We were almost, and I mean so fucking close...to a very hot threesome. It's the girl who always backs out. God It was heavy, just chatting on the bus. She felt like I understood parts of her, that the boy beside her never could. And he dug that I was clever and dominant enough to pose a challenge.
My only mistake is that I looked to her for verification when he invited me to go with them. FAIL. I knew she was submissive, I knew she's the girl who says no but means yes. So I didn't get off at their stop.
Frankly, I'm not so broken up by it. They were young and I cannot teach them what I know in a night. The funny part is that they'll swear that they only need the other. But they'll both think of me while they fuck.
Our three way flirt was tasty. Compared to the other night, when I was nothing but nerve ends and gasps, tonight I was collected and suave. It reminds me of how fun threesomes were. The ideal third to a couple is playfully entertaining, romantic enough to cherish the couple's intimacy, and yet not so involved that they pose a threat.
The woman wants to her intellect and soul to be seen despite her looks. The man wants a girl saucy and sharp in ways his adorable girlfriend can't be.
Naturally that's who I am. Though, in company of either gender I'll fall into character as the seductive cutie, or the thoughtful woman king. Tonight the only men I gave a shit about were the DJ and the old friend that danced with me.
There's nothing like wearing boxers under a sexy translucent dress. Anyone who watches my curves twist in the crowd will see boxers and converse underneath.
That's the half butch, half pixie recipe that can dish as much as she can take; and I've yet to meet my match.
The full moon is passed and I feel like the several kinds of BOSS that I am.
-xxx
Monday, August 15, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Full moon
Does it change the way you think and act?
Maybe it's the placebo effect, but I feel it.
Lunacy, is derived from Lune
It's widely believed that people get excited on a full moon.
There a lot of theories as to why this is.
The pull of gravity.
An imbalance of ions.
Light sensing eyes inside our brains.
Werewolves.
My guess is that if women sync up to the moon, then there are a lot of extra pheromones wafting around.
If half the city goes into heat, the other half will notice.
Sounds plausible doesn't it?
----------------
I feel like that now.
I feel like I can't take it any longer.
but I did.
Was it to prove a point?
Who do I mean to prove it to?
A poet tonight said something like " I think you're sooo...sexy, because you're beautiful inside and out.
The fact that I melted in the audience is an indicator.
What I want is understanding.
A man on the bus home struck up a conversation.
So I asked him what was on my mind:
"What do people want?"
"Acceptance, he answered"
Can we gain wisdom by not caving to this demand of ours?
That's what I want to know.
Maybe this celibacy is more than sorting out the people I think understand me, and are 'worth my affection.'
Maybe I want to know if I'll learn something from it.
Or maybe I'm hoping for confirmation where there is no reason or benefit from it.
There's got to be a reason behind it.
One more week, that's not a lot. And I'll have the chance, not to only have wild amazing sex, but to engage in meaningful intimacy.
Because if I had gone home with any of those men tonight, I would just berate them with weird questions like
"What are your dreams?" and
"What's the most beautiful thing you've ever felt?"
Because that's my pillow talk.
It's not for the slight of heart ;)
(I'm still drunk off tequila and I hope that pun makes as much sense as it seems to.)
xoxo
signing out
->the girl who gave you her card instead of her heart.
Ps. I wanted to say something like this to a poet tonight:
"I know why I can't think of anything to say around you. It's because your beauty steals the words out of my mouth." but instead, I mumbled "I'll upload those caricatures of you, the ones where you have big ears and a tiny neck. My number is on this card too" ...and I promptly ran off into the night. SLICK!
Sometimes just feeling those butterflies is worth never finding out if it would amount to anything.
And leaving that boy in his hotel room feels like a little like lugging my dignity all the hour and a half home, but completely awesome at the same time. Huge thanks go out to the friend who knows the look that says "Despite my arguments, convince me not to go back in."
BLAM! Psyche strikes again! Now that the regret has been sloughed off, I feel good. Not prideful, but happy all the same.
Maybe it's the placebo effect, but I feel it.
Lunacy, is derived from Lune
It's widely believed that people get excited on a full moon.
There a lot of theories as to why this is.
The pull of gravity.
An imbalance of ions.
Light sensing eyes inside our brains.
Werewolves.
My guess is that if women sync up to the moon, then there are a lot of extra pheromones wafting around.
If half the city goes into heat, the other half will notice.
Sounds plausible doesn't it?
----------------
I feel like that now.
I feel like I can't take it any longer.
but I did.
Was it to prove a point?
Who do I mean to prove it to?
A poet tonight said something like " I think you're sooo...sexy, because you're beautiful inside and out.
The fact that I melted in the audience is an indicator.
What I want is understanding.
A man on the bus home struck up a conversation.
So I asked him what was on my mind:
"What do people want?"
"Acceptance, he answered"
Can we gain wisdom by not caving to this demand of ours?
That's what I want to know.
Maybe this celibacy is more than sorting out the people I think understand me, and are 'worth my affection.'
Maybe I want to know if I'll learn something from it.
Or maybe I'm hoping for confirmation where there is no reason or benefit from it.
There's got to be a reason behind it.
One more week, that's not a lot. And I'll have the chance, not to only have wild amazing sex, but to engage in meaningful intimacy.
Because if I had gone home with any of those men tonight, I would just berate them with weird questions like
"What are your dreams?" and
"What's the most beautiful thing you've ever felt?"
Because that's my pillow talk.
It's not for the slight of heart ;)
(I'm still drunk off tequila and I hope that pun makes as much sense as it seems to.)
xoxo
signing out
->the girl who gave you her card instead of her heart.
Ps. I wanted to say something like this to a poet tonight:
"I know why I can't think of anything to say around you. It's because your beauty steals the words out of my mouth." but instead, I mumbled "I'll upload those caricatures of you, the ones where you have big ears and a tiny neck. My number is on this card too" ...and I promptly ran off into the night. SLICK!
Sometimes just feeling those butterflies is worth never finding out if it would amount to anything.
And leaving that boy in his hotel room feels like a little like lugging my dignity all the hour and a half home, but completely awesome at the same time. Huge thanks go out to the friend who knows the look that says "Despite my arguments, convince me not to go back in."
BLAM! Psyche strikes again! Now that the regret has been sloughed off, I feel good. Not prideful, but happy all the same.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
It's hard when you come so close
When I was about 16, there was a show on teletoon called 16. Just now I walked into the living room while my brother was watching a rerun. Caitlin is the bubbly blonde, boy obsessed girl I was often compared with. Though never have been a painter before, she is surrounded by terrible paintings when she wakes up.
Her friend reminds her that the art show is over.
And then she stepped out of the TV screen, into my living room and hit me on the forehead "You proved you can live without boys, now you can like them again, and go back to being yourself."
This had me laughing because in some small way I identify. Maybe not such a small one.
Recently as you may have read, I've been working hard, and keeping my pants on. In the past week I've come close to breaking my personal challenge. But somehow fate intervenes, I toss a coin and keep plans with a friend. The after party I'm at is too good to pass up for a handsome, interesting man. You see when this all began, I wasn't planning to abstain. I was raising my standards.
Since that choice, I've had the hottest, most fascinating, most mature men come my way. Really. Fine. Men.
Hell, even a few girls (which leaves me breathless and blushing, by that I mean bumbling.)
There are another two weeks to go before I get to see Efram the Unicorn. He is a man I am nebulously in love with. I told him I'd kept celibate since I last saw him (a month or so). My declaration came out with just too little haughty imperiousness to mask my chagrin.
I mean, yes, I was happy to not have caved into semi-akward, lust filled, meaningless sex.
But for a moment; imagine a dashing Parisian with the curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. When he holds the door he says "Aprez-vouse mademesoille" in just the way you've seen in the movies. When you mention this he laughs at your adorkability. You met through a friend a few months ago, and both skipped out on your plans to sit by rideau river and drink wine to discuss philosophy and culture. You've had many laughter filled dinner dates topped by endless snogging (which improved after I slowed down and he sped up). You find him charming, and kind hearted; despite from his lack crazy stories (which you attribute to his having been raised in a military boarding school.)
This man has you pinned to a night swept lawn and your pulse is racing, and you both know it's his last night in the country.
You worry about pedestrians catching you; only feet away from the American embassy. You wonder when the cheese from your poutine is going to hassle you. And you wonder if there's something you'd rather be doing.
There's most definitely a good reason to head home. You just can't think of it.
So you say your goodbyes and hope it will come to you.
Santé, J'adore, Salut
Still sounds better then Wham, Bam, Goodbye.
But there's the taste of man in your mouth.
(not ejaculate you pervs ;)
And now the craving comes back. Out at a festival, the men stop and stare as you paint an oil drum with blue auto paint, wearing only a bikini . Is it the robot you're building, or the blatant mist of pheromones emanating from you?
Like a pack of dogs they circle, quite literally. Normally you'd be at least somewhat aloof, but the attention isn't so bad.
All night, you're followed by men. Most of them interesting to some degree. Some even can hold a conversation about your favourite topics; quantum physics (only the basics), the beauty of the universe, robots, vikings, the hilarious dance moves associated with them....
One of them has got a spirit that won't let you go. He asks you to paint a lightening bolt on his face, and steals you away from boring conversations to go skinny dipping for the first time in your life. He doesn't make lame passes at you. He talks to you. He's really funny, and clever.
He's an awful lot like Efram.
Dear God.
I don't know if I can handle two of them.
So when I'm offered a bed by a well traveled, handsome, hilarious, documentarist; I agree.
He can kiss, and we share some fundamental free spirited philosophy on love. That's just us making sure that when we wake up the other won't turn it into something it's not or adversely drop it like it's hot.
I feel relieved when he says he has no condoms because he just got back from Cambodia. The pressure is off.
When he cums on me I use him as a slip and slide. Uncontrollable giggling. It just felt so nice. He probably felt like he'd frosted an eleven year old. ew
A strange arab man, takes me as his sculpting apprentice. He's lived so many lives, and has so many stories. He puts the moves on me with the practised skill of a swordsman. It's hard to evade. I'm guilty to admit I dropped my guard and snogged a man entirely too old for me. He mentioned something about being able to make me orgasm from several points on my body, nipples, stomach, feet, elbow. Yeah, elbow. For that reason, and a few others I declined, and hope to dodge those conversations in the future.
One of my best friend's plays a prog gypsy metal show. What can I say, the music gets me hot. Belly dancing and screaming like a viking is exhilarating. Drifting through the crowd I attract attention. A lot of men have their eyes on me. A few girls even, but I get so easily flustered around women. A funny musician invites me to stay at his place. Not sure what he means by that, I opt out the last second to hit an after party with a friend like a teddy bear. I whisper to my friend "Psyche won this round." I'm no Yoko Ono, and I'm not that kind of groupie.
At this after party I meet a man who hits all my androgyny cues, and yet has the strength and coolitude to hold me while we make out drunk in the street while the sun rises. When Teddy bear tells me he's taking off (a reproachful look in his eye) I'm torn. Finally, a man with whom I feel I can have that unattached wild sex with, and a new good friend who can't help but feel jealous. I ask them for a coin. Pretty boy hands one over, the coin passing through his armour like facade of chill.Teddy is an honest man, so incredulity drips off his face. I'm being melodramatic here, I love the suspense.
Teddy get's tails, It's my favourite, so it's analogous to a friend.
I flip. It's tails.
I still hope genderless rocker calls me, but I'm sure he won't.
So Psyche bakes in Teddy's oven of a room, sexually frustrated and without sleep. That said, I'm really glad I got to chill and chat with Cuddly.
So you can see where I was at when Efram and I spoke on the phone and I told him I'd kept my pants on, or at least close by.
Had we not spoken that night, it's likely I would have gone off with Mr.Cambodia documentary who dances like a rooster.
When Efram told me he had not slept with anyone else. My face nearly fell off. He's probably the biggest slut I know. He sleeps with every pretty girl he meets. I never felt it was wrong, though I do feel sorry for the girls who crash at his feet when their feelings aren't returned. His standards have risen? Is that possible? Even Belleville has got to have some women who meet these new standards. At least one or two. If he can do it, then I can.
I'm not monogamous, I never will be. But I can stick to my standards. Not that any of these men are below them. But I've ascertained that I want sex that involves my heart. And if that means waiting another TWO WEEKS before I see Efram, then..
fuck
Her friend reminds her that the art show is over.
And then she stepped out of the TV screen, into my living room and hit me on the forehead "You proved you can live without boys, now you can like them again, and go back to being yourself."
This had me laughing because in some small way I identify. Maybe not such a small one.
Recently as you may have read, I've been working hard, and keeping my pants on. In the past week I've come close to breaking my personal challenge. But somehow fate intervenes, I toss a coin and keep plans with a friend. The after party I'm at is too good to pass up for a handsome, interesting man. You see when this all began, I wasn't planning to abstain. I was raising my standards.
Since that choice, I've had the hottest, most fascinating, most mature men come my way. Really. Fine. Men.
Hell, even a few girls (which leaves me breathless and blushing, by that I mean bumbling.)
There are another two weeks to go before I get to see Efram the Unicorn. He is a man I am nebulously in love with. I told him I'd kept celibate since I last saw him (a month or so). My declaration came out with just too little haughty imperiousness to mask my chagrin.
I mean, yes, I was happy to not have caved into semi-akward, lust filled, meaningless sex.
But for a moment; imagine a dashing Parisian with the curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. When he holds the door he says "Aprez-vouse mademesoille" in just the way you've seen in the movies. When you mention this he laughs at your adorkability. You met through a friend a few months ago, and both skipped out on your plans to sit by rideau river and drink wine to discuss philosophy and culture. You've had many laughter filled dinner dates topped by endless snogging (which improved after I slowed down and he sped up). You find him charming, and kind hearted; despite from his lack crazy stories (which you attribute to his having been raised in a military boarding school.)
This man has you pinned to a night swept lawn and your pulse is racing, and you both know it's his last night in the country.
You worry about pedestrians catching you; only feet away from the American embassy. You wonder when the cheese from your poutine is going to hassle you. And you wonder if there's something you'd rather be doing.
There's most definitely a good reason to head home. You just can't think of it.
So you say your goodbyes and hope it will come to you.
Santé, J'adore, Salut
Still sounds better then Wham, Bam, Goodbye.
But there's the taste of man in your mouth.
(not ejaculate you pervs ;)
And now the craving comes back. Out at a festival, the men stop and stare as you paint an oil drum with blue auto paint, wearing only a bikini . Is it the robot you're building, or the blatant mist of pheromones emanating from you?
Like a pack of dogs they circle, quite literally. Normally you'd be at least somewhat aloof, but the attention isn't so bad.
All night, you're followed by men. Most of them interesting to some degree. Some even can hold a conversation about your favourite topics; quantum physics (only the basics), the beauty of the universe, robots, vikings, the hilarious dance moves associated with them....
One of them has got a spirit that won't let you go. He asks you to paint a lightening bolt on his face, and steals you away from boring conversations to go skinny dipping for the first time in your life. He doesn't make lame passes at you. He talks to you. He's really funny, and clever.
He's an awful lot like Efram.
Dear God.
I don't know if I can handle two of them.
So when I'm offered a bed by a well traveled, handsome, hilarious, documentarist; I agree.
He can kiss, and we share some fundamental free spirited philosophy on love. That's just us making sure that when we wake up the other won't turn it into something it's not or adversely drop it like it's hot.
I feel relieved when he says he has no condoms because he just got back from Cambodia. The pressure is off.
When he cums on me I use him as a slip and slide. Uncontrollable giggling. It just felt so nice. He probably felt like he'd frosted an eleven year old. ew
A strange arab man, takes me as his sculpting apprentice. He's lived so many lives, and has so many stories. He puts the moves on me with the practised skill of a swordsman. It's hard to evade. I'm guilty to admit I dropped my guard and snogged a man entirely too old for me. He mentioned something about being able to make me orgasm from several points on my body, nipples, stomach, feet, elbow. Yeah, elbow. For that reason, and a few others I declined, and hope to dodge those conversations in the future.
One of my best friend's plays a prog gypsy metal show. What can I say, the music gets me hot. Belly dancing and screaming like a viking is exhilarating. Drifting through the crowd I attract attention. A lot of men have their eyes on me. A few girls even, but I get so easily flustered around women. A funny musician invites me to stay at his place. Not sure what he means by that, I opt out the last second to hit an after party with a friend like a teddy bear. I whisper to my friend "Psyche won this round." I'm no Yoko Ono, and I'm not that kind of groupie.
At this after party I meet a man who hits all my androgyny cues, and yet has the strength and coolitude to hold me while we make out drunk in the street while the sun rises. When Teddy bear tells me he's taking off (a reproachful look in his eye) I'm torn. Finally, a man with whom I feel I can have that unattached wild sex with, and a new good friend who can't help but feel jealous. I ask them for a coin. Pretty boy hands one over, the coin passing through his armour like facade of chill.Teddy is an honest man, so incredulity drips off his face. I'm being melodramatic here, I love the suspense.
Teddy get's tails, It's my favourite, so it's analogous to a friend.
I flip. It's tails.
I still hope genderless rocker calls me, but I'm sure he won't.
So Psyche bakes in Teddy's oven of a room, sexually frustrated and without sleep. That said, I'm really glad I got to chill and chat with Cuddly.
So you can see where I was at when Efram and I spoke on the phone and I told him I'd kept my pants on, or at least close by.
Had we not spoken that night, it's likely I would have gone off with Mr.Cambodia documentary who dances like a rooster.
When Efram told me he had not slept with anyone else. My face nearly fell off. He's probably the biggest slut I know. He sleeps with every pretty girl he meets. I never felt it was wrong, though I do feel sorry for the girls who crash at his feet when their feelings aren't returned. His standards have risen? Is that possible? Even Belleville has got to have some women who meet these new standards. At least one or two. If he can do it, then I can.
I'm not monogamous, I never will be. But I can stick to my standards. Not that any of these men are below them. But I've ascertained that I want sex that involves my heart. And if that means waiting another TWO WEEKS before I see Efram, then..
fuck
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