Archive for May, 2012

Some things I have learned in a quarter decade.

I will never be exactly the person I want to be.

It’s the process that is most important.

I am unable to accurately assess myself.

People are imperfect, immature, selfish, manipulative, short-sighted, and self-destructive.

You can accept that and love them anyway.

Everyone has had at least one REALLY FUCKED UP thing happen to them.

Always keep this in mind.

Dialogue breeds understanding.

Understanding breeds empathy.

You can never have too much empathy.

Compassion is much more difficult than pity.

Everyone can benefit from therapy.

Forgiving someone is more for your benefit than theirs.

Patience is good for you.

So is exercise.

So is a healthy dose of humility.

Being guilty because you made a mistake is not the same as learning from it.

Sometimes the worst that can happen is really the best (even if you don’t realize it just then).

The world is both beautiful and terrifying.

So are people.

Relationships are fluid.

Jealousy and possessiveness are detrimental to all relationships.

Cherish what you have while you have it, and let it go when it is over.

Shakespeare had it right.

Take responsibility for yourself and your actions.

Tactful honesty is incredibly difficult, but a worthwhile endeavor.

Don’t be afraid of constructive criticism.

Say “no” when you feel like it.

Not everyone has to like you.

I am terrible at taking my own advice.

Expect respect from everyone and don’t accept otherwise.

Expect the same of yourself towards others.

People are more important than profits.

In a perfect world everyone would have equal access to (and affordable): food, shelter, healthcare and education.

This is not a perfect world.

We are fucked.

Despite that, swimming naked is delightful!

Mind-altering substances teach you something about yourself.

Laughing is the best thing ever!

(Aside from orgasms.)

If you doubt me you should probably take care of that next chance you get.

People are not equal (not in ability), but we are equal in worth.

Everyone is deserving of love.

Your folks have cooler stories than you, quite possibly because you don’t expect them to.

Moderation is key.

But sometimes excess is exciting!

Don’t take yourself too seriously.

We are not outside of the ecosystem, even though we like to pretend this is so.

We are destroying this planet because of this.

Society and culture are constructions.

Therefore so are gender roles, ideas of worth, concepts of proper etiquette, morals, etc.

If you don’t like the ones offered, construct your own.

The patriarchy is real.

The multiverse may be as well.

Science is awesome!

So is music.

Art is pretty cool, too.

So is sex, but be smart about it!

Intimacy is not the same thing as sex, though there is often a correlation.

Making friends with a skittish critter is one of the most satisfying experiences ever.

Don’t be a dumbass about it, but every chance you get do something you are afraid of!

I am so very thankful I grew up without religion.

As long as you are not an asshole I don’t care what color/s, gender/s, sexual orientation (or lack thereof) you are.

Neither do I care about your educational or criminal history, how financially well-endowed you are, or how well you dress as long as you are one cool cat.

I do, however, prefer those who are laid-back, open-minded, and liberal.

I will probably judge you a bit on your ability to string a sentence together.

Sorry about that.

Still, I imagine you will do the same.

I forgive you for it.

*wry grin*




The feel of you on my skin is whisper soft. It feels like relief, like satisfaction. I spread myself against you, my flesh pressing fabric. I feel the friction, the heat it produces. My skin tingles as goosebumps rise from the thrill. I curl my toes and arch my spine as I press my face into pillows. Sighs escape my lips as I shiver in a quiet sort of ecstasy. I burrow my way under the covers, wrapping myself up with you, and tangling you around me. Here I can breathe deep and slow, finding solace and rest. My only sorrow being how soon I must extricate my bones from your delicious clutches to make my way back into the world.

My jersey sheets were a great investment.


Lydia writes stories in her spare time. It started innocently enough, like “See Dick share his lollipop with Jane.” Soon enough, though, it became more along the lines of “See Jane suck on Dick’s lollipop” and “Watch Dick watching Jane suck on his lollipop.” She is not sure how it happened, but the fact of the matter was Lydia wrote sexy stories before she even properly knew about sex. She just liked the way the words sounded in her head, the way they felt in her mouth, the pictures they formed.

So quite honestly, it isn’t her intention to write like she does, not exactly. It simply cannot be helped. The words, she tastes them on her tongue before she presses enter. The syllables are creamy or sharp, light or heady. They make her feel high, the endorphins traveling through her system, bleeding blood into her nipples. She is fond of the word pussy, for instance. It sounds so sweet, like a pet. She also is fond of the word cunt, of the way it bites. She can feel it- a heaviness in the molars. She wants to feel her tongue swimming against the edges of her teeth as she forms the words. The syllables, they make her salivate Pavlovian in response. Thinking cock, tits, thighs, flesh, her mouth fills. Her throat works, struggling to keep her from drowning in her own hot saliva. She is embarrassed of the way she responds to phonemes and morphemes. In public places they make her squeeze her thighs together, squirming, pressing. Often she is left breathless by the endless combinations: lips on neck, fingers pressing into skin, scent of sex, taste of sweat. Even the click of a tongue is enough is set her pulse racing. . .

When she is not writing Lydia goes on dates. Her dates, they all inevitably end up disappointed. It can’t be helped. She meets them online, and behind the screen she is more clever, more sexy, more interesting than in person. With a keyboard she can be so much more than just a young woman. She can be the dream of flesh, of the smell of skin and the scratch of hair. Fantasy is so much more powerful than reality, she knows.

These people she meets, they believe that because she writes erotica she loves the act of sex. So they picture her doing the acts she depicts: tied up and panting, a corset pinched tight, begging, demanding, screaming, moaning, licking, tasting, fucking. They imagine placing their tongues on her and lapping, of inserting things into her, of having her insert things into them. They want to fill her, to possess. Or they want to be filled by her, to be possessed. What they never seem to consider, that which always comes as such a surprise, is that she doesn’t actually enjoy the reality of sex. It is messy. It is uncomfortable. It is dirty, disappointing, and boring. Sex to Lydia is simply research- fuel for her imagination for when she is alone, a quiet voice in the darkness.

She therefore doesn’t expect much from her dates. Sometimes her date will make a move, starting with a light touch on the forearm that ends with their fingers inside of her. Other times she simply leaves with the memory of another face, another body, another voice to add to her collection. Safe in her mind, these phantoms of fantasy, Lydia can bring them out to play whenever she wishes. That is all she usually wants, but sometimes she needs new material, or can’t help but hope. So, she continues agrees to meet these strangers despite the failures.

The one she is meeting tonight used their words with skill and precision, causing a shiver to run up her spine as she read them. She forces herself not to get worked up about it, though. Lydia has met those with silver tongues before. At first they seem to understand. They use the right phrases, the right rhythm, but it is still the physical they are after.

Flesh on flesh, they forget themselves, their words falter, regressing to grunts and moans and sighs, leaving her unsatisfied.

Epicurus was on to something there

I used to worry about everything constantly.
I worried about my car falling apart, my body falling apart, losing my apartment, losing my hair, whatever. I worried about these things at work, at home, in the bath, before bed, even in dreams. There was no rest. When I got overwhelmed I would have panic attacks, usually while I was on the way to work and driving. (Let me tell you, while no time is a good time for a panic attack, you driving with one is highly problematic and not at all conducive to making it go away.)
When I say used to, I don’t mean that I no longer have any worries ever, or that they don’t at times overwhelm. It is simply that I am not longer continually preoccupied with these thoughts. They are no longer a priority. I mean sure, the fact that my car is slowly rattling itself to bits and I don’t have the money to fix it concerns me greatly. As does the fact I have no health insurance of any kind.
But honestly, what am I do to about these things?
My finances are limited. My skills and abilities are limited.
The only solutions I can come up with don’t feel like solutions to me, rather they feel like punishments. So, rather than fret and fuss I simply decided to shrug my shoulders and go on my way. It isn’t that I simply disregard the possibility of misfortune. Goodness no, I remain very well aware of all the possibilities. (One doesn’t get over doom and gloom THAT easily.)
However, rather than spinning horror reels through my head I simply do what I can and leave it at that. I have the oil changed in my car and save what money I can for repairs. I brush and floss and avoid eating French fries at every meal (as much as I’d enjoy that). I remain responsible and reasonably productive.
The inevitable pitfalls of life still loom; I am not naïve.
Nor (as I previously mentioned) am I always successful in chilling the fuck out.
But let me tell you, when I do, when I can take a deep breath and relax and enjoy a quiet moment of peace, everything makes sense.
Everything makes sense, and I am glad to be alive.
Thank goodness for that.


Dreams of water

Gently floating

Just kelp in the sea

Soaking up the sun.


Dreams of danger

Roller coasters

Insecure and unconcerned

Viewing the decent.