poeticdesires

Category: Link

  • Hair, Down There?

    I hadn’t heard about No Shave November til there was random mention of it on my Twitter feed a few days into the month.  A few of the people I followed were participating for various reason.

    Since it was only (I think) the 3rd, I thought about what body hair meant to me.  Should I try the challenge?

    I viewed shaving less in a feminine light and more in a basic grooming practice scope.  I don’t like the feel of my legs with hair, nor do I enjoy the scratchy tickle of my underarms with hair.  I shave those areas as much for myself as for the people I wish to see me naked.

    But my pubic hair…

    When I pondered my relationship with my pubic hair, much came to mind.

    I recalled a passing line in Story Of O mentioning how Sir Stephen pulled O towards him by grabbing her nether locks.  O later silently lamented, worrying how Sir Stephen would react after she was required to shave her pubic hair.

    In How To Be A Woman, Caitlin Moran describes how her pubic hair is a small bush that, when patted, has a bit of a bounce to it.

    I once had a conversation with my Ex while we were in the middle of our relationship.  He didn’t want me to shave my crotch anymore, at least not every day as I had been.  He didn’t like the look if it so bare, but was perfectly fine with a little stubble.

    For a time, shortly after college, I tried plucking my pubic hairs.  It hurt so badly, yet I often removed at least a third of the hairs before I fell back on shaving the rest.  I didn’t realize I was a pain slut at the time, but it is one of those instances I look back on and realize kink for me was less chosen and more just a part of my brain.

    With those and other thoughts meandering in my mind, I tried it.  For the month of November, I did not shave my pubic hair.  This was a semi-significant change for me.  I attended two separate events where I knew I would play with people who knew my grooming habits, or at least had seen my cunt relatively enough to possibly notice the difference.

    I made this decision with some trepidation.  How would the people sticking their fists and dicks into my pussy react?  Would they find it unappealing?  Not care?  Or, indeed, find it hot?  Would anyone mention it?  Could this one grooming choice spark a conversation on sexuality, or maybe open up a new way avenue for our sex?

    Much to my surprise, my grooming choice was met with nothing.  Nothing changed about my scenes or the sex.  No mention by anyone was made of my choice.  I almost wonder if anyone noticed.  I was fisted and fucked, having a grand ole time, with no difference in our interactions.

    What I did find, much to my surprise, was how much I liked not shaving my pussy.  During masturbation, I liked gripping the hairs and pulling my lips.  I liked the feel of playing with the hair, twisting the strands.  My pubic hair has gotten quite long, about a half inch at its most lengthy.

    Having spent the month of November with a furry pussy, experienced getting fucked and fisted, as well as pleasing myself with my pubic hair, I’m left with a few thoughts to ponder.  But the one that’s stuck in my mind, the one that’s the reason for the this post, makes me cock my head to the side and give a small smirk.

    Maybe I will keep my hair down there.

  • New Rule

    OKC boy texted me a video on Saturday.  He was lying in bed, t-shirt on, but naked from the waist down.  His cock was in full view.  He lazed back on his bed watching porn while masturbating.

    I watched the video, noting how I was somewhat turned on, yet also somewhat turned off.

    The thought that came to mind as the video ended: I need a break.

    I didn’t respond to the video.

    Later that day, he texted, ‘Did you get that?’  I didn’t text back.

    I promised myself, as I crashed from a long day of work Saturday night, that I wouldn’t do the shitty thing.  I wouldn’t just ignore him.  I wouldn’t do The Fade Away.  I would be adult about it.  I would talk to him.

    On Sunday, he messaged me again.

    ‘Busy?’

    ‘No.  What’s up?’

    ‘Did you get the video?’

    ‘Are you in a place where you can talk on your phone?’

    ‘Yes.’

    I called him.  After the pleasantries, I baby-stepped my way to my concerns.

    I prefaced my explanation, noting that I needed to explain how my brain worked, and then I’d talked about what I needed, and then I’d ask how he felt about it.

    I reminded him how, from the beginning, he said he just wanted to be friends who fucked.  Also I spoke about how I had said I would be open to more than that, if he wanted.  But, until he says anything different, we would just be friends who fucked.

    Then I spoke about how, the more I interact with him, the more I like him.  The more feelings that one would have for someone who is more than just a friend keep emerging, growing.

    To me, it is obvious that I like him more than he likes me, and that’s okay because we’ve established the parameters of our interactions.  I can keep my feelings in check if we stay within our script.

    However, when looking back on all of our texting, it has almost always been initiated by him and it almost always revolved around sex.  I told him how I felt uncomfortable with this.  The implication in my mind was that he only wanted me for sex, and that made me feel shitty.  Where was the friend part of the equation?

    Henceforth, I proposed a new rule: I wanted a texting timeout.  He could send one sexy text per day, to which I would respond, and that would be it.  One text; one response.  If he sent more, I would not answer.

    Then it was his time to talk.

    He reaffirmed his desire to be my friend.  He enjoyed our sex, but wanted to point out how much he liked me as a person.  He cited our time at Ren Faire as one instance where he felt we were cool together.

    He made a counter offer: one sexy conversation and one non-sexy conversation per week.  I felt that was fair, and agreed.

    We went on to talk for another fifteen minutes about our lives, sans-sexy stuff.  He spoke about his new job, settling into his new locale.  I spoke about school and how well it’s been going.  The conversation was pleasant.  I then bid him adieu to go for a run on my roommate’s treadmill.

    He texted me this morning.

    ‘Good morning.’

    I didn’t respond.

  • Daily Zen

    I’m not a religious person. When pressed by someone to give an answer, I’ve said in the past I’m pseudo-Christian. I was baptized Catholic. Went to Catholic school for seven years. But my mother converted to Baptist before I started either of those schools. And, when once asked by her, I bluntly said her religion was not for me (a brave and strong willed act, considering I was 14 at the time).

    Catholicism is definitely not my bag. I’m too feminist to reclaim that mantel, though I did love the ritual and pageantry of it. Baptists have their music and community atmosphere, but again my morals won’t let me be a part of a religion that goes so heavily against my views.

    Mostly, I feel adrift when it comes to religion. Sometimes I wonder if there is anything to believe in at all.

    But then I get this feeling that there is something, some sort of life force in the universe. I can’t really name it. I just know when I see the beauty of a flower, or think about the enormity of our world, and worlds beyond. Or the fact that I have two amazing nieces born from my friends’ love, no matter the form it took, I tear up. That life essence is something, though I don’t know what.

    Lately, in trying to find center in my own life, both personal and professional, I’ve come upon a random resource to calm the raging storm: Daily Zen. It’s a group on FetLife that I joined which posts one or two Zen proverbs each day. I read them, take them in, let my mind linger on their thoughts. It helps.

    I am by no means actively seeking out religion or a new way of being for myself. But I appreciate the words. They center me. Make me concentrate on, think about something other than parts of my life I, at times, view as petty or frivolous.

    And, since this is my blog, I get to do what I want. Henceforth, I will occasionally share those words with you.

    I already have two podcasts: PoeticReadsGray & Daddy’s Good Girl. Instead of launching a third, I’m going to occasionally include voice snippets in this blog. Nothing big. Each proverb usually is only a minute or two.

    But when the words move me. Make me think. Get me to stop the constant chatter of no-good-very-bad things rolling around in my head, I’ll share them with you.

    Here are two to start:


  • AtoZ

    You knew I was going to do this, right?

    Sometimes I just do things for people. Buy them a drink. Take care of the check for a meal. Crochet them something. It’s a part of my personality that I like to do for others, especially if I care about you.

    During the month of April, an A to Z blog challenge occurred. People posted one blog a day corresponding to the letter of the date (1st-A, 2nd-B, etc). Sunday people took off.

    I didn’t learn about the challenge until it was too late to sign up for it, but I still used the alphabet idea as inspiration for last month’s blogs. (Please ignore the fact that it took me until noon today to finish said blogs.)

    I learned of the blog challenge through Gray’s blog at Graydancer.com . He posted an entry stating he was going to try it. I thought this sounded like fun. I love reading his thoughts and was pleased this idea would give me more of his musings, on an almost daily basis no less.

    Plus it helped that it was a sexy subject challenge. Bloggers were asked to write about a topic corresponding to the letter of the date and relating to sex in some way.

    One day, before a gig, I read Gray’s second entry in my car. I have this habit of reading things out loud, especially when I’m alone. As I read B is for Baculine, I found myself smiling, especially at a small moment he describes in the entry.

    I already have a podcast of my reading Gray’s vanilla blog posts at PoeticReadsGray.

    But, for the AtoZ challenge, I thought I would do something special. Just for him. Just cause. I re-read B is for Baculine immediately into my iPhone’s voice recorder and texted the file to Gray. I didn’t expect anything of it, except, hopefully, that he would like hearing his words in my voice.

    I kept doing it throughout the month because one, I really liked it, and two, he never told me stop.

    When I saw him at the Grue Pitt, he asked me why I’d read the entries. I told him simply because I loved his writings and thought it would please him. And that was the long and short of it.

    Until I got a text from Gray a week later.

    – Hope you like the podcast.

    My reply: Oh…god…

    Because yes, it made perfect sense. Quite a few of his entries were rope-centric. Why wouldn’t he create a Ropecast entry from his blogs? And I’d given him a wealth of content to post: 26 entries totally 1 hour and 36 minutes. It was perfect.

    Graydancer’s A-to-Z Blog Challenge, as read by Poetic Desires

    Except it never occurred to me. I did not expect this, at all.

    Still, while listening to the podcast, and after finishing it, and even just thinking about it, I can’t help but smile. A big, huge, face-hurting smile.

    Attention and affection.

  • Why?

    I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately, mostly because of a friend’s influence, although Doc has been encouraging it as well.

    In regards to my theatrical career, there is one person who I believe owes most of the credit for my current circumstance: Mr. David Kriebs. He was the Production Manager for the Performing Arts Center at my college, and, on the first day of my first college Theatre Tech class, he uttered a sentence I will never forget: “We eat.”

    It was his pithy explanation of being a techie. We get jobs. We don’t wait for callbacks. We don’t hem and haw over whether or not the casting director liked us. We work.

    And, for the first time, I thought about theatre as a viable career. Nevermind that I loved to act, would later learn I had a knack for directing, and had been writing since age seven. With Kriebs’ one line, a seed had been planted. I could work as a techie for a living.

    It doesn’t really matter that I didn’t drop my Math major for another year. I was already heading down the path, already set in the life I would live.

      “The question to ask, before you chuck it all to go raise horses in the desert or climb trees for a living, is: why? Take a look at where you are, because on some level there was something about being there that you wanted. Some quality about it reflects some desire within yourself, and that’s why you made things the way they are…

    It’s important to know what parts of our lives are subsidized by the habits and environments we cultivate. Because change is gonna happen regardless; it’s probably a good idea to only help it along when you’re sure it’s worth the risk.” – Gray, from The Danger of Desire, Love.Life.Practice.

    The problem, though, is that I sat up a false narrative in my mind with David’s sage words. Techie equals job, pay, making a living. Acting equals maybe job, maybe pay, hard living.

    I never gave myself the chance to be an actor, never gave myself the chance to explore that desire I had to be on stage, in the limelight, baring my soul for the world. Funny enough, my fears about relationships mirror my fears about being an actor: letting people in, letting people see me, raw, unfiltered, and their judgement that was sure to come.

    Now, being a freelance tech, there are many reasons why I have kept this job. A big allure is the freedom. I’m never stuck at a desk, never bound by a steady nine to five life. FOMO, fear of missing out, haunts me at times. This job makes it less a likelihood. I won’t lose my job no matter how much time I take off.

    But now, thinking about a life I am pursuing where I know I will be sacrificing so much freedom, so many events I would normally attend, doesn’t scare me. What scares me now is the thought of what I could’ve been if I had tried a little harder, made different decisions.

    When it comes to medicine, there was something more insidious in my aversion of that path. It was my family, their influence, that pushed me astray. Two prominent female figures in my life, my mother and my cousin Ella, led me away from that dream.

    I was in my early teens when once Ella asked me, point blank, “How would you feel if someone died on your table?” I didn’t have an answer to her question. In my mind, that meant I was not capable of being a doctor, because surely others had thought of this and knew how they would react, knew that they could handle it. I didn’t know how I would react, if I could take it, if it would break me. I still don’t.

    But then there was the subtle nudge of my mother. Her example of being less than. Once, when I was young, mentioning wanting to be a doctor, thinking about following in my father’s footsteps, and her asking me to not say that. Somehow insinuating it wasn’t “right”, whatever that is. I don’t know if my mother was ashamed of her life, of her role that she played as the loving mistress, but I suspect whatever reservations she had she unknowingly tried to pass onto me.

    And now I’m here, in a job that pays my bills but I do not love, knowing I could be more.

    Now I am starting a journey of trying to be something else, something closer to what I imagined when I was younger, something closer to what I hope will be better for those around me and the world as a whole. Because soon I’ll be 30. And then 40. And then 50. And in the precious time I have on this earth, I want to be doing something I love rather than something I’m good at or something that is just safe.

  • Three Notes On My Poly Adventure

    I guess this is going to be an ongoing random series, me talking about my poly life (or lack there of).

    1) Pedestrian Polyamory

    So I now am listening to yet another polyamory podcast. This one came as recommendation from a friend and I am loving it.

    The podcast is called Pedestrian Polyamory. Our hosts are a triad, Gavin Katz & Shira B Katz, a married cis-gendered heterosexual couple (I think all of that is true. I’ve listened to almost six episodes and that seems to be an apt description for them) and the wife’s second primary, The Transient.

    I love these guys. My first peek at them came from Poly Weekly, when the wife was featured as well as others on another podcast she is a member of, Life On The Swingset. (Yup, she does two podcasts. Someone is a bit busy.)

    The first actual Pedestrian episode I listened to was the Depressisode in which they talk about dealing in a poly relationship when one partner has depression. I think it says a lot that I listened to this one first and still kept coming back. If you can entertain me with a topic as sad as depression and make me want to keep listening for more, I think you’ve got something there folks.

    Pedestrian Polyamory wants to air once a week, but it appears closer to twice a month. They’ve not been around long, I think a year, but still I like those folks and will continue to listen to them.

    2) OKC update

    So I had my first OKCupid date today. I met a guy at a small dive bar for a drink.

    When I first showed up, there was a bartender and two other guys sitting at a bar watching a football game. Thankfully I saw they sold hard cider. I ordered an Angry Orchard and joined the guys in watching their game.

    About five minutes in, another guy walked in and took a seat. I only got a passing glance at his face. When I peeked over, I thought he might be my OKC date. I checked his picture on the site again (fuck, I love my smart phone), and confirmed it was him.

    And then I got nervous. Was I suppose to go to him? Should I wait for him to make a move?

    Thankfully the football game ended, so I had a natural reason to stand up and go over. I introduced myself and sat down.

    We chatted for about thirty minutes on normal first meeting topics: work, life in general. When the conversation veered towards kink, I could tell he was not versed in the subject.

    Around the thirty minute mark, I said it was getting late and dark (which for fall was true). I told him it was nice meeting him and then left.

    He was a nice guy but there was zero spark. Like none. At all. Whatsoever.

    I didn’t have a bad time, but… no.  I won’t be seeing him again.

    One down. How many more to go…?

    3)My book

    So I am participating in National Novel Writing Month to varying degrees of success. I am incredibly behind in my word count, but I endeavour still.

    I mention this fact because of the subject of my book. It is a day in the life of a poly person. Because I picked a super special day, all of their partners show up and interact with the main character.

    What I find kind of interesting about the story is I can see myself crafting my ideal of my perfect poly tribe. Not that there isn’t conflict (cause any story without conflict is dull as fuck), but as I write more and more I’m finding myself shaping fantasy sex scenes, fantasy living arrangements, fantasy emotional connections, and, most recently, a fantasy collaring ceremony.

    I look forward to finishing the book, even though I am so far behind, and then being able to share it with the world at large, and you, my readers, at… intimate.

  • Two Notes On My Poly Adventure

    1) In my continuing kink/BDSM/poly education, I have started listening to Poly Weekly podcast. I highly recommend the podcast. Cunning Minx is kind of awesome.

    Recently, while partaking of a post during the dinner break at work, I heard about an interesting poly practice. It’s called the 100% Game.

    The rules are simple.

    1- Ask for 100% of what you want from your partner 100% of the time.
    2- Being willing to accept your partner’s answer.

    See, simple. Except, for a person like me who finds it rather difficult to put myself first in most situations, not so simple.

    Since I don’t have partners, I’ve instead tried to do this with my close friends, just as good practice, pushing myself to be more honest emotionally and making my needs/wants known and heard. Now, having read that last statement, you probably realized that “tried” was the operative word.

    I find it so hard to ask for what I want almost all the time. So hard. I have visions of people judging me, rejecting me, pitch forks and knives and such. And the thought of me asking for everything that I wanted all the time is not only scary but kind of exhausting. But I’m giving this a go anyway.

    I’ve had varying success, one notable instance that, when I look back on it, it was so simple yet so yes. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

    2) Upon the advice of Doc, I have joined OKCupid.

    In our last session, he talked about how I seem so open to new experiences in life, how adventurous I tend to be, except when it comes to making connections with people beyond friendship or random play.

    He worried that I was still holding myself back from possibilities of love entering my life, not to mention my ease at connecting with people far away as opposed to close by. (Obviously copying the lessons learned from my parents, i.e. distance is safe.)

    I was, and still am, reluctant to the process. I mentioned the website to a few of my vanilla friends, who recommended it, citing a few marriages that have come from it. I mentioned OKC (see, I’m learning the slang already) to some of my kink friends and they praised it for its openness to poly and kinky folk.

    So, I’m trying. It’s only been a few days, therefore I’m holding out judgement for now.

    One feature I do like about the site is the questions portion. Some are very random. Some are highly relevant (religion, sex, political views). The one down side is the site keeps dinging me for not giving importance to other people’s answers. I find myself easily answering most of the questions, but not really caring what other people think about them, mostly because I often don’t care what other people think.

    My only exceptions have been the sexual questions and the morality/political views. I, in my twenty-nine years on this earth, know I cannot date/hookup/hang out with anyone who is the polar opposite of my political views or sees my kinky life style in some sort of immoral fashion.

    Still, this is all very new. I have been getting lots of messages sent. Doc explained this would happen because I was fresh meat (his words, not mine) and would pop up in people’s feeds. I guess I’ll just have to see if anything comes of this.

    Once again, I’ll keep you posted.

  • NME

    With busy season for my job in full swing, I have once again experienced a bout of seasonal financial panic. I’ve shut down most of my spending, packing food for work, trying to figure out the cheapest way to park my vehicle, etc.

    But there is one thing I can not and will not skimp on, one thing I allow myself to impulse buy always: music.

    I’ve spoken about my love for music before, how at times it saves me (see my Twitter feed). I find myself falling in love with new artists, new sounds, new songs regularly, riding multiple waves of NME almost all the time. (NME: New Music Energy; poly folk can laugh, or cringe, as they wish).

    Recently it has been three artists, one album, and two songs that have taken my heart soaring.

    The first was Frank Ocean. He crafted his first solo album and released it this past summer.

    I learned of his work through an NPR music review. Frankly, NPR has never steered me wrong. (And, to be completely honest, I should’ve listened to them on a negative review that would’ve saved me $12.)

    Ocean has worked on other artists’ albums but this one was his own baby, Channel Orange, and I love it.

    I’ve found myself repeating songs over and over, getting lost in the over arching story, imagining an entire dance performance around the lyrics.

    Often, when I listen to music, my mind goes to dance, or creating a music video, shaping some sort of fantasy with the song as the background.

    With Channel Orange, I saw two bodies moving over a plain stage, teasing at first, push-and-pull, but then together, connected, wrenched by each other’s love.

    There is one particular song on Channel Orange that really strikes me: Bad Religion.

    Frank Ocean is infamous in the hip hop and R&B world for admitting that he fell in love with a man when he was young. Bad Religion is a poetic documentation of his inner struggle. He equates loving someone who can’t love you back as a bad religion, “This unrequited love/To me it’s nothing but a one man cause/And cyanide in my Styrofoam cup/I can never make him love me.” 

    The beauty and pain of this song, of this album, is more than worth your look, your time, and if you so choose, your money.

    My two latest musical muses have been songs I randomly discovered. The first is Adele’s theme to the new Bond movie, Skyfall.

    The story: I was waiting for a party to end, waiting to be able to breakdown the gear and go home, killing time by playing on my phone, when I pulled up YouTube and saw it as a featured video.

    And then I played it. And played it. Over and over, I think at least five times in a row.

    Adele’s voice is one I can get lost in, one I have gotten lost in with her other music. This song does not disappoint.

    This song’s fantasy was a bit… different.

    I imagined myself decked out in a tight modern dancer’s outfit, my hair down and flowing, all while also spinning fire poi.

    (By-the-way, for those who don’t know, I’m pretty sure this can never happen, seeing the whole threat of my hair catching on fire and the outfit burning and sticking to my skin and all; hence why it is a fantasy.)

    I saw myself jumping, leaping, twirling while spinning, gracing the air around me with the fire’s heat and my body’s extensions, lines, curves, flame and movement creating a dark dance with Adele’s voice in the background.

    I haven’t purchased this song just yet, but I did make my first pair of practice poi. Let your mind go where it may.

    The last song, the newest song, the now song, is less about the major name listed and more about the minor artist featured: Wiz Khalifa feat. TheWeeknd – Remember You.

    TheWeeknd’s voice. His voice. Oh my God his voice. And the lyrics. The sensual, sexy, oh my fucking God lyrics. I heard this song once on the radio and immediately thought, Who is this?

    After some Google-fu, I found him.

    TheWeeknd is Canadian (as many fine folk are) and has yet to release a studio album (guttural scream!). He has released mix tapes, and his first studio album is due out next month.

    I tried to purchase the single on iTunes, but unfortunately it is only available if I purchase Wiz Khalifa’s entire album.

    TheWeeknd is another voice where I loose myself. While listening to this song, while listening to this man sing, I loose all sense of time and place and am floating on a racing roller coaster through the sky while being eaten out by his voice.

    He has the kind of voice that makes me want to fuck him. Yes, it is that good.

    Bad bitch, girl, I think I might get used to yah
    I might have to take your number when I’m through wit yah
    All I ask of you is try to earn my memory
    Make me remember you
    Like you remember me

    I want to fuck to this song. I want to fuck to this song on endless repeat, sweaty, nasty sex, where we don’t care who hears, what anyone says, what anyone thinks. Where we get lost in each other’s body, each other’s breathing. Where we get lost in fucking.

    I love this song.

    I will admit I’m a little pissed I can’t get the song. I’ve found it on YouTube and have already played it three times while writing this blog. 

    Sometimes, when it comes to amazing music, you just have to wait. So, for now, I’m being patient. And I keep hitting play on YouTube.

  • Three Words

    Bravery. Forgiveness. Endurance.

    Life has a way of falling into place for me as of late. I wanted to write something thought provoking tonight, but lacked a topic…that is until I read my friend Graydancer’s blog. His latest got me thinking (again), and thus my entry started germinating.

    His latest blog, Word Up, talks about an idea from Chris Brogen, using three words to “describe the themes you want to focus on for the upcoming year.” These are not goals, but instead are touchstones for your year, ideas to go back to and strive to weave into your everyday life.

    I knew mine before I even finished reading.


    Bravery

    I think some people who know me would say I posses this quality. I try to live a very open life. I want to be truly me, always. But, right now, I must admit next year scares me.

    I have a lot on my plate. I have opportunities in both my work, kink, and writing lives that get me all twitchy. I fear I will not be able to live up to who I want to be, what I want to do, how far I want to push myself in the next twelve months.

    So, I shall hold tight to the idea of being brave.

    I will take on new work responsibilities, viewing my new found leadership potential as a challenge (not a threat).

    I will go to my events possibly knowing people. However, either way, I will hold up my head, introduce myself to many many people, and see where life takes me from there.

    I will write, not thinking about how others will view my work, love or criticize, hail or trash. I will write for me, for the love of my stories, my characters. I will pour my heart out onto the page and see where life decides to let the words flow.

    I will be brave, even when I’m scared. Even when all I want to do is curl up in a ball under the covers and snuggle with Tessie. I will not let myself be less than all I could possibly be, with or without the jitters.


    Forgiveness

    I want to work on giving myself a fucking break. Often times I beat up myself for little missteps, mistakes, bumbles, opps, etc.

    I am a much harsher judge of myself than I will ever be of anyone else. I seek a level of ability, or near perfection, I would never expect in others. I chastise myself for small mistakes when the same deeds in others I merely brush off.

    This year, I will endeavor to not lecture myself on the simple faux pas. I will work to accept that whatever happened happened, that I do not need (nor should I ever expect) to be perfect, that people will still love and care about me if I do something stupid, or forget something minor, or just plain fuck up. I must learn to let things go, to release my anxiety, to let it roll off my back.

    My friendships, and my life, are not balanced on the head of a pen. I need to stop believing that they are.


    Endurance

    I have set myself up with multiple highly ambitious goals:

    – attending ten (or more) events

    – taking every Sunday off for my writing

    – finishing at least one (if not two) novels

    With that as just my baseline, I have more on my plate than most would ever dare eat. But, I have an ace in the hole: endurance.

    Often people ask me how I survive at events. For those who don’t know, I usually go to bed around 6am and am up around 9am. My standard answer is adrenaline and shear force of will.

    To an extent, this is true. My job has assisted in teaching me how to function on low amounts of sleep. However, when I am at an event, for the most part, it is those two ingredients that get me through.

    However, for the year, this will not work. Instead, I know I have to pace myself. I know I need to budget time for work, play, AND rest. I have to learn to endure not just a night or a weekend, but for weeks, months, my entire year.

    I have faith in myself to be able to achieve all my goals. I will have excellent amazing sexy fun times at events. I will write and write and write. And I will finish, dammit; I will finish.

    So, those are my three words. I encourage you to ponder the idea, and then head to Gray’s blog and let him know what yours are.

  • My Eff

    I love my friends; they challenge me in ways I cannot do myself.

    Case and point: I just finished reading an essay by my friend Graydancer, Eff The Ineffable.

    In it, he challenges everyone to name the things that make you different.  Why are you a “unique little snowflake”?  Why is an experience with you special?  In short, why should someone play with you?

    I appreciated this question; it made me evaluate my own selfworth, which is something I’ve been trying hard to do. 

    What is my Eff?

    Physically, I know I’m attractive.  Recently, I was even described as beautiful by a person who’d only met me once. 

    I believe in my beauty at fleeting moments: in the morning when I’m brushing my teeth, after a post-shower masturbation session when my skin is flushed and my curls are perfectly tossed about, once I’ve gotten ready for a party and take that final look in the mirror before I leave. 

    I know the features I love most, which also happen to be the ones that get the most attention.
     
    My naturally curly hair is an obvious draw.  It’s not always the case that a black woman lets you touch her strands.  I, however, love it.  Play with it; mess it up.  Running your fingers through my locks and massaging my scalp is an easy way to bend me to your will.  And pulling it, especially during sex or play, sends me over the moon.

    And then there is my ass.  I’ve written poetry about it, and often take pictures of it post play, as it is a favored target.  The curve, the mass of the flesh; I do not possess the words to describe how much I adore my ass.

    Beyond my looks, I know the little things I do, the small nuggets I give in my interactions with people, that brings something special when I am with you.

    My eyes are a soft chocolate brown.  Often, when I play, they are mostly closed.  But, when I do open them, and stare deep into you, I am connecting more than flesh-to-flesh.  I am letting you in and asking for the same.  I am focusing my energy on you, giving of myself to you, and hoping I can receive in kind.

    When I am really nervous, or unsure, or desparate, but without the courage to say so, I have this way of stealing quick glances: bending my head towards the ground, biting my lower lip, and hurriedly flicking my eyes up and down, trying to not get caught.  When you do catch me, you like what you see.

    When I’ve gotten to know you and formed at least a loose friendship, each time we greet my eyes are bright, smiling more than my lips, pulsing my happiness out to you.

    And then there is my submission: my head on your knee, my willingness to please, to give, to submit.  It has only been these past few months that I’ve grown to aprreciate, understand, and love how much I can give by being at your knee, at your heel, at your side. 

    I am there for you, and only you.  My focus is your pleasure, whether through a task, my pain, or my silence.  My single-minded will to give of myself to you is another type of energy, another level of attachment I bring to the table.

    The last, and I believe the best, trait I bring is my smile, my laughter, my giddiness towards life.  I often say, “I cultivate my childlike whimsy.”  I giggle at the drop of a hat.  Occasionally I have to stop myself when the fits start and I get lost in the glee of it all. 

    I will be the first to cheer you up, give you a hug, hold your hand while you pour out your heart.  Maybe you need a backrub.  Maybe I can say something funny to make you smile.  I believe making others happy, bringing joy and wonder to the everyday, is a reason to live.

    So, that’s my Eff, at least what I can think of this afternoon.  What’s yours?