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.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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.
625a20a0be0e4a247bac79e8e7b2dd1c
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.

Advertisements

Meet me at the Crossroads

“How many men of mine could have been killers?
How much further did i lead them down the sticky honeyed path of death?
Those moments….those beautiful moments…you sitting against a wall in an old house
Victorian, and crumbling..the wallpaper cracking…
Youth & pale flesh acting like glue, new cobwebs creating new boxes of memory
I’m comparing my level of 1-10″ as when I was on the floor in that bathroom….you could have stabbed me. Quite literally.”

-Excerpt, My Journals

a311a19b98932401fd882f45bc1a9c2bHis name was M.
Let’s call it Markus.
Markus Toowell.

I recently had a bit of a mental health hiccup & landed myself quite suddenly in the lap of professional care… Who would have thought being tired of the basic Act of Living could be a source of confusion or derision among the common…

There was a day in there that I had been changed from ‘committed’ to ‘voluntary’ basically, and my fabulous dissociative coping mechanisms weren’t having it. I railed, screamed ugly and frantic against my tin-foil bathroom mirror & dull-gun-steel sink.
I told them that given my intelligence, putting ‘leaving’ on the table as an option was basically laughing at my illness…taunting me & my inability to cope with Society and Humans as they are.

They took the option off the table, and told me I would be transferred to long-stay.
Afterwards, they gave me print-outs of DBT therapy workbooks.
I took them to the kitchen area, deliberately sitting in the view of a young fellow I had eyed before.
At some point, I had gone to the fridge to get some milk. I made a deliberate circle in front of the energy I felt sitting at the table to the right of the fridge.
I knew it then.
As I pretended to ignore everything around me to the pursuit of my room, I felt and saw out of the corner of my eye… he looked up as if in a daze… stared at me the whole way.
I knew it then.

As I sat at the kitchen tables, leaving one full table between us, I knew he would. I knew we would have a moment. It took a while. Got half a page written before the sun began to set.
“You’re from Alberta?”
“…No”
“Oh, I was just wondering about these birds, they’re crazy…”
Outside the wide window that took up the entire wall, you had a full view of the airplanes coming into the city from the Othersides of the planet…. a parking garage and a shopping district to the left were about all… but he was correct… Seagulls…. hundreds, thousands of birds flocking back and forth. We tried to get scientific… watched the frequency of flight in comparison to airplanes, but we couldn’t come up with anything but wistful theory.
9d6f96939be51a8a472688127911b6af
We talked for a long time.
Connected as much as two broken people can inside of an institution.
Told to go to bed by the nurses at one am.

He got out before me, and I knew he had gone back to the Life.
Sadly, he’s a little naive creature, hasn’t been on the Streets or bluntly Homeless before, so this is all new to him, and this city is rough.
He was sweet though.
Kept his word about calling me every day, and visiting me every day as well.
He was my only visitor.
When I got out, I got back to life as I know it…

I felt bad I wasn’t reaching out, but didn’t want to be pushy.
I got a hotel for a few days.
I wanted to Bukowski it out before a craft fair I was a part of.
I invited him to stay for a few nights to get his head and affairs in order, because I’ve been there so many times I’ve lost count.

He stayed until we got back from the craft fair, waited till I went out for smokes, and robbed me of everything I made at the fair. To be fair, it was only $35…but…

6a3f667004800773af00bac02317539a
My Mister Markus Toowell.
So sweet & broken, my poor dying darling.
I never hold it against these men.
I suppose I should…
I can’t help but take mutual responsibility for the situation.
Unfortunately, I set them up to fail.
I’m not the best influence myself… I won’t change you, I will just be beside you.
It kills them every time.

 
I’ll remember his scratchy, wobbled head… his baby teeth… his sweet softness.
He was thirty two, but he seemed so young & innocent, the thing.
If it was a schtick, it was a fucking great one…
But I’m more apt to blame it on the Cycles.
Inanna is dying & beginning her descent.

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.
a943a4cc2bfbd337f77ffa5c6e915815

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.

af3fb1448751d7faa2befedc1de8b355

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.
c2a21c5fc1cdfd808244fd5764ca2598

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.
67849493438bb118db2d7ff66ddfc43a
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.
6e7aba3e924ba338ec43c1550ad0492a

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?! 😉

931a567aab8965781a81f1e43d9158a3

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.