On Alcohol

 I used to blackout a lot. I mean what is a lot? I'd rather never do it again. I feel torn, is it worth drinking anything ever if it might lead me towards that behaviour again? Is it inevitable that it will result? I stopped drinking for 3 years and I remember moments where I felt so safe because I knew that I had so much more control over what was happening to me when I was sober and took awhile for it to sink in. It was quite profound. I feel a heaviness in being strict with myself. A sense of wary, not trusting. Alcoholism in the family. It's hereditary. It's genetic. My mother's drinking scared the shit out of me. My own almost killed me. Such evil possibilities seem to result. Accidents. Falling off the roof and breaking your back. It's soothing, alcohol. Suddenly you feel like everyone around you is a friend and it doesn't feel like work. Suddenly you're not sad anymore or having a bad day. It's a magic elixir that makes things easier, makes life easier. Maybe it even makes sex easier. Makes death easier. Last thing I want is to die from an alcohol related incident, including it being caused by another person and me being sober. One of my worst fears really. At the end of the day the only control I have is over myself. Safely drinking. Is it possible? 

Step 4: Anger at Men

 I feel furious at men. I feel a never-ending anger that seems to arise most days for the past few weeks. There's a feeling that in order to be in relationship with a man, that I have to put more emotional effort into one conversation than they do in a whole month (probably longer). That when conflict arises, if I don't address it, then it will pile up and continue to build. That if I didn't make plans with him, then we would never hang out. That I'm expected to receive rejection and then have no feelings in response. Then, I'm expected to then 'fix' everything so that he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable that I'm feeling rejected by the way he interacted with me. So there is no room for me to have an experience, my experience. I have to cater to his experience and his reality and his way. It's his way that's the correct way...right? The Way. Tired of this bullshit. Actually physically tired.   

My part: I've accepted this expectation. I've catered to all the men in my life, allowing their reality to be bigger than mine, more dominant. I've twisted and bent to make myself fit in to their lives, to learn their needs and their wants and to become those things. It's such a habit that I can barely notice that I'm doing it until I'm exhausted and then I feel too exhausted to do anything about it. Then, I feel like a victim to this world that doesn't really have a lot of space for me in it. I'm 'too much', 'too needy', 'too sensitive'. 

I'm sorry to myself for all the times I've made myself smaller and all the ways that I will continue to do so. Unsocializing myself is a process that may take longer than my lifetime. I will continue to initiate hard conversations, do the majority of resolving a conflict or negotiating both my own and my male friend's boundaries, do thoughtful things for him behind the scenes in ways that will never be reciprocated, and do the majority of coordinating spending quality time together. At least I'm aware now and I can potentially feel like it's a choice rather than a trap that I have to consistently fall into.

I'm sorry to all the men who have played this familiar pattern out with me as it benefits neither of us in our efforts to create sustainable and meaningful connections. I have loved and continue to love many of these men, but have had to reduce my connection to them because I'm just...tired. I'm feel exhausted, depleted, afraid.

Trevor

My baby making factory is on fire. I cannot even handle my libido recently. It feels ragingly ravenous. My belly is full of heat that rolls down into the back of my knees, lighting everything up along the way. Down into my feet, into the core of the earth connecting me to the miracle that is life. Nothing more erotic that the ability to create life. The idea that you could be connected to another person so intimately. Terrifying and exhilarating. It's hard to even write about, my brain glitches lol. The fantasy can be hot. The hormones screaming at you to do the thing, your vulva pulses and thick wet strands falling out of your cunt from it quivering with excitement, anticipation, pure need.

His smell is delicious. I don't even know how to describe the timbre of it because my mind is melty when it lingers in my nose or when I'm rolling around in his bed full of scent and drunk on it. Literally drunk, it's so...delicious. That's all I can really say.

Kissing him is like being in a boat that is rocking gentle on a clear blue day in the sea. Waters are warm and turquoise and the rocking feels like you're being lulled into a nice dream. A wave crests occasionally. Hands roam and explore, the desert of the skin, hills and brushing softly past peaks. Oh...so...softly. 

Making you watch my face while I cum most intimate and terrifying thing that I can think of. Commanding that you don't take your eyes off the way that your body being close to mine can bring about such an intense pleasure. Consuming pleasure. 

How can I fight with that? I'm not even gonna waste my energy. I'm just gonna ride along the bliss. 

 

A Collection of Moments

C F Am F - DGBmG

Thought to open my heart

Do you come a la carte

I don't know if I can handle the whole thing

Maybe we can go slow

Like the age of the radio

Sense each other gently from both near and far

A moment is never a moment until it is

It cannot be captured or faked or missed

You cannot hold it up in a heist

For it is a moment and it comes by surprise

Slid your fingers in my mouth

it was a moment

And then when we kissed 

it was a moment (again and again)

And then I let you touch me on my most sensitive parts

and there were many moments which my mind has marked with hearts

It was a moment, a collection of moments

Pretty little moments

Some awkward moments

Hot, hot, hot moments

Some taco filled moments

Some moment filled tacos

More Erotic Bicycles

 He straddled my frame facing me on my saddle, feet mid-rotation, pinning me in midair. "Hi",  I whispered, his face only an inch from mine. He simply stared into my eyes. First I felt shy and looked away, then I peaked back into his irises and felt hypnotized. I could smell the beer on his breath and I wanted so badly for him to lean forward so I could take the smallest sip of him in. His sweaty scent filled my nostrils and almost made me fall off the saddle. He gripped my hips with his hands, holding me in place. I felt my vulva pulse in the cutout of the Brooks C19 carved. Holding me steady brought his face even closer and I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He slid his hands up my back and tried to move his body closer, but my knees got in the way. We giggled and I parted my knees while he kept kissing me and making my head spin with hormones. His hands found their way back down to my butt and then underneath my saddle to the sensitive folds of the cutout. At first he just put his hand over the hole so I could feel the heat of it energizing my most sensitive bits. My breath caught and my pussy flexed, screaming to be caressed. I moaned into his mouth and he moved his hand ever so slighted. I pressed myself towards the warm heat, but the saddle pressed back into my pelvic bones. He grinned wickedly into my eyes as he watched the desperate desire grow on my face. My hips began to rock forward and backward, my feet pressed hard into my pedals and he slid his palm gently back and forth against my bulging vulva poking through the cutout. I leaned forward with my head on his shoulder for support, my hips taking over with a mind of their own. I buried my face in his neck as I came and moaned loud enough that he looked embarrassed that someone might notice us. 

On Kink: Humiliation

     In this video by the channel Loving BDSM (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xklimaaSjKE), Kayla and JB discuss erotic humiliation, also known as humiliation play or degradation. Something that stood out for me that Kayla pointed out is humiliation is difficult to define because what individuals find humiliating can vary dramatically. This highlights the intimacy of having the knowledge of what feels humiliating to folks in your social group. 

    I recently was told by a new lover that one of their flaws in relationship is that they can say very mean and cutting things to their partner. While they are working towards not doing this, it has become a force of habit that is difficult to change. Due to reading Existential Kink by Elliott, by the next day I had the idea that perhaps it was something to lean into and use in our play together. 

    What I didn't realize at the time was that this is a form of power exchange. The amount of power that someone holds just by knowing what creates humiliation in another person is very intimate. The kind of safety that humiliation play requires takes time to foster and will potentially be a part of my play with my lover at a later date. Until then I am delving into other people's experiences so I can learn as much as possible to do it safely.

    Ms. ElleX (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLAwDh_GQDQ) reads a followers questions about humiliation play and responds with love. Elle points out that when we are emotionally shutting down during a scene that it's important to pause and take a break. Plowing through our discomfort and dissociating is not helping us to fully allow ourselves to enjoy the experience. She brings up the concept of compare and despair reminding us that our sexuality is a buffet that we can pick and choose from, it's not about comparing what we like to those around us. 

    While I'm tempted to explore what causes me humiliation in this post, I want to acknowledge that it is not safe to share with just anyone what causes me humiliation because I cannot control who's hands this information might fall into. Protect yourself, share with safe people.

    Within the bounds of consent, there are no 'correct' choices when it comes to play and sexuality

Crying cryaing cring

 Cry! Cry if you need to. There's something special on the other side. A relief, a reveal, a moment of peace. You have to let go in order to let it happen. Can you let go of control? Cause that's what it's going to take. You're going to have to let go and see what happens. 

At first it's gonna feel real ugly. Like you're too much. Like it's all too much. Maybe you make some unusual noises and, even if you're lucky and no one ridicules you, then you'll have a vulnerability hangover. Wondering why those, actually innoculous, faces were so judgement of your woes.

Because when I cry it's usually a buildup of things so I might be surrounded by milk spilled, but ultimately the well is much deeper.

Then it gets a little easier. I have started to trust that I can let go and stop crying when I'm done. I don't have to feel trapped in it. It's like opening a release valve just a little and then having the power to close it back up again. It doesn't mean the tears aren't really, it means you opened yourself up to the person in front of you that much and it wasn't so unsafe that you lost control. 

As a counsellor I allow my eyes to get misty and sometimes a stray tear is released. I don't feel ashamed, I model that it's okay to feel. It's scary and it's intense but it brings us closer to the meaning of life. To the purpose of existence. 

So I understand our conundrum.

Do we want to feel close to the purpose of existence? Is it comfortable over there? Is it kinda exhausting and, worst case, what if I feel nothing??? What if I'm the one most f*ed up person who feels nothing even when I'm staring Goddess in the face. 

Then what?