Only Cowards Torture Women

14736e8cf84b574ec0aeed83b7591641I adore men & the ‘Masculine Essence’ so much, that when I am disappointed by a man, it is as though they are offending not only me, but some sacred Brotherhood; of all Men, the very nature of masculinity, all who have lived and died in the  Universe who describe themselves as male.

I have been having a string of disappointing encounters recently, which is why it came to mind to create a blog post about it all… The most recent of which, also the most embarrassing, on both our parts. I was approached by someone we shall call T. B., who asked for nude content, knowing full well I keep business & my social life very highly separated, and that I am not a physical sex worker in the least, however I recently find myself with financial stressors, and thus, agreed to an amount sufficient for utilization of my time.

After all was said and done, I received nothing for my time whatsoever, and the agreement was broken when he violated the terms by taking unfair advantage of the situation. I won’t reveal details, except to say my trust & person were violated, however I do hold myself accountable for agreement in the first place. I know his type from when I was in my teens, I should have kept learnt lessons filed away, and not re-tried them… aaah, folly!
yrsyOthers have just been pitter-patters here and there upon the window of my dating world…
The banker who wants to be a Sugar Submissive, doing my bidding & pampering, leading up to full financial control & submission… who suddenly disappeared when I asked for an initial sign of commitment after a lengthy discussion of terms & desire…
The ‘Good Samaritan’ who said he would drive into the city to help accomplish an important task… who conveniently got rear ended by a drunk driver on the way into town, who wanted to still meet for drinks the next day because, surprise, he owns four vehicles & wasn’t hurt whatsoever… though the car was a write-off…
The countless boring sit-through’s of, ‘So what do you do..? How long have you lived here..? What do you enjoy eating..?’… hours of my too-often-repeated stories & anecdotes… the horrifyingly predictable pattern played out by the lust-drunk men who desire the chance to further drink from my strange fountain… the myriad of fellas who will make the effort to drive to pick me up & wisk me away to their abode, yet won’t make the effort to come upstairs & have a normal night with no sexual intimacy…

I search for something so much more, and yet the hunt is scarce.

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I have managed to find One Man who has impressed me.
Mr. Scorpio, in past posts… though often referred to on my live broadcasts as Mr. Viking.

He has been the embodiment of Masculine Form.
He has taught me more about myself than my own parents.

My body has developed & changed in beautiful and intimate growth, sometimes in quick bursts of ecstatic-electric synapse, sometimes in slow, languorously thick, heady waves roiling each of my cells into pleasurable gulps.

His romance is dangerous, yet filled with a passion reserved for ancient goddesses.
His Sex is focused, determined, primal, leaving nothing desired or unsated.
His attention is like a beautiful, iridescent garden… perfumed, sweet & dripping like honey & mana over the mouth and mind.

He is so wild, I dare not try to approach or cage him… he is Nature incarnate & one cannot tame such a force without crushing the spirit.  The idea of a mutual, determined journey down the same path…a relationship based on respect, freedom, & communication… ((and a lot of sexual behavior that would make a sailor blush… )) would be oh so sweet.

 

 

 

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That Created All Gods & Backworlds

The cigarette smoke trails lazily past my fingers in forethought, as I partake of its source with sharp punctuations… perched among heated moments that bring Tom Waits, motorbikes and Burma to mind…swigging sweaty bottles through squinted, hangover-stained eyes…all the masculine parts men only speak of in songs & humorous, self-depreciating chuckles…sdf

Thick hand on neck, razor whining, crisply biting past growing, fighting fur… Clear-cuts, crunch by shear, smoothing defined boundaries across sovereign skin.

I wonder if the father thinks of holding the boy as he now holds the man in his hand… protective, ever so subtly-tensed flesh, breaths matching century-old rhythms.

As I exhale my cigarette breath all I can think of is to steal quickly this deep concentrated pool of life, these buzzing, crackling moments & electric seconds, wrestle them down into mere English words, to be devoured by hungry, vicarious eyes… this moment can not be forgotten, the simple moment of cutting hair, a moment of traditional ritual & heartbreaking aesthetic…

Like all Good Memories, It, too will die… the art of framing a memory with words… tacking up Movement & Vitality with verb & noun, Life spooled out of the mind & twisted from it’s original form through a crushed glass lens, contains its own beauty…a numb sense of what might have been if the world derived more satisfaction from itself.

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I want men’s memories…their intimate moments…want to curl up in men’s quiet spaces, dreaming with them about all things still-desired & now-spent.
Yearning & regret twisting together like brier roses, crumpled & beautiful, both Dangerous Need & Lonesome Comfort coupled into one bent, withering body, heaving breath into the unknowable, unquenchable abyss…

Sucking the marrow from life’s bones.

Breathing in the thick, heady oxygen of life’s deepest jungles… poison seeping into & from your skin with a tree-frog normalcy that settles into you like a first-nature… born within and from harsher reflections of reality… expected to adapt; As has the cycle spun for centuries without you, it will continue on after you become but a whisper of collective thought in warm spring.

What ultimately happens to a woman like me?
The Mighty Wench, the Keeper of Taverns & Men’s Sanity within the Valley of the Shadow of Death…the Great Lover, the Wild Redheaded Flame, the Problem, the Solution, the Salve after it Ends? There seems to be no rest for my kind, nor Another to ultimately lay a tired head beside in the weary sigh of Age.

asdAs a Woman that contains a mighty inner war, I am skilled in the art of defense & tactic.
I prefer to give my chosen partners the benefit of my doubt & rationality, however it takes a very clever human to override my senses for long & I am consistently disappointed in my choice of males based on their mental & emotional stamina.

My thoughts shift again to the idea of Goddess-led Kingdoms & the days of half-naked Oracles splayed out on sun-baked stones… pouring their poetry on pavement, threading subconscious dreams into stone cracks & thinned brains of those too busy staring at stars to feel the immediate effects…how many of those women have burned?

Those Rocks made Lonely Feel Good

 

I always come to writing full of ideas, but in the act of thrusting those thoughts through to my fingertips, I tangle up and lose everything.
I wanted to write about the alarmingly fleeting nature of modern relationships… this ‘toss-away-if-broke-and-get-a-new-one’ mentality…
jf
‘Mr. Cables Wasn’t stable, E
ven tho he said he Was..’

I’m not going to blame anyone for not giving a fuck about someone else…what I don’t dig is the lead-on, or the taking advantage of a partner, or allowing the assumption that there is a partnership going on when there isn’t.

I should know that for myself I can’t settle for just mediocre living… my brain needs stimulation, craves culture, wants art, exotic foods, clean sheets, and….

…my own place.

I’m completely desperate over this housing situation.
I am so used to being transient.
I have never gotten an apartment for myself in my life, I’ve very simply just had roommates or couch-surfed or what-have-you.
lkjFunny, huh?
Thirty goddamn years old, Woman, and I don’t even know whom to call for electric!

I had a desperate hope ((and still do honestly)) that I could afford to just live out of hotels for a few years instead of renting an apartment.

I adore the idea of clean sheets and swimming and breakfast and coffee in the morning and people-watching at night, working in the afternoons, lazing & rolling about on the bed, beautiful and perfectly pampered…

I wish life was easy and beautiful all the time.
I have been handed so many beautiful fruits in this life…I have seen so much good, deliciously ripe, juicy things bursting with potential & vibrant energies… and yet it all expires & melts away into the next plane eventually.
It’s a potent lesson in finality.
And each and every thing is ultimately alone… sure, indeed… but that’s exactly why I enjoy my relationships… I choose them knowing the finality of things, the ease of losing things and people and memory…I cherish each second with a grace & dedication unmatched, packing each moment away like precious gems and yet each time, each loss again breaks new wounds fresh upon the soul’s skin & disturbs the most primal of beings living within woman’s hearts. mou

There is a mourning that happens quite similar in feeling to going insane.
It viscerally pulls you into the ground by your knees & sets fire to your every nerve. You’re a prisoner, captured alive by your very own existence, and it doesn’t stop burning & retching water & wrenching screams from guts you didn’t know you owned.

One is lucky if they can afford to dull the experience with cheap booze, but care should be made to stick within the layout of the kitchen or bathroom floor and not venture outdoors. You can’t see anything anyway… how far do you really plan on crawling, huh..?
This mourning period can last eons, or what seems like it… years, months, countless hours of days passing…

Luckily for me, I’m dissociative.
Because of this, I have the funky ability to allow other ‘personalities’ handle certain life events that other parts of my psyche might not be able to deal well with.
So I’ve simply thrust myself into work and carry life on.
Tally-ho until next time!

 

I didn’t mean to drown myself, I meant to swim till I sank

I have not written in quite some time, I am aware.

It’s not that I’ve run out of things to say, it’s simply that each time I sat down to write, my heart was torn out fresh for a while.

Ultimately these writings are about men; my relationship toward them, my passions, desires & drives for them, the journeys taken, the adventures lived…
And unfortunately, the losses…the heartbreak, and the pain.

Back in January, I went through an enormous loss.ded
I had been seeing a man…whom I had nicknamed ‘The Deer Hunter’.
In retrospect, the nickname was devastatingly apt.
He had a few health issues I was aware of, however I did not realize the amount of mental suffering he was living with, and ultimately he ended up stepping out of the world via a rifle, on my birthday, thirty minutes after dropping me off at my home.

Afterward, I struggled for quite a while mentally, and to this day I’m still not sure if the impact on my mind has ceased, however, I remain alive & breathing, and must continue on my path, even if I may be crawling it instead of walking now.

At the end of May, I met another man, and he has been such a sweet comfort…he treats me well, is a strong, intelligent rock of a being, and I find myself caring very much for him. He allows me to be myself, and I am trying to care for him as much as I am able.

I felt able enough to return to this journal of mine, but I do not have much to say today.
I felt as though I owed my dear readers a reason for my silence, and reassurance that I am indeed still here…it will just take some time to climb back upon the beast that is the written word.

 

All my love,

-JK-

When Your Partner Has Anxiety: A Meltdown Guide

I’m having a really hard time coming off my birth control the last few days, and these are all things I really need right now.

The Meltdown Guide

TW: I swear a lot in this article. 

What do you do when your partner is having a panic attack or a depressive episode?

It can be really scary and super frustrating watching someone you love go through an episode, especially if you don’t know how to be helpful.

This Meltdown Guide was created to help those of you who are in love with people who struggle with anxiety and depression to feel like you can be helpful when your partner seems to be spiraling.

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Luck Has Nothing To Do With It

The Honest Courtesan

Sex worker rights are human rights, and there can never be too many voices speaking up for them, nor too many occasions on which to speak.  –  “Never Too Many

many red umbrellasIt’s that day again:  Friday the 13th, the day on which I ask non-sex workers to speak up for us.  As I’ve explained many times before, there is no possible way we can ever hope to win our rights without the help of allies; since only about 0.3% of the female population are whores at any given time (about 1% over their lifetimes), we simply don’t constitute a large enough voting bloc for politicians to give a damn about us, especially at a time when the popular fad is to pretend that we’re passive victims in need of “rescue” from our own choices.  As I explained two years ago,

…the gay rights movement didn’t really…

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Ecstasy is Achieved Through the Body Itself

3dc0dc1099d0af710dc4614c57cfe344When you are not given any information or knowledge about a thing, you cannot be expected to know or learn it.

This is indeed what happened to my body, my very own biology.
I was not told how it works, what to expect, how to utilize it to its full capacity & potential… so, I was and am unaware of a great deal about my Self & body.

Enter Mr. Scorpio.
I don’t think I have ever mentioned how compatible I am with Scorpio men.
In my life, I have been with two Scorpion-Men, and both have been absolutely revolutionary to me.

This leads us to our current blog post’s main topic – Ecstasy.

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Read the word.
Ecstasy.
It’s shape is awkward & foreign, yet ripe with unlocked juices.

The taste of it on the lip hints of pink gum, bright yellow lemon… the color red.
Seeing in the mind bodies flexing wet-electric, arching in wordless emotion & collapsing, fully rent upon silken sheets in dim rooms.
The definition likening it closer to agony than transcendence.

I am wholeheartedly & thoroughly convinced that I have experienced true ecstasy at the hands of Mr. Scorpio.
It is not the first night we have been together…and I hate to admit, but I’ve personally developed enough of an emotional connection to him that I will not be writing too much about him in this blog… When I care for men, I tend to become protective of their privacy & space, and prefer they kept both in ample amounts.

However, this particular occasion is noteworthy.
I have been exploring the concept of stretching my vaginal muscles & opening recently.
He has been helping.
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Last night, we managed to induce the most profound, most mind-altering state I have ever experienced, via the stretching and filling of my body.

The contrasted dance between life-changing pleasure & brain-bending pain was exquisite. I honestly felt like while we were stretching my vagina, we were also stretching the boundaries of the mind & reality as I comprehend them.

I was paralyzed as much by the limits of my muscles being tested, as the waves of new sensation & stimulated nerve rocking me with every gentle thrust of the tools used for my expansion.

 

It was the truest form of ecstasy, it was nothing like reading the word in books, seeing upturned eyes in movies, nothing. This is one word you must experience in order to comprehend, to learn, to know what it truly means.

It was marvelous, delightful, playful, and deeply personal to me.
I will never forget this man, with his tempered command of the female form… his intuitive, decisive ways of coaxing pleasure from the body…  His165b28ed831eafe12cf77ae5ecf8d3d8 languorous manner, taking time to savor, to relish every bite of the experience…absolutely, a God among men.
Its worth noting as well that I have another layer of appreciation for my inherent sexual nature now, in regards to the idea that I should be unashamed, and in fact, greedy for my own pleasures… that experiencing, exploring, testing the limits & capabilities of my Vessel, my own flesh and bone cage, is not something I should be ashamed of doing.

I am a wild forest, a full harvest with much fruit! Why allow that to go to waste when I can feed thousands from my tables?

Why deny myself the wines of life, why should I not experience a life-altering event, a beautiful, fulfilling moment in time, such as the one I have just had the honor of receiving?

Fuck that, cake & eat it too!
I’m proud of myself for being open enough to have had that experience, and I am forever grateful to Him for creating a safe, comfortable space for it to happen.

*swoon*
I am definitely addicted to this.