Separation is an illusion, albeit a persistent one.

Spirituality, sex and art.

I have not updated for some time, as I wanted my writing to adhere to new standards. The goal is to write about my sexuality only if it is reflective of a deeper truth, and if it leaves me vulnerable.

I haven’t written because I was too scared to share a new truth with the world. I didn’t understand my own experiences and feelings enough to discuss. And in many ways I still don’t.

For me sex had been an act of play, exploration and an expression of love. When that love grew, it shocked me to realize that sex had become a prayer, a meditation and in many ways sacred. As my capacity to love expanded, I found new levels of openness. For brief moments I allowed complete access. To what did I allow access? When the doors to my heart opened it’s as if my soul poured out.

I’m not talking about orgasm here. This is an emotional sensation that manifests, if anywhere, in my chest. I felt unconditional and limitless love not just for my partner but it seemed for the entire universe. I felt like I was part of everything. It seemed to me that our reality was an illusion of separateness.

What a trip! That experience obviously scared the shit out of me. I couldn’t articulate it without sounding mad. My partner didn’t understand. Although I draw, and enjoy fantasy, I’ve considered myself an evidence-based atheist. This undeniable experience could not be ignored, nor was there a scientific explanation. Suddenly the subjective experience was as valid as the objective. I was so confused I wondered if I had a psychotic episode or some similar malfunction.

I’ve long enjoyed Jung’s ideas, and the connections he discusses between mythology and psychology. I enjoy understanding my subconscious through dreams, and translating my emotions into archetypes and images in my art. Naturally I draw a scene that represents feelings my subconscious has been mulling over. This is what makes my art an expression. By contemplating my artwork I gain insight into my own feelings.

Draw first, explain later. Often I draw something that I don’t fully understand, and as I start to understand the piece it strikes me as eerily prophetic. Obviously it’s not predicting anything, it’s my intuition whispering on canvas, and later my rational mind catches up. I like making mistakes and confronting problems because they are a source of inspiration and growth.

 

Even Jung says that the tension of ego (illusion of identity) and the unconscious can result in neurosis. He goes on to say that “Resolution of the tension causing this type of neurosis involves careful constructive study of the fantasies. The seriousness with which the individual (ego) must take the mythological aspects of the fantasies may compare with the regard that devoted believers have toward their religion. It is not merely an intellectual exercise, but requires the commitment of the whole person and realization that the unconscious has a connection to life-giving spiritual forces. Only a belief founded on direct experience with this process is sufficient to oppose, balance, and otherwise adjust the attitude of the ego.

 When this process works, this type of neurosis may be considered a life-guiding gift from the unconscious, even though the personal journey forced upon the individual sometimes takes decades. This may seem absurd to someone looking at a neurosis from the attitude that it is always an illness that should not have to happen, expects the doctor to have a quick cure, and that fantasies are unreliable subjective experiences.”

 Admittedly it’s highly probable that I’m misinterpreting what he means. It is convenient that I reference myths when exploring my emotions. I think Jung is saying that by using metaphors to describe your deep feelings you can look at them somewhat objectively. Being adopted metaphors you don’t believe they are real people in real situations, but you can’t belittle them for being fictional characters because they are very much a part of you. Through personification of unconscious emotions we can learn how they might be balanced, and learned from.

To someone else this all sounds rather wishy-washy and unimportant. To that person they may listen to my interpretation of myths and dreams and still say, “When I ask you how you feel, why do you tell me these stories instead?” It’s because I don’t know how to explain my emotions just as they are in sentences. I have to paint them, or act them out through a play or dance, or tell them like a fairytale.

Eros and Psyche

 I would describe this experience of mine as transcendence, or waking from reality. It could be religious ecstasy, spiritual enlightenment or oneness. To the rational mind it sounds very much like my ego death was psychotic and shrouded in neurosis. And yet, it was the most perfect sensation I’d ever felt. Core radiance.

The name Psyche means soul or self in Greek. In the past I have alluded to this partner as Eros, thus it was only fitting our relationship transformed me into a woman who could acknowledge her soul.

 I had been working on a new mythological painting for some time. It’s still not finished, probably because I haven’t played out the whole story. The painting discusses the struggle between the ego and the id (or the animal). It features the characters Pan and Echo from Greek in the moment when the two characters of very different tales chance upon each other. Echo is a character that sacrifices herself for love (for Narcissus), and becomes one with everything around her when she turns into an echo.

 The animal is unpredictable, the way he fiercely looks through the Echo (ego) it is left uncertain if he intends to rip out her throat or kiss her lovingly. She is caught by him and struggling to escape. The expression on her face is sweetly suspicious, and yet on the edge of surrendering to love. She’s pushing him away from her and just barely rising to meet him.

Leloir, Jacob wrestling with the Angel (1865) 

 Even in the very fields of ego and instinct study are at odds with each other.

“The characteristic animosity between the adherents of the two standpoints arises from the fact that either standpoint necessarily involves a devaluation and disparagement of the other. So long as the radical difference between [Adler's] ego-psychology and [Freud's] psychology of instinct is not recognized, either side must naturally hold its respective theory to be universally valid (Jung, [1921] 1971: par. 88).”

Pan and Psyche  

 My painting started as an exploration the interdependent relationship style that exists between Eros and Psyche. What other ways does this balance (or imbalance) of opposites manifest? There is a gorgeous painting of Pan and Psyche in which the tenderness spoke deeply to me.

When I found a photo of a bas-relief featuring Pan and Echo I was ensnared by the interaction of emotions they embodied.

Pan, a satyr, is more or less Dionysus’ wingman. The god Dionysus is in many ways akin to Eros in that he is passionate, and erotic. Dionysus is the beast-god within, or the unconscious mind. Dionysus and his cohorts represent basic instinctual drives. Drives we both repress through inhibitions and social constraints, and are overtaken by when not vigilantly guarding against them.





Invocation of Dionysus (from Orphic hymns)

 Pan and Echo - Bas Relief

"I call upon loud-roaring and revelling Dionysus, primeval, double-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord, wild, ineffable, secretive, two-horned and two-shaped. Ivy-covered, bull-faced, warlike, howling, pure, You take raw flesh, you have feasts, wrapt in foliage, decked with grape clusters. Resourceful Eubouleus, immortal god sired by Zeus When he mated with Persephone in unspeakable union. Hearken to my voice, O blessed one, and with your fair-girdled nymphs breathe on me in a spirit of perfect agape".

"In intoxication, physical or spiritual, the initiate recovers an intensity of feeling which prudence had destroyed; he finds the world full of delight and beauty, and his imagination is suddenly liberated from the prison of everyday preoccupations. The Bacchic ritual produced what was called 'enthusiasm', which means etymologically having the god enter the worshipper, who believed that he became one with the god".

 “The rationale for the Dionysian Mysteries was to affirm the primeval, bestial side of mankind, while integrating it into civilization. The dual role of Ariadne (as Mistress of the Minoan Labyrinth and consort of Dionysus) and the Minotaur story may derive from the mastery of mankind's animal nature. The self-mastery thus achieved was not one of domination, as in similar cults (George and the Dragon, and the original Minotaur myth), but one of integration. While the Mysteries lightened the cult's darker aspects, they failed to reassure its civilized critics and were regarded as dangerously liberative (particularly in their egalitarianism).” -wikipedia

Ariadne is another favorite character of mine. I’ve made reference to her when I felt abandoned by a love. She fell in love with Theseus and helped him slay the Minotaur (inner beast) and navigate the Labyrinth (puzzle, logic). Theseus was sailing home with her when they stopped on an island. He convinced her that he loved her, and that she should not wait until their wedding to sleep with him. She acquiesced to his demands so to speak, and woke up the next morning to watch him sailing away without her. Lucky for her Dionysus appeared to claim her. Which is an allegory for partying and allowing the façade of civility to drop. In order to heal from a broken heart, one must confront the pain, and that requires a descent into the shadows to confront the injured beast.

Baco e Ariadne, de Antoine-Jean Gros (1821) 

Ariadne fell in love with a man that was rational, but not in touch with his unconscious. She on the other hand was in touch with her emotions, but it’s likely for this reason that he left her.

 It was also discussing the dancing control of submission and dominance. If you allow yourself to submit, aren’t you the one in control? It’s about fighting vulnerability, and sacrificing yourself to the uncertainty of love and death. In order to move forward you have to decide to let part of you die.

Many of us willingly invoke this Dionysian nature through dance, music, sex, alcohol, and psychotropic drugs hence the ritual trance of Dionysian mysteries. Through those trance-inducing rituals, ego death can occur. Ego Death is depersonalization, a perceived loss of boundaries between self and environment. Other ways to achieve the mystic experience are through starvation, meditation, isolation, sleep deprivation, and prayer.

I’d like to note the use of psychotropic drugs that are used to induce this experience. Dimethyltryptamine (DMT) is a naturally occurring psychedelic compound. DMT is classified in Canada as a Schedule III drug. It’s often mentioned when discussing LSD and Psilocybin mushrooms.

DMT is hypothesized to be secreted by the pineal gland during sleep and induces dreams. There is also a huge release of DMT right before you die. The Pineal Gland is seated in the absolute center of your two brain hemispheres and between your two eyes (ie. third eye).

I recommend watching the documentary “DMT: the spirit molecule.” The film can be found to download on torrent sites like isohunt.com or Piratebay.org. Please use discretion, as the subject is highly debated between spiritualists and scientists. And experimenting with the drug incorrectly is not a good idea. I caution you that it is illegal, but also because it is said to change people’s lives forever.

The description of the experience in some ways resonated with me. Though I did not experience an alternate reality, or see anything. I was NOT under the influence of any intoxicants when I had my experience; I was making love. I also wasn’t deprived of sleep, water, food etc. But I won’t say that I wasn’t exercising, sweating, praying or meditating.

Eckhart Tolle has claimed that he underwent the experience after having suffered from long periods of suicidal depression. He says he woke up in the middle of that night and thought,
 “I couldn’t live with myself any longer. And in this a question arose without an answer: who is the ‘I’ that cannot live with the self? What is the self? I felt drawn into a void. I didn’t know at the time that what really happened was the mind-made self, with its heaviness, its problems, that lives between the unsatisfying past and the fearful future, collapsed. It dissolved. ”

Tolle recalls going out for a walk in London the next morning, and finding that “everything was miraculous, deeply peaceful. Even the traffic.”

The Night of Pan refers to the process of spiritual attainment at during ego dissolution. How fitting is it that I should chose pan to represent the inner animal that looks through the ego (at the unseen self) with love and murders the ego. Pan means All, all-begetter, and all-devourer. He takes life and gives life.

When the fearful ego is murdered in a vicious torrent of screams, unification with the All takes place. I propose that All is love. Which coincidentally is a Bjork song with a beautifully crafted music video that serves to better illustrate this point. Interestingly enough Pan is also the only god in Greek mythology to ever die and not be brought back to life. The word ‘panic’ is derived from this name as well.

"Have you ever had a moment in your lives, when for a few seconds, a minute perhaps the boundaries of your ego dissolve and that minute you felt at one with the universe, one with that jug of water, one with every human being, with the creator. and you felt in the presence in the presence of power or awe? The deepest love, deepest sense of compassion mercy you have ever experienced in your lives.
When for a moment, the boundary is lifted that makes us insist of I, I, I, me, me, me!
Oh- this is all you. This is all us.
You are the breaker of our hearts.
The knowledge of truth is within every human being. We know it all, we have access to it all, Jung may have called it the subconscious, through this through dreams, (lesser death) temporary death." - Imam Faisal Abdul Rauf: Lose your ego, find your compassion

View the TED talk at http://www.ted.com/talks/imam_feisal_abdul_rauf.html

In the moments that I truly felt connected to both my partner and existence I surrendered as if to total annihilation. It’s sounds insane, even to me, but in those moments I loved him so much I would have let him kiss or devour me. Love wholly transcended fear.

After one such experience I roughed out a painting that seeks to explain what happens when Echo sacrifices herself to Pan. In the painting a nymph is entwined with a human who is grounded in reality. The man is reaching inside her chest, and she delicately guides his hand. In that moment he holds in his hand her heart, soul, essence. He can destroy her, and yet he chooses to feel its warmth. Light explodes from her, and beautiful colour and forms radiate outwards. This is the universe shining.

That painting has remained largely untouched. I sought to share my experience with my lover, and it felt like I was explaining consciousness to a calculator. He was more or less tolerant, even if he didn’t feel the same.

Now for somewhat related reasons my relationship with him became quite strained. Probably because I felt like Echo debating surrender, and yet being entangled with an all-dominating Pan. The only moment of equality was in complete surrender. I wanted this new height of love to be mutual, but I refused to expect it. Putting semantics aside, I tried to believe that although he feared the words ‘romance’, ‘partner’ and ‘lover,’ that his passionate expressions of love, and commitment to friendship were emotionally equivalent.

Eros and Psyche - Jacques Louis David (1817)

In the attempt to tame the howling intuition of the animal inside, I was being devoured. I thought that if only I could love unconditionally in every waking moment I could overcome my ego, pain, attachment and fear.

Submission to love, especially unrequited love, is still subservience.

Echo and Narcissus - John William Waterhouse 

The painting of Pan and Echo started more then half a year earlier was more prophetic then I could have ever imagined. Narcissus in his delusion whispered I love you to the trapped mirage, and the words echoed back. We both thought we were receiving the kind of love we offered. To him, we had a deducible and rationalized friendship, an enviably functional exchange of both friendship and sex. To me, we had a union of two souls that words, labels and rules could not describe for they were limits on the inherently limitless.

Finally the imbalance was brought to surface. That was some time ago, and it’s yet to be seen if that disparity can be reconciled.

What I took away from that year is so valuable. The price was high, and entirely worth it. I may have momentarily lost my self, I may have lost the man for a lot longer, but I found everything else was already inside.

I discovered my soul, even if I laid it at the feet of someone who didn’t want it. The heartbreak I felt set me packing my things, and cloaking my true self in ego and stuffing it tightly back into my chest cavity.

But that is my next adventure. Learning to direct the boundless love I unearthed towards not just one person, but towards all of creation. I hope to share my experience, for it has changed every aspect of my life.

What is love?

Hello again my old perverted friends,




It's been a very long time since I updated. This is because I vowed to write only if it made me feel vulnerable. In the case that my writing does not leave me feeling exposed, it is not reflective of a deeper truth. Is it still art? "Porn is not art." I both agree and disagree with that statement.

There was an exhibit a year ago called Porn is not Art. I had made plans to go there with two different men at the same time. One was Efram. The other was a man who modelled for my college life drawing class. He was exceedingly clever, very book smart. And hella sexy. There was only ever the one date, because I chose to bring Efram and his sister to the Art exhibit. But on that one date, I asked why he liked modelling. He enjoyed meeting artists, he was touch vain (as all good models are), and it paid well. At one point he returns from the washroom and walks up behind me. I'm sitting on a high stool at a table gazing over the railing. He says "Look at you. You could model."


I mentioned his suggestion to an older woman who was modelling for my art class. When I asked her how she felt about being naked in front of young people, she told me this: "I'm far more likely to be embarrassed about the clothes I wear to class then my body. Because I picked my clothes. No one can judge my body like it was my decision."

After hearing that I was far more prepared to be nude in public. Sexapalooza was the first place I took off my shirt that wasn't my friends yard or beach. After that I wrote to a body paint artist on FetLife.com (An online fetish social network). I did a bit of modelling for him. Which meant getting painted and drunk and fraternizing with people in leather. I took a stance on nudity. My boobs became a proclamation of freedom, and of acceptance for what we really are. Last summer I rode a parade float through downtown Ottawa with nothing but a thong and paint. Parents didn't cover their children's eyes. No one ran away screaming. Nudity in public is okay if you're blue and firing a water gun.

The human form should always be okay.

When moving to Belleville, I tried to track down the artists. It felt like hunting narwhales. Where are they? Did they leave? Are there any like me? At the same time I was looking for a job. This led me to a retired arts instructor who needed a model for his private studio. The first time we drove out to the countryside, I worried that it would get pervy. To this day I have never gotten a weird vibe off him.

When we talk about his artwork it always comes back to the beauty of the form. Simple aesthetics. He almost never draws my face. But he never draws my body for anything more then it is or anything less. He wants me to convey my vulnerability. Often, I will try to conceal my embarrassment with bravado. I confessed to him how good I feel after a session, how I'm learning to trust myself to move and pose and portray emotion through limbs. How I'm learning to trust him and the students to patiently allow me to strike awkward poses now and then.



It is the vulnerability that makes art modelling a truthful and beautiful act. At the end of the two or three hours I'm left feeling really good about myself. In fetish modelling you feel good about being sexy, because that can be empowering. But in life modelling I feel good about being human, having hips like a waterfall running over stones, or about having an arm that hyperextends when I lean on it.

In these long stretches of silence, I sometimes have to detach myself from the pain. I gaze out the window at the expanse of sunlit nature and let thoughts drift by. Recently I thought about past lovers, short term and long. Quizzical memories stay with you;

One girl and I would kiss, and for no sensible reason there'd always be a red light nearby shinning on her face. Maybe at a club, or the red traffic light beaming into the backseat of a taxi.

Or the stunning clear blue eyes owl wide from a pale face enshrouded with long black hair. Looking up at me as I leaned over her, and told her I thought she was beautiful. The truth amazed her. This was a girl who had been told she could never be beautiful by her sexual partners.

The soft voice and caring touch of a woman while she french braids my hair.

Walking through the snow for hours on end, in the dark of night, in the suburbs. If the snowflakes hadn't been falling I'd have thought the whole world was paused just to hear the punchline of our ridiculous jokes.

The tickle of grass on my legs when I first kissed a girl outside an art museum. I can't remember actually kissing her because I was so excited. I had to catch my breath.

The sound of crashing dishes, when I threw them in a dumpster outside my first apartment the day I moved out. He looked so broken when I left him. I wonder if he's learned to live without shutting everyone out.

These moments come back to me and although I don't truly regret any of them, I wonder if I was responsible for their grief when I ran off. Was I leading them on? Was I sincere at the time? I've been thinking about responsibility lately. I tell people I love them so very quickly. And I mean it. But commitment is an entirely different matter. And as we all know change is constant.

Since my last 'break up' a few months ago I've vowed to take greater responsibility for the hearts I break. I woke one morning in a lover's bed. She told me the night before I gave the most adorable speech while drunk. I told her that it's considered crazy to tell people you love them when you've known them only a little while. But it isn't and I want to be courageous, and honest, and that means never curbing my feelings of love. I told her a loved what I knew of her. Not long after I was chased away by fear of her expectations. She wanted to date, and I didn't know what changes that meant.

Polyamorous dating seems like just a label. If I am polyamorous, and I chose to date someone who is also polyamorous. How is that any different then us both being single? What defines an "official relationship" as in "we are dating"? Is it just a hierarchal system? I'm dating X so their needs come above my other lover Y (whom I'm not dating.)

Standing perfectly still while the artists scratch away at newsprint. My leg cramps up from holding the pose. These moments are far behind me now. How do the ecstasy and the agony remain so firmly engrained in memory? What can I learn from it? That people are fragile, that I inspire people to love rapidly and then I hang them out to dry. I tell them that their love for me is entirely their responsibility. That I had no part in it? It was your fault for loving me, and it's your fault that your heart is broken.

What have I become?

Two inches from your face, I told you I loved you. And at that moment I meant it. But somewhere along the line I was dishonest about what I wanted. I didn't explain it properly. Or maybe you couldn't understand, or didn't want to.

So I must take responsibility. I don't want to create expectations with people I'm beginning to know.
But does that mean I should further entrench myself in commitment-phobia? Obviously that doesn't look good on paper.

We experience many different kinds of love. Maybe even a new kind with each person.
I've loved many friends, some of them I "dated." But among them there are a select few who stand out. I want to say that meant I was IN love. It's easy to feel it and look back and tell yourself it wasn't real. I was in love with my high school sweetheart, and I think that's actually pretty rare. That's hard to judge because the first time feels so strong. What does 'in love' mean? How is that kind of love superior to others? What separates it from typical love?



I've chosen to define it as romantic love, because anything above love is a cliche.

In the absence of monogamy and sexuality, what differentiates romantic love with that of friendship? I want to know what the essential difference between 'love' and 'in love' is.

Friendship+Love+Sex ≠ I'm IN love with you

If I am polyamorous, and I chose to date someone who is also polyamorous. How is that any different then us both being single? Perhaps it's about seeing each other as a partner, and treating that relationship with special care. Seeing to each other's needs before other lovers?

How do we treat our best friends and our love partners differently? How do we feel differently? These are questions I can't fully answer.

But I've asked a lot of questions of just about everyone I know. Because love, like art is subjective.

Here are some of the answers I've gotten:

"What is romantic love?"
"Recognizing the divine in someone."
"A societal construct, taught to us by romance films."
"It is an invention of high medieval literature."
"A neurochemical process designed to help us mate and rear children."

"1. The debate over an exact definition of love may be found in literature as well as in the works of psychologists, philosophers, biochemists and other professionals and specialists. Romantic love is a relative term, but generally accepted as a definition that distinguishes moments and situations within interpersonal relationships to an individual as contributing to a significant relationship connection.
2. The addition of drama to relationships of love."
-wikipedia on Romantic love


Last month I did some research Into various avenues of what it is to love on a psychological, and neurochemical level.
I dug through a lot of studies and thesis papers. Here are some neat findings:

There is a part of your brain right near the centre that is responsible for romantic love.

"In one preliminary study (Bartels & Zeki, 2000), the brains of individuals who reported being ‘‘truly, deeply, and madly in love’’ were examined under two conditions: while viewing pictures of their beloved and while viewing pictures of other-sex friends. Compared with viewing friends, viewing pictures of loved ones was associated with heightened activation in the middle insula and the anterior cingulate cortex, areas that have been associated in prior research with positive emotion, attention to one’s own emotional states, attention to the emotional states of social partners, and even opioid-induced euphoria. Viewing pictures of loved ones was also associated with deactivation in the posterior cingulate gyrus, the amygdala, and the right prefrontal, parietal, and middle temporal cortices, areas that have been associated with sadness, fear, aggres- sion, and depression. Notably, the brain regions that showed dis- tinctive patterns of activity when viewing romantic partners did not overlap with regions typically activated during sexual arousal."

-Bartels, A., & Zeki, S. (2000). The neural basis of romantic love. NeuroReport, 11, 3829–3834.


There is little cultural impact on how Americans and Koreans love. Women are more satisfied with companionate love then men. And Man are made happier by passionate love then women.

"Analysis of data from a survey conducted in Korea and in USA showed that companionate love was the strongest predictor of life satisfaction whereas passionate love was the strongest predictor of positive emotions

Gender did not affect the overall relationship pattern between love types and subjective well-being. Yet, differences were found between male and female samples both in the degree to which passionate love was related with emotions and in the degree to which companionate love was related with life satisfaction. That is, companionate love and satisfaction were more strongly correlated in females than in males in both the U.S. sample and the Korean sample. In contrast, passionate love was more strongly correlated with positive and negative emotions in males than in females."

-SOCIAL BEHAVIOR AND PERSONALITY, 2004, 32(2), 173-182 © Society for Personality Research (Inc.)
LOVE TYPES AND SUBJECTIVE WELL-BEING: A CROSS-CULTURAL STUDY
JUNGSIK KIM
Western Washington University, WA, USA
ELAINE HATFIELD
University of Hawaii, Honolulu, HI, USA



Stronger orgasms make women happier then they do men. Also straight women who fall in love with other women can become bisexual.

"Among humans, women show greater oxytocin release during sexual activity than do men, and some women show correlations between oxytocin release and orgasm intensity (Carmichael et al., 1994). Such findings raise the provocative possi- bility that women’s greater emphasis on the relational context of sexuality—that is, their greater experience of links between love and desire—may be influenced by oxytocin’s joint, gender-specific role in these processes (in addition to culture and socialization).

Furthermore, the fact that women sometimes develop same-sex desires as a result of falling in love with female friends (a phenomenon rarely documented among men) might be interpreted to indicate that oxytocin-mediated links between love and desire make it possible for a woman’s affectionally triggered desires to ‘‘override’’ her general sexual orientation."

-Lisa M. Diamond
University of Utah
CURRENT DIRECTIONS IN PSYCHOLOGICAL SCIENCE
Emerging Perspectives on
Distinctions Between Romantic
Love and Sexual Desire


According to Lisa M.Diamond (above) Romantic love in the abstract sense of the term, is traditionally referred to as involving a mix of emotional and sexual desire for another as a person. She proposes that sexual desire and romantic love are functionally independent and that romantic love is not intrinsically oriented to same-gender or other-gender partners. She also proposes that the links between love and desire are bidirectional as opposed to unilateral. Furthermore, Diamond does not state that one's sex has priority over another sex (a male or female) in romantic love because her theory suggests it is as possible for someone who is homosexual to fall in love with someone of the other gender as for someone who is heterosexual to fall in love with someone of the same gender.

Falling in love is like winning a revolution

"Falling in love is of the same nature as religious or political conversion. We fall in love when our attempts to save previous relationships have failed, and we are ready to change. At this point a rapid destructuring-restructuring process takes place within us, called nascent state. The previous relationship disintegrates and we rebuild our lives and futures around the loved person. In the nascent state the individual acquires the ability to fuse with someone else and create a new, highly supportive collectivity. Hence the famous definition: falling in love is the nascent state of a collective movement made up of just two persons.

Love is always revelation and risk. In order to find out if she has really fallen in love, the subject submits to some (truth) tests and, to find out if that love is returned, subjects the potential object of it to tests of reciprocity. This delicate process can lead to misunderstandings or even destroy the nascent state altogether.

When one falls in love the beloved is transfigured, because each partner is the charismatic leader of the other.At the same time, the fusion process is always balanced by a desire for self-assertion.This conflict lends a dramatic, passionate character to the love process. If the two persons in love fail to create a common project, or if their individual projects are too dissimilar, too incompatible, the love process may founder.
The falling-in-love phenomenon is identical in adolescent and adult, male and female, homosexual and heterosexual, because the structure of the nascent state never changes."


-http://www.alberoni.it/versione-inglese/falling-in-love-and-loving-summary.asp
summary of Francesco Alberoni, Falling in love, New York, Random House, 1983.


According to the classical definitions of romance and friendship the key differences lie in sexual relations, monogamy, commitment, and heightened drama. Since I'd rather the relationship wasn't based on sex, or Monogamy what is left but drama. Drama simply doesn't hold a good connotation. In an attempt to understand what I mean by being "in love" or "romantically in love" versus the classic definition of friendship I began to read "Falling in love and loving" by Franceso Alberoni. His book relates falling in love to to social movement of revolutions, in that the old which was unified has been disassembled, and that which was separate has been unified to create a new value system, and a new world.

Haddaway - What is love?

National Coming Out Day

Did you know that today is National Coming Out Day? Whether you're lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or a straight ally, be proud of who you are and your support for LGBT equality!
www.hrc.org

You already know I'm out as a bisexual.What don't you know?
I'm a professor-phile. It's the confidence, the skill and education. Competence is sexy.
My first two years of College were particularly lovely because I had massive crushes on select teachers.

The first was the epitome of the focused, serious professor. He'd whisper from just behind me as he'd reach over and correct my drawings. I know for a fact that he's unintentionally sexy because after I gathered the courage to joke about it once, he looked mortified and ran off. He's apparently super christian, married and must have a ton of kids. Haha, every girl loved him. I think there's a fanclub dedicated to him in the bowels of algonquin.

The teacher I had the next year was a woman. At first I was bummed not to have the former prof. She was gorgeous. Like an elf, an elf with a temper. She told us stories of how she'd worked as a tattoo artist at a young age.

So you can imagine how shocked I was to see her at a fetish event. I got a high five from her in the washroom because I curb stomped some twit who thought I was going to give him a lap dance on stage for a t-shirt. Also I made out with a succulent blonde on stage and stole the show from the burlesque dancers. Funny how I have no issue with a room of perverts videotaping el lolita and I getting heavy, but the idea of making a move on this prof froze me.

Actually this isn't the first time I've run into a teacher in a hilarious setting. I was once browsing for a vibrator when I bumped into a middle school councillor of mine. We joked around and stuck a suction cup dong to a cupboard. We laughed at at the dwoinging sound it made when we smacked the door.

There was one prof I really had it bad for. I'd seen his work around the city last summer. None of it really moved me, except for one diptych. So unlike the others, it featured dreamscape creatures, dark masses with white grinning teeth. The piece really disturbs and ensnares me.

First day of class I ran in late, and threw myself down in a chair. He prattled on, and I drew him. Young, too young to teach. With a shock of messy hair, and very cute, hip clothes. We joked around, he mentioned that I missed his introduction. so he pulled up his personal art site. Projected at the front of the room he typed in the url. before he was done I shot up and boomed "You're that artist!?" He flushed. I flushed, the entire room felt awkward for us.

I told him that I followed his work. Omitting that I'd gone to a rather bizarre graffiti party the previous summer in hopes of meeting him. Undeterred by the room's silence, I gushed "... is your best work on display. But that's a print isn't it? Where the original, has it been bought?"
His orderly facade had dissipated. His voice dropped low "It's hanging in my bedroom." Dual-ly not-ed

Skipping home that day, I called up Efram, and told him I wanted to seduce my professor. Urged on by Efram I invited him to lunch, which he declined politely. So I walked with him after class. Next time we stopped at a kiosk for coffee. Another student came up and said hi, the prof looked at him, then nervously at my faintly smug face.

Another day we were locked into an intense conversation at the campus observatory. Both leaned over the sketchbook littered table towards each other. I was prying past his professional facade, and he enjoyed resisting. I'd girlishly ask him for advice, then challenge him when he made excuses or held his tongue. He was surprisingly mild mannered. He played it safe, and kept away from creating incendiary work. "But the piece of yours that caught me eye, what is it about?"
"Oh nothing, I was up late and couldn't sleep. It was just a dream."
"That's it? It's aberrant from the rest of your collection. It's not just asymmetrical vector patterns. You're communicating a feeling, a story. Tell me, what did you feel?"

He leaned in even further, his eyes glancing covertly side to side. "Mouths are a universal symbol understood by our subconscious. Mouths represent hunger. The way he said hunger sent shivers down my spine. My curiosity compelling me further "What do you hunger for?" the question drawn out of me. My lips slightly parted, I wanted to kiss him, but so much more then that I wanted to hear his answer. That was the only honest moment we had together. For that moment his job didn't matter, his girlfriend probably didn't either. But moments are fleeting, though no less beautiful for it.

He flushed, and nervously, endearingly looked away towards the room full of students. "Oh nothing, it was a social commentary." He concluded lamely. "We all hunger for something."

The look he'd given me inspired a great many flights of fancy int he following months. I imagined being pressed into the painting hung above his bed and he railed me from behind. Or maybe I'd have to pin him against it with my nails as I forcibly blew him. Maybe if the heaven's shined down on me, I could arrange to have drinks at his place, and bring Efram.

So while he taught the class the plethora of inane techniques for jumping through hoops, I'd try to imagine the look of incredulousness that would cross his face momentarily as he and Efram locked eyes while they speared me like a spit roast. After that I found I couldn't sit through his classes without getting uncomfortably wet. I'd show up late and try to sneak in, but when his eyes found me they betrayed the tiniest bit more then they should have.

Sometimes I wouldn't sleep the night before, I'd work myself up thinking about what I should say. Then I'd try to burn off energy by committing my thoughts to painting.
When I went in to class, I was bleary eyed, and gave off a slightly vulnerable quiet air. But I'd still get wet, no matter how I tried to treat him as I ought to have been. I stopped going to class and nearly failed the course because of it.

For the end of semester test, I showed up on the last day. On the condition that we passed, he'd give us a print of his. I'd practically begged him all semester for a print of the painting I loved. Handing in the exam, an attached a message that read "I'd like to see the original painting."

When he gave me a print, it wasn't of the painting I'd once gazed at so thoughtfully. Instead is was a piece of corporate garbage.
It's up in my room, and I hate looking at it. It's so indicative of the side of himself he gave me.
In retrospect what would have happened if I'd just pushed him a little harder? He wasn't willing to bench his career on an enamoured student. At the time, though not exceptionally subtle, I never made the first move.

Before him I rather loved literary erotica focusing on forbidden s/M professor/student relationships. But now I can't read them without seeing his adorably shy face flicker into sudden seriousness; when his passion breaks through his laissez-faire professionalism. And when the words read "The professor grabbed her and threw her over the desk raining down spanks to punctuate the lesson." I see him and I engaged in debate, he grabs me, and throws me over the desk winds up his arm waits. waits. then lets it drop, apologizes for his impropriety and scuttles off back to his doubtlessly sexually-uninventive girlfriend.

HAHA! We can't win them all. I look back at that story and smile. He's off chasing his dreams as an artist. And that thought deeply warms my heart.

On a semi-related note: Alan Rickman especially turns my crank. He has since I was too young to know what my crank was. It's the posture, and the voice. Rasputin, Snape and Mesmer are fascinating characters, though oddly I love him best as the dead husband in Truly, Madly, Deeply. That one time, when Johnny Depp cut his throat in Sweeny Todd, I got hard. That's right, stiff.
This explains why I loudly drop lewd comments when walking past the charming old gentleman who works as a tour guide for the haunted walk of Ottawa. Look out for him, he's the hottest geriatric you'll ever encounter.

Thanks for giving it

Pausing to sip some wine, while cooking thanksgiving dinner, hands slip around my waist. Drifting past the sweep of hair pulled into a bun, his stubble and hot breath graze my ear. He gropes my breasts through the purple polka dotted 50's frock to slide under a floral apron and press between my thighs.

I'm bent over the mattress, puling the sheets into order, pink panties flashing up at the door way. I hear him enter and flash a startled look. "You always turn around when I walk past, like you're expecting a spank." And I do, and he doesn't let me down, so I continue to expect spanks every time he walks past.

While cross referencing recipes online, the sun beams through the window right on me. He peaks in on me from the hallway, I peak back. "You're such a flirt, you know that?" "Between the sun, and the oven, it's getting hot in here." "You should take off that dress."

I turn away, and slowly pull the apron sash away from my waist. He sees the edge of the buttons being undone. I let the shoulders drop. lower. "You have a gorgeous back" The dress drops from my frame and gets tossed to the side.
The coy facade buckles and I sprint, giggling into to his arms.

"It's too bad we're back on condoms, I'm ready to fuck you right now."
"That's absurd, I can't be ready so quickly."
He laughs "I can get you wet in 17 seconds."
Consequently I retort, "Go ahead."
He confidently appraises me; wasting precious seconds. He deftly scoops me up and when our tongues slide together I become instantly aroused. We lock eyes, mine are defiant.
He reaches up and grabs hold of my neck leaning me into the wall. "That's cheating." I moan. He trails a hand down my chest, stomach and down into my crotch. My panties are damp.

Less then 17 seconds, we both know he's won. He pulls back.
"It's not cheating," he says as he strolls away.
Then smirking over his shoulder at the flushed woman against the wall, and adds "It's knowing your opponent."

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I've been giving a lot of thought to the recent events. Simply regaling you with my sultry tales of seduction wasn't why I started this blog. The hope is to inform, inspire, and reflect on what has been learned.

People who read this blog and then get to know me always have some rather odd misgivings about me. Trust me, you won't hear me wail "I'm so misunderstood!" Self identifying as a slut is, to me, a feminist statement. It shows strength of conviction and a lack of shame. That said I always burn red when someone mentions they've read my blog. I write these thinking no one I meet would ever happen upon the site.

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People assume I'm after hot sex with stunners (sometimes I am, tee hee!). But more then that I'm attracted to someone's ideas, and their capacity to challenge my convictions. When people have seen my site it's is sometimes admitted (which I appreciate), or sometimes coyly concealed. But when someone I have not as of yet confided in, assumes I'm a nympho, it's glaringly obvious they've only heard part of the story.

When I mentioned that I'd had a bad weekend because I broke up with a girlfriend because her emotions seemed to get out of hand. A reader identified himself by replying "That's because you're only in it for the sex right?"
I was taken aback as quite the opposite is true. What I feel for this woman is far more then physical attraction. If anything I was more attracted to her disposition, interests and philosophy, then her body.

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"What do you like about so and so?"
I list our common interests, and what I admire about them.

Very often I answer this question with one or more of the following:
-They are a poet! They therefore must have emotional depth.
-They are a geek/dork/weirdo/of questionable mental stability. Therefore there must be something that makes them special and sets them apart from the mundane drones of this world.
-They carry an obsession for a bizarre hobby. They therefore are passionate.
-They create beautiful music. They therefore are soulful.
-They are a scientist. They therefore posses a superior intelligence.
-They look or act unconventionally. (dreads, suspenders, clashing colours. Have a habit of climbing trees or dancing in public) They therefore are interesting.
-They are philosophers. They therefore are enlightened.
-They are into the Fetish scene. They therefore must be sexually compatible with me.
-They dress or act androgynously. They therefore exist outside of the gender binary and must be accepting and open minded.
-They are polyamorous. They therefore understand how I expect to be treated.

As you can see, liking someone for these reasons is possibly as shallow as liking them purely for their looks. I make assumptions about people's personalities based on their interests. It has been said that I often try to validate my physical attraction to someone by inventing reasons to like them. This argues that I am in fact still shallow. Perhaps it's true, I develop crushes before truly understanding someone. It's embarrassing to be a slave to these girlish whims of mine.

(For the next bit, the "He" is to avoid writing (s)he, they etc.)
"He's an open minded hippie, who challenges the status quo. His poetry brought a tear to my eye." These are pretty shallow thoughts. What I'm really saying is He's hot in the weird semi-unnatractive way that I like.

But we all hold different values. Perhaps I value inane qualities in people just like everyone else. Some people like each other for reasons like; they dress well, own a nice car etc... Only I get fluttery when I hear the words cross-dress, progressive metal, quantum physics and cogito ergo sum.

It's not what we have in common that I like. It's what we disagree on, because therein lies the conversation.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shared interests and admirable qualities aside, a truly striking moment is one in which I realize we have so much to learn from each other.

I want to make him laugh and ask him questions. I want to play with him, because of two reasons.

1. He's ugly-sexy. This is the kind of person that isn't immediately attractive. If anything they have odd features. But what makes them sexy is their spark, or spirit (or personality, duh!). I have never once fallen for anyone who was classically beautiful, it's the strange ones I'm drawn to. If someone is beautiful inside, then you associate their features with their personality, and the body becomes beautiful.

2. I perceive him to have depth. The peculiarities of his mind intrigue and enchant. Also he's bizarre enough himself to observe the qualities that truly make me unique and wonderful.

When I am interested in someone what I want out of knowing this person is not sex. Sex is one of many ways of further understanding and pleasuring this person.

To convey how I feel about my lovers (and friends) my outlook on life must be delved into a bit. It seems that we are born into the universe, which is for the most part little more then rocks, heat and empty space. We are not given an evident purpose. So life consists of milling around and doing things to continue living.
What makes life interesting are the lives all around us. Meeting another person is kind of like meeting an alien. To have the chance to get to know another person "very well" seems profound to me.
Discovery is the most logical pursuit, and that one of the more important things worth discovering is other people.

I want to discover fascinating, strange and beautiful people.

For me, polyamory is just another way of saying every person in my life is an adventure and a mystery. Sometimes there is mutual attraction that is acted on. Having sex is an extension of play and discovery. In the best of situations I feel as if I am showing a great deal of trust and emotional receptiveness. I don't delineate friends and lovers nearly as much as anyone would expect.

I don't have sex to get off.
I have sex out of curiosity and benevolence. I want a multifaceted, growing person to surrender to my touch. In their moment of vulnerability, I want to give them pleasure. This is a form of intimacy to me. I want to look into his eyes as he cums and touch the tiniest piece of a beautiful mystery.

I've been very naughty

...and not updated in a while.

This is just to let you know that I will be updating again soon.
There are some tales to be told.
But before sharing these illicit stories, they must be played out in thier entirety.

Things to look forward to:
How I enacted to butter churner.
How a threesome is like riding a bicycle.
How not to bite off a clit.

xxx

Unfurled

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.

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

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?

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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.

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

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 ;)

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

(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