me by the hand, and was pulling me up the stairs, two steps at a time. I think she said something to the group of people saying "awww" as we ran up the stairs. Into The Scientist's room, where she tightly shut the door. And tackled me onto the bed.

This time, I was more prepared. She tried to tackle me, and after some light wrestling, I managed to pin her down on the far side of the bed. I kept both her hands above her head with mine, and leaned in to kiss her again. She was a delicious kisser. And downstairs had been so hectic and caught me so by surprise that I was looking forward to the opportunity to properly appreciate her in all of her feminine beauty. From my position straddling her, I could admire the view: Her long dark hair was tousled about her head in that sexy bed-head way you think only exists in movies; Her face was delicate without making her seem breakable, and her dark eyes were smoldering, even behind her squared, black-framed glasses; Her collarbone showed just enough shadow to perfectly accent and draw my eyes towards her beautiful, ample cleavage. As difficult as it was to pull my eyes away from her gorgeous tits, I followed her soft, smooth skin down to her navel, pierced with a glittering piece of jewelry. Her shape pulled in deliciously at her waist, flowing out again to accommodate her full hips. I marveled for a moment more at her stunning hourglass figure (hidden earlier in the evening by a hoodie), then desperately wanted more. I let my hands slide from hers as I leaned down to kiss her again.

Now it was my turn to aggressively kiss her, biting on her bottom lip, and I couldn't keep my hands off her skin any longer. As we kissed, my hands roamed down to her chest and her waist, sometimes holding on to her hips. It wasn't long before my lips followed, and I took one breast in my hand, pushing her bra out of the way as I brought my lips to her nipple. I heard her gasp and felt her hips rise to meet mine as I sucked and fondled. The noises she made were, quite simply, delicious. I wanted to hear more of them.

Instead, I heard a knock on the door...

HNT: Girls bite, too...

2009-06-11T11:40:00.003-06:00

In case you were wondering, yes, I do still hook up with girls. And, yes, girls do bite. HARD.

I was at a party with The Scientist this week where I was introduced to his friends. After the introduction of some delicious social lubricant, I got on with them just fine. Some more than others. The Scientist's best girl friend, who was tall and curvy and GORGEOUS, seemed to be particularly glad I was there.

Especially when she started kissing me, pinned me down on the couch, and eventually led me upstairs to a bedroom. The Scientist came in shortly thereafter, but she and I kept focusing on each other for some time.

The Scientist and I are thinking, perhaps, we should try and bottle whatever the magic is that happens when we're together. Because if we could sell it, we would be MILLIONAIRES.

Or, there's also the possibility that I might be Captain Queer: With the ability to turn anyone in the room just a little queer! (The Scientist's friend had never done more than kiss a girl for the attention of the boys in the room, and I'm now at two different threesomes with two straight men each. I love my life.)

HHNT!

my biggest fear...

2009-06-09T00:47:00.002-06:00

as articulated by my friend Jay Brannan.

This is his latest original track, called "beautifully." There are no words for how this affected me.

Thanks for yet another beautiful piece of art, Jay.

What's on my mind...

2009-06-08T20:21:00.004-06:00

and stuck in my head.

I'm working on another post, but writing it is harder than I thought it would be. Because the memories are distracting. So instead, today you're getting this.

I couldn't find the original Broadway version of this song, which is how I saw it performed. Original Broadway cast, in its first year. It won nine Tonys that year. And earned every one.

So, Spring Awakening has been stuck in my head. This song in particular. Guess what I want...

Sunday mornings...

2009-06-07T12:06:00.004-06:00

...are sometimes my favorite moments of a week. Last week, Sunday morning found me lying on the grass, sun dappling my skin as it shone through the tree leaves above me, my head on The Optimist's shoulder, one hand in his, and my other arm around The Scientist, who's head was resting on my chest. We weren't saying much, because nothing needed to be said. We were tracing lazy, delicate circles across one another's skin, running fingers through hair, gently kissing foreheads. After the emotionally charged night we'd just completed, it was the perfect come-down. In fact, it was very nearly perfect regardless of how the night before or any other night had been spent. It was one of those beautiful Colorado summer mornings, that powder-blue cloudless sky, sun warming us just as a gentle breeze rustled the grass and cooled our faces.

Perhaps this Sunday morning isn't as epically romantic or exceedingly perfect. But I still find myself very, very happy. I am the first one awake after coming back to my mother's from a very late night singing Karaoke and flashing back to last summer with Roomie. It's just myself and my cat, and we essentially have the house to ourselves. I've dressed myself in one of my boys' T-shirts, which hangs off my chest and just barely covers my ass, showing off just a little bit of my uncharacteristically blue underwear. Wearing this shirt, which belonged to P once, makes me realize that I have managed to end up with T-shirts (or a button-down) from every old lover, but have none from any of my current partners. I decide I need to change this. I will need to stealthily acquire shirts from my partners. And by stealthily, of course, I mean asking if I can sleep in his shirt, and then asking if I can keep it in the morning. I do love the way a boy's shirt smells like him. It's good for helping me to not feel so alone on those nights when I am, in fact alone.

But this morning, as I have the house to myself, I boot up my computer, and go straight to the playlist I created when The Optimist and I were together last. (Yes, I saved the playlist.) It's mostly pretty acoustic songs, with a mild dose of mush thrown in there. I remember making the list as he and I were lying in my bed and him (at least humoring me) that we have strikingly similar taste in music. In any case, all of it is beautiful. And it makes me happy. And so I decide to start dancing around my empty house. In my T-shirt and underwear, dancing to Matt Nathanson and Joshua Radin and Jay Brannan and Angels & Airwaves and Regina Spektor and Citizen Cope.

And I realize how exceedingly happy I am. Without complications. I am, very simply, very content. I have been so incredibly lucky as of late with several things. Some of them are material and haven't quite materialized yet, so again, I'm hesitant to jinx them. But it's so much more than that. I am realizing how incredibly lucky I am to be surrounded by so many beautiful, giving, incredible people. I honestly believe I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have so much love in my life - already more than I think most people ever get to experience. And, as I wrote about earlier this week, I feel like it's even warranted. That doesn't feel like being conceited, though. It really feels like, now that I'm so keenly aware, I want to make sure I appreciate it and let these people know how wonderful they make my life.

See? Look at how mushy I've become. It all started with last weekend, with The Scientist, and yes, meeting The Optimist. I do blame some of this optimism on him - it's definitely contagious. But all of my friends, my New Family have had a part in it. C certainly had a major role with her revelation. And it's just kept spreading. The Pilot is coming to visit next week. I've come to some conclusions about other people in my life and am able to be so much more zen about it. Not hoping to find things from partners that they simply aren't able to give me. And just being able to appreciate them for that.

And there will be some changes. All of this optimism has come with a new kind of self-awareness on what makes me happy, and what it feels like to be so happy. I will be moving away from those things that don't make me happy, spending more time around and doing those things that do make me happy. And things are just going to keep getting better.

I'll close with one of those songs The Optimist and I both realized we love. Thank you, Ms. Spektor.

HNT: The Scientist's work

2009-06-03T22:00:00.001-06:00

The Scientist likes my tits. A lot. I know that sounds random, except that he tells me that pretty much every time he sees them. And has lately taken to making sure other people know how awesome he thinks they are.

In any case, he's even expressed a preference between the two - he prefers the left. (Go look at his sext message, you'll see him mention it.) So he thought it was only appropriate that he leave his mark there. And, of course, he wanted to be thorough.

HHNT!

The truth about my past.

2009-06-03T18:09:00.001-06:00

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

These sound like simple statements to some, I suppose. But they are something I had not fully realized until this weekend and, largely, before quite possibly the most intimate conversation I've ever had with my best girl friend, C. She came over on Wednesday for a late lunch, because I wanted to be girly and gush about my weekend. We went to get salads and margaritas (the upgraded version of the chef salads we used to eat with our fingers in high school), and I started gushing essentially immediately. It was along the same lines of my last entry, with maybe a little more blushing and giggling.

I was emphasizing to her how it makes me a little nervous how much I like The Optimist and what a strong connection I feel with him. She reminded me that it is, indeed, OK to be swept off your feet sometimes. I just haven't been open to it in a long time. So we started talking about why I was so hesitant to believe that people might like me or that I might even be worth liking.

A little background: I am quite confident about myself, when it comes to two things - my writing and my sexual prowess. (Yes, that's largely why this blog exists, haha.) But Relationships, in the traditional sense, terrify me. I capitalize the R in Relationships intentionally, because I mean those in the more standard and socially acceptable sense. Those kind terrify me because I hold myself solely responsible for the demise of the few Relationships I've had. I have always done something to fuck it up, and because of that I've always felt like I deserved to be left. I haven't felt like I deserved someone in a long time.

I have told myself that I was OK with being the secret, the secondary. And in many ways, I am. But my justification, which I still believe, is that it was unreasonable to expect any single person to be everything someone needed. That was based not so much in my inability to believe that someone could be everything I needed, but that I would never be enough for someone. After all, I screw up Relationships. Sex, I'm good at. Friendships, I can usually manage. But Relationships? Absolutely not.

Perhaps the most spectacular example, in my mind, of my botching a good thing and thereby indicative of my inability to carry out a Relationship was how things ended with Ex. We were together (on and off, but mostly on) for five years. We made the decision to stay together for the first year of college, even though we were going to school across the country from one another. When we were both home for Christmas that year, he gave me a ring. It was expressly NOT an engagement ring, but I wore it (with his permission) on my left-hand ring finger. It was white gold (he knew I don't wear much gold or yellow), sapphire and diamonds. It was beautiful.

Five months later, after flying across the country to drive home with me, he broke up with me.

I have always held myself responsible for this. I don't know that I could even supply the reasoning, but there has never been any doubt in my mind that it was my fault that he didn't love me anymore. In the course of our Relationship, he had always been the stable one. He's pragmatic to a fault, and I (even more so then) am emotional and impulsive. Clearly, it was something I had done that had driven him away. I had been a bad girlfriend, because I didn't have the Girlfriend Gene.

C knew this is how I've felt. Despite an incident that first summer where The Scientist quite literally yelled at me to stop defending Ex and believe that he hurt me and he was wrong to do so, I held myself responsible. I deserved it, after all.

But today at lunch, C and I were talking about my insecurities and my fears about Relationships and how I destroy them. And she just looked at me and said "No, you don't." I looked at her with appropriate confusion.

"You didn't destroy things with Ex. In fact, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't change anything about you or who you were. He changed, not you. It had everything to do with him, and nothing to do with you. He fucked up by giving you that ring when he wasn't sure about your Relationship. But all you did was believe what he led you to believe. He decided ON HIS OWN that you two weren't going to work. He did it on his own. It was. Not. Your. Fault. He mislead you. You're just a good person that got fucked over."

I didn't know whether to cry or start giggling. I had honestly never thought of it like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I believed what he said to me, what he told me was true. That was it. The decision, really, in the end, didn't have anything to do with me. (I don't mean to imply here that I was the perfect girlfriend throughout the relationship, because I certainly did things wrong. But in that period when we were separated, I actually was a committed, faithful and devoted girlfriend.)

It was an earth-shattering realization. No one had ever explained it to me like that. And I had been too hard on myself to see it from that angle. As the tears started welling up behind my eyes, though, it sunk in. She was right. The truth about my past isn't that I'm defective or inherently unlovable or perpetually insufficient. The truth about my past is that I got hurt when I wasn't expecting it. And when I didn't deserve it. That's it.

And I have built so many of my beliefs presently on the firm belief that I am simply insufficient and defective, that hearing C say this to me, and honestly believing her, was truly astounding. And I can already feel the ramifications. It means that I am allowed to be happy. Because it means that maybe things aren't inherently doomed. It means that I can be silly, because I don't have to worry about a responsibility to warn my partners about what a danger I am to them. It means that I don't have to automatically invalidate and be suspicious of strong feelings I might have. Because they aren't necessarily going to end in disappointment and heartache.

Perhaps this seems like an excessively sweeping revelation for something ostensibly solely regarding a Relationship that is far away and gone. But that Relationship was so important, that showing me a different perspective on that has shown me a different perspective on so many other things. It doesn't change my childhood. It doesn't change the pessimism or skepticism that growing up with my family has bred into me. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still not sure monogamy will ever be right for me. It doesn't invalidate the Relationships and relationships I've had since Ex.

But it might change the future. It does change what I think I am capable of. It changes what I think I am worthy of. It changes my no-other-options pessimism about Relationships. In many ways, it redefines who I might be able to become. To myself, and even maybe to someone else. For the first time, I actually believe that I am worthy of it. I believe that I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be so lucky to be surrounded by incredible friends and lovers. Who are honest and beautiful and brilliant and making my world and the world at large a better place simply by being in it. I believe that I might have the capacity to make people happy. I believe that I might be worthy of being loved, someday.

I believe that I do NOT deserve to have people like Edward still sending me messages and emails. I believe that I do NOT deserve to be made to feel guilty for being honest about who I am and what I do. I believe that I do NOT need to apologize for the same. I believe that I am NOT solely responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to me.

And I feel so free.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

Feels just like I'm falling for the first time...

2009-06-03T10:44:00.002-06:00

I'm going to go ahead and title this entry as such, even though I already know Friend thinks it's cheesy, and overly mushy or whatever, but I'm rolling with it. It's not only appropriate, it happens to be the theme song of the weekend, and the boy this entry is about, well, he already knows this song makes me think of him. And I should warn you that this might be the most giggly, girly rant I've published to date. I blame the boy.

But I'm not sure what to call him. There are so many things about him that fascinate me, I can't pick one to focus on. Every time I talk to him, I learn more about him and I am increasingly amazed. I cannot say enough good things about him. And he's done so many things, and in many ways, IS so many things, that I'm having trouble picking just one thing to identify him with. But what astounds me most about him (and he knows this), is his persistent optimism. It isn't naiveté in any way, but rather the honest and true belief that things will work out, that everything happens for a reason, and, I think, that people and life are generally and genuinely good. And that belief, that personality, is in such stark contrast to my own that I am just endlessly fascinated by it. By him, really. So, dear readers, allow me to introduce you to The Optimist.

He is a dear and long-time friend of some of my own dear and long-time friends, although we had never met before this weekend. At least not in any official capacity - we realized he had come to a party at my house in high school, but I don't know that we were introduced at that time. I met him this weekend at what became, essentially, a weekend-long lovefest at Nonboyfriend's house, along with Nonboyfriend's girlfriend, myself and The Scientist.

But all that is a story for another entry. Or five. This is just an introduction to The Optimist. I should preface this that I am a little nervous about writing on here, not because I've told him about the blog (although I have), but because often, when I put things I'm excited about into print, it seems to jinx them. And I would really, really like to NOT jinx this burgeoning relationship with The Optimist. If you hadn't known, you wouldn't be able to tell that we met just four days ago. While we're counting this weekend as our first actual meeting, it seems like we've known each other much longer. I'm hesitant to speak too much for him, but I know, for my part, I am shockingly comfortable around him.

He is warm and inviting and completely disarming. The optimism is contagious, affecting even my jaded moods. He's clearly brilliant - and a good deal more intelligent than I am - but I've never once felt talked-down-to. That intelligence is well rounded and applied and reflected in his speech and diction, but he isn't so proper that profanities don't escape occasionally (yes, sometimes at really opportunely sexy moments).

And speaking of sexy... His kisses are just... there are no words. Me. I have no words for how fantastic they are. They really should be a controlled substance, because I'm pretty sure I'm already addicted. And he'll bring his hand to my jaw and pull me to him and and and *swoon.* With some guidance from The Scientist, but also largely on his own, he's already figured out where my buttons are, and he takes non-verbal direction better than possibly anyone I've ever met. My skin, my entire body, is electrified when I am near him. It's like there's some current running through me, recharged every time his lips touch mine or his hands touch my skin or or or. And he says these beautiful things to me, and I love watching his eyes change color, or when he looks at me and smiles, a little sleepy, and pulls me tighter.

But it's more than that. And that's what really has me fascinated and simultaneously terrified. Because while, yes, I want him, I want to be around him. I want to talk to him. I want to hear about his life, I want to hear his thoughts on things, I want to hear him sing along to the car radio... I just want to know more about him. He listens to me when I talk, and asks questions that prove he's listening. And I find it so natural to return the favor, because he's just fascinating. It isn't that I don't find my other partners interesting, but at present, I've known them all for years, so the relationship is already established. I already know that I'm interested in them, and I know how to listen to them because we've spent so much time together. The Optimist and I have spent perhaps 24 hours with each other (total), and I feel like he has already reached that same level that I have with other partners I've known for years.

And that is scary. Establishing that kind of connection usually takes me much longer than it has with The Optimist. And I've talked to him about most of this, and he has taken it all in stride. Listened to my fears, validated them, and then, if need be, talked about them. I don't feel quite as much like a crazy person around him. I feel like maybe my feelings are reciprocated. Mostly because he tells me they are. Oh so eloquently.

So, yeah, basically, I'm in trouble. And can't wait to get into some more.

Introducing...

2009-06-02T10:06:00.001-06:00

The Scientist. So named because, firstly, that's what he does. He is quite brilliant at science and math and physics and all of those things that make my head hurt because they are so far beyond my comprehension. But also so named because he has used that knowledge - observation, reason, logic, response, to figure out my body quicker than quite possibly anyone else.

To be fair, he has some advance knowledge. He and I have been friends for nearly a decade, which has been filled with countless spats - some petty, some shockingly epic. But he and I have remained friends, and truly have emerged stronger for all of it. Because of how well we know each other, he already knows about my neuroses, my relationship fears and quirks. He is shockingly good at knowing when to take which tone with me. And since we started hooking up a just over a week ago, he has been notably...more careful with me, emotionally, at least. Initially, I don't think it was something that anyone else would have noticed. (The hickeys were another story.) Of course, after our weekend, we've essentially abandoned all pretenses, at least around certain friends. But he still goes out of his way to make sure that I am OK whenever I'm with him. And because he knows me and my history so well, he knows how to read me emotionally and will do his best to arrange and improve any situation he and I are in.

There is so much more to say, and I will say it in following entries. But for now, I have a guess as to what you really want. And what's been lacking from my posts lately - teh sexeh. So, The Scientist shocked me with how well he read my body from the start. He got me off, with ONLY his hands, in a matter of minutes. I don't think that has ever happened. I'm lucky if I can get myself off with a toy that fast. Again, there are more details forthcoming about all that. And he tells me I rocked his world pretty hard, too. Which is, yknow, never a bad thing to hear.

In fact, apparently I rocked his world so hard that he's been having trouble getting the memories of our encounters of late out of his head. He told me in a text that his hand was having trouble keeping up with him, as he couldn't help himself whenever images of our encounters crossed through his mind. Quite the compliment, right? Well, this afternoon he was texting me, and asked if he might narrate the particular fantasy that was running through his head. I of course said yes.

And then I was sincerely impressed. He is particularly well-rounded for a science nerd (which I say with the greatest adoration - I'm a literary nerd, and nowhere near as well-rounded as he is) in that he is also a strong writer. But even so, I was not expecting such hot sexting. And so I asked him if I could publish it here. And he said I could. I feel like it's an excellent introduction to the discussion of he and I and this weekend and how incredibly lucky I am. It's a mix of various real experiences, mixed in with a little fantasy, too. But I'm not telling what's what.

I am going to transcribe it as a single block, although obviously it ran the course of several messages. The only editing I've done is grammatical. (I can't help it, it's what I do.)

Enjoy!

--

So right now you're on top of me with your shirt off. You're lightly nibbling on that one spot on my neck. I'm running my fingers through your hair and down your back, raking my fingernails against your skin. As you bite down harder, I can feel your heart quicken.

I roll you over and start aggressively biting my way down your neck to your slightly stiffened nipples, as I knead your left breast with my hand and bite down lightly on your nipple a slight sigh escapes your lips. As I continue to nibble on your quickly stiffening nipple I slide my hand down your leg and start massaging your thigh. I kiss my way back up your neck and engage you in a gentle but passionate kiss. I start undoing the button and zipper on your pants. As I slide your pants down I pass my hand over your mound and I can feel the heat and slight moisture of your sexy slit through your underwear.

As the pace and intensity of our kiss intensifies, I slide my hand over and around your barely-covered vagina. As I slip my fingers under your waistband, I momentarily pause our kissing, then as I ever-so-slowly slide my hand down your lightly hair-covered mound, I start to lightly kiss and lick your neck down to your collarbone. As I slide past your hardened clit, I rub up and down your amazingly soft and silky slit, putting gentle pressure on your slickened hole. As I rub back and forth from your luscious honey pot to your now-sensitive clit, I begin to bite down harder on your nipple, pausing every now and then to enjoy one of your excellent kisses. As I continue to tease your expectant entrance, you dig your nails into my back - the words from your mouth becoming tense grunts mixed with longer moans of expectant pleasure. Just as I slip my finger into your wet and smooth pussy, I bite down hard on your neck, causing you to let out a hissed "oh god, fuck!" as you tense and rise up and start to attack my neck with reckless abandon.

As I rub my thumb over your clit, I start to hook my fingers and massage the rough roof of your now flooded vagina. As your breathing quickens, you gasp in pleasure as I take a quick nibble of your wonderful breasts, causing another muffled and half-gasped "fuck" to escape your lips. As I work my way lower with my mouth, you say to me, "your tongue, my clit - NOW." As I willingly follow your impassioned command, I trace circles around your clit. But I know this is no time for teasing as your hips buck against my face. As I fully engage your pleading nub, the gasps and profanity coming from your mouth become a little less coherent and the movements of your hips a little less ordered. I can smell the wonderful scent of your stuffed pussy, causing me to dip a little lower to enjoy your wonderful taste.

My free hand rubs and squeezes your breast. Hard. You run your hand through my hair, making me purr slightly into your dripping vagina. As my pace picks up to a frenzy, I can barely understand the things you are saying to me as they come through clenched lips. Your hips bounce against my eager mouth, causing my fingers to drive deep hard and fast into you. You begin to shake as I hit just the right spot. As you grab my hair you start to pull and grab at it as a wave of pleasure shoots from your finger-filled hole. You pull my hair slightly, and the pain feels good, only spurring me on further to see you to your climax. As I drive you closer and closer to your peak, the words and moans have merged into something akin to a worshipper speaking in tongues. Which causes me to realize that this is a kind of religious experience. As I laugh quietly at myself I proceed to worship at your altar. As your orgasm builds, I can feel it in my fingers and against my mouth as you writhe uncontrollably and your vaginal walls clench onto my fingers. Right as your impending orgasm is on the edge of coming I pinch your nipple, releasing a wave of pleasure over your body as your orgasm crests and washes over you. As your orgasm continues I lighten my pressure on your clit and begin to slowly remove my fingers from your deliciously wet slit.

As you come down from your orgasmic high, I remove my fingers and start to kiss my way back up your body. As I lovingly kiss your lips, I slide my arm around you and hold you close as your orgasmic glow recedes. After a short while of holding you, listening to your breathing return to normal, you roll me over, kiss me on the lips, and say, "That was wonderful...Now it's your turn."

--

So, readers, what do you think of The Scientist? I'm rather fond of him.

so many things...

2009-06-01T21:00:00.005-06:00

There is such an incredible volume of things to write about, that I can't possibly decide where to begin.

OK. That's a lie. The practical first.

I have a new computer! I am writing this entry (and all future ones, thank you very much), on my shiny new macbook. I've already switched all my documents (and more importantly, my MUSIC) to this computer, and set up my home pages, and emails and sex-toy site bookmarks. Along with my computer came a beautiful new printer that has a card reader which should work with my old camera... But even if it doesn't, I also recently acquired a Blackberry, which has quite the decent camera. Oh, and, yknow, there's the webcam and photo editing software that come standard on my Mac. There are already HNT photos scheduled.

And as I mentioned, I'm going to start reviewing sex toys for a few companies... as soon as they get to my door. I've already talked to a few partners who are eager to test them out with me. Which is really exciting.

Speaking of partners, there are two new ones. Who, if I can write this without jinxing myself, I think are going to be important. In fact, check back tomorrow for an introduction to The Scientist.

And this weekend was one of the best I've had. It rivals my Spring Break/Birthday week in terms of sexiness and happiness and beauty. Yeah. Be prepared for several entries about all of this.

Which are set to begin posting...tomorrow.

I'm sorry. I'm admittedly a little bit of a tease. But you know you love it.

I will, however, leave you, dear readers, with a surprisingly non-hypothetical question: How many different people have to independently call you a sex goddess before believing it is NOT conceited?

Getting Settled.

2009-05-28T13:37:00.004-06:00

Well, things are calming down. I am still without my own computer, but I've moved in with a good friend for the next few weeks until my roommate gets back and we can get our own place. It's amazing what just getting out of my mother's house has done for my mood. I'm living with my friend, her partner, and their adorable toddler. They are laid-back and fabulous, and I love playing with their daughter. And the fact that peek-a-boo is endlessly entertaining to her.

I'm still in limbo when it comes to my career, although I am freelancing, and STILL negotiating my way into a web-editor-ship. I hope. The meetings keep getting rescheduled, which is frustrating, but I'm not willing to give up hope. I am starting to look more seriously at other options, though, although this position is my first choice, so I'm hesitant to let it go.

Holy run-on sentence, Batman!

Anyway. Yes, things are falling into place. Also, thanks to the lovely Essin' Em's help, I'm going to start reviewing for a few companies. So, expect those in the coming weeks. Who knows, maybe I'll even get some of my partners to play with these new toys with me.

And there are new posts in the works, too. I know it's been a while since I've written any smut. I'll be fixing that. There are things I want to explore here, so those are forthcoming. I promise. Thank you to those of you still reading, things are looking up.

such. bullshit.

2009-05-24T16:36:00.002-06:00

Yup, the title hopefully accurately conveys how emo and whiney this post is going to be. I apologize in advance, I'm just pissed off.

So, this is precisesly why I KNEW I couldn't live at home. To bring everyone up to speed, I've graduated and moved back about 10 days ago. Since then, I've been staying at my mother's house, with the express understanding that it is a temporary setting until my roommate returns from across the world in a few days. I figured I could handle a few weeks here - after all, I hadn't been home in something like four months... so no big deal, right?

Wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong.

At the moment, there are four of us living in the three-bedroom condo - myself, my 17-year-old sister, my mother and her freshly-minted serious boyfriend. (Seriously, he moved in after something like two weeks of them dating. Nice one, mom.) It's a three-story condo, although the basement has a crack in the foundation and floods every time it rains, so basicaly it's a two-story condo. In any case, it isn't especially cramped with the four of us. My sister and I each have our own rooms, so there's some level of privacy. At least ostensibly.

So, a few nights ago, a friend of mine from high school came over after we'd spent the evening out with some old mutual friends (more on that in another post, perhaps). I should preface this all by saying that there has never been any kind of sexual activity with this friend. I dated his best friend for quite a while, and actually, when we were freshmen in high school, he had a crush on me, but that's the extent of our romantic entanglements. We went to a tiny high school, and as such, are still both friends with several people from that school. We all hang out together somewhat frequently when we're all back in town. Nothing new there. After hanging out with friends at a bar and then at another friends' house, he and I came back to my house to finish our six-packs. By the end of those, we had concluded that neither of us should be driving. We came upstairs, climbed into my bed, and went to sleep.

I texted my mother in the morning letting her know my friend (who she knows well) was in the house so she or her boyfriend wouldn't be startled when she saw him walking around. My sister had been outside drinking with us the night before, so she already knew to expect him. As it turned out, no one was awake by the time I walked him to the door and said goodbye.

Then last night, this same friend and I got together at his house to watch a basketball game. After a heartbreaking loss, we came back to my house together with a bottle of wine and a few beers to drown our sorrows. As the temperature had cooled off to almost chilly, we decided to hang out in my room instead of outside. My mother and her boyfriend were home and expecting us as I'd texted them, so we said hello and went upstairs with the wine and a couple glasses. Being friends for so long, we're quite comfortable with each other, and conversation comes easily. We talked all the way through a bottle of zinfandel, and soon needed something else to drink. We went downstairs to get our beers from the fridge, where we ran into my mother and her boyfriend again.

My friend has apparently started hooking up with someone back at school (he goes in-state), and had a fading hickey on his neck. My mother's boyfriend asked him what it was. My friend shrugged (he hasn't told me the details, either), and said he didn't know. Then my mother's boyfriend leans over to my friend and says "how do you guys kiss with that thing in her mouth?" (Referring to my lip ring.) "Don't it get in the way?"

And then I just about died. I didn't even know what to say. I was fucking mortified. And embarassed, mostly for putting my friend in this super-awkward situation. My mtoher finally caught on and said something like "Uhm, honey, I think you may be implying things that aren't accurate..."

Her boyfriend kept chuckling and probing at us. I just took the beer and bolted upstairs. My friend and I were able to basically laugh it off, but that doesn't mean it wasn't exceedingly awkward, and we both drank our beers a little faster than we needed to. About 3 am, we went to sleep.

I took him home in the morning, and then came home and took a nap because I'd only gotten about four hours of sleep. Somewhere during that nap, my little sister came in to my room to close the window because it was raining outside (and she apparently concluded I couldn't do it myself? Whatever.), and asked why I was so tired and who I had over last night. I told her, and pointed out that my friend and I had been up late talking, like we always do. "Uh huhhhhh. Talking, I'm suuuurreee." She giggled.

And then I wanted to throw something at her.

I'm not sure why this particular reminder that my family thinks I'm a whore was so upsetting. I mean, I've known they thought that for some time now. But there was something particularly offensive about them both assuming that, clearly, if I had a friend over, I must have fucked them. Because I can't keep my hands off anyone. I am some voracious sexual carnivore. Or at least a cheap, easy slut.

I was particularly put off by my mother's boyfriend. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, and he lacks some serious social graces, but it's hard for me to believe he even had a right to comment when I've known the man for 10 days. I don't think a week and a half of knowing you gives you the right to comment on what you percieve as my promiscuity. (According to my mother, he has a serious problem accepting non-monogamy, even in those relationships around him.) Sure, I guess I wouldn't have a problem had he just said something to my mother about it in private, or even, maybe, asked me about it... NOT in front of the friend being discussed. That's just tactless. And really makes me feel fucking cheap. I mean, that's just not something you DO.

And then I'm sure my little sister was just being a shit, but it was the icing on the cake. I am SO tired of them judging me for how I live my life. Especially my sister knows that my bed is this kind of magical place - there are cuddle puddles, late-night talks, and yes, sometimes romps. But she knows about all the people I'm sleeping with - at least in some sense. And actually, at the moment, that number is only two people. So it was frustrating that she would give me shit about something she knew wasn't true.

And it reminds me so poignantly why I don't want to live at home. Having these people in my life, being able to conduct my relationships - romantic and otherwise - the way I want to, is crucially important to me. I refuse to sacrifice my relationships because someone doesn't approve. But shit like this makes me want to just run away, and never tell anyone in my family anything about my life ever again. Especially my sister is so judgmental - I haven't been able to tell her about Edward and how he's stalking me, although I really should since there's a chance he'll come back to the house. It's not because I don't want to keep her safe or informed, but because I know she'll chastise me for ever having been with him in the first place. And that is SO not the right reaction when someone tells you something like that. She just doesn't know how to do empathy. At all. And I understand that she's 17 and that means the world revolves around her, but I just can't handle it.

So I think I'm either done bringing anyone home, or I'm going to start bringing everyone of my friends home for the night, regardless of whether I'm sleeping with them or not, regardless of whether I'm even attracted to them. Maybe that would fuck with my family's head even more. They just wouldn't know how I could POSSIBLY be sleeping with that many people. Maybe because, yknow, I'M NOT.

Fuck this noise. I need to get out of this house. I'm a grown up and I shouldn't have to be curbing my relationships and the way I live my life for other people.

I should mention that overall, I'm a pretty considerate roommate/houseguest/grown daughter living at home. I do the dishes, cook at least a few times a week, help pay for groceries, am considerate of quiet hours, and clean up after myself and others. I don't think I deserve to be judged and treated like some sexually deviant delinquent. And I'm fucking tired of it.

I'm not dead!

2009-05-22T12:22:00.003-06:00

But my computer still is. I'm still trying to get a new one, and secure a job - which is taking WAY more negotiation than I ever thought it would - and working on finding an apartmentm which will probably result in me living with a friend for a few weeks because I'm losing my mind in my mother's house...

So yeah, I'm a little busy. But I suppose that's better than not being bored. I am doing some freelancing, so at least I can say I'm a working journalist. And I have things planned for this blog, not the least of which is catching up on all of you lovely blogosphere friends who I haven't had a chance to read in the past month.

But I'm alive, and things are well. Just on a hiatus. I'm hoping that will end in the next week or so. In the meantime, though, I'm sending lots of good energy to all of you!

There are worse things I could do...

2009-05-03T12:00:00.004-06:00

So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.

There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)

Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.

So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.

Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.

Sigh.

Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!

all those things I don't care about...

2009-04-25T19:38:00.004-06:00

So I haven't written about it much, but I've been spending time with the Viking lately. It's not exactly habitual yet, although it's getting there. And we've moved past just the convenient post-hanging out in a group hookups to blatant booty calls. Which are always fun. And it's actually been a while since I've had a regular booty call, especially here at school. Which is weird to think about, but I guess it's true.

This weekend, it was my friend's girlfriend's birthday... Hmm, how to explain the relationship without using names? OK. My best friend in The Band (and one of my best friends in general) is the drummer of the band. I went to Ireland with he and his girlfriend last semester, and she and I get along great. The Band consists of the Drummer and his five roommates, although the actual band is four guys, only two of whom live in the house of guys that makes up The Band. Anyway, the Drummer's girlfriend invited me out for her birthday with most of The Band - she and I were the only girls. We went to a swanky sushi restaurant, and as the ice has finally receded here in the tundra, I got to get dressed up. I went with a teeny, tiny green dress (worn last on new year's eve), and fabulous green and black heels that have an adorable rounded, wing-tip toe. The Viking (who's the other roommate who is actually in the band - he plays bass) met the rest of us after dinner for bar-hopping.

I was terribly over-dressed for the pubs we were going to, but after a few drinks, I wasn't too concerned. And in any case, it was really fun to watch the Viking stealing looks at me. (I'll admit, those shoes DO make my legs look pretty fantastic.) We still haven't told our friends about us hooking up - although I have mentioned it to the Drummer's girlfriend, so there's a chance the Drummer knows. If he does, though, he hasn't said anything about it. We all (six of us by that point) eventually closed down the last bar and took the bus back to my apartment. The Drummer and his girlfriend and the Viking and I all sat in the back row. Of course, the Drummer and his girlfriend were being adorable and PDA-y, although thankfully not to a nauseating extent. Then somehow the Drummer and the Viking started jokingly punching each other. It turned into a psuedo-wrestling match. The Drummer eventually conceded that even though he's the taller of the pair, the Viking is stronger than he is. And then there was the bromance moment where the Drummer got all mushy and was telling the Viking that he was, like, his best friend, and he's such a great guy, and the Viking reiterated the sentiment. And then I got this strange feeling. Of warm fuzzies. Of course, the only reason I know the Viking is because he's such good friends with the Drummer, but I had this random flashback to when the Drummer first introduced me to his girlfriend. She had to leave Ireland a day early, giving the Drummer and I the day to hang out alone, and he confessed to me that he'd been really nervous about us liking one another, and he was so happy that we got along so well. Because we both mattered in his life. It was this really nice moment. And that's what I flashed back to, watching the Viking and the Drummer act out their friendship.

It was very strange. It made me want to just cuddle with the Viking right there, be all adorable and PDA-y like the Drummer and his girlfriend were being. And I suddenly felt very silly for thinking that I needed to keep our relationship a secret. Of course, I didn't say anything about it there, on the bus with everyone else. But it was a new sensation at the same time that it made me aware of the fact that I'd been looking forward to seeing the Viking all night, and that I'd noticed how he smiled when he saw me. And that I liked the way he said my name. And then I stopped myself. I don't get mushy like this.

I don't generally like PDA. It makes me uncomfortable, more often than not. I'm not used to having traditionally legitimate relationships, and so I guess I've gotten cautious and that urge to kiss people in public has mostly faded. (Not entirely...there are notable exceptions. Like my random and somewhat childish desire to be that obnoxiously cute couple cuddling in line at the amusement park.) But even more than that, I don't like the mush. I don't like the cutesy stuff. Saying "I love you" should be a statement of fact, not some massive production in my book. I expect to split the bill on dates. I don't want people opening doors for me unless they already would have or just walked through it themselves.

But it's something that's struck me since the first time I hooked up with the Viking. He's really sweet to me. Yes, there's the funny bluntness, the no-nonsense discussion that's always there, and the sex. But the things that really stick with me are the way he puts his arms around me. The way he gently kisses my neck, my forehead, my nose. The way he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me closer before we fall asleep. The way he sweeps my hair away from my face and lets his hand linger on my jawline as he kisses me.

These aren't things I should be focusing on. It's not that I've never had them before, I've just not been so aware of them. And I don't know why I am so aware of them with the Viking. Certainly, other partners cuddle with me, other partner kiss me softly or brush the hair from my face. So what's so different with the Viking? Maybe it's just a contrast with his aloof personality. I don't expect such tenderness from him.

Then again, I guess looking at me, knowing me, you wouldn't necessarily expect that I'd want those things, either. Maybe that's why it works. But it concerns me. I find myself wanting to see him more. I text him more often, not always late at night. I get excited when I know he's going to be where I am. Good lord, I'm developing a crush on him. Shit. Of course, it's not overly serious, and things will end when we both graduate shortly. But this urge that I have to spend more time with him now is rather strange to me.

And then I'm not sure how much of this has to do with the fact that at the end of that night, after he'd convinced me to come back to their house with the band, and after the Drummer had made up the couch for me and the Viking had waited til the Drummer left to come in and ask if I'd sleep in his bed with him, and I'd said yes and made a joke we'd both laughed at about his messy room, and I laid down and the Viking just wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck and pulled me close to him and let me sleep. We spent the night in bed together and there was nothing else. There was no pressure for anything else. Why does that feel so much more intimate and personal than had there been sex? It just seems like another step further from the just-a-booty-call classification.

But it was nice. I WILL miss his cuddling. And yes, those adorable little things I told myself I don't care about. Shit.

Happy Endings.

2009-04-24T13:42:00.002-06:00

I'm obsessed with this song, and with Mika in general this week. I first heard this song last night when a friend's a capella group performed. I think it's just gorgeous. And kind of gives me goosebumps/makes me tear up/feel hopeful all at once.

Enjoy.

This is the way that we loved like it's forever, then live the rest of our lives, but not together...

flashback

2009-04-20T07:48:00.005-06:00

I had lost all concept of time, but had a very keen sense of place and every other physical sensation coursing through me. Friend had situated himself between my legs, his fingers working in and out of my cunt and curling inside me as his tongue circled and sucked on my clit - my hips rising to meet his mouth as I sunk deeper into that alternate universe where, again, things like this actually happen.

The Pilot had pulled himself up next to me, his hands strong as they grasped at my waist, my tits. He'd alternate between kissing my lips and my neck - that spot right at the base of my collarbone that he'd figured out makes me shiver and whimper and melt all at once.

My world was fast condensing into a very specific tunnel vision consisting of only the three of us as Friend continued fucking me with his mouth and the Pilot tightened his grip on my body. As the Pilot moved one of his hands toward my collarbone, instinct took over. I brought my hand to his and placed it across my neck, and I swear I caught him smiling out of the corner of my eye as he tightened his grip.

And then I absolutely lost it. With the Pilot's fingers around my throat and Friend's inside of me, my bucking hips moved faster and I didn't even have time to feel that heat starting at the base of my spine. Pleasure just ripped through me as my back arched and my vision became just a white light and some unconscionable stream of profanities flew out of my mouth. I couldn't tell you exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it resembled

OHFUCKHOLYSHITJESUSFUCKINGCHRISTFUCKGODFUCKINGDAMMITFUCKFUCK

And then I was panting and only vaguely aware of both Friend's satisfied smirk and the Pilot's eyes looking me over as I started shaking from the aftershock. Friend chuckled to himself as he got up, and I just started giggling incessantly, still trying to catch my breath and unable to move any of my limbs more than they were already quivering. Had the light been better, I'm sure you could have seen my entire body flushed. Someone, the Pilot I think, said something, in reference to me coming hard and loud or something, and I tried to put words together to make a response and utterly failed. Which induced more giggling. Because it was really all I could do, as my breath finally started evening out and the tunnel vision widened back to include at least the room the three of us were in.

Comfort food, without the calories.

2009-04-16T08:36:00.003-06:00

Walking home a few days ago after a solid 12 hours spent on campus (doing work and in class the entire time), I was dragging my feet and feeling utterly exhausted. On a side note - why is it that it feels my entire collegiate, more, my entire academic, career is coming crashing down on me in these last few weeks of college? In an effort to combat the exhaustion and the depression that always seems to accompany it, I called the Pilot. (This has become a regular occurrence.) As we started laughing and nerding out about sci-fi and dinosaurs and grammar, I felt myself calming down.

Thinking about it later, I realized that usually, walking home feeling like I was, what I'd really want would be comfort food - for me it's usually chili or Mexican food... Something warm and filling and most likely greasy. Of course, there's always the guilt that accompanies eating those kinds of things, knowing how full of unnecessary calories they are. But talking to the Pilot had the same kind of soothing effect. In fact, I've realized I basically associate hanging out with him with those feelings of being on vacation, and very truly so, where there are no professional, academic or social worries on my mind. It's a very happy place. I am relaxed and happy and very silly - midnight giggle-fits are a regular happening. The same thing happens when I'm with Friend. Being around either of them is like a much-needed refuge from my hectic life and even from my neuroses. Even after a no-good, awful, downright rotten day, just talking with the boys salves the wounds. They're comforting.

So they're my comfort food. Without the calories. And I'm very lucky to have them.

The pitch.

2009-04-14T07:32:00.004-06:00

Well, it's that time of year. The academic year is coming to a close. It's something I've gone through, what, 16 times before? But this time it's different. This time, I'm not coming back. That's right, I'm graduating college.

And what comes along with that (other than parties and tears and more parties)? Stress. Primarily about finding a job. As everyone I've spoken to affirms, I know networking is key any time you're looking for a job, but it's even more crucial in this crazy economy. So, I'm networking. With all of you.

I would love to find a job working for a sexuality-related company, writing, editing, blogging, reviewing, doing outreach, managing... I've got a pretty strong skill-set. Of course, I can't get especially in-depth here, but I do have a shiny resume and elevator speech available to someone interested.

So, here are the facts:

I'm a graduate of one of the top journalism schools in the country, graduating magna cum laude with a B.S. in magazine journalism and a minor in LGBT studies.

I have experience writing, editing, and managing staff for magazines, newspapers and web sites. I have managed award-winning editorial teams and as such am familiar with the entire editorial process - from concept to publlication. My minor in LGBT studies gives me a strong background in sexuality and gender theory, and I'm always eager to learn more.

I have a variety of multimedia skills, including fluency in varous blogging software (Wordpress, Blogger and a Drupal-based CMS), as well as audio and video editing skills (Audacity and Final Cut Express), and am well-versed in other multimedia and design software, including Adobe CS3 (Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign) and Soundslides. I have examples of my work in these multimedia fields that I would be happy to share.

I'm fluent in Spanish. I am well-versed in AP style, as well as more academic styles of writing (including APA, MLA, CMS). I work well under pressure and on short deadlines.

I'm looking for a job that will be fast-paced enough to keep me busy and challenge me, where I can apply a dynamic combination of my multimedia and traditional skills. Ideally, I'd love such a position in the sexuality-related sphere, but I am open to new challenges as well. My physical location will be in Colorado, but I am quite comfortable commuting or freelancing from the Web.

Please contact me at sashasappho@gmail.com if you (or someone you know) are interested in seeing a resume and communicating further.

Sex as music.

2009-04-13T07:52:00.002-06:00

I am STILL obsessed with this band. The Pilot introduced me to them while we were on break (or shortly thereafter, I guess). It's euro-metal, and I think it's sweeping and epic and incredibly sexy.

Enjoy.

Love letter to a memory.

2009-04-12T00:38:00.006-06:00

The pillows you'd put on the bed for me are scattered on the floor, along with the comforter we didn't need to keep us warm. There is still some tangle of sheets around our knees, lit by the sunlight just starting to break through your still-shut curtains. It gives your whole bedroom a soft, warm and inviting aura. Or that might be you. But the light does look beautiful on your skin, catching your eyes and your smile that you flash at me sleepily and affectionately. I melt and get goosebumps at the same time, and I think you know you do this to me. That must be why you keep smiling at me.

I sit up onto my knees, try to run my fingers through my hair, tangled from your hands and my own movements. As I start to fumble with the sheets, I hear you sit up, and feel your body heat before you've touched me. As you close that distance, one hand finds its way to my bare waist, my hips, and pulls me to you. Your other hand brushes the hair off my neck and shoulder before it joins the other at my waist. I close my eyes and lean into you as you kiss my neck, softly and sweetly. You pull me tighter to you as you rest your head on my shoulder, and as you do, I glance up - and see our bodies reflected in your vanity mirror.

And in that moment, kneeling in your bed, with your arms around me and your head on my shoulder, seeing us reflected and bathed in the light of morning, I felt more beautiful, and loved, and perfect than I ever have. Neither of us spoke a word, but you stayed with me, like there was nowhere else you'd rather be and I forgot there was a world outside your bedroom door. Our reflection made the moment cinematic in the grandest way. And looking at you, and your incomparable beauty, I was more beautiful, too.

Being with you was worth the wait. And surpassed every expectation I could have. Then again, that part I knew the moment you kissed me. Whenever I look up to see a full moon, I'm reminded of you. Thank you for being exactly what I needed. Thank you for being such an unbelievably beautiful memory.

I am NOT a lying slut.

2009-04-10T11:02:00.004-06:00

Despite what some people feel the need to tell the world.

Edward's facebook status, when I went to his page to un-friend him (something I then realized I can't do from that page. So I looked at it without needing to. Awesome.), said "Edward is tired of giving everything to people just to have his heart ripped out for no reason at all. Basically, I'm tired of lying sluts."

I think this all may end up in me not being able to claim that whole "I'm a slut" title proudly. Even reading it, there was so much malice in the term, I can hear it. I can't imagine what it would have felt like being spat from his mouth. Oh, wait, yes I can.

I've blocked him on facebook. I called t-mobile to block his number from calling me. Apparently I can't do that because I'm not the primary account holder (I'm still on my dad's plan, since he pays it for me). So I had to call my dad and explain the situation, which was embarassing, and actually he sounded a little angry at me about it. Then he had to call the company and apparently add some feature that allows us to block phone numbers. It costs money. (Not much, it's a negligible amount, but it's the idea of the thing... That, especially in a situation like this, I have to PAY to make the harassment stop?) And will take a few hours to take effect. Weak.

In case you all hadn't guessed, there's been a new round of calls, texts, and messages. I'm going to post them here, again, just to clean them out of my system, but also, actually, to have some sort of physical proof. I don't know how long this will go on - he knows where my family lives back home, and I'm actually nervous. Jesusfuck. How did it get this bad?

And the worst part is, it does hurt my heart to see it end like this. I want to be able to forgive him. But I can't. And I'm pretty confident, at this point, he doesn't deserve it. Roland has been chatting with me about some of the similarities he's seen in Edward's behavior and his own past indiscrections - I still refuse to believe you were ever this bad, Roland. In a way, it gives me hope that Edward might someday grow up and become a real, decent, lovely man like Roland. At the same time, the vindictive side of me revels a little in knowing that, like Roland has told me, Edward will look back on this and be ashamed of his behavior. Although I'm not sure he will. I think his head is so clouded with hatred for me and hurt that he can't see straight. I don't know if he ever will, when it comes to me. He holds on to things.

In any case, two days ago, after another few unreturned phone calls, I sent Edward one text message saying "Please do not try to contact me." I figured it was just enough to be clear, while remaining uninvolved. At least this way, he couldn't claim he just thought it was a phone company error. (Since 70 unreturned calls often are.) Yes, we're at 70 now.

Here's what he wrote back:

April 9: why? god damn it please dont do this sasha. please... talk to me at least. please.

i wont stop until you fucking talk to me. act grown up for a second and just talk to me.

so im in the hospital right now, it be really nice if i could please just talk to you.

(Here he called another 15 times, until 3am)

April 10: could you maybe explain to me why you not only broke my heart but hate my guts? maybe?

FOR FUCK'S SAKE IVE BEEN HOSPITALIZED FROM BEING SO STRESSED AND DEPRESSSED I PASSED OUT. COULD YOU PLEASE JUST FUCKING ANSWER!?10 DAMN YEARS OF LOYALTY AND LOVE

I THINK IS A PRETTY FAIR PRICE TO HAVE A RIGHT TO BE UPSET! JUST TALK TO ME AND ILL GET OUTTA YOUR HAIR AND YOUR LIFE!

10 fucking years sasha, i think i deserve to know why you bullshitted me so damn much and why you decided to break me so fucking bad. i do believe i AT LEAST

DESERVE SOME KIND OF FUCKING EXPLANATION! DONT YOU! YOU WANT ME GONE ALL YOU FUCKING HAVE TO DO IS TELL ME FUCKING WHY!!!!!!!

stop being such an immature spoiled lil hooch and explain to the ONE guy who has always been there for you and loved you why you decided to hurt me so bad!?

how did you become such a heartless uncaring whore? your not the girl i fell in love with. i finally get that.so enjoy as many random cocks as you want.farewell.

WHY? WHY?WHY?WHY?WHY? I FUCKING DESERVE TO KNOW WHY!? WHY THE FUCK DID I WASTE YEARS PINING OVER YOU!? WHY DID YOU LIE AND FUCK ME UP SO BAD!? WHY!? until i get

an explanation, some kind of closure on why the only girl i've cared for has bullshitted me like this i wont stop,you can block my number,you can block facebook

but im not only smart sasha but resourceful and i will bug the FUCK outta you until hear why you chose to fuck me over so bad. i deserve an answer. i need

closure, so grow THE FUCK UP FOR ONE SECOND, GROW A CONSCIENCE AND TELL ME WHY!?

hello! why sasha?! why!? hello! fucking hello!? this will all be done and over if you can just tell me why? WHY!? FUCKING WHY!? i need to know why. im so close

to cutting just a lil too fucking deep and would so much love to know why WHENEVER i care for another person i get fucked over! why i hope and wait and get hurt

ive been beat down by so much bringing me to rock bottom, and you pushed me into hell, so before i just end all the bullshit of my pathetic sad life

could you remember for one fucking minute how you used to be a good person and a close friend and just tell me WHY!?

before i rip how i feel into my own flesh could you please remember the good of me and help me understand.im so close sasha to just ending it all. i need to know

fine, ill do the only fucking thing i can do to stop it.

you may not be the only reason why crimson is flowing right now, but your cruelty sure as hell helped me get the resolve needed to do this. thank you.

That last message sent at 3:05am, my time.

And then there were the voicemails. Accompanying the 30 or so phone calls last night. At one point, I accidentally answered one (I was opening my phone to answer a text from Friend), so I just said "I have nothing left to say to you. This is over." And hung up. Here were the voicemails he left (because I sure as hell don't want them on my phone):

April 9:
"Goddammit sasha will you please just talk to me? Don't let us end like this, please? I'm begging you. Just fucking talk to me, please, I'm begging you. Talk to me and I'll leave you the fuck alone."

"Please? At least let me say I'm sorry to you. I'll apologize or something I... I, I don't wanna lose you, too, Sasha. I'm sorry. I am a fucking wreck and I don't wanna lose you, Sasha."

"C'mon Sasha. After everything that we've been through, for 10 fucking years I've been trying to get you to love me back and it just fucking tore me up that you actually don't.. still! I'm sorry for what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it, I jsut.. I need you in my life, even if it's just going to be as a friend. I don't wanna lose you, please I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."

April 10:
"You know how fucking stubborn I am, how fucking stubborn I can be, and how fucking stubborn I WILL be. Especially after devoting 10 fucking some-odd years of just trying so hard. And then everything seems to be so fantastic, and yet still it's not good enough for you. I would just like to know why I wasted 10 years of my fucking life trying to be with you and why you would bullshit me and then break me like you did. So how about you stop being such a spoiled, immature little brat and just fucking talk to me and maybe get me to understand why the fuck you fucked me over so damn hard. Maybe? I don't know. I think I deserve to at least know fucking that. You think?"

"No, you know what, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I'm not gonna stop bothering you. Because I need to know why the fuck you, of all people, of all the girls that I ever... oh god, you were the only one I ever fucking trusted. The only one I actually had fucking feelings for. The only fucking one. I would just like some kind of closure, some kind of understanding at why the fuck you have fucked me over so damn much. Why? What the fuck have I done to you? To have you bullshit me, and make me feel fantastic and like I matter to you, when really I fucking didn't. Why? You, Sasha, of all fucking people? I can't believe you, out of anybody, would do this to me. I fucking can't."

"Hey how about before I slice my goddamn wrists open like I should have done probably many fucking years ago, maybe you give me some kind of fucking closure so I can figure out why, exactly, I keep getting fucked over and why you are loving hurting me fucking this much. I would love to know why. Hopefully I'll hear from you soon. Too late, and it'll probably be too fucking late, I can honestly tell you that. Ahh, thank you, so much. This is great."

Again, that last message was at about 3am. I think. My voicemail doesn't time-stamp things.

Sigh. I never thought there would be someone in my life who would make ex seem sane. Downright likable, actually. I mean, hell, at least after I finally left him, he stopped calling after about 15 unreturned phone calls.

Sometimes it's hard to ignore that I'm the common denominator between these guys, though. I joke with my current partners about promising me they won't go crazy and decide they hate me, but it's one of those half-serious jokes.

I just want it to be done with.

flashback.

2009-04-07T07:00:00.001-06:00

We'd been in town for a little less than 24 hours. The first night had kept us all three awake long into the morning, and as such we'd slept into the afternoon. It seems silly, given the night's activities, but I still wasn't sure where Friend and I were at. I'm always nervous when I see him again, as I never assume he's actually going to still want me. And I didn't know how the dynamic had changed since we'd all slept together.

But the Pilot was in the bathroom, showering or brushing his teeth. I was standing in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, when Friend swooped in. We'd all been a little hyper thus far, a combination of the company and the conversation and the sex. He stepped into the kitchen next to me, and didn't say anything. I just remember him being even more energetic than usual. And he took my face in both his hands, and leaned down to kiss me. Sweetly, but with intent. It lasted only a few seconds, but as he pulled away, I remember my feet faltering a little and a goofy grin spreading across my face. And the butterflies. Always with the butterflies. Sigh.

flashback.

2009-04-06T00:56:00.006-06:00

As I turned to face the Pilot, I put my palm squarely on his chest, pressing him down to the bed. In a move surprisingly smooth (for me especially), I threw my other leg over his hips, and he muttered "yeah, that's one of my favorites, too." I leaned down and kissed him squarely on the mouth as I lowered myself onto his cock. I kissed along his neck and collarbone as I started moving my hips up and down, slowly at first. As he began moving his hips up to meet my motions, those movements got steadily faster, our breathing heavier. I kissed him once more before pushing myself upright, my hips still moving faster, my panting louder. As I sat up, a delicious fullness overtook my senses. My hips were moving without my command, grinding into him harder and faster, and I threw my head back and let my whole body rock. If he had his hands at my hips, I didn't know it - I wasn't aware of anything but the pressure building at the base of my spine and the heat spreading from that same spot. My hips were rocking back and forth at an almost frenetic pace - I can't even imagine how my naked tits must have been bouncing with my none-too-subtle motions. The force of my thrusts I know were moving his body beneath me, and I didn't care. I was entirely on another plane of existence. He pressed his hips, his cock, into me a time or two more and I felt him come. I tensed my nearly-spent muscles around him and folded my body back down on top of his. "Oh, that's just not FAIR," he exhaled.

The corners of my mouth turned up in a smirk, I looked over at Friend for the first time. He was looking at us, smiling. And stroking himself. My smile broadened as I slowly pulled myself off the Pilot, whimpering just a little as I did...

What I would have said...

2009-04-04T18:09:00.004-06:00

...had I answered any of the 44 phone calls Edward has made since he blew up at me. In the past few days, it was down to only three or four a day, and I haven't heard from him in the past two days. I think he might have finally gotten the message. Of course, I definitely got his message. Speaking of, here are the latest texts:

Um...hi. ive been a complete wreck over what happened. so much i couldnt even work...so could we talk maybe?

please? im so fucking sorry you have no idea. please talk to me.

please please please please

please sasha. i feel like complete shit. could you please please talk to me. please sasha.

im so sorry. what i said to you was awful and inexcusable. i just...well i wanted you to want me like i wanted you. and hearing just me want what you wanted hurt... a lot. still thats no reason what so ever to have attacked you like i did. im so fucking sorry sasha. please forgive me. please please im so sorry.

could you even just tell me to fuck off. anything would be nice so i know your ok. please?

wow... you hate me that much now. ok i can take a fucking hint and leave you the hell alone. bye. (April 1)

HELL FUCKING LO!

..............

Of course, the "leaving me the hell alone" apparently included 20 or so more phone calls. That's the most active way of ignoring someone I've ever encountered. Somewhere around the longest text where he was apologizing, he left a voicemail. I was expecting a similar tone to the text - he realized what a jackass he's been and he's so sorry, won't I forgive him, blah blah blah. But no. Here's what I heard, instead.

"Could you seriously, like, fucking call me, or talk to me, or something? I would really fucking love to hear from you at all. So could you please for even one goddamn second stop ignoring me and actually goddamn pick up your fucking phone? I'm begging you. Please? Don't be more of a bitch than you have been in the past. I don't want to at least lose my fucking friendship with you. Please just fucking talk to me. Please? Goddammit!"

Did anyone else see an apology anywhere in there? Cause I sure as hell didn't. In fact, I saw more blaming me. Because I was being a bitch, like always, right? I brought this on myself, right? And when he left this message, I was actually getting close to breaking and answering one of his calls.

But, had I answered the phone, here's what I would have liked to say to him:

No. I don't forgive you. You said yourself what you did was inexcusable, which is exactly why you're not being excused for it. I could go off on some tirade about how no one but NO ONE talks to me that way, but I'll leave the tyrannical ranting and raving to you. I'm more a fan of thinking about what I'm going to say before I say it. Not always, but I think I've managed to learn my lesson, having burned enough bridges in the past. Apparently, you aren't there yet. So I hope you enjoy it on your island, with just the smoldering embers of the bridge that used to lead to me.

And even if I could get past the incredibly viscious, hateful things you said to me, the bigger problem is that I know exactly what they are leading to. I've seen it already, and you know that. Maybe that's why it was so shocking to see you turn out this way. You knew exactly what I've come from, better than most. And you must know who you sounded like when you said those things to me. And every time you tried to apologize, then when I didn't respond fast enough (or at all) you went back to screaming at me. I know exactly what would have happened had we been in the same room in that situation. Because I've been there before. I know what the bruises would have looked like, because I've had to hide them before. I know what your tone would have sounded like, because that sound has been burned into my memory, as all I could hear when I was cowering in a corner as objects flew at my body. And you know all that. You know that those situations have come about not only from people who called themselves family, but from people who told me they loved me. So how could you possibly be any different? You've told me loved me countless times. You've told me I was everything you could want, that I was perfect to you.

And do you remember what I told you when you said that? I told you that maybe you shouldn't put me on such a pedestal. And this is exactly why. Because as you're sitting there, screaming and crying and smoking and hating me, you forget that I didn't lie to you. I didn't lead you on. What you're so angry about, in fact, was the very fact that I was honest with you. And that in that honesty, I told you something you didn't want to hear. Something that didn't fit into the fantasy you've been clutching in your fist with an iron grip.

So even if I could forgive what you said - which maybe I could have, found some excuse or something - I can't forgive what made you say it. I can't forgive the hatred and anger in your voice, just like I can't forgive the fear it strikes in me. Just like I can't forgive the other people in my life who have treated me, used me like that, I can't forgive you. I can't forgive you now that you've become that. Because as soon as you said those things, as soon as you berated me, you lost any right you ever had to be anywhere close to my life. You don't deserve me. And, in fact, if that's how you treat the people you love, who have loved you back, then maybe you don't deserve anyone at all. Because I won't let you do that to me. I won't fall back into my old habits. I know where they would lead. And they lead so far away from the life I'm living and loving today that it's unfathomable. I will not let you take me back there.

So no. I don't forgive you. I can't. And I won't. You don't deserve it.

HNT: damaged.

2009-04-01T23:00:00.002-06:00

I've been feeling a little damaged lately. My friends, bless them, have been doing a great job trying to piece me back together. But of course, taking me apart is always easier than putting me back together.

I've contemplated posting this photo for a while. It's a different kind of revealing HNT. Not because I'm ashamed of it, or even make much of an effort to hide it anymore, but because it reveals something about who I used to be. And I wear it that way - a reminder of who I was, and what I came through.

Sometimes this is a rough point in my relationships. There's always a moment when someone, (well, if they didn't know me when these were new) notices the marks. And asks about them. Or, worse. They don't. Turn their eyes away, or make those puppy-face eyes at me. So for the record: This was never about suicide. It was about coping. It was what I did. I don't do it anymore. I have other methods for coping now. And again, I'm not ashamed. I actually think the marks are kind of beautiful. That might well be my morbid fascination, but nevertheless. So here. Something personal about me. They stand out more now that I'm tan... this was taken a few weeks ago.

So in the hope of healing from all these damages and emerging a whole person - not scarred, but maybe marked; and in the interest of being able to see such flaws as beauty, HHNT.

My anthem.

2009-03-31T18:08:00.002-06:00

I don't generally post song lyrics, since in the past that has signaled the beginning of the end for my blogs, as they devolved into collections of song lyrics... But I'm not afraid of that happening here (at least anytime soon... I may have to take up blogging professionally if I don't start having some luck with finding a job), and I've been totally hooked on music lately, and although this isn't a new song, it IS basically my life. And my mantra. And I LOVE it.

So, here it is. My anthem. Misery Business by Paramore.

I'm in the business of misery,
Let's take it from the top.
She's got a body like an hourglass it's ticking like a clock.
It's a matter of time before we all run out,
When I thought he was mine she caught him by the mouth.

I waited eight long months,
She finally set him free.
I told him I can't lie he was the only one for me.
Two weeks and we caught on fire,
She's got it out for me,
But I wear the biggest smile.

Whoa, I never meant to brag
But I got him where I want him now.
Whoa, it was never my intention to break.
Just steal it all away from you now.
But God does it feel so good,
Cause I got him where I want him now.
And if you could then you know you would.
Cause God it just feels so,
It just feels so good.

Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change.
Once a whore you're nothing more, I'm sorry, that'll never change.
And about forgiveness, we're both supposed to have exchanged.
I'm sorry honey, but I'm passin' up, now look this way.
Well there's a million other girls who do it just like you.
Looking as innocent as possible to get to who,
They want and what they like it's easy if you do it right.
Well I refuse, I refuse, I refuse!

Whoa, I never meant to brag
But I got him where I want him now.
Whoa, it was never my intention to break
Just steal it all away from you now.
But God does it feel so good,
Cause I got him where I want him right now.
And if you could then you know you would.
Cause God it just feels so,
It just feels so good.

I watched his wildest dreams come true
Not one of them involving you
Just watch my wildest dreams come true
Not one of them involving.

Whoa, I never meant to brag,
But I got him where I want him now.

Whoa, I never meant to break
But I got him where I want him now.
Whoa, it was never my intention to break
Just steal it all away from you now.
But God does it feel so good,
Cause I got what I wanted now
And if you could then you know you would.
Cause God it just feels so,
It just feels so good.

Break-ups in non-monogamy

2009-03-30T08:05:00.004-06:00

Given the blowout with Edward, this is something I've been thinking about lately.

I haven't actually had much cause to end any of my non-monogamous relationships. I mean, things with nonboyfriend were always knowingly short-lived, but primarily ended because we were both leaving town. As for my other partners, well, even though I've left town (admittedly with the intention of coming back), they're still my partners, for all intents and purposes. As much as one can be without being in the same state. (Something on which my views could fill an entire other entry.) The lack of breakups are also made easier by the fact that I move across the country (and sometimes across the world) every four months. It makes for an easy break with few complications.

But in about six weeks, I'm graduating college. And moving back. For good. No more packing up my life every four months, no more transient lifestyle. And consequently, no more transient relationships. It's a thought that's made me a little nervous, especially regarding a few people, like Friend, with whom my relationship has always been necessarily secretive and aided by the fact that we COULDN'T spend much time together. There's a nagging fear in the back of my mind that he won't like me or want me when he can see me any time. Then again, many of those fears were calmed with the vacation he and I took to see the Pilot, where we spent more time together than we have in the 15 years we've known each other, and managed not only to come out unscathed, but, as far as I can tell, still quite fond of one another. These are good things. And make me think that maybe such relationships will survive me being in the same place for a somewhat extended period of time. I can't decide if I think it's strange that my being in the same place would harm my relationships or not.

But then, there are of course drawbacks to going home. Some loose ends, as it were. Some I'm not particularly worried about as I'm sure they'll tie themselves up as they see fit (nonboyfriend being the only one left there, since both Edward and P have removed themselves). But there are some others that I think will likely result in me needing to end the relationship. And I'm not very good at that.

For one, I don't have a ton of practice in relationships where breaking up has even been an option (you don't exactly break-up with a fuckbuddy, a one-night-stand or a no-strings-attached FwB). And in those relationships where breaking up has happened, I'm usually the one being left. Notably, it's historically been for something I've done wrong, but nevertheless, I'm not the one having to administer "the talk." So I don't have much practice in breaking things off with people in the first place. Save for those, like Edward, who make it easy for me to just never speak to them again.

But I do have at least one relationship - although I thought I'd tied it up - that it looks like I'll have to re-affirm my breaking off of the thing. But here's the thing. To me it seems like it might be a little more complicated to do so while still sparing feelings, given my open non-monogamy views. I don't dislike this person, he's a fine guy, we just aren't an exceptionally good match. I get the impression he really likes me, which, in the first place, makes me nervous, but I also get the impression that he isn't as comfortable with my non-monogamy and sexuality as much as he finds it a novelty. He's told me that he'd harbored a crush for me for a few years and the chance to be with me was kind of the fulfillment of a fantasy... Again, something nice to say, but it raises red flags in my I-don't-want-anyone-too-close radar.

Now, I thought I had made it clear to him that we were over when I left home this past time. We went on a goodbye date and everything (his idea). He's dated someone else in the meantime (to the facebook-official level... something he wanted me to do but that I was uncomfortable with), and has since broken up with her. I don't have details on that. But he's recently started calling me again, and today he sent me a facebook message, simply saying "Just because you are incredibly gorgeous doesn't mean you get to be on my mind all the time! ;-)"

Again, nice sentiment. But concerns me. Actually, makes me a little uncomfortable. I didn't respond to it. And I'm not sure how to make it clear to him that I'm not interested in being with him again. While still sparing his feelings. Like I said, he's a fine person, I just don't want to be in a relationship with him.

But he knows I'm non-monogamous, so the "I've met someone else" or "I'm not looking for a relationship" feels disgenuine. He knows I'm in other relationships and is ostensibly OK with that, so it seems to remove some of my reason for breaking things off with him. We only had sex once while we were together before - partially because he's somewhat proper (well, until he's topping me, ha) and partially because I didn't try as hard as I could have to work around my schedule to make time for us to be alone in my apartment/bed. The sex itself was fine. I enjoyed it. But it wasn't anything particularly special. And I certainly have better sex with my other partners on a regular basis. And, quite frankly, the kind of sex I had with him (and that we talked about having) was similar to the kind of sex Jacob and I have. But it's way hotter with Jacob. Jacob is more in-tune and receptive to me and knows my body better. He does a much better job of fulfilling those desires.

But it seems a little cruel to tell him I'm dumping him because he's not "good enough" in bed. Yeah, yeah, sex is important to me, but so are people's feelings. Believe it or not.

And then there's the fact that I would, actually, like to continue seeing him as a friend. I do mean a friend without benefits, because the benefits seem to complicate things between us... but friends, nonetheless. This is probably a minor point, because, were I to actually get this far in explaining things to him and he said he didn't think we could be friends, I would live with that. It would certainly be sad to lose a friend, but frankly, I wouldn't be crushed.

But I don't know how to approach him with all this. My honesty-is-the-best-policy seems a little heartless here, since the honest truth isn't that I don't like him, just that I don't like him ENOUGH to keep him as a partner. So. What the hell do I do?

And then as I'm writing this it's sounding like I don't think I have the option to be discerning when choosing who my partners are. Hmm. Maybe Edward got to me more than I thought he did.

The end of Edward.

2009-03-28T10:18:00.003-06:00

Yes, the end of him. I'm not doing this anymore. He went too far. At least, I believe he did. I don't think I deserved what I got last night.

I usually don't post texts and messages in their entirety, but I think in the interest of fairness, and in me trying to see if I really did ask for this, I'm going to publish the whole interaction. It stretched from about 330 in the afternoon, when he started texting me about my facebook status - which were song lyrics from the emo song "Almost," saying "Sasha...Almost had you, but I guess that doesn't cut it - I almost wish you would have loved me too."

Edward: Almost had who... may I ask.. sorry, just read your facebook.
Sasha: Oh, they're just song lyrics. But they could apply to a couple people in my life, ha. Why?
Edward: Nothin...
Sasha: No, what's up?
Edward: So... no biggie, just a little jealous.
Sasha: Ha. Jealous of what?
Edward: idk, nothing I guess. nevermind, just me being silly.
Sasha: Ha. Don't worry, you're my only almost lover. hehe.
Edward: only almost lover?
Sasha: More song lyrics. Look it up - it's a pretty song!
Edward: whats that mean for me as an almost lover... sorry for my mild jealousy but i kind of consider you property of Edward... in a way. ;)
Sasha: What do you mean by that? Elaborate, please.
Edward: mine... maybe.
Sasha: Repeating yourself doesn't count as elaboration.
Edward: your my baby, my love, my dream girl, my sex goddess, and in my mind my one and only.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ...maybe.
Sasha: Wow.
Edward: ...sorry :(
Sasha: No, no. Nothing to apologize for. It's just... intense.
Edward: almost a decade of being in love with someone does that.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ... wow i feel dumb now. :(
Sasha: No, you're not dumb. It's just me. You know I'm weird about people telling me they love me slash romanticism.
Edward: even slash a person who's in love with you... kinda stings knowing my feelings for ya aren't mutual... oh wells i still do love ya. cant change a heart.
Sasha: I wasn't trying to. Really, these are just my issues with people.
Edward: i didn't think I was just anyone. i figured after so many years doing nothing but love you would put me a lil bit higher up on your list. but ok i understand.
Sasha: No no, don't do that.
Edward: ...yeah... nevermind forget i said anything. at all.
Sasha: I will not! I just wish I could make you understand.
Edward: what, i get it. no worries just forget i made an ass of myself.
Sasha: Shit. Why do I always do this? Please don't be mad at me.
Edward: im not mad at you, just upset with myself for acting like a idiotic jack ass.
Sasha: Don't do that. These are my issues. Sometime I probably should walk you through my theories on relationships and how i live my life now. Might help explain me.
Edward: no, trust me i understand. after all its me, not really a great catch to go loving all willy nilly... or something. idk whatever.
Sasha: That's not it at all.
Edward: yeah... well im just a sex toy. i get it.
Sasha: Dammit. How can I make you understand that the issue here is me?
Edward: yeah, of course. no worries i understand and ill be fine. and im not mad at you so everything is fine.
Sasha: Goddammit.
Edward: yeah, its fine. you cant love me back. thats fine.
Sasha:This seems like a shitty way to have this conversation. But yes, I have ridiculous issues w falling in love. It scares me shitless.
Edward: ill just have to learn to share... or something... idk i dont feel too good right now.
Sasha: I'm sorry. I wish you'd let me explain.
Edward: no need to explain or any need to stay tied down to just one person. you just cant love me back. i completely understand. but i cant see a future with me, you, and whoever else may be tossed into the mix. im not a fan of sharing someone i genuinely care for. obviously too much for my own good.
Sasha: Well then i'm sorry that my view that monogamy has no bearing on affection or relationship success or importance isn't something you agree with.
Edward: ... yeah... in other words just me isnt enough. forget it. im not feeling so good so enjoy whoever with whatever. bye now.
Sasha: OK. This obviously isn't something you can deal with. I understand that. When you want to have an actual grownup discussion, let me know.
Edward: actual grownup discussion about what, how i love you and want yo be only yours but me alone wouldnt be enough for you, or even capable of caring back for me?
Sasha: No, a grownup conversation about realistic relationship possibilities that make people happy, where everyone gets what they need WITHOUT all the drama that destroys people and relationships and love.
Edward: there's nothing really to discuss, you dont want just me, or even me at all really. i love you too much to allow myself to be in any kind of multiple partner relationship. so yeah.
Edward: so i want and love you, you want more than love me, and cant love me back... pure and simple. so i understand, and im sorry im not ok being just one of your many toys.
Sasha: No, I never said I can't (or even don't) love you back.
Edward: yeah, and where i get to sit around while you fuck around with other guys. sorry but no.
Edward: simply put me, and my feelings for you are not what you want... at least not only what you want. so fine, ill pick up the pieces from you once again, and try to move on. i hoped id be the only you wanted but oh the fuck well. not gonna let anyone, especially you hurt me again. not again.
Sasha: Stop that! Goddammit how can I have a conversation w you if you just jump straight to the guilt trip? You make me so fucking angry that I can't see straight. Swear to god were you here I would scream at you then kiss you until you got over yourself long enough to shut up and listen to me.
Edward: listen to what, i got everything youd try and tell me. fuck monogamy and all that right... ill take your advice then. Edward the whore is back... yay.
Sasha: Fine. Do what you need to to make yourself feel better. And blame me or whatever you need. And maybe when you're done being angry at me again you'll want me. Because I will still want you. I want you and I want you to be happy. Sometimes those seem like mutually exclusive things.
Edward: but you dont want just me, so thats the point... i give the fuck up. no amount of caring for anyone makes up for being hurt. not again.
Sasha: I never set out to hurt you. And I am sorry if my honesty did that. And I'm sorry that I don't want an exclusive relationship right now. I fuck those up too easily. Altough it looks like I've done a bang-up job on this one, too.
Edward: i dont blame you. your just incapable of producing the same feelings i do. i only blame myself for being such an naieve ignorant jack ass. sorry. bye.
Sasha: Tell yourself whatever you need to. Like I said, when you want to give me a chance, or at least make an effort to know who I am, let me know.
Edward: yep. shouldve known it would come to this. you have no reason or right to give an ounce of shit about me. so enjoy who ever with whatever. hope its fun and fulfilling for you. goodbye sasha.
Sasha: OK. Just keep going ahead with the guilt-trip. I'll fall back on those people who don't make me feel like shit for being who I am. Good luck with everything.
Edward: ha... i cant believe i thought you actually cared about me. what the hell was i thinking. hahaha.
Edward: i think i got ya figured out. cant believe i thought you wanted me. ha.
Edward: yeah you too. enjoy your other lil toys. hope none of them fall for ya.
Sasha: Yeah, me too. Maybe they won't get such a kick out of trying to make me feel like a whore.
Edward: whatever. all i wanted was to be cared about like i do for you. but just one dick apparently isnt enough for Sasha. yay.

And there is where I threw the phone across the room, and it broke into five pieces. I think I terrified my roommates. Nevertheless, I slammed the rest of my drink, picked up the phone and went back to my room. When I came back a few minutes later, I asked my roommates if I could have some of their vodka, they both just stammered out "yeah yeah yeah of course, whatever you want!"

I didn't respond to Edward again throughout the rest of the night. But I didn't quite have the self restraint to not open the text messages he kept sending me.

Edward: god, i wasted fucking years on someone who i never be "good enough" for... fuck this shit im fucking done. ill just go do what you do.

Edward: none the less, i promise to never bother you a fucking gain. no need to be guilt trip for no reason.

Edward: god damn it Sasha why'd you have to fool me for so fucking long into thinking i mattered to you. god damn it!

Edward: what? you dont think i deserve a response as to why you bullshitted me for these past couple of years? or are you too busy fucking around with your other toys?

Edward: HELLO! ID LOVE TO KNOW WHY BULLSHITTED ME SO MUCH FOR SO LONG! HELLO!

Edward: PULL WHO'S EVER COCK OUTTA YOUR MOUTH AND ANSWER ME PLEASE!

Edward: yeah, didnt fucking think you had a reason.

Edward: just one more regret in my life. goodbye then Sasha, enjoy your life without me guilt tripping you or burdening you again.

Here is where he started calling me. I didn't answer. He called at least once between each o the following texts.

Edward: hmph. guess i didnt matter that much then. fine.

Edward: ... so ignoring me. fun. and here i was trying to salvage something, but i guess not then. enjoy yourself now .

Edward: my last attempt at salvage sasha. tonight or never. and seriously you will never hear from me again unless i get some kind of semblance to an explanation.

Edward: i merely wish to know why ive been bullshitted by the one person i actually trusted. why? if no answer then a permanent fairwell.

Edward: well then, you have fun now. goodbye sasha and take care, sicne you only want one... no wait many things. use a condom now. bye.

Edward: ill be sure to erase any way of us contacting each other again. facebook, phone number, everything. enjoy yourself now.

Edward: I KNOW YOUR BUSY FUCKING AROUND BUT AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH AND YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH I DESERVE AN EXPLANATION! I DESERVE CLOSURE OF SOME SORT!

Edward: so when your done getting your fill, it be at lest decent of you to explain. if you gave even an ounce of fuck about me... ever. then at least give me that.

Edward: do you really not give a flying fuck about me enough to at least give me that?!? id like how you hurt me to not destroy me more than necessary, so how bout it?

Edward: fine, ill just do the one thing i knoe will curb broken feelings. forget i asked anything of you. ever.

Edward: could you take who's ever cock out of your mouth for a second to fucking talk to me? im hurting here in more ways than one.

The last message was left at 2:48 am.
And then he abandoned the text messages in favor of voicemails.

"I still believe I deserve some kind of fucking explanation from you goddammit. I mean, fuck, I poured almost a fucking decade into trying to be with you, just to have you fuck me over, hell, worse than you've ever done. And why? It's nice to know how much you actually give a fuck about me. Yknow I really thought if anyone would be honest and not bullshit me, it woulda been you."

"Could you stop being a bitch for like five fucking minutes? Maybe? Or not, which fucking ever. God... damn. I cannot believe you did this again. Oh I am so fucking stupid. Wow."

When I threw my phone and went into my room, I couldn't hold back the tears. I was so angry. And so hurt. And felt ridiculously alone. They were the exact same feelings I used to have when ex hit and/or screamed at me. I just wanted to curl up into a little ball. I could tell myself, intellectually, that he was being childish, that he was just trying to get a rise out of me, but emotionally, he was beating me down. It was working. I sent out a few frantic texts and clung to my computer, hoping I'd find someone online who I could talk to who might not think I'm a life-ruining whore. Thank god, the Pilot was on. I had to reboot my computer, but then we started Skyping.

I still feel bad for unloading so heavily on him. He actually saw me crying (and the requisite coping mechanism, drinking), and I'm sure I was blubbery and not making any sense as he tried desperately to reason with me. But he was amazing. He stayed on Skype with me for well over two hours. Making me laugh, plotting Edward's demise... and telling me not to answer every time Edward called me. The final count was 26 times, the last one at about 315am.

Roomie also happened to be online in New Zealand, so she repeated the things I'd said to her the night before about our pasts not defining us and there being nothing wrong with being who we are. Again, it's one of those things I knew, intellectually, but my irrational emotions were winning over. At one point, she asked me how I was feeling about the whole thing, and I just said "i feel like a whore who won't ever be loved." This was her response:
"I admire you so much for how comfortable you are with your sexuality and how fearless you always are. Like you said, you shouldn't let anyone make you feel like shit for the things in your past. They're just things you've done, they're not who you are. As for never being loved, I love you, so you know that's not true. I know that there is someone out there that is amazing and worthy of you, and you'll find them because you are amazing. You have this energy that sucks people in. You deserve to be happy, and I know you will find overwhelming happiness."

And it helped.

A couple hours after the Pilot and I had started talking, Friend logged on to AIM as well. (I'd texted him asking if he was around.) The three of us chatted as they made more plans for Edward's destruction, and did their best to convince my intoxicated, emotional ass that I wasn't a whore and that I was loved. They did an amazing job. Some of it was reason, some of it was emotional appeal, mixed in with a lot of reminding me that they both love me. When it was becoming apparent that Edward wasn't going to let up (and I, in my stubborness, wasn't going to turn off my phone), the Pilot suggested he call me and we take a walk together. (Virtually, of course.) I put shoes on, but then remembered that it isn't particularly safe to walk around alone at 3am in my neighborhood, not to mention it was 45 degrees and I was already shivering from the drinking... But I still called him, and then we dialed in Friend, and I curled up in my bed.

It was so soothing to hear their voices. And hearing them together, it was like we were all actually together, back with the witty banter. The only thing that could have made it better were if they were actually there with me, because if they were, I know I would have been getting more cuddling and love than I'd even know what to do with.

Bear checked in periodically through the evening, although he was out doing things and so didn't get the worst of my meltdown. He did, however, send me the song he said he chose for me (after my selecting "My life would suck without you" for him. Here it is:

The Pilot and Friend stayed on the phone with me until 4am, when I promised I'd go to sleep. I thanked them, not knowing how I would have coped if I hadn't had them there for me. I told them I love them, they reminded me they love me, too. And I believed them. And didn't feel so worthless anymore.

I got up to get ready for bed and couldn't help but look at my facebook. Edward had sent me a message, but this time, reading it didn't make me crumble. I think my boys got through to me. In any case, here's the message:
"... Thank you for helping realize how fucking ignorant i was over you. Its been so long since i've had my heart broken i almost forgot how much it really hurts. Hope this whole thing makes you a bit happiier. Enjoy your life sasha, without me. You didnt lose me, i lost you. Goodbye and thanks again, i promise i wont allow myself to be so fucking naive again."

And the only thing I could think, was how much more I WILL enjoy my life without him. And how incredibly lucky I am to have so many people who love me. And are willing to give up their friday night to console me, thousands of miles away though I may be. The Pilot called me this morning to make sure I was alive and in one piece (he'd seen the worst of it... I think I scared him a little. I'm sorry for that, dear.). Edward called me again right after the Pilot did, and just left me an empty voicemail.

So I've published everything here as a way of purging it all. It's deleted from my phone, from my inbox... He's deleted from my life. It feels good. I have more than enough love in my life, and thanks to those people, I even think I might deserve some of it. And I'm pretty confident I didn't deserve how Edward treated me. I didn't lie to him, although he begs to differ. And actually, reading through all this, I can't exactly find the point where I did anything wrong. Where I lied to him or broke him or anything. If anyone else can, I'd love to know.

In the meantime, though, I'm going to go back to revelling in my wonderful life, full of incredible people who make it worth living. Thank you to all of you. I love you very, very much.

Sasha.

I am a greedy whore.

2009-03-25T23:04:00.000-06:00

No, really.

I hadn't been able to sleep on the second leg of my flight. I was too jittery and excited and just couldn't stop smiling. I must have looked like an idiot, a shit-eating grin on my face as we touched down at the airport just after midnight. But I knew Friend was waiting for me at the airport and that the Pilot would be there momentarily to pick us up. I nearly sprinted off the plane and to the train to baggage claim. (Wow, that was a lot of unintentional rhyming.) I found Friend sitting on a bench, a giant backpacking pack at his feet. As calmly as I could (as if he didn't know how excited I was to be there and seeing him), I walked up to him and said something stupid like "hey, don't I know you?" There were hugs, and we called the Pilot, who rolled up shortly thereafter. We decided midnight meals were in order, and after an unsuccessful effort to find an open Village Inn, settled for Denny's. (Which, by the way, were springing up like weeds... I think the final count was 8 or 9 in the same stretch of state?) The snarky, witty, nerdy conversation ensued basically immediately. I've known both boys for years, and while they've kept better touch with one another consistently than I have, I feel like I fit seamlessly into their friendship. It's a nice feeling. Of course, we tend to be very silly when we all get together, and most conversations eventually end up reduced to naked and/or sex jokes. Which is also awesome.

We had to drive for about an hour to get back to the Pilot's apartment, meaning it was somewhere around 2am. For some ridiculous reason, we decided to nerd out and watch Firefly. And drink rum. The Pilot is part pirate, and as such, LOVES rum. He was starting to devise some kind of drinking game involving taking a drink every time a character swore without really doing so, but he was basically the only one playing. Friend and I each had maybe a glass of rum by the time the Pilot had three and was relatively sauced. From some kind of semi-fateful misunderstanding, I'd told the Pilot ahead of time that we could all just share his bed. And, seeing as how both Friend and the Pilot are straight (or at most hetero-flexible, to borrow Friend's phrasing), and because, yknow, I'm a cuddle whore, I climbed into the middle of the bed. And then things got interesting.

I should mention that, in general, Friend and I are very silly with one another. Especially when it comes to sex. It's one of my favorite things about him, not only does he make me laugh, but he does so at exceedingly appropriate times and is excellent at diffusing a tense situation and helping me put things in perspective. As such, the sex we have is lighthearted and fun - which doesn't make it any less hot or memorable, but does set it apart from most other partners I've had.

In classic fashion, as I was lying between the two boys, Friend made some comment about how it was silly that I was wearing a shirt, since I had perfectly good breasts that shouldn't be hidden. Or something to that effect. I just giggled, and without much convincing, shed my shirt. At which point, I had a hand on each breast - one belonging to each boy. Friend made another joke, and started kissing my neck, biting my earlobe... pointing out to the Pilot that he should do the same and see what kind of reaction it elicited. They made the requisite snarky, cocky comments when my breathing became audibly louder. Hands started running up and down my body. Friend and the Pilot have very different touches, and it was electrifying feeling the two sensations simultaneously. As I've come to expect, Friend's touch is softer, more sensual. The Pilot, running his hands up and down the right side of my body, had a stronger touch - it seemed more urgent, hungrier. Even before anyone had moved his hands below my waist, my body was buzzing. Friend turned my face to his, both his hands on my jaw, and kissed me. So began my first boy-girl-boy threesome. And the fulfillment of a fantasy I've had for years.

(On a side note, I've started noticing that perhaps having one's lovers read one's blog is a good plan. It's a good way for them to take note of what you do and don't like, without having to burden oneself with actually telling them... *snicker*)

The Pilot knew Friend and I have been together, and I'm not sure he was originally sure how he would fit into the scenario. So I turned to him, and kissed him, too. And I have to say that in that moment, I started to feel a little like a sex goddess. That's probably an entirely unearned title, but it's how I felt. Understandably, I think, given that I had two men basically worshipping me. It's hard not to feel pretty fucking hot.

Friend, for his part, kept the tone characteristically light, which I think sometimes bugged the Pilot, who takes sex much more seriously. (Again, something that was evident even in the way they touched me.) My style is probably something of a combination of the two - I can certainly roll with either, and it was a fascinating experience having the two combined. I'd love to say I played some crucial role in mediating between the two, but the truth is I was so flabergasted by what was happening that I probably wasn't much help at all. I just kept floating higher and higher, existing on some other plane where things like this actually happen.

Throughout the entire encounter, Friend emerged as the kind of leader, or perhaps the director. He and I don't do much with a dom/sub dichotomy (although he's usually in charge, and has no problem pinning my hands down or pulling my hair to put me where he wants me), but he stepped into this quiet dominance part in this situation. I think some of it was, as we hadn't discussed anything about this with all three of us, we were kind of improvising and needed someone willing to direct things in some sense. And I think some of it was, for all that I suspect the Pilot has quite a bit of a dom personality buried in him, he was still a little unsure about what was and wasn't allowed. And I will admit that it was lovely to just sit back and enjoy, totally absorbed in the sensations, knowing that Friend was looking out for me and knows me so well that I can trust him completely. So things progressed.

Both guys went down on me - which is a big deal for me, as it's something I'm not exceptionally comfortable with. Of course, like most of the things that night, I was a little too blissed out to be self-conscious. Which, again, was a nice change of pace. And again, getting the undivided attention of two men at the same time doesn't hurt a girl's ego, either. At one point, Friend got up and came back with ice cubes, which melted on my overheated skin accompanied by my whimpers and squirming. Friend would periodically look at me and just shake his head, saying, "You are SO spoiled." I'd smile and giggle out, "Oh, I know. It's awesome."

Somewhere about three hours in (yes, THREE HOURS), the actual sex began. I don't recall exactly how the arrangement came to be (then again, most of the evening wasn't planned), but I ended up facing Friend while the Pilot fucked me from behind, spoon-style. Wow. What a mind-fuck. And talk about a very strange way to be submissive. Making eye contact with your partner while you're being fucked by someone else... I'm not even sure I can verbalize the sensation. I felt empowered, sexy, desired, while at the same time feeling very vulnerable and submissive and even a little objectified (in a good, consensual kind of way). Looking at Friend, it was like I was asking his permission, even though he'd obviously already granted it. Again, he would take my face in his hands, kiss me deeply, pull me back into the moment when I was floating away. He does that sometimes. Usually right when I need him to.

And there was the separate sensation of pleasure coming from the Pilot, fucking me. He knew what he was doing. It felt fantastic. I love being fucked from behind, and it had been a long time since I'd had spooning sex, although it's one of my favorites when it works right. And oh, was it working right. His hands were gripping at my hips, pulling me into him, and I know my breathing (more likely panting at this point) was synching up with his thrusts. He came quietly, and we both let out a deep breath. He rolled onto his back, and we all spaced out a little on the bed to start the collective come-down.

The details from there are a little fuzzy. It was definitely a different kind of come-down, and I'm pretty sure I started giggling insanely. (Something that became standard fare for the week we spent together... the boys took to calling it my midnight cat crazies... cat owners will get it.) Eventually, we fell asleep, me still in between both the boys, each of my arms twisted with one of theirs. And I slept well... Sweet dreams weren't even needed. I had just lived one.

If the things I fantasize about keep living up to my expectations, I might have to reevaluate my chronic pessimism.

And as for the title here? It became a running joke for the rest of the week, that I was a greedy whore, just letting the boys pamper me like that. And really, they were right. I just can't promise I'll be changing anytime soon if these are the experiences that trait gets me.

HNT: Lines

2009-03-25T23:00:00.000-06:00

So, in my eagerness to escape from the frozen, sunless tundra where I spend nine months of the year, on my southern adventure last week I might have been a little over-zealous with the sun exposure. The Pilot refuses to give me any sympathy, which is probably fair - it is my own fault. However, it's only been a day or two, and the burn has almost entirely faded to a tan. That doesn't mean I don't still have some pretty rockin' tan lines. Ha.

HHNT!

Coming back

2009-03-25T08:58:00.003-06:00

I apologize for my absence of late - I've just spent the past week on a combined birthday/spring break vacation, and I must admit, blogging was one of the furthest things from my mind. Friend flew out from home, and I flew south from school to stay with a mutual friend, who we'll call the Pilot. We we spent the week surrounded by sun, sand, more than a little rum, a non-stop soundtrack of 80s music, and oh yeah, a whole lot of sex.

I have a ridiculous amount of gushing/updating to do, and all that will come in the next few days... In the meantime, here's an example of a strikingly appropriate piece of the vacation soundtrack...

Love and non-monogamy.

2009-03-16T23:14:00.002-06:00

I've spoken to a few people, and received a few comments here that have led me to think that I've given the impression that I think love and non-monogamy are mutually exclusive. I don't think that.

Not at all, actually.

I am admittedly young and as such necessarily new to expressly non-monogamous relationships. But even my limited experience thus far has been so incredibly positive that it's made me re-think my automatic imaginings of my future as a monogamous one. I have been happier, relationship-wise, in the past year or two that I've embraced polyamory then I've been in quite some time. Some of that is due to a series of particularly wonderful partners - some of whom I'm still with. Overall, they've been honest and warm and welcoming and I've learned things from them about myself and the world and life and love.

Specifically in the case of Friend, probably my most consistent partner (in that we're entirely open with one another and continue to care about each other even when we're not in the same place, and then fall back into our old routine when we are), I have never felt second-rate. I know that he has other partners, and he knows that I do as well. We talk about them. We talk about someday maybe introducing some of them to each other. I have never felt cheated out of time with him or neglected. The terms of our relationship are very clear.

And we tell one another that we love each other on a daily basis. It might not be that epic, fairy-tale OH EM GEE I LOVVVVEEEE YOU style, but it is very real. I love him very much. And I believe he feels the same about me. It's a simple matter of fact. And I'm happy when I'm with him.

And I'm happy when I'm with my other partners. I'm happy when I'm with Jacob. I know for a fact that he loves me. And I love him back. He's been there for me through quite a bit, and he brings something unique to my life. My family likes him, and that makes me happy, although that's not something I ever thought I would care about. He's sweet, and an excellent cuddler, and indulges me in all kinds of wonderful ways. Actually, he tends to spoil me. Sometimes I can't handle it, and I know that actually, in this relationship, it's usually me who's the one hesitant to say I love you. But those are my own issues.

So no, I don't see my non-monogamy as excluding love. And I don't see falling in love with someone as an automatic declaration of monogamy. In fact, it's more likely that the more I cared about someone, the more likely I would be to be honest and open with them about not being monogamous. I've cheated before, and hurt people I really love. I don't ever want to do that. This is the best way I've found to do that.
"I'm sorry I have to say it, but you look like you're sad - your smile is gone, I noticed it bad. The cure is if you let in just a little more love... I promise you this - a little's enough."

It hasn't been flawless, but no life, no relationship, ever is. But instead of saying that non-monogamous people are lacking in love, I argue the opposite - we're the lucky ones in that we're more surrounded by love than most. I can think of two, three, maybe even four people right away who I love in a romantic sense and who love me back. And there's no conflict with that. How can that not be real love?

Some academia.

2009-03-16T20:14:00.004-06:00

I've realized recently that this blog used to have a little more of a point. I started it as a place to publish the sex column I was writing for a campus magazine, and occasionally thereafter there were academic, or at least intellectual posts. I fear I've gotten away from that in favor of ranting about my ridiculous relationships. While that's certainly therapeutic for me, it isn't wholly representative of who I am, even just as a writer.

I'm also skating along the border of legitimacy, I feel, as far as blogs go. Certainly, the whole point of the "citizen journalist" and "push-button publishing" is that anyone can be a writer or a journalist, but as I consider myself both of those professionally as well as just a blogger, I think it's time to offer a little glimpse of a different side of me. I've long admired Roland Hulme's book reviews, and wished I was more of a pleasure-reader so I might have some decent content to review. What follows isn't quite that, as the essay was written for a writing class I'm taking at my university, but it does start delving into my academic voice. And it's about queer sexuality, and I'm proud of the final product. So I'm publishing it here. I was assigned to read and analyze Truman Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms... It was my first time reading Capote, I'm a little ashamed to admit, but I think I tackled the material well, if I do say so myself.

Also, reading it over, I noticed the stark difference in voice between what I write in here and what I write in academically. I suppose that's a good thing, though, right?

If you'd like to buy the book to read for yourself, you can find it on Amazon.

Truman Capote’s Other Voices, Other Rooms, first published in 1948, was the author’s first commercially successful novel, and although he claims he was unaware of it while writing the book, is semi-autobiographical. The story focuses on Joel, a somewhat precocious 13-year-old boy who, after his mother’s death, is sent to live at his estranged father’s home outside Noon City, Alabama. Joel has no recollection nor knowledge of his father, as he was raised solely by his mother and then, for a short time after her passing, by his aunt. In this regard, the book is somewhat autobiographical. Capote did indeed spend many of his formative years in Alabama and, like Joel, lost his mother at a young age. Notably, Capote’s mother committed suicide, whereas Joel’s mother dies of a cause he does not entirely understand – she is simply always cold and then fades away. In fact, this vague description and the questions and details it leaves unresolved is characteristic of Other Voices, Other Rooms. It is a deeply emotional novel, with its sensitive protagonist constantly struggling with the societal imposition of impending manhood and with it, a heteronormative identity. Throughout the novel, Capote’s language relies almost entirely on pathos to move its story forward. Readers are often left wondering what is real and what is imagined, as Capote outright denies his readers a legitimating logos. Logic has little place in Joel’s world of half-truths and mysterious histories, and as such, Capote does not allow his reader more information than has his main character.

From the first introduction to Joel, Capote sets the boy apart from a perceived “normal.” When Sam Radclif, a local truck driver, first sees Joel,

He had his ideas about what a “real” boy should look like, and this kid somehow offended them. He was too pretty, too delicate and fair-skinned; each of his features was shaped with a sensitive accuracy, and a girlish tenderness softened his eyes, which were brown and very large. (10)

Immediately Capote sets apart his protagonist from the heteronormative yet widely accepted perception of the “typical man.” Given the kairos of the novel, and with the knowledge that although he never states the word, Joel (and Capote) eventually recognizes himself as gay, this description seems to immediately “out” Joel. Through the 1950’s and even much of the 1960’s, homosexuality was marked less by same-sex desire than by gender-deviant behavior or presentation. Gay men were considered to be those who were effeminate (regardless of a man’s actual orientation or sexual practices), just as lesbians were those women who were “too masculine.” Given the time period in which Capote was writing, this likely would have been an immediate sign to his readers that Joel might be queer.

But where Capote truly shines is, of course, in his prose. Capote was quoted as saying that his earliest works – those before Breakfast at Tiffany’s and including Other Voices – were a move verbose and, in some regards, indulgent exercise in prose. Nevertheless, it is through his prose in Other Voices that Capote allows the reader a window into Joel’s mind and heart, without once adopting a first-person approach. Perhaps the most striking instance of this comes when Joel, while at a makeshift church service with his friend and housekeeper (and maternal figure), Zoo. At this point in the story, although living in his house for almost a month, Joel still has not seen his father, and has instead fantasized about what he would be like, but those fantasies quickly bring out Joel’s own insecurities and desires. As Zoo demands that Joel pray at the conclusion of the service, Capote writes:

But there was no prayer in Joel’s mind; rather, nothing a net of words could capture, for, with one exception, all his prayers of the past had been simple, concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil paints. Only how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningless as this: God, let me be loved. (79)

This passage is so simple, yet the pain is quite palpable. Without even placing the reader directly in Joel’s shoes with first-person perspective, Capote has created such emotional resonance that the reader can actually feel Joel’s pain. And the simplicity of Joel’s desire, juxtaposed with the implication that he thinks such a notion is ridiculous to ask for all combines to create an incredibly effective sense of pathos. It is precisely this tactic that Capote employs throughout the novel to not only allow readers to identify with Joel, but also to evoke such strong pathos that readers cannot help but empathize with Joel.

It is this identification that likely encourages readers to rejoice, with Joel, when he finally accepts himself for who he is at the end of the novel. Although neither Capote nor Joel ever say the word “homosexual” or “gay,” (although, notably, Joel’s transgender cousin Randolph is openly gay, as readers discover through the course of the book), in the final pages, Joel begins to accept his surroundings. In some sense, his father’s home is a kind of prison – it is secluded, and its residents chastised even from the small town they live near. Yet simultaneously, Capote once again employs ethos to demonstrate to readers that perhaps this isolation was necessary for Joel to truly discover and come to terms with himself – his past, present, and future.

A crazy elation caught hold of Joel, he ran, he zigzagged, he sang, he was in love, he caught a little tree-toad because he loved it and because he loved it he set it free, watched it bounce, bound like the immense leaping of his heart; he hugged himself, alive and glad, and socked the air, butted like a goat, hid behind a bush, jumped out… “I am me,” Joel whooped. “I am Joel, we are the same people.” And he looked for a tree to climb: he would go right to the very top, and there, midway to heaven, he would spread his arms and claim the world… (230)

Joel slipped down from the tree; he had not made the top, but it did not matter, for he knew who he was and he knew that he was strong. (231)

At this precise moment, Capote allows the reader to celebrate in Joel’s revelation along with him. The stream-of-conscious tone associates the words with an adolescent too excited to be bothered with punctuation; with news too important and vital to be kept from anyone. That is exactly what Joel has just discovered in terms of himself. And once again, Capote has illustrated it not through a logical progression or moral revelation, but rather through the simple, honest feelings of his main character.

Capote relies so heavily upon pathos in Other Voices, it could be argued that he quite pointedly ignores logos and ethos. While he makes some reference to morality and appeals to society, these are always portrayed in the third-person and distanced from the protagonist, with whom the reader identifies and empathizes. The ethos of the town or even other members of Joel’s family is portrayed as misguided and often downright cruel and negligent. Similarly, logos has little place in the world Capote has created for Joel. Capote keeps his readers veiled in the same shroud of childlike confusion and half-explanation that the adults in Joel’s life keep him shrouded in. Joel and readers maintain illusions of supernatural happenings throughout, and even at the conclusion of the book, many questions are left unanswered. But, instead of leaving the reader confused or frustrated with so many loose ends, Capote has effectively created a pathos identifying the reader with Joel that the reader is simply happy for Joel to find some resolution and peace within himself and his world.

about P.

2009-03-13T23:28:00.003-06:00

I was updating my "featuring" section over the past few days, and I realized that I still have P listed there. And as I tried to edit his description appropriately, I fell short. Because the truth is, I don't know what to say about him anymore. He has, in a subtle yet simultaneously forcible manner, removed himself completely from my life. I haven't spoken to him since he left Colorado at the beginning of the year. I see him online sometimes, and I don't even have to keep my hand from clicking on his name to send a message. (Which might not seem like a big deal, but you should see me try to do the same when I notice Edward or nonboyfriend's name pop up on the screen.) I don't have the slightest idea what's going on with his life. My last memory of him is him looking at me, eyes pleading, begging me not to ask him the questions I so desperately wanted to while we were at a mutual friend's house. He promised me he'd explain some other day. I told him I could wait.

And then I forgot to ask him. I couldn't remember the details about what, exactly, I'd needed to say to him, through my drunken haze.

And it breaks my heart to think that this might really have been the last chance I got to speak to him. And I blew it. I was too damn drunk to function properly, and then too embarrassed to admit as much when he asked me about the conversation a few days later. Our single conversation since was contrived and painfully limited in scope. So reading over his description in my blog, one I wrote over a year ago, physically hurts. I see myself writing words like "soulmate" and "unconditional love" and I realize it's entirely possible that I've lost all that. And what's maybe most interesting and at the same time most painful, is that I'm not mourning the loss of a lover. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. Because he isn't my friend anymore. He hasn't been my lover for some time, and that was something I could deal with. Especially because things never really, fundamentally, changed between us - there were only the logistics of whether or not we were sleeping together that month. He still knew me better than anyone, and I, him. He still understood me without words and knew exactly what I wanted and needed from him. He was never afraid to talk to me, to yell at me, to try to smack some sense into me (metaphysically... he'd never lay a hand on me in any way I didn't want him to). And that is gone.

Because he is moving a world away. And doesn't think long-distance relationships, of any kind, can work. Never mind that before he decided to make this move, he came to me, nearly in tears, saying he couldn't decide between being with me and living out this dream he's had forever that would take him across the globe. Of course, without hesitation, I told him to go for his dream. How could I have done anything else? But sometimes I think he interpreted that as me giving up on him. At the same time, that doesn't make sense, because he knows me better than that. Or at least he used to. Maybe now he doesn't care to.

The last few times I've spoken with him, I've gotten the distinct impression that he's ashamed of me. I have done a lot of shame-worthy things in my life. Very few, if any, of them have been in the past year that he's been treating me like he doesn't want to know me. I remember the last time we hung out before I left for Spain. It was me, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend, P, G, and Roomie. We went dancing. Myself, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend and roomie were all sufficiently sauced. We were, admittedly, not at our best. And there were some silly stupid decisions made, but nothing tragic. Everyone went home together and everything was fine. Nevertheless, in the morning, P lectured me about my relationship with nonboyfriend, getting all protective-older-brother-esque on me. I don't think I reacted particularly harshly.

But since then (although he knows I'm not with nonboyfriend any longer), P has seemed distant. And ashamed of me. Acting like he's gracing me, humoring me, with his presence. Like he's just barely tolerating me. I just don't know what I could have done to fall so far away from him. And with all he's forgiven me for, how could this really be the final straw? Or did I really just fall away and get forgotten? I'm not sure which is worse.

And this song has always made me think of P. He would know why.

Bear's song

2009-03-12T22:00:00.000-06:00

I heard this song on MTV the other day (well, about 30 seconds of it... quite a bit for MTV these days!)... and it made me think of Bear. Primarily the chorus... But it's just so true. Our song used to the All-American Rejects' "It Ends Tonight," because it's what I was listening to one of the first times we hung out and he started singing along to all the words and I was totally shocked. He doesn't strike me as the type to listen to emo. But oh, does he.

Anyway, we've been talking and joking for a while that we need a new song, because "It Ends Tonight" is a total downer. I mean, c'mon, the opening lines are "your subtleties, they strangle me, I can't explain myself at all. And all the wants, and all the needs, all I don't want to need at all." Not cheery. Although even typing it, I can hear Bear camping up Tyson's voice in my head.

In any case, a couple nights ago when Bear was over at my house - after an adventure through flooded streets and 20 miles round trip to find a Blockbuster (god I hate living in a small town) - I played him this song. I was bouncing around my room, and he heard the chorus, and just goes "awww!" and gives me a giant, well, bear-hug. Heh.

So here, enjoy.

Yeah, my life would suck without him.