Jul 262017
 

“It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.” Author Mark Haddon describes this in an excellent book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. 

That’s what rain is to me on so many levels; it’s sensations without being intrusive. I’ve written that every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. I love how I can feel just a drop or two, and then a downpour can completely cover me. I love a gentle rain that I can play in, or rain that engulfs and takes every inch of my body; in either type or somewhere in the middle you can find me often outside barefoot and appreciating the sensations that rain creates.

I haven’t necessarily rushed home with a lover and slowly peeled off each layer of dripping clothes, licking up the droplets that remain on their skin, but I like that fantasy.

I love how the water can seep between us in ways nothing else can, in between lips, tasting the liquid between sliding tongues.

Rain can shift perspective on everything, blur, clean, refresh the world around me.

Apr 172017
 

While my ex-husband and I were hitting the nail in the coffin of our marriage and making a messy muck of it, we would often use the term “now or never”.

I started it, I think. I started it on the drive out to him, where I told him it was his girlfriend or me. He had to make a decision immediately as I didn’t want to waste any more time driving. Perhaps it makes sense why I issued that ultimatum, but it was still a manipulation ploy.

I also used it when I was stuck in my hometown with nowhere else to go after that long drive. I used it under the context that kids would be in school, I would get a job because I had to, and I needed to know where to settle. “Make up your mind now, you have about two weeks, and then we’re stuck in this town,” I told him desperately. It was the truth, but the truth can still manipulate. I was hoping to press him to get what I wanted.

We reconciled a few times in the Spring, if reconciling meant fucking up each other’s minds and occasionally fucking. So many tears, so much confusion. We would lash out and hurt each other just to keep some distance, come back and apologize between sobs and blame. We didn’t see each other all that frequently, and the few times were in secret.

Clearly, while I spoke the truth, it wasn’t now or never, as I kept pushing back the timeline. Over the summer, surely I could change schools, find another job. Yes, it was even more complicated, but wasn’t it worth it? We really committed over the summer, broke up with our partners and attempted to work towards us. If committed meant throwing ultimatums, mostly from him this time: give up the blog, only write fiction, delete the past lovers, move to me, give me writing assignments, work on your issues – I don’t have any; now or never.

I tried to compromise the most I was ever willing to over the summer, being so heartbroken and lost in life by then that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wasn’t willing to give up the blog but compromised what it looked like, catered to all the other whims. After just a short time, he changed his mind when I complained that I was only one changing. Summer didn’t see us together for more than a few days without changing our minds, but it was a few days scattered once a week for the duration of it.

We had sucked the vitality of our love in our attempt to keep our relationship together; we were dry and empty. We should’ve known better, but fall saw us trying again. Now or never, I again stated, but this time he was compromising location – after all, by this point I was settled into the school year and just couldn’t do that to my family. We still worked out the terms of our reconciliation, but we were shaky.

This reconciliation lasted the longest – a whole two weeks. He procrastinated finding a job, I was helping him. Now or never, I echoed that so much, so desperate for what I felt was the last time. He visited me for a weekend, I visited him for a weekend.

I think that last weekend was truly our now or never. I was visiting my daughter, making her a priority, and plans in trying to work around her social calendar kept interfering with my ex and myself. Or perhaps our daughters’ schedule weren’t working out the way we planned – but the passion was gone, the desperation – from both of us. I think we both felt it. We were well and truly tired.

As I drove away from visiting him, he called me and stated that he didn’t think he wanted to continue. It wasn’t a new statement by any means, the difference being that I also didn’t want to continue.  We wished each other the best, felt that we would support each other if needed but space was needed far more for the time being, and went our separate ways.

A month later, my baby sister died. I called him hysterical and he seemed amazingly sympathetic, but while I was out there dealing with her body and possessions he became callous and self-centered. I couldn’t understand how he could make demands and requests of me in my grief – though to be fair at any other time I would have responded at least neutrally on what he asked of me. But it wasn’t any other time, it was a tragic heart-ripping moment.

I needed him now far more than I ever had before and realized it would never happen – not even as a friend.

Apr 122017
 

“Play hard to get, remain silent, scared, and dramatically emotional,” Joy repeated to herself, closing the big red book of Fairy Tales upon her perch of the toadstool. She nodded to herself for extra measure, felt the breeze stir the fringes of her tutu skirt, rubbed her toes together for comfort, and laid the book beside her. She arched into the sunlight, welcomed the warming rays upon her bare arms and face, and closed her eyes, trying to remember the rest of what she’d learned about non humans trying to get humans to love them.

She’d like Beast’s methods best, but he was a male. She looked down at her breasts and giggled, nope…she just didn’t possess enough fur to carry it off and take the woman like he did. Besides, she had her sights set on a man. Of course, maybe men liked that sort, but her extensive research did not indicate that. She had read what men really liked.

He was long, but then again they all looked a bit long when one was tiny. He had the most beautiful garden, and seemed kind. She loved how what he was focused on reflected so beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. She hoped to be reflected there one day, with his luscious lips smiling at her in love.

She stood up, squared her shoulders, stretched her wings and let those embrace the breeze and sun before flitted to the nearby ground. She squinted her eyes and held her breath after casting, realized that wasn’t the most flattering, and forced herself to relax as all the fairies seemed to. Eloquence, grace, she repeated. A few seconds went by: a deep breath and her eyes opened to the grass so far below her she could barely distinguish the toadstool. She worried for the briefest of moments if she made herself too long, but worrying just wasn’t in her nature, so she shrugged and off she headed towards the man’s yard.

Not that Joy headed far, she simply stepped a few times, in awe of heavy she seemed against the earth, her feet slightly sinking in damp dirt, and reached for over the short gate to his gorgeous garden. A quick twist of the lock, a slight push of the creaky contraption, and she entered the path, immediately being surrounded by the lovely fragrance of roses and flowers. This was by far her favorite season, made her think of sex amid all the perfumed sweetness.

This year she was going to attempt a different type of sex, her family always did mention just how her curiosity got the better of her. It was such fun discovering new things. As she walked past the blooms, before she was already visible in the garden, she could already envision once he saw her he would stand up and gaze at her beauty. She would pretend to just notice him and turn back towards the bushes and climbing vines as if to seek shelter, but he would take her hand and guide into the sunshine in the center of his yard. She would smile coyly, a move she had been practicing, and would shyly kneel before him.

Men, she read, loved blow jobs, a sex called oral, and so he would be surprised when she kneeled in front of him but wouldn’t stop her. She would reach for his pants and pull out his penis. According to her reasearch, this was where individual preference mattered, so she would purse her lips and start blowing softly before she increased the intensity to hard blowing. She liked the breeze upon her wings, so she supposed a human male’s penis might appreciate the air she created across. Sucking she couldn’t imagine would create the same air stream, but supposedly that was important too, so she would suck in great lungful of air and would look up with him with eyes that looked like puppies and he would smile his appreciation at her gift, falling in love with her.

The tricky part was, according to the fairy tales, they would be married immediately but she didn’t want that part, only the falling in love and sex part; so she would have to run away once he proposed. But she would blow him a kiss behind her shoulder and wink to let him know there were no hard feelings, and try not to giggle (as was her nature) until she was once again in her natural form. (The tales also shared she would die a painful death if she didn’t succeed, but of course she would, she always did.)

Joy couldn’t wait to see the look on his face as she gave him what all men wanted so much they fell in love. She quickened her steps.
Wicked Wednesday

*Wicked Wednesday is on nature this week. Click to see what inspires others.

Mar 212017
 

I love storms. Every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. I am surprised I haven’t lost my love of storms.

My tempest.

From solitude to engulfed in booms – the varying patterns of this shift are frightful at times.

There’s no place to go in a thunderstorm to escape it; I can push myself further out into the storm or take very little comfort in the return a house that offers no solace. It is not silent and it cannot be drowned out yelling for it to stop.

A thunderstorm is loud, powerful, demands attention, to be heard.

I seek warmth amid the warning winds: want to be touched and possessed, feel the gliding against my body; with lightning as a companion I light up. My body and my mind crave that delight of visual and utterance.

Where otherwise there may be soft silence, I feel awake and ignited with the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning.

The thunder rolls and sometimes a small shake in the ground can even be perceived in the ground. I can look up and see nothing. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. It signals a downpour, body feels just a drop or two and then suddenly water pours from the sky.  I can feel myself getting soaked, the lightning exposing far more than the tips of the trees swaying violently, little hidden amid storm. The rain pounds down to the earth, becomes a very deep awareness that fills every sense, the thunder creates a shudder and a groan. My heartbeat will pound to the eruption. The crepuscular does not confuse me, it is a language heard and felt through every nerve, rendered violent but mesmerized with dark erotic fantasies. I am left humble by how it provokes a physical reaction, perceived darkness that demands attention far more than shadowed whispers. I will feel goose bumps along my skin, and my own body tremors slightly. Still, the thundered rolls, but it becomes a background noise so far away, more of a relaxing soothing background sound.

I like things that take, that demand, that awaken, that can be felt everywhere; I like the signal of what’s to come, the roar of it as its there, and the echo that it leaves behind.

Mar 172017
 

Trapped like a once beautiful bird in a cage that since wilted. Once I viewed you so shiny, like a toy or jewel worthy of my attention, but your glittery gold has rusted and stained. In a full forest, you’re obscured. Quietude instead demanding for my fingertips to stroke and thrum the golden streaked body.

You were once Spring with sweet blossoms perfumed, once exposed naked in the heat, Fall with the vibrancy of a last desperate attempt at life, and now are barren of gifted illusions and fool’s paradise; fruitless. You leave me cold. Indifferent.

What happened to you?

Passionless.

Surely it wasn’t I, an exception of enchantment passing seasons of beauty? Soft sustenance and opalescence that we procreated?

You don’t thirst for permanence that is almost forgotten, buried deeply, by me, do you?

How sad, tragic, pathetic, worthless is that? How could you hang just to drop from the weight?

You should not be depleted as such. Empty. You seem to have gone down in flames whereas the heat and ashes have absolved me like a phoenix flying the coop. You were a torch, a spark, glowing vibrant with life now ebbed, dull, chilled, monotonous.

Where are you now?

I care not to search; I lost you and there is nothing to lead me back.

Feb 122017
 

Happy Valentine's DaySo I looked up on my own blog “Valentine” to see how I’ve reflected on this over the years. It’s been a mix: happy with photo prompts (pictured here) but my writing shows how I overall view the holiday. In one piece of fiction, I write about how the character breaks up with their partners the day before – which is something I used to do in my youth. In another piece of fiction I wrote about how a character was done being second when they should have been first – sadly something that echoed why I didn’t write anything related to Valentine’s Day last year.

Last year, my husband turned me (and family) away hours before we were to be reunited after months of choosing separation to help with transitions and failed attempts at polyamory. I just recently tweeted about how I haven’t felt the same since, and it’s very true. But even when we were married, I didn’t see him much for Valentine’s Day – the all-too demanding price of being a military spouse.

This year, I was given an idea by a coworker of how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Mr. Texas would rather have the romantic couple’s night, but he’s on board and supporting me as he does best.

My table is set and beautiful and Texas is going to make a nice dinner. We are raising some teenagers, and two of them are special needs and may not have a relationship for some time. I don’t want anyone to feel alone when there are people around who do love them – and I would not have survived last year if I didn’t have the support of friends and family. So, we embracing Valentine’s Day message of love but directing it at people who matter most – family and those that support you best. I even invited some single relatives.

I’ve already warned the kids that we are going to go around the table and say nice things about each other so they better be prepared (a challenge for one or two, it seems). It’s a day to show appreciation, a day to sit down with each other (though family dinners are rather important to me) and express the positives.Wicked Wednesday
Febraury Photofest

Jan 032017
 

happynewyear_gif

1. How is your year going?

My actual last year has been utter hell, the past three days of the year 2017 have been alright – mostly sleeping off time differences and jet lag. 
2. Did you go out on NYE or have a New Year’s day celebration?

Neither, though I guess you could consider I had a New Year’s day celebration. I grabbed all the kiddos in the family and gave them their Christmas presents and presents from my travels. Mr. Texas made a beautiful dinner and we had our first family holiday celebration. It was incredibly nice, even though I was exhausted from getting off a plane the night prior. 
3. Ahh yes, those pesky New Year’s Resolutions. How did you do with your 2016 NY resolutions–did you keep them?

Many of my 2016 goals were with my husband, who then divorced me at the start of the year. So no, I didn’t meet my goals but I’m uncaring of that. I don’t have any current goals – something that it is shocking if you know me at all. I suppose I should at least work on my 101 things
4. Year 2017, are you carrying over any resolutions from 2016? What?

My 101 things list is the only thing that I will carry over. However, hopefully I’ll feel more like myself and start making goals to accomplish again. 
5. What new experiences are you planning to have or hoping to have in 2017?

I am hoping to buy a house, apply for another Master’s Degree, go on a family vacation with Mr. Texas, go on a vacation with The Wanderer, survive the year, raise confident, independent, and healthy children. 

Bonus: Did you see fireworks on New Year’s eve? (Take that anyway you want :-p )

So many, at least in my mind. After not seeing Mr. Texas for weeks, he kept me awake and flying high on orgasms off and on for 18 hours. We really only slowed down when it was time for the family dinner and present time. 

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Dec 282016
 

I had every intention of sharing one of my favorite bloggers every month. My every intention has vanished this year with far too many transitions that crashed upon me. So I figured I’d share the six that I did share before I seriously cut back on showcasing others. 

A Dissolute Life Means

She writes honestly, and often raw. She exposes her more vulnerable self and is often unapologetic about who she is and what she needs. She often writes about seeing multiple men, one of my favorites is when she poetically uses a carousel analogy. I love how beautifully she writes, how being with these men doesn’t diminish her want of something more permanent but she is accepting of the fun as it comes along. I also share how she is hopeful and jaded in imagining a future with every lover she encounters. Another of her posts that I love is how she leads with her sexuality and that it is okay for her to do so, something that took me a long time to recognize in myself. Even when she writes about Casual Sex Rules, she beautifully weaves a story. A fantastic writer.

Molly’s Daily Kiss

She writes most often about a D/s life, the sex blogging community, and observations about sexuality and outlooks. She makes me think often, one such was about tools you need to be a Dom, with the things listed were not I first thought of – they’re far more important. But it is often her writing erotica or fantasies that get me so much, for example a scene based on location; wherein her husband also writes with his own musings. The entire thing turned me on so much, as well as this scene describing a slow build up of anticipation; it is moments like this which fuel my desire far more than touching. She is also the most influential sex blogger that I can think of.

Rebel’s Notes

Another seriously influential sex blogger, she hosts memes like Wicked Wednesday, Sexy Searching, The Menopause Diaries, and the Oral Sex Project. She is my number one supporter and commenter – I don’t know if I would continue to pursue different ways of writing if it wasn’t for her. She is bold with her photos, brave in her Scavenger Hunt photos. She writes of her D/s journey and is honest in her own faults. She has a relationship that I am envious of. Her erotic fiction is pretty hot as well.

Malin James

She writes from a deeply intimate and introspective manner, between the sexual and the psyche, though her stories more often seem to be fiction. She often writes with a dark seductive tone and I love it, like Lonely Things. But when she does write personally, it inspires me, like the notes to her younger self and I appreciated how lovingly reflective it is. It inspired me to think about it and make it a goal of mine to write similarly. Something that echoed painfully and eloquently with me was: This is What I Mean when I Say I Love You. She also discusses writing with the The Semantics of Sex, specifically the words “making love” and “fuck”.

Tamsin Flowers

Tamsin Flowers participated in the #AtoZChallenge and did it brilliantly, but her favorite posts with me include the sense of hearing. She writes a post based on a song, Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies. She writes a take on The Little Mermaid, and not do I love fairy tales, it is an amazingly sexy erotica for a woman who is speechless. She also wrote about sounds and silence eloquently, which was hot and bittersweet all at the same time.

Easily Aroused

Easily Aroused is so often a writer who gets me going every time, with such beautiful erotica. Even in experiencing a new, and taboo, activity he writes gorgeously. This man seriously (and unknowingly) seduces me across a computer screen with his words, like Elemental, or Striation. Even something that made me sad with the loss and betrayal, still turned me on.