Fold Into Me
The tiniest origami crane I'd ever seen. It sits in a tiny german whittled dollhouse cupboard. A peculiar artist and I became acquainted in an art store a year ago. We bumped into each other at the art festivals these past few weeks. I got an even more peculiar request from him one day, when he asked me to model in nothing but body paint on his gay men's swim team parade float.He had no idea of my body painting experience. I guess people just get that vibe from me that I'm the perfect candidate for public nude modelling?
His fabulous gay collective welcomed me into their clique. I gave cross dressing tips, and one even squealed when I took off my top. I let this man touch my boob, he was intrigued and gingerly groped my breast before recoiling in disbelief. We had a good laugh over this. The Origami master and I have always been sweet on each other. For some reason I felt no compulsion to kiss him. That didn't stop us from having a very steamy shower. He's tall and very muscled, he models for art students. It was a spectacle to watch him cum, so much energy rushing through him. It seemed peculiar to me that he felt less exposed in a leopard print short dress then in a speedo and body paint during pride. He's quite comfortable with both his ambiguous gender and sexuality. But he's too shy to stand on a truck :)
The parade was a fast paced blur. There is a power in accepting your body, and there is a power when you have a water gun. I have long idolized Tank Girl for her audacity and gusto. I felt a lot like her up on the float. Ba-Bam! I stole the show. That said, my charismatic companions were incredible, with elaborate costume and paint jobs. I look forward to seeing them again at the swim meets!
At The End Of The Rainbow
In the spirit of Pride I spent a great deal of time with a whimsical and hyperactive woman. Thinking of our meeting the day before at the dyke march I managed to walk right into her after the parade. We were both painted completely blue for unrelated reasons. I suspect this is proof of synchronicity.
It was remarkable how easily we slipped into each other's stories and arms.She taught me all 18 parts of the vagina with oral demonstration. Pulled me into the shower with her while dressed. Serenaded me with "I want to hold your hand" on acoustic guitar by the canal. We whispered secrets at the whispering wall at parliament. We stole away into a circus tent on Parliament hill, and wondered how many other couples have had sex there. Wiki informs me that it has 3 million visitors a year. Odds are pretty good that we're not the first or the last.
She's the world's best worst dancer, and I dig her dyke helmet hair. It'll be so much fun to see her at the next Metal Mayhem Madness (fetish meet) Oh, apparently we're both fetishists, and many many months ago I mentioned polyamory to her. She later googled it and found what she was missing. Hilariously this groomed her to handle my lifestyle or multiple loves, and partners.
Principles Of Pain
On a further unbelievable note, I spent the night before meting her, spanking her ex at a two day fetish event. The odds are flabbergast me. I've developed a taste for spanking men. I'm comfortable with sub space. Referring to the headspace of being submissive to a dominant who inflicts pain. There's power in submission. I must be strong and brave to let someone have control. It can be scary just as you go under. the blindfold slips over your eyes and you're distinctly aware of all the eyes on your naked bound body. Then the tails of the whips slither around your neck and thighs. then the spanks come, rapid and light, building in pressure. You're glad for the blindfold because your embarrassment is all consuming. But no one laughs, and the spanks turn into floggings. The music thumps. pain in time to the beat of a Rammstien song. Arms braced against the cross, and ass arched out begging for more. A quick lash sends you jumping to your tip toes where you stay straining your legs. A dizziness wraps around you like the cat-o-ninetails. Trust blossoms between the sub and dom. The pain falls on the bass notes, and stops just after it hurts enough to squirm.
You wonder how long you've been at it, but you're not going to say stop, or complain if it stops. Those leathery licks could punish your flesh as long as it was intact. When it ends, you're on your knees before this dominant and your blindfold is removed. You blinkingly step into the sun. There's more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than can ever be done.
Being Dominant has another kind of high. Great care spiced with precise deviousness. As you gradually quicken the figure eights your flogger skates through, their red little ass gyrates and dances. When spanking you cup your hand to drive deeper and tickle the prostate of your gagged and bound man slave. He's a cocky and mucked bastard, teasing you for not hitting hard enough. You give it to him, and then a little more. He flinches as you trace your fingernails under his arms and down his back. Increasing the pain, and dabbling pleasureful caresses to keep him on his toes. Knowing that this strong, willful creature is submitting to you and groaning for you to lace his back with ribbons is the greatest turn on. tickling up the back of his thighs he looses his composure altogether. Thrusting and bobbing on the cross when you sweep your hair across his scorched skin. Mmm!I hope to apprentice a dominatrix in the near future.
Many of the professional dominants I've spoken to warn me away from a career int he field. "Don't make something you love into a job, because it sucks the fn out of it." If I listened to that advice, I wouldn't be a freelance artist. Though there are legalities to tip toe around, and the whole prospect of getting paid to kick ass is very far away. I've got so much training to do before that point. It's an expensive hobby to collect instruments of torture, and to become an expert in safety. There's a smug sense of satisfaction that I can't lose the taste of. I've found that not all dooms are stoic and loud. The submissive I played with found my giggling (alarming?) exciting. I was likened to Harley Quin, the batman villain. If we're going to talk about villains, I'm proficient at seducing like poison ivy, but once I start smacking booties the ludicrousness overcomes me and devilish laughs erupt.
Sitting on a Golden Bough
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
and
F-U-C-K-I-N-G
and
L-O-V-I-N-G
Seeing Efram again is a dream! I was nervous for the first day or so, it wasn't until I was able to explore Belleville on my own while he worked. I made friends at the comic book shop and vintage clothing store. Bogenville is much more fun then I'd expected. His charms quickly soften my heart and things pick up where they were left off. He aptly remarked that it's as if we're on pause when we don't see each other. I've been trying to try out some of my new s/M tricks on him, to no avail. He refuses to be spanked :(
I don't want this site to turn into an Efram shrine. Domesticity suits me frighteningly well. Especially with obtuse threats of spanks if the house isn't clean enough or the food lacklustre. But I will say that in bed, he's been shocked to see how much pain I'm demanding.
Eating my pussy today I kept asking him to go harder. He swears he tasted blood. My clit felt like it was being chewed off. I loved every second of it.It's been really nice to be fucked senseless lately. It helps inspire my art as well. During sex, I feel like an autistic tripping on shrooms. I'm running on instinct an my eyes glaze over with fantastical landscapes and masterpieces pervade my thoughts like moans.
We talk about polyamory and sex. It's unabashedly clear to me that he is Eros, and I am Psyche. A friend mentioned that to keep a soulful intelligent woman's attention one must offset her with passion, appreciation of beauty, and lust.
Efram complains that women act bipolar when in fact they are only developing feelings for him. He doesn't think he's a heartbreaker, because he tells them in the beginning that he won't date them or be exclusive. It doesn't negate the fact that after a time they feel for him, and he dumps them for becoming possessive and clingy. So yes, they are making informed decisions about having sex with him once they begin to fall. But at the same time how can he keep a clean conscience at the emotional havoc he causes so many women. This is compounded by that fact that he (29), is doing this now to a nearly virginal 19 year old girl.
Yes, I'm not much older then this last one. But I came to the conclusion of polyamory on my own and have the maturity to relate to him outside of the confines of a "relationship."
On the other hand, I approach intimate encounters with apprehension. I limit myself because I feel I must justify any act of lust with some inane admiration. I'll find a reason to like someone, to soothe my conscience when I just want to bang them. I cloud a very simple situation by searching out reasons to connect with or love a person because they are sexy.
The upside and sometimes downside to this is that I fall in love very quickly. When I do discover a love interest, it deepens rapidly. I'm not afraid to share those feelings. Though it's not the recipe for disaster that one might expect. I'm not prone to obsessive love, and I've already hashed out my issues with co-dependancy. I love honestly, and freely. Sometimes I pressure myself to separate sex and love or to live in the illusion that they are inseparable.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation, and challenges. This moment is exceptionally flawless.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
The silver sun has set
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
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
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
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Abstinent or Obstinate?
This self proclaimed slut is going through a ..phase.
I've ascertained that it's not monogamy that's keeping me out of the sack. No, there is no one person who could change my ingrained nature. To understand why I've been off the prowl and away from the pretties, I've had to look much further then the obvious. Even with the focus I've given my studies, there's nothing really in the way of a good romp or two if I desired them.
I blame it on the fact that I'm in love with someone, but I believe he and I don't really think that would stop me.
Is it possible, to be a SLUT, but not be interested in seeking sex!? It's not that I don't still have my urges, somehow I feel as if I should wait until the opportunity comes along to gain what I truly seek from sex. And that's a lot more then sex.
In an attempt to understand the balance of passion and intellect, I've turned to a very old greek myth; Eros and Psyche. Though many would describe me as an impassioned young woman, I relate best with Psyche's character. The young woman who represents the soulful and intellectual side of sex. I've shacked up with beautiful young things that get me wet, and even stir my deepest compassion. However if they cannot match me intellectually I feel as a crucial part of me is invisible to them. Someone who is clever and yet sweet enough to appreciate the girl in their arms is, shall we say, a delicacy.
When I told my lover that he was likely going to be the only man in my life for a while, he remarked that he turned me from a 'slutty lesbian into a straight girlfriend.'
I resent that remark.
But even still, I cannot bring myself to go through the ridiculous mechanics of chasing another skirt. And when men make advances I feel sheepish and unprecedentedly offer a PLATONIC friendship. Recently I've grown tired of the charade of attraction. Yes, you're a pretty girl, of course I want to kiss you. Yes you're a man, of course you want to kiss me. It gets boring, the girls just want me to hold them and spoon feed them self worth. And the men just want to own me as a prize and fill me with their saintly knowledge (among other things) of a favoured Tv show re-run or mechanic equipment.
So when the use of the word slut became a topic with my lover today, I proudly remarked that I was a slut. And that it is used with a bad connotation only by people who don't like sex. And I wondered, with my lover so far away, and with no interesting prospects worth my while, can I still be a slut?
Absolutely. Because sluttiness is not a measure of how many people you've slept with (for I surely would be disqualified). Sluttiness is a quality instilled by belief, by a perspective and a sense of impropriety.
Am I any less bisexual for not sleeping with women lately? Absolutely not! Therefore I can't be any less slutty. The standard has been raised. I ask for a passionate physical connection, as well as a passionate intellectual connection. Though this is something enjoyable it is not exactly sought after. You see, I am in love with a man, but that's not what's keeping me out of bed. It's my love for the world that has me too preoccupied for meaningless dalliances.
Psyche was a frigid nerd, and Eros was a mindless horndog.
It's the space between them that holds my interest ;)
I've ascertained that it's not monogamy that's keeping me out of the sack. No, there is no one person who could change my ingrained nature. To understand why I've been off the prowl and away from the pretties, I've had to look much further then the obvious. Even with the focus I've given my studies, there's nothing really in the way of a good romp or two if I desired them.
I blame it on the fact that I'm in love with someone, but I believe he and I don't really think that would stop me.
Is it possible, to be a SLUT, but not be interested in seeking sex!? It's not that I don't still have my urges, somehow I feel as if I should wait until the opportunity comes along to gain what I truly seek from sex. And that's a lot more then sex.
In an attempt to understand the balance of passion and intellect, I've turned to a very old greek myth; Eros and Psyche. Though many would describe me as an impassioned young woman, I relate best with Psyche's character. The young woman who represents the soulful and intellectual side of sex. I've shacked up with beautiful young things that get me wet, and even stir my deepest compassion. However if they cannot match me intellectually I feel as a crucial part of me is invisible to them. Someone who is clever and yet sweet enough to appreciate the girl in their arms is, shall we say, a delicacy.
When I told my lover that he was likely going to be the only man in my life for a while, he remarked that he turned me from a 'slutty lesbian into a straight girlfriend.'
I resent that remark.
But even still, I cannot bring myself to go through the ridiculous mechanics of chasing another skirt. And when men make advances I feel sheepish and unprecedentedly offer a PLATONIC friendship. Recently I've grown tired of the charade of attraction. Yes, you're a pretty girl, of course I want to kiss you. Yes you're a man, of course you want to kiss me. It gets boring, the girls just want me to hold them and spoon feed them self worth. And the men just want to own me as a prize and fill me with their saintly knowledge (among other things) of a favoured Tv show re-run or mechanic equipment.
So when the use of the word slut became a topic with my lover today, I proudly remarked that I was a slut. And that it is used with a bad connotation only by people who don't like sex. And I wondered, with my lover so far away, and with no interesting prospects worth my while, can I still be a slut?
Absolutely. Because sluttiness is not a measure of how many people you've slept with (for I surely would be disqualified). Sluttiness is a quality instilled by belief, by a perspective and a sense of impropriety.
Am I any less bisexual for not sleeping with women lately? Absolutely not! Therefore I can't be any less slutty. The standard has been raised. I ask for a passionate physical connection, as well as a passionate intellectual connection. Though this is something enjoyable it is not exactly sought after. You see, I am in love with a man, but that's not what's keeping me out of bed. It's my love for the world that has me too preoccupied for meaningless dalliances.
Psyche was a frigid nerd, and Eros was a mindless horndog.
It's the space between them that holds my interest ;)
Saturday, June 18, 2011
53 people have read about my sex life this week
Save my soul
There is no way I have told 53 different people about my personal site.
Perhaps you are a good friend who was confided in.
Perhaps you had a small girl confess a drunken secret.
Perhaps the url was a thank you for breaking the rules on her behalf.
Perhaps the address was revealed through clenched teeth as you smacked her bottom at a fetish event.
Perhaps you'll find out tonight when she slips through the crowds at the spring sex show.
Perhaps you found the link on her artist profile because she can be a dumb cunt and forgot to take it down.
No worries, a minute later it was removed, after possibly everyone I know has read every intimate detail of my bedroom.
So I asked myself; if I was so conscious of my privacy why was this blog ever started?
The social constructs that surround sex are preposterous. Truly. How can people hate sex so much and continue to breed?
Every person has many facets of themselves. IE. I love liddle kiddies and I want to hug them and luv them and inspire them to chase their dreams through fields of flowers. I also like to fuck people I care about. Shocking isn't it?
The very fact that this site can be construed by a potential employer as a negative is why the world needs my honesty.
Consequently, the link is back on my artist profile. People can look me up, check out my artwork, and even see my tits.
If I am treated differently by you, know that that is your failing and not mine. This site does not make me morally deficient.
Now you know that I habitually ruin my lover's linens by squirting.
You can still look me in the eye, and you can hire me for ARTWORK (only!!) based on my hard work and talent.
You can trust me with your kids, and to be polite and interesting over dinner.
Now I'm off to the sex show!!! Huzzah! I'm HOURS late, and I missed the seminar on gender bending. I wanted to dress like a prince, and open doors and stuff. BACK DOORS. OF MEN.
My site has been viewed 1076 times.
There is a special place in heaven reserved for me for that kind of social taboo deconstruction
There is no way I have told 53 different people about my personal site.
Perhaps you are a good friend who was confided in.
Perhaps you had a small girl confess a drunken secret.
Perhaps the url was a thank you for breaking the rules on her behalf.
Perhaps the address was revealed through clenched teeth as you smacked her bottom at a fetish event.
Perhaps you'll find out tonight when she slips through the crowds at the spring sex show.
Perhaps you found the link on her artist profile because she can be a dumb cunt and forgot to take it down.
No worries, a minute later it was removed, after possibly everyone I know has read every intimate detail of my bedroom.
So I asked myself; if I was so conscious of my privacy why was this blog ever started?
The social constructs that surround sex are preposterous. Truly. How can people hate sex so much and continue to breed?
Every person has many facets of themselves. IE. I love liddle kiddies and I want to hug them and luv them and inspire them to chase their dreams through fields of flowers. I also like to fuck people I care about. Shocking isn't it?
The very fact that this site can be construed by a potential employer as a negative is why the world needs my honesty.
Consequently, the link is back on my artist profile. People can look me up, check out my artwork, and even see my tits.
If I am treated differently by you, know that that is your failing and not mine. This site does not make me morally deficient.
Now you know that I habitually ruin my lover's linens by squirting.
You can still look me in the eye, and you can hire me for ARTWORK (only!!) based on my hard work and talent.
You can trust me with your kids, and to be polite and interesting over dinner.
Now I'm off to the sex show!!! Huzzah! I'm HOURS late, and I missed the seminar on gender bending. I wanted to dress like a prince, and open doors and stuff. BACK DOORS. OF MEN.
My site has been viewed 1076 times.
There is a special place in heaven reserved for me for that kind of social taboo deconstruction
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
(verb) my (noun)
MMM4 was a blast! I was asked to model my friend's body painting. I also brought my artwork to showcase. So many freaky new friends were made. I won ANOTHER fake orgasm contest, which is strange considering I never fake it. A sexy painted redhead gave her impression of the big O. Then I slid up to the microphone and crooned "Baby, you look so fine in that apron. Men in heels get me so hot. Turn around and bake some cupcakes. Now bend over and put them in the oven. Dear god! *pants* Fuck yes! Bake it for me baby! Put it in the Oven! NOW! Gaaah!"
Bwahaha! And the crowd of hardcore metal kinksters roars!
That was the second contest I won that night. The first time I was headed past the stage to the play room upstairs (to be kerspanked!). Overhearing Mistress Liz demand that the sexy Dominatrix beside her have her boots worshipped I rose the the challenge. Or rather crawled. Bowing and scraping to give her boots kisses, hoping to win her and the crowd's approval. Competition appeared, a goth girl with a fierce thirst for victory. Little did she know that this sub is a switch, and I fought her back. The Dominatrix stoically announced that I won and handed me a giant black vibrator. I was also given a year's membership to the club.
Later, having a beer, a gentleman explained to me that The Club, was in fact a swinger's club. Which mean I had to bring a partner. Also the club is a place where people have sex. I sort of figured, but I really though it meant free entry to raving industrial parties that I could get paddled at.
So now that I needed a partner, and I had an excess of dildoage. I solved both problems in one go. Turning to my friend, who is rather virginal, I gave her my extra toy and ask that she join with me. Now when we go out, we'll have each other's backs. I'll keep the creepers off her while she learns. And she can keep me from making drunken promises.
When Mathew Hennebury, friend and body painter picked me up. I ducked into his SUV and was impressed to see Mistress Liz sitting up front. This foxy older woman was porting a mohawk, a military jacket, fishnets, knee high boots, piercings galore. Within 5 minutes we were laughing about my St.Patrick's day orgy. "And I'm yelling "that's amazing!" as she squirts on my face!" Not 10 minutes later, Mistress Liz is telling me about the duality of the universe and how it reflects in s/M. I'm hoping that when I have more free time, she'll let me apprentice her while she works as a professional Dominatrix. Gee whiz! I'm going to kick so much ass!
All in all it was an excellent night. I ended up turning down all the strapping young suitors. Which is a new phase I'm going through. Most of the time I tell myself I should try having casual sex with new people. But I almost never do. And when it does happen it's within the safe confines of friendship or an implied romantic relationship. Lately, I've been approached by all sorts of beautiful, fascinating men. But I find that I'm lackluster in bed when I don't have an emotional tie. My heart gets into bed with me. Package deal, even though I try to separate them. I've come to realize all over again that sex is about intimacy for me. Physical gratification comes second. Why fight my nature?
Well, it means very little sex, when the one's I'm romantic with are far away. Luckily I have my new vibe to keep me company. Since I have a habit of naming vibes after spaceships they are as follows The Enterprise, The Tardis and now introducing--
THE DEATH STAR!
It has a whip at the hilt :D
Industrial kink singers club in Ottawa
http://www.theclubottawa.ca/events.asp
For more photos of the night, this is the body painter's site
http://www.wellfedartist.ca/WFANewsite/Pages/wholeframe.htm
As a side note. Someone raised the idea that perhaps having sex with the people you love clouds the relationship. What an unconventional notion. Instead of making love to the people you care about very deeply, to instead keep the love pure, and fuck random hotties that cross your path. It seems a little upside down to me. I believe that sex is expressing intimacy and trust, so to say that I don't want to have sex with someone I love means there's a disconnect. But I have loved, and still do, lovers with whom sex either died, or had to be cut off because the situation wasn't working. So obviously love can exist outside of sex.
Can I handle not having sex with someone I'm in love with? Absolutely. If I need to prove to them that my feelings transcend sex, I'll take the bullet. Part of me wonders if perhaps I lack experience. Which has me thinking I should really get over my love/sex inhibition and just fuck people for fun.
Meh, no worries. I've got a fleet of spaceships to explore with until I find a companion who's game for an adventure.
Your (noun) makes me so (adj.)
I want to (verb) your (adj) (noun)
I write comics about how you play with my (adj) (noun) <--Best compliment in bed.
One more comic. I should clean this up, but the point is that it was messy sex. Blood everywhere. In the house and on the patio. I was so embarrassed. But that's part of life. Pubes in your mouth, bleeding, farting, that squelchy sound you make when you get rammed. Haha! Isn't sex beautiful?
xxx
Ariadne
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