Browsing Tag

sanctuary

regular lust

50 Ways to Stay with your Lover

April 18, 2017

 

We aren’t. Wish granted.

Ta da

Abracadabra.

How bow dat?

The gods always smile on brave women.
Granted sometimes they are smiling because they can’t control their laughter when we forget ourselves and we turn into shadows of what we are and become nagging, bitchy things with teeth and claws and tears.

And then my period stops and ya, sorry bout dat.

Consider my shit together.

Everything is as it should be, as it always is. (Dalai Lama)

I lived without him before he showed up, I can do it again.

But the more I push, the sooner that is going to happen. So no more pushing.

Easy peasy. Like Sunday morning with or without pancakes.

No more clinging onto shit that doesn’t matter either.

Granted there was a rough patch, akin to a quick bend in the river, a drop in elevation creating rapids roiling and rolling, but that was then.

Back to our regularly scheduled ebb and flow, I got caught up on some rocks for a bit.

I am back in the water, here I float, unencumbered.

God I need to get back in the water. Willing the summer to get here quicker is futile, it will come when it comes and it is my job to make sure it is thoroughly enjoyed and glorious.

I keep forgetting what my job is.

Currently I am juggling two paying jobs, writing, being a mother, a girlfriend and whatever version of myself I feel like being today.

I am all of those things.

I decided this.

I decided on him, he decided on me.

The only thing making things complicated was an unconscious decision I made to make it so.

I forgot for a week or two that I am my own Captain Jean Luc Picard, this is my starship. I get to decide how this goes.

I walked into this first actual relationship in 4 years adamantly deciding that I wasn’t going to lose myself this time.

But I found myself slipping.
Spending time in places I don’t belong with people I don’t know.
Time I could have been writing, napping, working, with my girls.
Or just being home alone.

That familiar tearing feeling of being pulled in too many directions which makes me balk and want to hide.

I wanted to be with him, he’s awesome. The sex is prolific perfection. He is funny and strange and above all sweet to me.

I was saying one thing, thinking something completely different and doing the polar opposite of both.

Never ending search for the fulcrum.

The secret is all inside your head she said to me, the answer is easy if you take it logically.
Paul Simon 50 Ways to Leave your Lover.

I am not leaving my lover. Quite like him actually.

The answer is logical though. ‘No’ is a complete sentence. So is ‘Okay Baby’. Just gotta find that balance.

There is nothing wrong with him going to the bar and me being home asleep. He’s away right now and sooooo happy. So am I, both for him and for the time spent alone. I was so desperate for me time that I was spending my tiny allotments in unproductive ways. Overthinking being one of them.

We’re good together and we are good apart.

I wouldn’t stand for him demanding I go out, so why should he tolerate me demanding he stay home.

He shouldn’t.

Doesn’t work that way.

But somehow we work.

 

 

men

Goose and Gander

April 14, 2017

I sat upon the balcony yesterday, early evening watching the sky change colors.

Sitting, smoking, waiting.

Just enjoying the warm and the quiet, well almost quiet. Indie playlist on Spotify coming through the screen door. Squirrels arguing over pinecones, woodpecker knocking his face against a tree, grackles cackling and kids playing at the playground.

Couldn’t tell you exactly what I was thinking about, possibly nothing, but unlikely. I am always contemplating something. It’s just my way.

I adulted ultra-super-mega hard all day and needed a brief moment of respite so I took it.

Something caught my eye and I looked up from my phone. A blue jay, glancing over his wing at me, caught my eye and stared at me, as if to say ‘focus girl’. So I focused. I thought I knew what his particular winged portent meant. And I did. “Speak your mind”.
This is the omen blue jays bring. Speak up speak out clear your throat and just say it.

A few hours later I did.

And it was unpleasant.

In the moment I believed I was right.

Adamantly so.

Blue jay shoulda told me to pick my battles. This was nothing but a small skirmish, not a war.

But I suited up and to war I went.

Much ado about nothing but I didn’t see it that way. I was blinded by prior events.

I hate having tantrums, my stomach ties itself into knots, my eyes sting and my throat burns.

But a tantrum I had. Missed the foot stomping part. Sat on the top step and begged instead. Equally as gross.

I lost the fight, if you could even call it that.

I didn’t get my way.

Revelations chapter one.

Why should I?

He said very plainly “You’re and introvert and I’m an extrovert, I want to go out.”

In the din of my internal struggle against panic and worry, I didn’t hear him right away.

I was left alone to gather my thoughts. I get left a lot. It struck a chord in me and not a good one, like a guitar out of tune with a reverb pedal. But eventually the noise faded and my thoughts became clear.

Alone.

Alone I like.

I’ve been craving it, stealing moments when I can. Being late for things just so I can spend a few more minutes with myself. Getting up at 6 am so I can sit on the very same balcony where the blue jay paid me a visit and just have some solitude before I head back into the world.

Herein lay the epiphany that presented itself rather gently as I laid in the bed, my body held comfortably by the divot we’ve made.

I like being alone.

He doesn’t.

What is good for the goose isn’t always what is good for the gander.

And that’s okay.

I sent a text saying “I was wrong” and promptly and peacefully fell asleep.

He made good on his promise and came home on time. No harm, no foul.

Kissing me and tucking himself into me and the aforementioned divot.

I’ve never been one to mind being woken up, especially that way. I rarely have trouble falling asleep or getting back to it.

All of my no’s from earlier were been replaced with ‘okay baby’.

My natural state of being.

I smiled in my half sleep.

There was no conflict other than what existed in me.

He walked away exactly long enough for me to figure things out on my own and then did something entirely foreign to me.

He came back.

And I let it go.

men

Mountains, Monsters and Men

April 6, 2017

I wanted to write something.

I had it in my head and it was a good idea but…

I am on day one of flipping my schedule from days back to nights and I was up, bleary eyed at 6 this morning.

Logical me wanted to go back to bed.

Smitten kitten me wanted 5 more minutes with Mister.

I saw a thing once or a million times, in movies or on TV where the man cups his hand around the back of a girls neck, with his fingers lightly tangled in her hair and he pulls her ever so gently towards him and kisses her forehead.

Ya, that happened this morning.

I floated home.

Felt as good as it looked and seemed to me it would.

It’s funny, after everything…there are still new things that haven’t happened yet.

It’s the little things.

Always the little things for me.

Big romantic gestures make me squirm. Flowers, although lovely, end up dying. Gifts are just things, words are just words but a kiss on the forehead can feel like the whole world, when the whole world is still dark and he climbs back in bed for one more minute with me.

He pulls choice phrases and words from old posts on here.

One of them claimed that I had ‘copious amounts of sex’.

I thought I did.

Seemed like a lot at the time…but anything compared to nothing is something.

He is something else.

Copious has found new meaning.

Many things have found new meaning.

I wrote once that the only trouble with making something out of nothing is when the nothing starts to show through.

I had a whole lotta nothin’.

I used to make mountains out of molehills and monsters out of men.

“I only date beasts” I said.
“Tell the wolves I am home” I cried.
“Fairy tales and parables about monsters” I wrote.

But what kind of creatures aren’t brave enough to stick around?

Beasts, wolves and monsters don’t run. Well they do, when a hero shows up with a magic sword. And that is exactly what happened here.

These boys I made out to be something they weren’t, weren’t nothing per say…but they weren’t what I made them out to be.

Little did I know that eventually even the heaviest gilding fades, the nothing would show through.

Me and Jon Snow, still don’t know nothing.

Except now I have an inkling.

It was like when Buffalo Bill has Catherin Martell down the well, she’s snagged Precious in the fucking basket and says “I think she broke her leg on the way down…I think she’s in a lot of pain mister.” And he yells back “you don’t know what pain is.”

I used to know exactly what pain was. I also knew a hit could feel like a kiss when the body is starved for attention. (Unknown)

I used to starve.

I was Catherine Martell, living on scraps, down in a hole, in a madman’s basement just trying to find a way out. Rubbing the lotion on my skin when told to do so. Attempting to communicate and negotiate with varying someone’s who mocked my pain and dehumanized me to justify what they were doing.

Now I am out.

Been out for a while now.

But like most prisoners, I kept reoffending so I could go back to the “comfort” of what I knew. Yep, you guessed it…nothing. Or very little at least. Another word for a hole in a crazy man’s basement is oubliette, somewhere you put things you want to forget.

And there I sat, remembering them.

I suppose it makes sense, all I had for company was memories. Little moments and snippets of happiness stitched into a quilt to keep me warm.

Now the quilt is threadbare, slowly becoming the nothing it was made from. Pretty soon just my own indestructible, red thread will be all that’s left. As it should be.

It was a security blanket and I don’t need it anymore. I have a good man to keep me warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

regular lust

Hey Jealousy

April 5, 2017

“The green fairy that lives in the absinthe wants your soul.” Bram Stoker’s Dracula

There is another green fairy who tries to eat your soul and succeeds sometimes, she is a scary monster and not a nice sprite at all.

Hey

jeal·ous·y ˈjeləsē/

noun

  1. the state or feeling of being jealous.

“a sharp pang of jealousy”

synonyms: envy, covetousness;

resentment, resentfulness, bitterness, spite;

informal the green-eyed monster

“he was consumed with jealousy”

suspicion, suspiciousness, distrust, mistrust, insecurity, anxiety;

possessiveness, overprotectiveness

“the jealousy of his long-suffering wife”

 

I don’t mean envy. Enviousness, to me, is something completely different.

God said Thou shall not covet.
So I don’t.
I’m happy with what I have where I am and I know that if that changes, I have to change.
I can and do love many things but I don’t need to beg, borrow or steal them from anyone else.

Jealousy is a totally different creature.

I stopped being jealous years ago.

It was one of those times where the Universe swooped in and said “oh you think you are jealous now? Lemme give you something to be jealous about.”

And she did, and it was bad, then it was over, Amen.

I hated that feeling of butterflies in my stomach turned to sharp poisoned things trying to beat their way out. Knowing another woman had been in my house, my bed, my life and wanting something that was never mine to begin with.

Had I stopped coveting what was not mine, I would have saved myself a lot of time, trouble and heartache. I know that now.

I read something once about ‘good men can’t be stolen’. This is true. If he loves you he’ll stay.

Addendum, the best revenge on a woman that stole your man is to let her have him.

Not big on revenge either. Time sorts everything out, some people like to call that karma…it’s really just time spiralling in and out, changing perspectives and a little cosmic comeuppance every now and again.

I love my life now, couldn’t have any of this without all of that.

Cruz has been reading the blog. Uh oh Spaghettios.
When we met he said he wasn’t big on reading and I sighed a big sigh of relief. That didn’t last long. One thing I asked for repeatedly when I was trying to figure out what I wanted in a man/partner/relationship was ‘someone who wants to know all of me’. And that is what he is doing. Trying to learn me, figure me out and it should be bliss, but sometimes it ain’t.

I write fondly of my exes.

Hurts my heart knowing it troubles his.

I have to say nice things, I don’t want to remember the bad bits, although they are in here too. The crying jags, the nights without sleeping trying to deal with this loss or that one. There were so many I can barely keep track and I lived through it and wrote it all down.

Once it’s down on paper I can let it go.

This is my catharsis.

I know, beyond all doubt, I don’t want to go back there.

I asked him over and over to check the dates. But honestly, I don’t think that helps.

I know if he sat down and reiterated and regaled me with tales of his exes the way I write I’d die a little inside with every syllable, every bit of praise he doted on them.

I’m being a little melodramatic, but it stings. Like putting your tongue on a 9 volt battery, you know it’s gonna hurt and yet we do it anyways.

Part of me wants to know, because I want to know him. Not just the shiny fun bits, all of it. He is honest and forthcoming in a way that occasionally knocks the wind out of me. His lack of filter matches mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Do not ask the price I pay, I must live with my quiet rage, tame the ghosts in my head that run wild and wish me dead.” Mumford and Sons

More melodrama. Hurts less than a paper cut really, I know he is mine. I trust him implicitly.

I know what I went through and I know how I feel. I pretty things up in here by throwing flowers on graves. Doesn’t make them any less dead to me.

I was looking for something I didn’t think existed. But in my tenacious as fuck way, I kept trying.

She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts.

I do see my ghosts, and occasionally, when we go out, I see his too.

We talk openly about where we have been, what went right/what went wrong. At some point without discussing it, we decided on full disclosure and I wouldn’t change it.

I said to him the other day “I wish you would read the posts about what I wanted”. The posts wherein I made detailed lists of what I was looking for, hoping that if I wrote it all down the universe would listen.

And she did.

Past is gone but something might be found to takes its place (Gin Blossoms)

I wouldn’t trade him for any combination of them.

Now is blessed, the rest remembered. Jim Morrison

regular lust

Hard to Swallow

March 31, 2017

I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)

Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.

We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.

I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.

And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.

Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.

I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.

Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.

What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.

Second verse same as the first.

Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.

Pins and needles.

Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.

Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.

So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.

This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.

But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…

Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.

It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.

Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.

The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.

He thinks I am beautiful.

I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.

I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.

They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.

He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.

I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.

Uncategorized

Love Just Is

March 28, 2017

Love is patient, love is kind.

Oh yes, it is those things.

It is also, ‘put on your seat belt’, ‘did you get enough to eat?’ and reassuring someone after a nightmare even though you really wanna dye your hair…among a multitude and myriad of other things.

“It’s all based off of love. And love isn’t ‘do this for me and I’m going to do this for you’, that’s not what love is. Love is just I’m going to do this for you because I’m going to do this for you.”

YouTube rabbithole I was tumbling down took a weird turn and landed on the Biebs.

Before I realized it was him, I was in full agreeance, after I realized it was him, I am in full agreeance.

It’s true.

I think that love and or fondness for another human being makes little tasks and treats for said person into a pleasurable experience. Mind you I have always been the girl who enjoyed giving gifts at Christmas more than receiving them. Releases some kind of happy chemical in my brain when I see someone else’s joy.

I have written articles before such as Love as a Verb and Love as a Noun. Love is action and a state of being in my humble yet loving opinion.

Case and point, having beers with the boys last night.

One said “I always wished she would have come over and girlied up the place but she never did.”

Which lead into me saying ‘well you weren’t doing what she wanted to do (which was consider letting her move in) so she didn’t do it.’

I choked on the words a bit, but they are paramount truth.

Too many people running around only giving love conditionally.

To me that is withholding, and an abomination against the Lord.

And not at all indicative of love.

But it is so much the norm that that particular behavior is immediately recognizable and easily identified.

Doesn’t make it any less one-sided and shitty.

I post love memes all day every day, and without fail or exception there is a rabble rabble from the crowd…

“But he doesn’t do _____ for me, why should I be nice to him?”

Because you love him maybe? Or claim to?

“You keep using that word (love) and I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Princess Bride.

We are ever evolving creatures that change and learn as we go, or the ones I want to hang out with are. Why sequester yourself in a relationship with someone who stifles that? Puts limitations and expectations on you to be something they have created in their own mind as ideal. I don’t get it.

My favorite thing? Sitting back and letting people be themselves. Watching their eyes light up when they get excited about something they love. Feeling safe to be myself is so incredibly important to me that I try to carry around that idea of sanctuary with me wherever I go.

There are billions of people on the planet, find one that fits as is.

That is exactly what love is to me “I love you as is, just because.” Drunk, sleepy, cranky, happy, strange, dirty, clean…all of those things are faces of you and I like yer face.

I love you because I just do.

regular lust

I Only Date Beasts

March 21, 2017

Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Tale as old as time
Beauty and the Beast

He fucked me 6 times yesterday and still thought I was hot enough to mention it at 6am, on our way to MacDonald’s drive thru on his way to drop me off on his way to work.

He called me beautiful and he is a beast.

Been looking for one of those for a long time and up until now they have been weighed, measured and I was left wanting.

Not anymore.

I thought I had one once, upon a time not that long ago, but he was all talk and no time for me.

So I left.

Why does it always have to be ‘I have you or I hate you.’???

Weren’t we just friends? Didn’t we trust each other a few weeks ago? We talked every day. Now I have to walk around this hole in my life. It’s just a puddle not a crater. I’ll live.

I was just one girl out of several on his roster.

I never understood the phenomenon of “You aren’t behaving the way I expect you too so I shall name thee whore, cast you out and never talk to you again.”

But honey…

I am a whore and damned proud of it. He was proud of me once. Showed me off to his friends with pics, but I never met them. Apparently I was the hottest of the girlfriends.

I didn’t win anything.

One would think that if a guy has a hot girlfriend said friends would hound him to do something about it. But what do I know?

His business partner managed to drive to Milton nightly, in the dead of winter to bang some random flavor of the month chick, repeatedly and raw.
I lived a lot closer and I got ignored so hard that I questioned my own existence.

When I said I couldn’t wait anymore Lumberjack said ‘You knew what you were getting into. I’m over it. You wasted my time.’

Wait…what?

You plucked a nympho out of thin air, basically winning the lottery and fucked me…4 times in 9 months? With 2 blowies and a finger bang thrown in, for what?

To be blocked on everything?

His last one left him because they never went out. So I never asked to go out.

I didn’t ask for much.

I tried to be understanding. I waited and waited and waited.

“She didn’t understand I work so much so I can have this house, she can come over any time.”
But I wasn’t allowed in that very same house after he moved upstairs.

It was over then and I hung on for 5 more months.

He stopped trying as soon as I put out.

That’s the norm.

Or it was…

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise

From trashed to treasured.

My ex-husband called me a turboslut after he read the blog. Said he was ashamed he’d ever known me and touched me. You and me both buddy. I shudder and long for the day that my skin cells have regenerated enough times that they never knew you existed. Not long now.

We waited 3 months to sleep together and I went to prison for 7 years for honoring that probationary period.

Besides, I kinda am all those names I’ve been called.

I am not ashamed of it anymore.

Thought I had found someone who thought it was great too, but he never showed up to claim his prize.

Fuck him.

Over it.

Something wonderful happened the other day.

Something wonderful has been happening for 3 weeks now.

I told y’all I slept with a young Scorpio on the first date.

We went to see Get Out and we decided we weren’t done hanging out yet.

I was so fucking frustrated and he is so fucking hot I caved, maybe 20 minutes after I said I wasn’t gonna.

It was worth it.

I had joked that we wouldn’t last long enough to see Beauty and the Beast.
One of the previews we agreed on seeing whilst sitting in the theater. It wasn’t a joke. I figured he’d bail sooner than later. Why wouldn’t I?

They all do.

I fucked him, put my clothes on and he drove me home, all the while me thinking “that was really good, too bad I’ll never see him again.”

I even said it out loud before I shut the car door.

He came over the next night.

Not the one after that because I was working, but the next night.

Probably 15/20 days we’ve seen each other, at least for a few hours.

On the 14th day he asked me to be his girlfriend, even though he thought I’d say no. He wanted it enough that he took a chance. Of course I said yes.

When it’s been more than 24 hours since we’ve fucked he gets these lusty eyes. Or when he looks at me really. We’ve joked about fucking in bar bathrooms, it’s really only a matter of time.

I told him what ex hubby said, the turboslut thing.

He did something I wasn’t expecting, he took back the nickname and made it into a good thing.

He makes a lot of things into good things.

He said last night while we were lying in bed, pretty much out of nowhere, “I don’t know why these guys all left you.”

Honestly babe, I don’t know why they left either, but I am glad they did.

Beauty and her beast? He surprised me with tickets on Saturday. Walked nostalgically back through our first date. (You shushed me here)

The Adventures of Turboslut and her Fuck Monster.

My kind of fairy tale.

 

 

unable to even

Under Pressure (more trigger warnings)

March 17, 2017

It is so bittersweet to me when I post about the bad things we must endure as women and those are the articles that go viral.

https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/pressure-sex-trigger-warning.html

Pressure Sex, an article about how sometimes/often it’s safer just to give in than fight back when some man friend thinks he has earned the right to your body. About lying there light as a feather, stiff as a board and dry as a bone just waiting for it to be over so you can go home.

Sometimes home isn’t safe either.

3000 views in 48 hours. Hundreds of comments breaking my heart.

I relate. How can I live this life? A constant fuck hole for a man who doesn’t notice my obvious repulsion.
I do it, I lay there because he is a good father to our child. I don’t know what else to do. (Anonymous)
All I could say is I hope things get better for you.

I can’t say ‘run’. If she thought she could, she would have. All I can do is hope that by me saying something, by Jen saying something, by the hundreds saying ‘me too’ that she knows she isn’t alone.

Getting groped in the night just trying to get through it.

How many times? Too many.

How many women? Seemingly all of us.

How can this be?

And the question remains…what do we tell our daughters? That ‘no is a complete sentence’. But what about when it isn’t. When some men get hard ‘no’ just sounds like a challenge. Then what do we do?

Get through the night, please don’t die and then come to me and I’ll tell you that whatever you had to do to survive was okay. But it ain’t.

I can’t go get a coffee unprotested, can’t do laundry unmolested unless I have a man with me.

“It can’t be that bad” they say. But the second they drop 10 feet behind me they hear what I hear.

“Hey baby nice tattoos”, “smile beautiful” and “I just want to talk to you”. What about what I want?

What about the other avenues by which we get violated?

Another rant about dick pics. Accompanied by the usual jokes.

How is this funny?

Imagine your wife, mother, sister, daughter opening a seemingly innocent door and having some creep whip his dick out on the other side and slap her with it.

Triggers the same fight or flight response, the same amount of fear.

I didn’t ask for this.

This is daily social media harassment for women.

My girl said “I’ve never gotten one”

I asked if she had ever opened her requested messages folder.

She hasn’t, she won’t. One more girl pulled out of the fire.

So many suggestions on how I should modify my behavior.

I was born a woman so I must hide myself away or suffer the consequences?

I am exhausted.

“If I have to listen to one more grey-faced man with a $2 haircut explain to me what rape is, I’m going to lose my mind.” Tina Fey

Then there are these odd moments of hope wherein I say “no, this isn’t funny, it happens and it sucks” and someone listens.

One man out of thousands.

The rest?

These are the men we know and love, the ones we trusted, until we didn’t.

It got worse you know.

That girl who got assaulted, once in the flesh and once shortly after via social media.

I didn’t know when I wrote the article that it wasn’t a couple of ill-timed dick pics that ended up in her inbox. It was videos, fully nude, jerking off with a come-fuck-me face on top. This was his response to her assault. Like some poisoned cherry on a shit covered sundae.

Like what happened to her was a source of arousal for him.

Too many men thinking women are just toys, vehicles for their orgasms.

He sent them on Snap Chat, all evidence of his vile behavior burned into her brain but disappearing leaving no proof.

Why does it make you hard when I cry? (Boss Hog)

Good God make it stop.

I am wondering if maybe there is a God and he is still pissed about Eden. Seems like a man, not able to let things go.

They think that women are insane but have you ever seen a man go from “Hey gorgeous” to “fucking bitch, I’ll kill you” in under a minute for refusing to reply?

I told one I was leaving and had my mouth punched into oblivion for saying something he didn’t want to hear.

The last one called me a whore for saying I was done.

I am a whore, just not yours anymore.

I have a new one now. A good man and a chaperone. For the foreseeable future I don’t have to worry about walking alone, and if for some reason I say no, I know he’ll listen.

unable to even

Pressure Sex (trigger warning)

March 15, 2017

 

My girl, oh my feisty awesome girl, got sexually assaulted last year.

What do you say?

“I’ve been there, I love you, be brave, you got this.”

It’s almost a rote response at this point.

One in four one in four one in four.

Seems like more than one in four.

Seems like my answers and condolences are automated. “Welcome to the club sounds” awful.
But it’s astute.
There are so many of us and no one seems to know how to stop it.

I can tell you what you don’t do, for all the men out there.

What a male friend of hers did when she opened up about what happened a few days later.

He sent her full frontal nudes and dick pics.

She is still reeling and dealing. The betrayal of the supposed friend worse than the assault by the other.

I get it.

She did something decidedly brave in my opinion, she called him out. Not the first but the second, the shitty full frontal friend. Called him by name.

There is fallout, there always is.

She popped her head into my inbox last night, so I stopped what I was doing and said the things I have been programmed to say. The things I wanted to hear after I was assaulted, after dick pics, after men behaved badly.

I had posted yesterday that maybe we should start naming them, these men who do these things to us. The ones we called friends or lovers who don’t understand the words hurt or no.

These aren’t strange perverts in alleyways and parking garages waiting to victimize women, these are men we know. Men we felt safe with until we didn’t.

For every serial killer there is a chorus of neighbors saying ‘we didn’t know, he seemed like such a nice guy.’

Whisperings of abusive and perverted men passed around like dirty currency in the dark where they won’t make a scene ~ J.U.

I am wondering if we should all stand together as women and start naming names.
Not scratching them into the backs of bathroom stalls and hoping someone will heed our warning, but actually naming names.

I tried to call someone out, on that very status, that sparked a war. And I couldn’t.

Me, the girl who speaks her mind, who doesn’t lie, who found her voice and screams from the treetops. Good bad ugly…I am the one to say it.  But I can’t.

I can’t say that 2 years ago I had too much to eat at a dinner he bought for me. We went back to his house, like we always did. He wanted to fuck like we always did, but I didn’t. I was feeling tired and sick and stressed and all I wanted to do was lay down for a minute and muster the energy to drive home. But instead I got fucked, rather roughly and unceremoniously while I was mentally disconnected from my body just waiting for it to be over. And that it might have been okay except for the text the next day that said something like “the sex last night was amazing”.

Was it now? Because to me it felt like you were using my body like you would a doll, just something to get you off in a pinch. Using my body like my soul wasn’t in there, that I didn’t matter. Not noticing that I didn’t make a sound or much movement at all, not noticing I was dry as a bone.

I never went back.

He still tries to talk to me and I say hi back politely, curtly or ignore it if I feel like I can get away with it.

Therein lies the problem.

I’m still scared.

A few months later I was lying in bed with Biker Body Pillow. We never fucked, just spooned when we were both broken up about someone else. He got hard in the middle of the night. I was the little spoon so I noticed.

I ignored it, braced for impact in the morning.

I have already written about this. About how a 6’5” heavily tattooed biker stood in my kitchen almost in tears when I explained how I had been programmed to deal with unwanted sexual advances from male friends. When he asked how many times and I couldn’t count. When he asked why and I explained because saying no is sometimes a dangerous thing to do. Which basically boils down to ‘blow them if you have to, it’s safer that way.’

Safer than saying no, safer than trying to leave. Diffusing bombs with your mouth and tongue, but not by talking yourself out of it. Because at some point you already know, they stopped listening.

I have saved a handful of women and girls by drilling into my son’s head, that “even if she stops right in the god damned middle, you stop. Cover her up and wait. Go if she tells you to go, stay if she tells you to stay.” It happened to him, with a girl and he told me he was grateful that he knew what to do.

This is what we need all men to do.

Stop. Cover. Wait and fucking listen.

But what do we tell women and girls?

Fight back, name names and in the morning, we rally.

 

 

 

men, Uncategorized

You Had Time

March 14, 2017

I can’t publish this until I talk to Cruz about it.

I owe him that.

I owe him a lot actually.

He sat next to me in a sports bar, talking to his best friend about me and said ‘she is really hard on herself’.

This little lightbulb went on in my head…

I am.

Panda joined the party and the subject of Black 19 was raised and I had to confess what happened there. He sold the rights to be with me for 300 bucks.

I almost cried at the table. I carry a lot of shame about that. All of it. Letting him near me in the first place and the money thing. Grosses me out.

Cruz looked right at me and said it wasn’t my fault. So matter of fact that I couldn’t argue.

I believed him.

Just like I believed the psychic who said Black 19 was a liar. Saw her the day after I loaned him the money. Whoops. At least I was mentally prepared. Still stung though. Always does.

She also said that an ex was going to make an appearance soon.

Wolfling messaged the next day. Thought that was that.

Nope, nuh uh, I should be so lucky.

Actually I am lucky but we will get to that in a minute.

Ladies and gentlemen, for an encore performance, would you please welcome, the freshly divorced High School Sweetheart.

(crickets)

Are ya fucking kidding me right now?

I am currently working with a strategy manager, he is an awesome dude and believes in my ability to make money with writing etc. He messaged in the middle of everything.

Conversations with Clifford

Me: I was in love with the same boy from age 13 to 40

Clifford: You told me about him

Me: He just got divorced

Clifford: WOAH

Me: He messaged me yesterday

Clifford: And he’s interested in you again? But you got a good thing with Cruz right?

Me: He never stopped being interested. We talked on and off his whole marriage, my whole marriage, but I let him go in December 2014. I did always wonder how I would react if he came back.

Clifford: What do you feel?

Me: nothing

Clifford: Maybe that ship has sailed

Me: It sunk I think, watery grave, no survivors.

Clifford: There a girl in my life where the timing was just never right and the stars were never going to align and we just accepted that for what it was.

Me: That is exactly it. He messaged yesterday and told me what happened, Cruz asked me to be his girlfriend last night. I said yes to Cruz with zero hesitation.

Clifford: Boom! Congrats to you and Cruz

Me: He is super sweet to me and just lets me be myself. This is pretty epic for me.

Clifford: Trust your gut right

Me: Oh honey, All my body parts are super happy with Cruz.

And there it is.

For the first time in a long time everything about me is content with one person who wants me back, like right now, not later after we split and I am missed.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of my exes, I shall not want.

Something in me changed, right before he got here. I did a massive letting go of everything from the time called ‘before’.

The same psychic that predicted the other two events told me to try and figure out the kind of relationship I want, instead of thinking about the man I want.

I did that.

And now I have it.

He is my fuck monster. Bangs me the minute I walk in the door then we hang out like normal people for a few hours till he gets lusty eyes and we drop what we’re doing and have more sex.

It isn’t just that.

It’s the forehead kisses and the opening of doors. It’s him calling me out on my emotional shit. Its Panda saying “I really like him and I want him to stay in our lives for a long time”. It’s his stories from traveling and him spontaneously picking up a guitar and playing my favorite songs. It’s his lack of filter and zero shame. There is no game playing here, he just is what he is and does what he does. Just like me.

I said the other day that it takes me a long time to get over things, but once I am, they are done.

It tasted like truth because it is.

I don’t want what could have been, I want what is.

Truth is, we all have a past.

But there is no future in it.

 

 

 

 

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