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love

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The Crazy Quilt

December 28, 2014
 
 

 

I am piecing together what I want from love, into a quilt.
Been saving the prettiest scraps I have found in humanity for years, hoping to make something beautiful and warm.

This is how I love. It’s simple.

I want to contribute to the ease and joy of your existence.

By allowing, acknowledging and appreciating this and me, you contribute to mine.

Your happiness is my happiness.

I spoke to my Guru yesterday. He fixes me when I break. I got stuck in my dark place. Okay, got stubborn and camped there. He saw, brought a flashlight and walked me out of the woods. We spoke of dreams and nice things. I lit back up.

I have to drop this false mantra of mine…”I wasn’t expecting this”.

BULLSHIT, I have been waiting for it…Always.

I’m falling for someone. I am so scared. I’ve been fucked over, proper fucked. Like the rabbits in ‘Snatch’. Like Bridget Fonda in ‘Singles’ I used to have a flowery list of traits for my ideal partner. Hers shrank to ‘someone who says bless you when you sneeze’, mine now just reads ‘Ferris wheel’.
Okay, not exactly.

This new one fucks like my kind of monster. Listens, proves it. He does not believe in one single thing I believe in, but he believes me. He is completely mutable and thereby holds my interest. He is beautiful and ginormous.

Guru: …you’re already scared

Me:  Terrified Daddy-oh. I cannot justify changing that good core I have. I am a good fucking woman, quite literally. I have learned my lessons. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to be me and be loved. Pedestals for both of us that let us see eye to eye.

Guru: no argument from me, darlin’… breathe and know you’re loved.

Me: I want love And the ever loving shit fucked out of me on a regular basis, by the same person. Who looks at me and says ‘me too’, or ‘explain that to me so I understand’ or ‘baby, try this instead’. And also takes me on a Ferris wheel.

Later…

Me: Hey great and powerful Oz…Can I have your permission to let go and feel what needs to be felt for this one, and can I have a shiny floaty bubble of Glinda Goodwitchyness to keep me from fucking it up?

Guru (aka Oz): I got a great big goblet of hope that you don’t fuck it up… and you’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel…just ignore the man behind the curtain… ’cause he’s of no use to the outcome whatsoever.

Me: Just on my knees looking for divine intervention, or a big sign that says Eat at Joe’s.

Twenty seconds later, the sign came.

I AM really fucking amazing. I forgot for a minute. Okay, 3 days’ worth of minutes.

I kept getting the same message from unrelated sources, the last one hit home.

They all read keep being you & DON’T EVER BE SORRY.

They’re right.
My heart, my love and wants are well-honed, reasonable and make a lovely blanket.

men

Triggered

December 25, 2014

Kings are being driven from their kingdoms with allegations of rape and videotapes of wife beatings.

Everyone is running willy-nilly with torches and pitchforks, convicting both victims and offenders in the kangaroo court that is the internet.
I am one in 4.
One in 4 women who have experienced sexual assault and one in 4 that have experienced domestic violence, more than once by different hands. I really should be in my blanket fort built from PTSD colouring until this shit storm passes, every other word is a trigger warning.
But I am not, I am here, I am okay.
I am a submissive. It’s not a cross to bear, it’s wonderful and I love it.
I was beaten and raped. Not a cross to bear either, more like a tightrope to walk, lean too far and splat.
I know why I’m submissive, I was WAY before the rape for the record. The rape had nothing to do with play of any kind, or even sex. But we’ll get there, in probably about 850 words.
I have tried many a thing and I revel in the power exchange and dynamic that exists between opposite sexes. Sex isn’t just sex to me, it is the only time I am fully content…wait. It’s the only time when it is a possibility that I might become completely content. A few other things bring me to this state as well, but let’s stay with the sex.
I love being a woman, and when I am fucking/getting fucked, I want to feel like a woman. Kinda a weird thing to say, but I walk around on guard all day every day, I want to feel safe at home, in bed, with him. Maybe it’s leftover puritanical ideals or 1950’s mindset on what a woman ought to be. Fuck it, I don’t need to dissect everything I like, there is joy in mystery. I like my sex rough and raw. I get off on feeling small, used and cared for…those 3 things can co-exist. They truly can.
I have this nagging sewing circle voice in my head saying ‘this isn’t politically correct you know…” STAAAAP, my blog, my vagina my rules, stop reading if you’re upset, or troll. I’ll be over here getting laid. My way.
I heard a woman say, when asked these two questions “when do you feel the most vulnerable and when do you feel the most beautiful” her answer for both was, “when I am naked in front of a man”. Her words are my truth. To be truthful, I enjoy feeling a little scared.
So, how do I find balance considering I’m a rape victim.
First and foremost, I’m not a victim, rape or otherwise, ever.
Second, I know it had nothing to do with sex at all, nor was he a partner in which I had ever engaged in any kind of sub/dom play. He wasn’t my partner at the time. He simply wanted to terrorize and hurt me and he did. One person did this To me out of anger, I don’t blame others, or myself.
It was 14 years ago. It happened, I lived. It’s okay. And it rarely comes up, except lately.
I have been single for almost a year. I do so very much love fucking. So what is a girl to do? Um, date and fuck.
I have adopted a full disclosure policy. If they can survive the first barrage of bullets, they get to stay.
Bonus round, I say very plainly, I was raped. And watch their faces. 2 outta 2 have had this storm cloud of pain cross their eyes while they digest these 3 words. This is the only acceptable reaction, I hate having to say it, but I love me more.
To be plain I have had 3 partners in a year (gasp). The first one didn’t get the speech, because he was the first and I had no idea what I was doing and also…he showed me so much respect, patience and earned trust during the courting process. Yes, he courted me, twice even, I simply just felt safe.
The new one climbed on me the other day, at his house, in his bed, pinned my arms down and said, ‘you’re trapped’. Time stopped whilst the following happened, in my head.
The Royal We assembled at light speed and assessed. I should been in hysterics, fighting and clawing my way out right? That’s how it goes. But on this day, it didn’t happen that way. Instead there was this
First thought “is this a test?”
“Um. Maybe”
“We told him right?”
“Yes”
Deep breath
“Are we actually scared right now?”
Hesitant “no”
“Was this fear ever necessary outside of the circumstances that created it?
Definite “No”.
Is every other time this has been triggered a shitty Pavlovian response?
“Yes”, except that one time. That boy really was an asshole.
“Does it serve us in any way?”
“Maybe”
“Does it serve us right now?”
“Nope”
“We good?”
“Yep”
“Okay good, as you were.”
All of this occurred in the time it took my heart to beat twice and I was back in the moment, naked and vulnerable under this 6’ 3” Giant of an amazing man and I simply went back to enjoying him.
As I write this I realize, like fucking lightning strike, I have not dated anyone over 5’ 10” since I was raped. I was raped by a big dude. 14 years ago. But, but, I have always liked big dudes, I am 5’8” and like I said I like feeling small. Apparently we weren’t ready, I just stared longingly at the heels in my closet and waited…without realizing I was waiting.
This is the moment where I win. That situation has no power over me anymore, I don’t live there. I haven’t lived there in a really long time.
So, what can we learn from this?
Have I found an ideal partner, well ya, this confirmed what I already knew.
This is about me being better, and by better I mean finally healed.
men

Chivalry

December 23, 2014


I’m dating a new man. I use the word dating loosely, an umbrella-term for any activity wherein two people who might want to fuck go out and figure out if they do indeed want to fuck. Also, the subsequent forays for nourishment or fresh air because you have to get out of bed and stop fucking at some point.

Third date, yes, let’s make with the fucking.

I drive 2 hours into god’s good nowhere…scary. Don’t know him That well, no one can hear me scream, he’s capitol H huge (noms), could easily overpower me etc… welcome to being a woman and dating.

Louis CK does a bit about how brave women are for going out with men because statistically speaking the leading cause of harm to women is men.
Truth. Himself included.

We both knew why I was there, mostly because I said it. I am not subtle. In search of ‘morning after’ coffee, we stop at the grocery store, a man (not mine) subtly yet aggressively gets in my space. Every woman I know has an automated response…big girl panties up, defensive posture, 2 seconds later, we’re on guard. This time something wonderful happened. My date looked at me, looked at other dude and proceeded to put his shoulders back, and move ever so slightly to block me.

His body spoke in a calm, clear tone “I am right here”. I tucked myself into the safe space he made for me, and was overwhelmed with relief. I am the reigning Queen of ‘I Got This’, but do I always have to “Got This”?

We went back to his house and I fucked him, a lot, in a rather wanton manner because I felt safe. Anyone picking up what I am putting down? Trust=sex, and lots of it.

Outside of strip clubs, I cannot name one workplace where I was not harassed or abused in some way. The one I am citing now, the abuse was criminal. I worked with my ex at the time, he left me to the wolves, preferring to ‘console’ me privately and keep me leaning on him. I finally stood my ground, I was fired. He quit in what appeared to be a show of solidarity, but really, quitting jobs was a hobby of his, so the lustre flaked off that quickly. We didn’t fuck for 8 months prior to splitting. Now you picking up what I am putting down? No trust, not interested.

“Well I didn’t know what to do”, seems to be the theme of this latest great Canadian sex scandal.

Do what my new guy did.

The metamorphosis that old school chivalry must finally make.
Stand BESIDE me, not over me.

How do I express the relief in the arrival and actualization of something I had no idea was even possible but that I yearned for? In gratitude I channel my 50’s housewife and make him sweet potato pie and suck his cock like I’ve got the poison and he’s the remedy.

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Morning Wood

December 22, 2014
goodcross
Gotcha.
Early yesterday, I was literally stacking wood.
My father’s voice ringing in my ears, “work smart not hard dummy”.
Not once in the history of Ever did my dad ever call me dummy, my psyche added this.
Before I realized how much thought he put into everything before he started doing it, I thought he knew everything, he does. He set the bar for logic, and as I wandered out into the world, I saw how high above most it truly is.
He did say “If it starts to fall, don’t try to stop it, you can’t.” it is easier to restack wood than reattach toes.  I extrapolated, ‘try to figure out why it fell and don’t do THAT again’. Huh, good life lesson. Shit falls apart, retreat to safe distance, let it fly, put it back together, better this time. Learn but don’t dwell. You have wood to stack.
Send in the metaphors.
Just like relationships, if it doesn’t stack well in the wheelbarrow, dump it and start over, it’s just gonna give you trouble and break your toes.
The bottom row is important, it’s what you are building on and what is going to keep you warm during that snowstorm in April. Choose wisely and put some effort into it. You need the right combination of stability and space. Let it breathe.
Focus Grasshopper.
1.       1. If you put a log on the stack and it rolls, it’s just going home, let it.
2.       2. The wood will stack itself if you just zone out and let it. Stop overthinking, keep moving.
3.      3.  You will find odd pieces, this is the nature of trees, its alright.*
Often you will find a compatible odd chunk that when added to the first is just the perfect thing.
*Unless the weird one seems to need a third to keep it in place, then burn the fucker, now.
So I am looking down at a bush cord of wood, briefly contemplating, but I jump right in. Shortly after I realize need a crib stack on either side, forgot to pull good wood for that, and I should have a support on the back half, didn’t do that either. Dummy.
I started seeing a new guy. I likes him. I said to a friend yesterday I truly thought he was just some big dumb guy I could climb around on for a month. Ya, no. I like him. He’s amazing, funny, sweet and smart.
Anyone still with me? I did the same thing with the new man, jumped in all excited, didn’t think ahead. Shoulda waited and dated instead of jumping into bed on the 3rd date, but it was a really good date, and the base of the woodpile  is solid, I’m doing what I can with what I have where I am, just kinda after the fact, so far it’s working.

 

Oh, don’t forget the kindling. It’s one thing to have nice chunks of hard wood, but the little things are what start the fire.
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