I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things

fd9aca7170246c6b4c67fc784bc89b31When it comes to desirability, I have always had dual thought in regards to myself.

I know, from life experience, that I am considered a desirable, nay, intoxicating & addictive biological female human specimen. I have learned my traits of optimal desire, and have learned to exploit them.

However, the split between my logical brain and my emotional one means I remain cut off from the ability to ‘feel’ or ‘see’ my attractiveness for myself, unless I shut down my logical brain and just get sexy…. usually when I’m exercising or dancing… logically, ((ha!)) any activity that I utilize my body & become wholly physical and energetic.

Sex has the potential to bring about feelings of being sexy, but in the past, more often than not, they’ve been acted-out feelings rather than genuine ones. ((I very rarely vocalize my feelings to humans because I assume everyone can mind-read, of course. Please play catch-up with those of us who can read your feelings & thoughts… it will make everyone’s lives easier. 😉 ))

When I tell a partner for the first time that I have never had an orgasm before from anyone3ab48a096fb8f16e723d2583a08ae75c but myself, they are often confused, then unremarkably & unjustifiably… hurt?!

Why do people become offended that other people have not successfully conquered my body’s electric circuitry?

I assume it’s more a matter of feeling like they’re about to begin a long, thankless journey into the unknown territory of A Pussy That Has Never Came. Poor souls seem to become deaf to the part where I mentioned that I’ve had orgasms, just never from another’s hand. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps it’s my body’s way of telling me who’s Mate & Partner Material. That would be fascinating to research. Perhaps I simply have not found enough men with genuine love & passion for a woman’s body.
I suppose as the sayings always say, time will tell.
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I have always appreciated the idea of settling down with an older man.

The first I really committed to the idea of was Mr. Scootercat. Now that I look back on him, I see a frail old man, terrified of the world and reliant upon his mother & his cats.

I tried so hard to love him… holding him in my arms as he would take trips to the past… reading type-written pages on good days, listening to one song on 24-hour repeat on bad days… he was stubbornly attached to the notion that the world was doing him wrong with no solution.

It’s the same with most of my relationships with older men, I feel like I miss out when they end… but I know that I’ve just been in love with an ideal or a projection…ghosts and long-dead stars, sending out echoes that reach my ears in romantic whispers.

The Sea does not like to be Restrained

36a827bc5dc37d7f7f24599b6d0246a1I love the ocean, but I don’t know how to swim.

I was put into swimming lessons by my Mother and took to it naturally, but when my parents were divorced, my father never kept them up.

I spent my childhood not more than two blocks from the Atlantic coast, but can remember on one hand the amount of times I have been to the beach there. A lot of coal plants and garbage dumping left the beaches in our area icky and unswimmable, and no one wants to swim in ice cubes anyway.

I always dreamed of the day my skin would feel warm ocean water, and when I moved to the Philippines, I had the luxury of floating and splashing in the Pacific. It was like coming home to a warm, sun-kissed, duvet-covered bed after a long survival trek in Alaska.

One night I was feeling lonely, so I took a bottle of Red Horse and my pack of smokes down to the beach. The ocean at night is one of the most majestic things to ever exist.
You can feel the breadth & depth stretch for miles, surrounding your senses and confounding your thoughts…the sound of ocean waves coupled with silence only night can bring is singular in experience…I sat on the edge of the world with myself, thinking & drinking. I slowly noticed there were lights around me but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from… until I put my hand down to stand up.fb5a4cb6522c9799b4027ababbaa81f4

Another one of my most cherished memories will always be the bright, otherworldly blue of these impossibly small, beautiful creatures.
I sat for what must have been hours, softly waving my fingers through them, splashing with my toes, and feeling connected to something much larger than myself.

Eventually, one of the workers at the resort came to check on me. It’s considered extremely strange for a person to hang out or go places alone, and so it’s not often I had the opportunity to.

Living in the mountains is lovely… old stone has it’s own respectable energy and flow, but I always find myself becoming extremely restless and frustrated with my life when I’m separated from the sea for too long.
The salt runs pure crystal through my veins, and the tides are so strong they command obedience from my body. Who can ignore the ocean?

When I was younger I was obsessed with the idea of living in a house boat.
I would still love to live in one, however I’m less obsessed with the idea of buying one tomorrow, and I would need to hire a Captain… battling with the sea is not something I consider relaxing or useful.

My grandfather was a Captain. I did not meet him, as his ship was lost at sea. His body was the only person of the crew not found. I like to imagine he faked his own death, and that he is still out in the wide world, exploring and travelling with a greedy lust for life.

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The Memory of the Blaze Burns in the Heart & Mind Forever

c969ddf708db2b4994d5b13bc7086db0I’ve been noticing that I’ve been framing a lot of my blogs in a ‘distressed damsel’ kinda manner, and I want to clear up that this is not the case. I do find myself in many pickle jars, but I tend to enjoy pickles, and don’t mind chewing my way through them. I have taken care of myself since the age of sixteen, and I am happy to reassure the public that I know what I need for survival & beyond.

I sometimes wonder if having the tease of almost-perfect relationships in my older days is karmic consequence from my insensitivity & cold behavior in my youth.

Before the age of 14 I wasn’t allowed to date, living in my father’s house. When I moved to my mother’s, she didn’t mind, as long as I stayed safe. My first boyfriend, Mr. Pepperoni was sweet and dumb… your normal teenage boy. I didn’t really fancy him, I was being polite when I agreed to date him, which was my usual way in the future… all of a sudden being thrust into relationships I had only halfheartedly agreed to in the first place.

I found myself becoming overtly rude when speaking to him, or acting irrationally irritable at small inquiries or comments… It was in an effort to corner him into breaking up with me, but the poor lad didn’t know what to do with himself. I finally told him in a phone call one night it just wasn’t working out and I wasn’t really feeling attracted anymore.
I still feel bad for him, I shouldn’t have been so harsh as a kid who knew firsthand about bullies and how shitty they can make people feel.
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Being shitty to people, especially in relationships, got old really fast. I changed tack, if I didn’t like someone, I told them & left. Clean, quick and simple.
Sometimes they didn’t leave.
Mr. Blue had to be police-escorted away because he refused to stop living in my apartment. He was an interesting time. Wild, verbally & emotionally manipulative, moody, but be damned if I didn’t want to have a body part of his in my mouth at all times. I suppose I can’t blame it on teen-aged hormones, since females apparently hit their peaks in their forties, but whatever it was, I wanted to bottle it up & sell it, and could have.

He was fond of telling me it was my fault he couldn’t get a job, and that I should get him one. I had at that point already done the ‘get a boyfriend a job for them’ thing, and I refused to do it again. Which of course meant I was a selfish bitch setting him up to fail and all that.
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Many times in relationships I am doomed to the ‘Selfish Bitch’ role.

The best one I’ve ever gotten is ‘You’re a fucking nazi…no, no…you’re the QUEEN of the Nazis!’ I thought that was fantastic verbiage of insult & incredible use of vocabulary. Obviously, it really stuck with me, I was genuinely impressed and delighted.

I suppose as one who grew up with other children pulling me down hallways by my hair, calling me unbearably mean names, asking me age-inappropriate questions due to carrying my father’s surname, and outright abusing me, as well as enduring both seclusion, confinement & abuse at home… People who try to hurt or insult me now are adorably laughable.

Ironically, growing up, there was a relative of mine who told me ‘A day will come when you’ll just laugh it off, and words won’t mean anything to you anymore.’
I thought they were absolutely insane.
Words are my everything.
Words are what humans use to communicate, words are all anyone has!

But I didn’t know at such a young age that some people are just mean, or don’t know how to ‘use their words good.’ I eventually figured it out, and now try to communicate as effectively as I can, while respecting another’s feelings or life path. I have found that genuinely respecting people goes pretty far, and that people know when you’re faking.
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Love Tames the Benumbed Beast

“A man is put to use regarding a woman’s physical safety, but a woman is put to use regarding a man’s mental safety.” – Criss Jami

28135272b0c67d9c893bd27617da0d6eI watched an interesting documentary last night on sex workers in other countries called Whore’s Glory.
The segment that inspired me to think about the topic of this blog was the first, which followed women in Thailand.

The girls would do their thing and make their money, but then relax and unwind by spending all of their earnings in bars. These bars are basically the male version of their own work… the women pay men to sit and drink with them.

I found it highly astounding, and quickly fired off some neurons to explore the concept a little deeper inside my brain’s sandbox. 774bf9074d404472f19c07383c8e2acf

I thought that the idea of a female supporting someone else isn’t new, from a sexworker’s standpoint…
A large majority of sex workers support entire households.

Conversely, the men & women that financially support sex workers by paying them for service are no different… If humans are able to pay for pleasure, why should I be the one to exert a limit on who can or cannot?

Silly me.
I wanted to go further.
In ancient times, the female Priestess, Sacred Whores, Queens and Goddesses were revered & swathed in gifts, tributes, sacrifices, absolute finery.

Befriending one of these sacred women must have been a very fine social position indeed. Imagine the hand-me-downs of a woman considered to be an incarnation of a ruling Goddess – Lordt, give me the job!

I thought of the idea that the very rich, who very often avail of our services, are in a sense handing us the keys to the redistribution of wealth. Sacred Whores very probably had a duty to give back to the community they resided within. I think in today’s modern age that would look like charity work, small business & job creation, the continuation of education, and generally spreading goodness within your environment… Fostering growth, secretly planting flowers everywhere, bringing cookies to retirement homes, saving stray cats, real feel-good stuff, ya know?! 😉

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I Pointed Ahead – Ahead of Myself as well as You

d6250616c2d81fd85afb60f4f3efa5c5The men that have come and gone into my life have always held lessons out to me like juicy, ripe, foreign fruit.

I learned early on in my life that what looks appealing to the eye may not be so fine beneath the surface.

In our elementary school we had a crab apple tree that the poor kids would run to at recess in lieu of the candy lines.
One day, I broke open an apple before eating it to discover earwigs pouring out of the center.

It was a lesson in lessons… Discovery is not always pleasant, however you can always transform something unpleasant into something useful… I threw it at a kid that had been bullying me.

I love the men that can teach me things. I hold the education & exercise of the mind in unbelievably high esteem, and so men that expand the mind are among my most cherished & sought-after gifts to myself.

I consider my relationship with such men to become distinctly paternal in nature, through no fault of either party.b0b60e490b678c12537970b23310be01

I have observed that when men think they are teaching, guiding or introducing a female to new experiences, sexually or otherwise, they seem to develop a sense of overt pride & care for the female they’ve poured their ‘knowledge’ into.

I suppose it would be the sense of creation in a way, the idea or belief that you’ve concretely influenced or left a mark on a person’s character or life, and subsequently, their future. This, I assume, would be where the paternal feelings develop for the male.

It can be entirely unfortunate when a man is unable to understand, face, or work through these feelings. It can lead to the breakdown of a relationship due to an unconscious feeling of having to ‘take care’ of a partner, or there can be a mental disconnect or power struggle that develops internally, creating unstable communication or chaotic dynamics in the day-to-day routine.

The men that have been transient in my life have taught me the most, and are among my more cherished memories of men.

Mr. Sweet-n-Low was a wonderfully sweet, 40-something-year-old man with a laid-back, extremely comfortable manner. He had an ‘ol retriever dog & always bought us coffee.
We would smoke weed and snuggle on the couch listening to music, tossing the wet, slobbery green tennis ball for pup. He never made me feel anything but cozy and warm.be597c3fa6b89eaf8f6c9bf494982a25

We rummaged around in his attic one night for fun. He gifted me a beautiful old vintage hand-sewn wedding dress that he pulled out of that attic. I still own it and think of him.

Mr. Chops was another man who was transient but so sweet.
I like to imagine that my Houdini-men are wonderfully broken, wild, modern-day Richard Burtons… fragmented and sharp, and that they do not stay because they fear cutting me too much. That although they are toughened, with sandpaper tongues and razorteeth, they still melt like heated honey when I touch them…that my voice is like home to these lost soldiers… that they find momentary respite in my innocent, wide, young arms.

I Attracted their Eyes & Haunted their Thoughts

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I have a knack for reading people.
This makes me extremely adept at socialization & conversations beyond the normal scope of ‘So what do you do?’, and when I say I have a knack, I truly mean it is an uncanny gift that even I have a hard time explaining.

Would you like to try a party trick of mine?
Much more difficult via blog posts, but what can you do.

So I first ask someone what their sign is.
Then their favorite number.
Then I ask them to pick the first three colors that first pop into their heads. Next, I ask what their three most favorite colors are. From that information, I compile a fairly accurate ((so far)) reading of someone’s personality, life challenges & situations, and offer some advice for the future. It always freaks folks out, and I love doing it.

The fact that I can read people with such accuracy, and can reach people in such emotional and mentally deep ways really makes me feel like a Priestess, or some kind of Muse-of-Old. I adore helping people, doing energy-work, ‘sin-eating’, being a shoulder or an ear… It’s a very intimate service for humans to be able to access. I love being able to provide that in my sex and sensual work.

Robert Liberace5fd03041187ddeacd2ea158bbe045814One thing I have noted is that men, while shameless about revealing their bodies to a partner or stranger, are usually ashamed or worried about the condition of their bodies when in a relationship setting. I find both the male and female form exquisite.
I do not have a personal preference, but I find fuller figures attractive for both sexes, and I also like more average or thin body types.

Most of my men have had big, solid stomachs and wide barrel chests, tree-trunk legs and wild jungle nests of body hair. I have also had soft, sleek, rippling foreign men, hairless and tanned like old leather. Sweet, tall, thin, handsome men with sex oozing out of their pores & wisps of hair, or great, wiry curls of mohawk. I lust for men’s bodies, the scent of their skin, the warmth of their fingers tracing shivers into my soul. I love men that touch me without hands, men that caress my thoughts when I least expect them to, like gentlemen courting my imagination, keeping me company & soothing my wild, raging loneliness…99d0229703ee6975ade37c8fb1757a9d

I have always felt lonely.
Empty, wild, and alone, always following a distant scent on the wind or lilt in the sound of the earth.

Wild men have always felt grounding to me. There was a man I met on an island once. A biker man, Mr. Chops… A friend of mine had revoked my roomie status and I had to leave the island and get back to the mainland with no funds. I put a note on a profile of a dating website saying I had to get a ride back to the mainland, and Mr. Chops was the man who answered.

We drove out into the wilderness, he took me to see a beautiful river, we swam, talked, had fun, had a sexy little fuck against his car, and he dropped me off at a bus station with enough money to get home. We still talk to this day, and it was such a sweet encounter, completely random and spontaneous, but consensual, and very fun.
It’s quite a fond memory of mine.
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How Different Every Hour is from The One Before

jon fosterWhen I was two years old, my parents were divorced. My father was a delusional man who thought the cysts on his head were a crown from Jesus, that he could decode the bible, that he knew where the holy grail was… and of course, that witchcraft and homosexuality were Of the Devil.

Being that my mother was a lesbian, that didn’t work out so well. She was told if she fought for custody, he would tell her family, ((11 brothers and sisters, and a very old-fashioned mother, )) that she was gay.

She didn’t fight, he won, he told everyone anyway, she was largely disowned.

He was a terrible father.
In retrospect, I can see the abuse, but at the time of course, things were as normal as they could be seen to be as a child, but the memories I do have, laced through with gaping voids of blackness, are tinged with eeriness, a drab, strange sort of feeling… the feeling of nightmares in which you can’t exactly tell what’s wrong, but there is a lurking dread that skirts the corners.

Maybe it is because I consider this feeling to be a normalized experience, that I have constantly run into more ‘socially unsavory’ characters in my life.

Men I meet are rarely attending Yale, though I have met quite a few business owners.
Unfortunately, each one, from the genius, to the resort owner, to the ex-drug-dealer have all had their fair share of unresolved emotional and mental baggage that has superseded all hope of rational, mature relations between two parties. What’s worse is I tend to stick around because I know I am one Tough Lady… Wallace stock and all that, you know… So I choose to stick out at first, because everyone deserves a chance, and of course I will admit it…the ‘superhero syndrome’, you know the one.

I’m ‘Queen Rehabilitate A Motherfucker’.
Excuse me while I gather my bottom, I seem to have laughed it quite off.

So because I am so transient, I come into contact with lots of different guys.
There was a efa29c0cfe80254a020387f3c76f4924fellow I met once, I will dub him Mr. F.I. ((fucking insane)) and this fella was a piece of work. Once I revealed to him that I had mental health issues, slowly he began to develop them as well. I had let him pet-sit my degus and things while transitioning to a new place… but found out my things had been put outside in the ghetto, and he had killed my pets and kept their skulls.

I’m not sure if I can believe someone would be that cruel, however he was pretty out there, had body modifications and such but it seemed more to show off than for a reason.

He wanted to pursue a BDSM style relationship with me and I was 100% not attracted to him in the least. I considered him a dumb giant, but I suppose watch out for dumb giants when they get angry.

On a fun side note, when I was younger, I dated a fellow who wasn’t legally short enough to be considered a true midget, but his 4’10 to my 5’11 was a pretty unusual sight to folks around town. He ended up having a temper tantrum and throwing a vhs camera recorder at my head, so I threw a psychology book at him. How awfully ironic.

The next unfortunate incident was after hitch hiking across the country.
I was rooming with a technically-e494840d5cfc5901b0593895759c33ea0x boyfriend of mine, Mr. Snowshoes, who was increasingly heated about wanting to be with me again.
We got into some silly tiff and all of a sudden I’m being choked and boffed about the face.
I ended the whole affair by crawling my little bottom right to the neighbors porch, bloody nose, lip, and full of tears and shock, poor things must have been absolutely terrified when they saw me.

I went from that one straight into the arms of Mr. Scootercat a few months later, who eventually ended up clocking a chunk of tooth out of my head, unfortunately still left unresolved today.
Ironically the body feature he claimed to love the most about me!
These men always at least leave me with something to laugh at, if nothing else.
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I’ve noticed in every case of violence or anger or hateful behavior towards me, there is a propensity to try to make me feel as guilty & demoralized as a woman as possible.

I suppose that is one of the perks to dating foolish men… their sharp words are also quite foolish and don’t really cut well.
However, why a man would want to try to demoralize a woman at all is strange to me. Is it an foolish primitive instinct to discourage females from mating?
Is it a primitive fear of females mistreating men if they were the ruling social and political majority?

((Maybe if our pussies can never be satiated, our thirst for power will never cease, Ha!!))

The same goes for the whole breast feeding thing… I believe the people who object to it are either prudes to the Nth degree, or are jealous and secretly totally want to be suckin’ on that titty… and if they can’t, ain’t no one can.