“Sex? It’s great. End of story” – Me

We were supposed to be going out to dinner and a movie, but Lucky wasn’t ready. He’d just come in from rounding up horses–he had little beads of sweat on his forehead and his muscles were trying to escape his white tee shirt; “Oh my God; he’s beautiful”, I thought to myself. He said he needed to shower and then we’d go, so I made myself comfortable in the living room; I sat down on the couch next to his pit bull, tucked and smoothed my skirt under me, and proceeded to watch TV. There was some rustling around in his room, down the hall, then a few minutes later, I heard the shower running and the jingles from the shower curtain rings being opened and closed. The simple thought of that man in a shower…water dripping from any part on his body was a turn on. I sat there imagining what he would look like in the shower…..my imagination allowed me to dabble (pun intended) with the idea of showing with him; at this point, we hadn’t even had sex; so many things about him made it hard to resist. Showering with him….rubbing on his wet body, feeling his body against mine….my imagination and sexual desire got the best of me; I got up off the couch and walked to the bathroom. Just at that point, the shower turned off and the shower curtain was flung open. And there he was, standing in front of me, dripping wet, the water dripping from his penis. I lost my breath. All I could do was stare at this beautiful specimen of a man. “Can you pass me that towel behind you?”, he asked as I stood there, taken by how sexy he was. “Sure”. I grabbed the towel from behind me, not taking my eyes off of him. I held it out to him. He looked down, that innocent little look he did, then his eyes gazed up at me, “Do you like what you see?” Perhaps my face had shown my bit of confusion…..not what I expected to hear from my innocent farm boy. “I do like what I see…” I responded; I wondered what other surprises I was about to experience…what else did I not know about my innocent farm boy? He stepped out of the shower, slowly…moving toward me…I stepped back until I had reached the wall and had nowhere else to step back to. Still wet, he pressed up against me; I could feel the water from his body saturating my clothes. He grabbed one of my hands that was hanging by my side and put it on his dick. I was bewildered; oh my God…what a pleasant surprise…my farm boy was a dirty little thing and I didn’t even see it! He started to kiss on my neck and whisper in my ear, “Were you watching me, you dirty girl? You wanted to see me in the shower? I should punish you for being bad…” All these little comments just made hornier. His dick was so hard, my clothes were now wet….he rubbed his dick up against my crotch…then he stepped back….and stood there…and stared at me. Not sure what to expect, I kept his stare and simply stood there. After awhile (and what seemed like forever), he stepped toward me again, reached both hands up the back of my skirt, and pulled my panties down, grabbing my ass as his hands passed by. He then knelt down, put his head up my skirt, and began eating me out. “Goddamn” I said, with an uncontrolled inflection in my voice. His mouth felt so good, I nearly lost my balance, and very shortly after that, I was unable to stand up….my knees gave out. He picked me up, flinging me over his shoulder like a firefighter would carry an unconscious person (that reminds me….I need to tell you guys about the firefighter…oh, he was everything I ever expected from a firefighter…..another time) and carried me to his room. It was dark. The window was open and the only light was coming from the moonlight outside. The radio was on (from earlier, I guessed) and Mary J. Blige-Family Affair, offered the first song to the soundtrack of our first fuck. He slid it in, and as he did, I heard him exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time. His breathing was deep, as deep as he was in me; he moved in and out, keeping a rhythm with the song. I wrapped my legs around his back, which was still partially wet from his shower. He thrust a few more times then flipped us, so that I was on top–it was effortless, like I was a rag doll. I loved that he was so much man. In a southern, deep voice, I heard him say, “Damn, Eve*(name was changed to protect the pervert who writes this blog J)….I knew you’d be a good one” I kept riding him, in and out, up and down….his dick slid in like it was the missing puzzle piece. He grabbed my hips, pulling them down as he thrust his hips up, causing his dick to go further and harder in me….and the beat went on….We never made it to dinner and that movie. Instead, I got Lucky.

Stay horny, baby. Eve~

Thanks, Vevo. This vid referenced in ‘Lucky Boy’.

Zdzislaw Beksinski

On the contrary, in Hungarian there are no grammatical differences between male and female, grammatically everyone is equal, therefore the word sex does not signify the notion of being male or female, but refers to the sexual act instead. Furthermore gender is a collective noun for both the anatomical appearance (the English sex) and the social gender.

Jacek Malczewski – Thanatos

Another very interesting and controversial example is the Slovak interpretation of the sexes. Male, female and neutral sexes are used; however there are certain exceptions to the grammatical rules, such as the word ‘little girl’ (dievca) which has a neutral gender as if to suggest that it is an open option, it still can ‘turn into’ anything. Yet the word ‘hero’ (hrdina) as a rule should be ‘she’; however for some reason it is again an exception, and grammatically it is male suggesting that being a hero must be a masculine thing. These examples clearly show how different cultures establish linguistic structures, therefore how the public opinion is shaped and embedded about issues on sexuality.

Obraz 1675, Sucha Dolina – piękna śmierć starszej pani, Jerzy Duda Gracz, 1994

The visual language of sexuality seems to suggest just the same as the verbal form analysed above. The simplest example of both visual and spatial separation of genders is the public toilet: different systems of representation, different notation. However controversial, not only do the signs refer to man and woman, but the space is created and distinguished for male and female. This well supports Butler’s claim that ‘the body appears as a passive medium on which cultural meanings are inscribed’ (Butler, 1990:12).

Auguste Belloc

Society seems to construct possible ‘gender configurations within culture’ (Butler, 1990:12) based on biological factors. From an architectural point of view the exterior symbolises the masculine and the interior the feminine referring to the biological features of the sexes and intercourse itself. Moreover as the kitchen appears as a stereotypically feminine space, the study belongs to the man. It is clear how visual elements refer to sexes, moreover how they are associated with different gender roles, a construction of categories of femininity and masculinity established by the society. On a greater scale, the private home indicates the woman, while the urban area indicates the man.

TO BE CONTINUED…

i’m flexing, therefore my pants are pink IRONICALLY

I saw this ad for colorful pants the other day, and a little barking laugh escaped my lips.  Bonobo may be a brand of men’s blinding pants, but it was the name of a type of chimp first, a chimp known for its seemingly human sexual practices.

Bonobos are hilarious.  They have matriarchal societies where French kissing, oral sex, and homosexual sexual practices (among the males, and females) are common.  They seem to use sex to relax the group.  After a fight: sexytime.  When they get excited about a particularly plentiful patch of food: sexytime.  A new female wants to join the group: lesbian sexytime.  It’s pretty great.  I wonder what the discussion was like when deciding on the name of these very colorful pants for men.

“Let’s name these absurd-looking pants after a matriarchal, hyper-sexual chimpanzee.”
“…Sure, fine, whatever, I’m missing Diablo III.”

His limits are being tested, for sure.

On the Saturday after chemo, I needed a shower, desperately. My garden studio, which is maybe five hundred square feet, has four people in it right now: Ricardo, Spike, my little boy (let’s call him Timothy) and myself. Every adult is trying to be considerate and polite, but it’s kind of hard. I need both men there, and where am I supposed to send my kid?

So we discussed the best way to do this. When I’m really ill, especially post-infusion, Spike usually takes me into the shower and helps me out. It’s not sexual, not like the old days. Usually, if he cops a feel, I slug him now. But he mostly only does that to tease me; he’s in a sort of relationship. So Spike and I get in the shower, he assists me in staying upright, soaping up, washing my hair, conditioning it, and then helps me out of the tub again.

I could take a shower by myself, but it’s sort of difficult and takes awhile, and sometimes I’m in the heat and steam so long I feel like passing out. Baths don’t work well at all; it’s hard for me to get into and out of the bathtub, and something about gravity and the position of my body in the water affects blood flow. Standing up is better.

This is what Spike proposes: One of the adult men gets in the shower with me, and the other watches the toddler. He’s okay with it, either way.

Ricardo, and I do not blame him, is somehow uncomfortable with me being naked in the shower with my naked estranged husband. I can see where that might be an issue. Ricardo is slightly less uncomfortable, but still uncomfortable, being naked with me in the shower with my estranged husband and my little boy right there.

Spike’s solution is for me to be naked, of course, and for Ricardo to wear Spike’s surf shorts, which he has worn recently, so they’re not exactly clean and fresh, but Spike promises he wore underwear while wearing them last. He was wearing them while he and Timothy were outside, playing with bubble solution.

So my estranged husband, my little boy, and the man I hope wants to be my brand new relationship are all in the tiny bathroom, while Spike is giving Ricardo instructions, and I have to undress in front of him while I feel horrible, and all my stretch marks and scars and tattoos and various other physical flaws are out on display. The treatment – or the stress that goes with it – has also given me some acne, mostly on my chest and back. I feel the opposite of attractive.

Ricardo is wearing Spike’s already-worn brightly colored surf shorts, and they’re clearly not his style.

I’m guessing this is the definition of awkward.

Spike feels no qualms about being in the bathroom, in case I do pass out, and he can tell Ricardo about the quirks of this bathroom facility as well as what to do, and to prevent the toddler from going apeshit at the same time.

Timothy was okay with being bathed when he was an infant. It wasn’t his favorite thing. As he got older, he started to hate it, vehemently. Then he changed his mind, and now he loves the water, except on his face and when his hair is washed. Otherwise, he’s all about the water. Just to keep the peace, if he wants to hang around when either parent is showering, we let him. It’s a positive-reinforcement thing, which is important in his life. We want him to like the water, be comfortable in the water, and to not associate the water with trauma.

Which is why I try to take showers when Timothy is asleep or at school.

Now Timothy insists on being in the shower with Ricardo and myself. Ricardo is gently scrubbing my body, and then tenderly washing my hair. He is very intent on what he has to do. I’m loving the heat and the moisture of the shower, but if I overdo either, I’m going to pass out.

Spike is telling Ricardo it’s okay if I lose hair, that it happens all the time. My little boy is handing Ricardo a bottle so that Ricardo can fill it under the spray and then my little boy can pour it over everyone’s feet. It’s not a moment where I’m at ease. I feel physically off. This is not something I wanted to put Ricardo through, or have Spike involved in.

All I have to do is get through it, though.

When I’m clean, Ricardo turns off the shower. Spike hands him two towels, and then bundles a squawking Timothy into the third. My little boy doesn’t want to get out of the water.

Ricardo carefully dries me off, and then helps me into the main room, where I pick out fresh jammie bottoms and a long sleeve t-shirt. I crawl into bed, and he goes back to the bathroom and removes the surf shorts, drying off and putting his clothes back on. Spike is putting a diaper on Timothy, getting him dressed.

It was not the longest half-hour of my life, but at the time, it sort of seemed like it.

When Spike met Ricardo for the first time two days prior to this particular Saturday, he had had a lot to say. Ricardo was older than Spike thought he would be, even though I’d told him that already. Ricardo also had a familiar face.

The reason for this is that I would term Ricardo a civic leader. He’s not a politician (thank heaven) but he is a retired businessman who put a lot of time and money back into the community, especially for causes having to do with Hispanic people and culture. When Ricardo’s wife died, he got a note of condolence from the mayor and there were a couple of famous faces at the funeral.

Ricardo had also expressed some surprise at having met Spike. Spike’s appearance might be surprising for some.  Spike keeps his long hair in a braid down his back, and also has numerous tattoos on his arms and legs. He’s chunkier than when we were young; at this point in his life, he works a blue collar job for a Fortune 50 company and he has a beer belly. So while Spike isn’t in the ideal physical shape, he does work out everyday for his job.

In certain circles, Spike’s face would be familiar as well. He is a musician, and he played with a lot of bands and knows a lot of people. He was even a recording engineer and producer at one point. And I was his girlfriend, then his bride. I got burned out on it long before he did, but at some point, we both wanted a life that didn’t involve endless rehearsal and playing and touring, and being broke and having freeloaders posing as friends ripping us off all the time.

I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to be with famous people. My ego doesn’t work that way. I just want a quiet life, living as I choose to live, without anyone noticing or gossiping about me. I prefer anonymity, to be left alone.

I already have enough to contend with considering what’s taking place under my own roof. Spike has put Timothy’s favorite movie on the big TV, and is feeding out little boy some crackers and cheese. I’m lying in bed again, feeling impatient and uneasy. I want to be done with feeling unwell. I have other things I’d rather be doing.

Ricardo got back on the bed with me. Since our night at the beach house, he’s been coming over to my house in the mornings, after I take my little boy to school. Sometimes, he’ll come over early enough so that we can all go to school together. Then we would go get some coffee/tea, and he and I would go back to my little place and spend the rest of the morning in bed.

I finally told Ricardo I was sorry, that this weekend was probably not what he had in mind

He tells me that there’s no place he’d rather be. Because, he says, he only seems to be happy lately when he’s with me.

I respond that we’re spending all this time in bed, and we’re not even having sex.

He scoffed. That’s not the only reason that we spend time together, he insists. And it’s not having sex. It’s making love.

He pulls me into his body. I curl up in his arms, my head against his chest, and I can hear his heart thumping. I breathe slowly through my clogged sinuses.

I will feel better, hopefully soon.

And we’ll be able to get on with our lives, and whatever this is.

When he looks out his window and all the sudden sees something that he just can’t stop looking at!!

OMG!!! What a wonderful site to see! Now my day is perfect, nothing can dampen my spirits today!!

Officer I swear I don’t know what happened. I think the wheels just locked up! 

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In an attempt to understand the physical and physiological changes during my menstrual cycle I began writing an independent blog in which I noted down how I felt and what had been going on in my life and also looked up what was going on within my body on a hormonal level. This blog is not rocket science and it is more a diary for myself than a big encyclopedia of a woman’s cycle but to me it made a huge difference in understanding what exactly is actually going on at certain days apart from obvious mood swings and cramps.

I also realised that technically it isn’t that easy to conceive at all. Call me naive, but I never gave it much thought apart from the fact that you would simply just get pregnant. In actual fact, there is only one egg that is being released in each cycle and it only lives for 12 to 24 hours before it disintegrates. So what are the chances of actually getting pregnant? Luckily the male sperm can survive around 5 days in the female cervix. Therefore, if you are really trying for a baby your best chances are the five days leading up to the day of ovulation which takes place around day 14 to 16 of your cycle.

The interesting thing in regards to my own personal process of creation was that my mother had a pituitary adenoma which influenced the hormones commonly associated with reproduction and she was told by her doctors that she will probably not be able to have children. Neither my mother nor my father thought it necessary to use standard precautions (incredible!) and it wasn’t until my mother went into hospital with suspected appendicitis that she learned that she was in actual fact pregnant. At this point my father asked her to have an abortion since he happened to be otherwise engaged, which my mother refused. He then said that he didn’t want to be involved and has ever since kept to his self-proclaimed promise.

At this point my mother was about three months pregnant and prior to the unexpected news she had already booked in to see a psychologist due to stress-related issues which beside others included the same name coursing through her mind over and over again. This name turned out to be my birth name in full hyphenated length which makes me believe that I, as a soul or spirit being, was aiming to get here all along despite all the obstacles. I must have fought for it really hard because my mother remembers that she felt pretty rough during her pregnancy.

Presently I am reading “Anastasia” from the Ringing Cedars Series. This basically formed the thought for writing this blog. In this  she implies that intercourse should only take place when a man and a woman sincerely wish to create a child and that it is purely today’s society that makes us believe we should engage in sexual activities for pleasure. This, obviously, is down to each individuals desire and I don’t want to state that Anastasia’s opinion is what we should all strive for, but, I do get her point. Just pick up any random magazine, switch to any random TV channel and you will literally be bombarded with sexually inclined pictures, quotes, tips and the likes. It really does go a little bit too far and might leave people who have less desire to indulge in carnal pleasure feel less worth and a failure, just like nobody looks like a hollywood star!

“Tell me who – which individual – would want to come into the world as a result of carnal pleasures alone? We would all like to be created under a great impulsion of love, the aspiration to co-creation itself, and not simply come into the world as a result of someone’s carnal pleasure.”
Anastasia, page 64

It made me think how much the act of our creation impacts on our life. I think I have turned out to be a magnificent being with a multitude of interests and a very open and engaging mind. However, I am also plagued with abandonment issues and commitment fears, which already form a constant contradiction in their own right. But I also often think that maybe I shouldn’t be here because I wasn’t wanted.

This leads me to another story I would like to bring in about a girl who always said she feels older than she actually is and she also always said that she wants a baby and doesn’t want the father to be living with her. This is her choice, but when she finally announced she was pregnant a lot of people independently came to the conclusion that she had willfully ensured she would get pregnant to which she never gave a proper account. She now has broken off all contact to the father and said that she doesn’t want him to be involved. To me it is so obvious that she just wanted to get pregnant and judging by how controlling she is in her life, closely resembling a military procedure, knowing her medical knowledge as a professional and how clever she is together with the mere fact that there are only a maximum of 24 hours to conceive and she wished for a baby so strongly I am sure that she timed it well. When I asked her how it happened she just said: “Don’t ask” and laughed it off…

For some reason this stirs up a lot of emotions within myself, and I wonder why. The situation is similar to my own as in having been raised by a single mother with the difference that I was rejected by my father whereas she rejected the father of her child. The last, and most important question is whether her child was created accidentally as she makes it look like to others or whether I and others can trust their intuition that she did it on purpose. And nobody will ever know for sure because she won’t tell the truth if it doesn’t fit in with her plan of action.

It is not my part to get involved into her life it just makes me look at the act of conception a little bit more closely. These days there are so many young mums around that accidentally “happened” to fall pregnant. Some will decide for an abortion believing that it isn’t the right timing. On the other hand there are many, many people who want to become pregnant but for some reason can’t. One question arises: “What life do we offer a child that we selfishly demand or unwittingly bring into the world?” I believe that we all are born with a life task which is entirely different in each individual. A friend of mine even said in line with the Anastasia books that each time a man ejaculates a soul gets ready to incarnate. Nobody knows the full extend of our being and who we really are. And even we ourselves discover new parts of ourselves at any time in our lives. Some will need more attention, some might even seem so overburdening that we think we can’t carry on anymore and others might make us rise above ourselves evidently making us stronger.

We certainly shouldn’t judge others because their life plan is different to ours. That’s what makes us as a species so interesting and diverse and creates so many learning opportunities to grow on personally and spiritually. And maybe we can give the incredible 12 hours in which we come into existence a little bit more credit and see it as the miracle that it really is.

Love
Anna

My partner Jess’s brother passed away on Valentine’s day… Which was stressful and horrible since he was so young (25, the same age as me) and happened so suddenly. Oddly enough…. I also met someone at this funeral. My partner’s brother’s roommate Dave who had just moved here from Sarasota Florida (hilariously enough the location my parents just moved too this past Sunday to retire in the sun). The chemistry was immediate and well… in the midst of the drama and grief we kind of hooked up.

Now this upset me because well… my PARTNER’S brother just died and this made me feel like the biggest douche in the world. I ended up breaking up with my partner in the beginning of March and moved back to Cincinnati and lived in my friends apartment for a month, in which I had a great time and got to have some fantastic dates with Dave, the kind that make you feel young and wanted again (did I mention that Dave was only 20?!?!?).

While all that drama was happening my brother Josh had wedding-shower-palooza  throughout the months of March and April.

Eventually my partner Jess, Dave, & I came to a strange arrangement one evening on skype. We were going to try to make a polygamous situation work, or at least see how it went. For clarification purposes the relationships who be between Dave & I, and Jess & I. Jess and Dave weren’t attracted to each other in the least. So we tried to make it work and long story short it crashed and burned because Jess couldn’t stand the thought of me with anyone else.

That’s when the thought struck me that I was attracted to Dave and grabbed onto him because I was trying to replace Bob with him. Which is sick and twisted and a whole new level of fucked up. This left me completely brokenhearted and thinking that he was better off without me.

Than on May 18th my brother got married. It was awesome and beautiful and started stirring up the old hormones and feelings of love, marriage, and babies again. Questioning myself on if Jess could ever really give me that. She says she can, but I don’t know…. I don’t know why I doubt her so much when it comes to ideas of family. Maybe because we have been together for five years and we don’t even have a dog. Silly I know…. who knows I’m a crazy bitch, I don’t need a reason.

That Sunday my parents moved away which left me a whole new level of heartbroken. No one ever really talks about the moment when your family isn’t your family anymore or when your house is not your home. It leaves you feeling even more lost, and wanting to search and find and create that family in response.

So now you know how fucked up the past few months have been… i’m going to go take a xanex from dragging all this shit back up…. must repress….. too many feelings….

I took this photo from this website: http://lovetrekker.com/2012/05/the-sex-hotels-of-new-york/

If you are following me, you know that I am writing a personal story about my discovery of a forbidden book on sex and pornography in my dad’s hidden book shelves in Tehran.

So far, you had read about my knowledge of existence of Galeen, and my nerve-racking search to find the key to “ambaree,” the room where Galeen was kept. After I begged my sister, I could get an access to ambaree trough my sister’s room.

I eventually could manage to get a hold of the book that night. I immediately started reading it.

Around 3 A.M., my dad got up to have a glass of water at the middle of the night when he was distracted by the light coming out from my sister’s room. Somehow,  I do not know how, but somehow, he knew that it was me in Zohreh’s room. So he addressed me when he opened the door. He said I have to go back to sleep.

He never found out, even today, about my adventure with Galeen. But I am sure he would have been extremely upset, perhaps mad, to know that I was reading Galeen. I knew that he would have punished me for that. I do not know what the punishment might be, but I knew he would have been very very upset. But why?

Why my dad would have been very upset if he knew I was reading a book about sex and pornography in the Islamic Republic of Iran?

Were there any risks involved, or was it even dangerous, to find out about the existence of such books in our house?

What would the morality police do if they knew that we had such books in our house?

What would be the consequences for me and my family? Jail, imprisonment, capital punishment?

I will tell you more…

The book is full of good Warren Ellis dialogue between bitter cranky people trying to save the world. The evil corporation guys have all had personality replacements for the length of their contracts so they’re full on corporate drones, while the heroic real people make terrible food and talk about sex a lot. There are some cool ideas about weapons in space, a great fight sequence using manipulation of the space station’s gravity, and Ellis’ old-school rocket fixation (transferred to the main character) helps to save the day.

I really enjoyed the book and it’d make a great movie.

Mean Peen and I are the same age, share many of the same interests, share compatible senses of humor and seem to genuinely enjoy each other’s long distance company.  It was no secret that early on in the relationship I developed a crush.  Mean Peen is cute, tall and flirty (clearly all I require in a man).  He knew almost up front that I felt that way as I had zero problem being honest about it.  He was vague about if he returned those feelings but I think that was part of the game.

It didn’t take long to realize that we were far more alike than I had initially understood.  I have never struggled to get what I want, both romantically and otherwise.  I’m an only daughter and I fit the stereotypical spoiled daddy’s girl image quite well.  Though it won’t win me any friends, I’ll admit that most of the time I’ve spent dating has been true to my Siren nature in that I am drawing in and capturing just to draw in and capture.  They say some people enjoy the chase…well I enjoy the take down.  I enjoy bringing them in and either actually sleeping with them or just getting them to expose their interest.  If I’m not actually interested in sleeping with you, the end game is when I have photographic evidence of your genitalia. It usually doesn’t take long and to be fair that’s probably half because men are easy.  Women usually take a little longer to bring down, but in the end they fall just as hard.

Not so with The Mean Asian Peen because, as it turned out, we both appear to be playing the same game.  I’m a hunter stalking my prey all the while he is hunting me.  We’re in a near constant stalemate, broken only by little opportunities where one of us edges up over the other.  But the more we talked, the more we shared, the more our involvement expanded.  Soon we were texting outside of work hours and spending less time discussing work and more time discussing everything else.

Then came the late night, drunken phone calls.

The first time he called left me confused, hopeful and feeling more victorious than I had a right to.  That was, until I realized that he’s far more sober sounding than most drunks I know.  It wasn’t that he was less drunk than he thought, it was that he sounded less drunk.  He started telling me all the things he wanted to do to me, admitting his desire.  Usually I’d count this as a near win but is it really a win if he’s on the verge of a black out?

The calls continued sporadically, the one constant was always his inebriation.  But the further into this relationship we got, the more his confessions began to confuse me.  Though he still suggested all the things he expected to do to me on my next and continued visits to San Francisco and while he still subjected me to his supposed dominance, he began to expose something deeper.  It began that, in his drunken honesty, he loved me.

He loves me.  He loves me?  When he’s drunk, The Mean Asian Peen is convinced of his love for me.  Though I desperately want it to be true and however truly I love him…because I do…I am completely unable to trust that he means it.  He is breaking my heart each and every time that his drunken mind suggests that he feels for me how I believe I feel for him.  The one time I actually think that I could keep my prey post-take down is the time that he’s destroying my heart by being who I want but only under the sway of whiskey.  Every time he says it, his words just barely slurred, my heart breaks just a little more.

He drunk loves me…and when he says it, all I can do is pull my best Han Solo.

I love you, he says.

I know…

Or, as defined by my dictionary

Forever (adv): without end, at all times

Cheating slightly as this blog is not about the term ‘forvever’ but actually the book:

Forever by Judy Blume is immortalised in the world of teenage fiction as the first encounter many have with sex, especially first time sex, betrayal heartbreak etc. I haven’t read this book for over 20 years and I can still quote lines from it. I’m not sure how much I learnt from it, aside from if you have a boyfriend it’s a bad idea to have sex with someone else after a grandparent’s funeral. However the main thing I did take from it is the line: “You can’t go back to holding hands.“

Within the context of the book, it does, of course, refer to sex and how it changes relationships. There are very few people who can have sex with someone and not have any future interaction with that person altered as a result. The initial kissing and holding hands stage is fabulous, excepting perhaps when you’re a virgin and a mass of hormones and torment, but there is also the anticipation and desire for more. Just when you do it, then you can’t go back to just that hand holding stage. There is, if you will bear with me, an loss of innocence that goes with the action.

The thing is, it’s a phrase that doesn’t just apply to sex, it applies to everything. I was pondering on it in terms of arguments. People argue; we argue with family, with friends, with a partner. A lot are just squabbles caused by passing discontent or even more deep-seated upsets but most blow over. Just sometimes, in the heat of the moment, an awful thing can be said. Something vicious and nasty that cuts like a knife. And even if both sides wish with all their hearts to make up and carry on, it will never be quite like it was, never back to the holding hands stage.

As is fairly well-known in the social media spheres I occupy, I have been both mentally and physically very unwell. For a time I desperately wanted to go back to one specific date and who I was and how I was at that point. I couldn’t tell you anything about that date, bar what day of the week it was. I don’t know if I was in work, what I ate, who I spoke to, if I went out in the evening. All I know is it is the day before things happened that are forever etched on my memory as things that changed my life irrevocably. I only started to get better when I realised I could never go back. What had happened had happened. I was still me, just a different me to then. The only way was forwards and I had to accept it all, not keep seeking to change it, not keep wishing to go back.

The nature of our world is that it keeps turning. The sun keeps rising. We keep getting older. We are, whether we like it or not, caught in an inevitable state of going forward. And that’s ok. Yes, we can all, I believe, be kinder to each other, maybe guard against those nasty words and actions, savour what there is in a relationship before leaping to the next stage. You can’t go back to holding hands. But you can accept what has happened and move on, not seeking to change it and wishing it was different. Just accepting that you’re holding hands a little differently to how you were before.

Princess

NB: I will not name the person who suggested the Spice Girls lyric. They know who they are and will be FOREVER shamed by it.

The Scarlet Number 5.29. 12

Hello Phone.  Can you hear me?  Can you hear me now?  Hold on…my iphone is getting poor reception, let me try using my FACEBOOK PHONE.

“You gotta Bee Kidding me…”

Yep! That’s right!  A new facebook phone!  That’s at least what I heard through “the grapevine.”  Apparently Face was “hired” more than six exex-iPhone engineers who worked for Apple….and they want to make a Facebook Phone by next year!

“Sh*t. Forgot to pay my Facebook Bill.  Now my phone’s off.”

Psshhh…facebook phone.  What a joke.  But where are the details? Huh, CNN? What’s the matta…let me guess you  dont’ have any details. Just what I thought.  No, that’s cool.  Go ahead about “report” a story about “6 Employees From Apple who worked on the iphone” but don’t tell us any more…leave that up to the “blogosphere which you love oh so dearly”

It looks like ET really wants to know more about this Facebook Phone.

Question: Who were these Apple employees were? Answer: “Undisclosed Sources.”

I give you a hint Mr. Bee Guy….if you want to create a buzz …

you better start flapping your wings.

So these Apple Guys whoever they are might my the genius’s behind the iPhone.  Whop-dee-doo.  Guess what.  The inventor of the wheel….just wouldn’t think of any better ideas after his Magnum Opus…

Faaaaaburrrrrrrkkkkkkpppphhhhoooooooonnnnnneeeee

hooooooooooooooome

Could somebody give me a kit Kay bar! Give me a break! I’m not impressed with CNN right now, I would really like to know more details but it’s just a “rumor” story, I might as well be starting about some celebrity gosspis.  This seems kind of fishy…almost as if something were trying to create…..a buzz…..

This guy is the new Buzz.  He’s the future of Facebook.  His name is Buzz “Like in a Year.”  I interviewed him about the new Facebook phone and asked him when this new Facebook phone would be available and he said, “Like in a year…..chill.”

Wakka, Wakka, Wakka

Here’s actually a good question:  What exactly has Facebook ever done for you?  That’s kind of hard to answer huh?  It’s kind of easier to ask:

What has Facebook done TO you:

That’s an easy one:

• They’re collected all our online data everytime we didn’t log out
• They’re scanned our faces into facial recognition systems
• They’re posted our status updates on 3rd party sites
• They’re completely ruined everything cool about the internet/privacy/work/school/personal/life.

Alex, I’d like to solve the puzzle:  Facebook is selling the personal stories that I shared with my friends to whomever they choose because my privacy does not matter and this doesn’t bother be because….

WRONG!

Damn.  So what we get in return for “investing” our time in facebook?  Wait….what?

FACEBOOK WANTS US TO GIVE THEM MONEY????

“Bitch please…..”

Myspace just called….they want to let you in on a little secrect Facebook….you’re future is going to be preeetty grim.  And lonely.  And silent.  Trust me, if Justin Timberlake can’t bring sexy back to myspace, NOTHING will be able to bring Facebook back once it starts to show it’s first slight signs of a receding hairline.

Facebook is not a legitamate company.  There’s no revenue.  And as soon as the ads stop popping up….and trust me, they’re coming….us people on the Internets will take our non-existant buisiness elsewhere…

No one is going to pay for a Facebook phone.  Pshhh….

Maybe….maybe if it were free people might questionably use it just to try it out.  But they’d still be paranoid as hell doing anything on it with the reputation Facebook has with our privacy.

Good luck getting over that hurdle Facebook!

Facebook is so destined for failure it’s almost hilarious. It’s almost loud out loud funny.Ever heard of Myspace? Friendster? Napster? AOL? How far did they reach into THE YEAR 2012….ZILCH.  And Facebook will be no different.  Mark my words.

The guilt is settling in. This combined with hormones, social unrest, therapy this morning, and a little too much wine at a business dinner last night — it makes for a roller coaster of a day. And I have acupuncture in two hours. Gulp. Someone hide my phone so I’m not texting away in an emotional neurotic frenzy!

Why the guilt? Well, for one, Rouge’s multiple texts a day betray some heated emotions. I miss you, I can’t stop thinking about you, I wish you were here, I want you, I can’t wait to be with you again, etc. etc. I tend to be myself — warm and affectionate — though I realize I might need to be more of a dick to prevent him from getting the wrong impression. This is one of the shittiest things about casual sex. How people need to behave with each other to keep it casual.Don’t be kind; don’t make him feel good– it might give him the wrong idea. He’s coming over again tomorrow night. I’ve already told him he can’t spend the night.

Then there’s the issue of Rx. He emailed yesterday, complimentary stuff, and explained that he’d been sick with food poisoning for the last 48 hrs and was going to have to board a 13 hr flight to Asia for a business trip. Ick. My sympathies went out to him, along with some advice on how to keep comfortable. In the spirit of transparency, I though he should be updated that my two-year strike was over. I was deliberately vague about the timeline and the other ‘guilty party.’ I had explained my dry spell to Rx months ago, so there’s no reason for him to know it ended a week ago with Rouge. But I thought it was important that he get the gist, that it was indeed over. To spare any awkward and potentially grandiose moment in the South when he realizes that he doesn’t in fact get to pop my cherry, as it were (figuratively, I mean — for anyone tuning in, i wasn’t a virgin). So all I said to allude to my shifted situation was that my trip to the South to see him was bound to make me…how shall I say… ‘unpopular’ on my turf. To which Rx replied somewhat cooly, asking what I’d been up to, and suspecting that I’ve been busy breaking some hearts over here. He ended his email quickly and didn’t sign off. Might be a bit of jealousy at play (combined with my rejection last week of his invitation to stay in his room rather than the suite I booked for myself), and i wasn’t exactly expecting him to give me a high five. But apart from being informed out my situation, I did feel compelled to remind him that I am a single girl, and will continue to behave like a single girl, until someone (he) has the good sense to unsingle me. He can’t become complacent. He needs to sort out his situation. And I can’t make the same mistake I made with MD, holding out for someone whose commitments lie with someone else. And it’s been a while since I’ve been updated on his situation. I don’t expect it to be completely resolved immediately, but I won’t support it for very long.

I’ve had so much anxiety building up in anticipation of this trip. I said to my therapist these last two weeks that I don’t want to act out when I feel insecure. I want to be able to express it with words, and If I’m not met with comfort and reassurance, I want to have the strength to just walk away rather than throw bombshells to make the other person feel as insecure as I feel. My therapist saw to what extent I blame myself for this ‘acting out,’ and he reminded me that I was reacting to something when I acted that way. It’s true, I admit it, I only act that way I feel really scared. And I said how much I wish I wouldn’t feel so scared.

And then my therapist said, “has he given you reason enough to not feel scared?”

And, if I’m honest, the answer is no.

Should be interesting to see how this unfolds. Will he give me a reason to have faith?

The wind is blowing wet rain on my face, my skin. My feet are bare, and I realize that I am entirely unclothed.  A flash of lightening reveals that the road I am walking on is incomplete, and soon I will have no where else to walk. To the left and right is a sheer drop into the blackness of the night.

I hear a scream carried towards me on the wind.

I read once that panthers scream when they are tracking prey.

The wet rain rains and rains, stinging me hard. The slippery mud of the dirt road causes me to fall down, hard.

I am sliding now, to the left of the road, towards the drop, and then I am falling.

I jolt awake and I am surprised to be covered in sweat. The sweat is warm and my hair is damp on my head. The cool night air causes a wave of shivering as the perspiration dries. My eyes close again, my breathing slowly recovers from the fall in the dream.

A thought  forms without permission, it is the image of the tattooed yoga instructor, Beck.  I cover my body with the damp sheet  as if he could see me in this moment, thinking of him, shivering and unclothed.

Another  thought forms. I would like to tell Beck that I woke up sweating, dreaming of a screaming panther in the rain. I imagine him looking at me, his eyes searching mine for the meaning of the dream. I imagine him holding me while the sweat dries from my skin. Pressing me close. I sob into him.

My eyes fly open. Why would I cry?

I resolve never go past the yoga studio. Ever.

I am sure that if  my eyes looked into his,  he would know that he has already held me. Even if our embrace was only a thought, he would know.

The sky is a  light cobalt, darker at the top as the sun comes up. I watch, I stare at the sky. My eyes drowsy, I am tired.

Lying on my back. One hand rests incredibly still on my chest, my breasts, my heart. The other lays without moving on the cleft of my legs, where they meet, in the center.

I breathe in and out and my hands never move. I want to cry, but the dream, like a fever has burned away all my tears. Used them up to sweat.  What comes out instead is a long exhale from deep within me.

I fall back asleep in my own unmoving embrace.

She lay beneath him. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her naked limbs glistened red in the faint light cast by the neon lights blinking owlishly beyond the hotel window. His muscles stood out on his arms as he worked furiously above her, her hands frantically seeking out his, her pale fingers entangling with his own darker ones. Her face contorted with the sheer intensity of the moment, and short breathless gasps, regularly interspersed with the utterance of his name, tumbled from her lips. As the wordless music built up to a crescendo in the background, so too did the sensations in her body… her heart pounded with the exertion, silence roared in her ears, stars exploded behind fluttering eyelids, and her entire body thrashed furiously beneath his. A moment later, her pent-up breath escaped her with a ‘whoosh’ and her body became completely still.

He made love to her for the very first time.

—————–

She lay beneath him. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her naked limbs glistened red in the faint light cast by the neon lights blinking owlishly beyond the hotel window. His muscles stood out on his arms as he worked furiously above her, her hands frantically seeking out his, her pale fingers entangling with his own darker ones. Her face contorted with the sheer intensity of the moment, and short breathless gasps, regularly interspersed with the utterance of his name, tumbled from her lips. As the wordless music built up to a crescendo in the background, so too did the sensations in her body… her heart pounded with the exertion, silence roared in her ears, stars exploded behind fluttering eyelids, and her entire body thrashed furiously beneath his. A moment later, her pent-up breath escaped her with a ‘whoosh’ and her body became completely still.

He strangled her, putting an end to her short existence.

—————–

Thus begs the questions… are stories anything other than our own interpretation, telling not of themselves, but the hidden thoughts in our minds? And whose love was greater, for are not love and hate two sides of the same coin?

Obese is not beautiful.  It’s unhealthy (for your heart), it looks bad, and sometimes it even smells bad.  Eat a little less, and exercise a little more.

On the other hand, skinny/frail/emaciated is not beautiful either.  Eat more, and don’t completely exhaust yourself on some obsessive exercise regimen.

A healthy body lies in between the two extremes.  Examples of the way a woman should look include Beyonce Knowles, Jennifer Lopez, Amber Rose, and Britney Spears.  (I think there’s good racial diversity in that set as well:  black, Latin, white, brunette, blond.)

(I’m giving Britney the benefit of the doubt that the rumors of her having breast implants were false.  I personally don’t see the point of breast implants on any woman.  They usually look fake, like they’re under so much pressure that they’re about to burst through the woman’s chest, and small breasts are just about as good as large natural ones anyway.  They both have nipples, after all.)

– I’m not trying to be sexist, but I don’t find men attractive, so I don’t have a good opinion on them. –

“Did you have a good time? Is she pretty? Sexy?” I asked almost too anxiously.

“Oh, yes. We were instantly attracted to each other. I thought she was hot.”  He smiled.

“Well, then what?” I was anxious to hear the down and dirty.

“I took her to bed.” 

I giggled. “Good for you Hun. You need a good lay.”

“Um, well.” His hesitation surprised me.

“Let me guess. She was a shitty lay.” I chuckled, but he was serious.

“No. She was great, but she didn’t cum.” He looked at me with disappointment.

Now I was perplexed. Not by the fact that this woman didn’t have an orgasm, but why was it so important that she did. So I asked him that.

“I worked hard to get her to cum. She was wet the whole time and she felt so good, but she didn’t cum.”

I thought more about this.

“So is having an orgasm the single most important thing in having great sex?”

“Yes. It tells me that she is satisfied.” He said.

Now I wonder if all men feel this way. Young men I assume don’t care because they just want to get laid. Older men, on the other hand, may be more interested in satisfying their woman.

“How did she feel?” I asked.

“She said it did not bother her. That she felt satisfied with just having sex with me, making me feel good and that it was good for her too.”

“So why wouldn’t that be good enough? She obviously was ok with it and you made her feel good.” 

“But she didn’t cum.” 

This gave me a lot of thought. So this woman didn’t orgasm. She was totally okay with it, but he wasn’t. I wondered how she truly felt. Was she disappointed in herself? Disappointed that she wasn’t as amazing as his other lovers and she wanted to be his best? Did she feel like a failed lover? How many women feel this way?  I asked my husband about woman and orgasm. He agreed with my friend. An orgasm is the most important thing to having great sex. This took me by surprised. But my husband did say that if the woman felt satisfied regardless, than this is okay. It is whatever she wants.

I really want to know. What else makes for great sex. Intimacy? Foreplay of any type? Kissing? I would love to get more ideas from my readers. No holes barred here, I am open and honest and there is nothing embarrassing to me in discussing issues on sex. I would really love to learn more on the emotions of sex. Sure I could look it up on the Internet, but I would rather hear from real people. Your thoughts, ideas, stories, anything. Please let me know and if there is something of a more private issue, shoot me an email at acraebooks@gmail.com 

What does it mean to be a shitty lay? An amazing lover? The difference between ok sex and great sex?  Are you disappointed with sex? I need to know. My mind is always in need of information, loaded down as it already is, I can’t stop asking questions.

On a personal note to my friend’s one night stand…..It’s okay Hun. I bet you are an amazing lover!

A.C. Rae