Is not enough. Transformation complete. I have turned my knight into a power lover. Anything he learns from here on out is PhD level. He can make me come with his mouth, he can find my clit with just his fingers, he can tease me into begging for it, moaning and writhing. I'm living on ibuprofen the last couple days because my body won't listen to my pleas to keep it external. He walks in with that boyish, excited smile and my body screams, "Touch me! Kiss me! Fuck me!"
I normally only write on this blog under the influence--usually of alcohol. Pretty sure I'm love-drunk right now. My body's swimming around me. Better go find the ibuprofen, so I won't cry when he comes back in.
If your thinking I'm crazy to keep wanting him inside me when I'm obviously worn, just watch the Mr. White sing Lovin' Cup with the Stones. Then imagine a smile like that directed at you by your lover, your knight, that makes your whole body sing. You'll be begging for it too, ibuprofen and all!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Listening to my Heart
My knight has been away, but I know everything is OK. People may think that he is being used, that I need a lot of attention. What they forget is that I am not a feminist. I want him to think he owns me. I am his girl. I want him to own me. I feel safe knowing that I am not under my own jurisdiction. My Knight knows everything is OK. They don't even know me. My heart tells me what to do. I am his girl. Everything I do is for him.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Teach myself, maybe that will be nice
Series of circumstances has made me focus on parts of my life. How one path lead to another. Guess I'm trying to understand who I am? Here what I told someone I probably should have not:
I realized in the traffic home that the (partial) story of the cocaine guy probably left the impression that I was raped. I was never raped. I was NEVER raped. There are times were the condition I was in leaves one to worry about the state of morality among men (young and old), but whatever happened (and I don't always remember) I did invite them back with the definite intention of sex. It was always about power.
So, cocaine guy--lets call him Carlos, as I did then even though that was not his name. I was camping at the beach with my best friend, her sister, some other friends, you get the idea. Lily (bff's sister, 40's movie star) boyfriend was headed down from Austin and bringing a friend. I had recently read an article that said it was bad for women to to sleep w/ 10 or more men before marriage. Currently I had slept w/ 9 (not including giving my friend a blow job one night a couple years before this) and decided the this friend was going to be #10 to put me squarely in the realm of slut. Whenever I decided that I would have sex with this stranger, I couldn't remember his name and started him calling him Carlos. Lily's boyfriend called again when they stopped at a grocery and asked if there was anything they should bring. I called out that they should be sure to bring condoms because i was going to have sex w/ "Carlos" when he got there. I got a blank stare, but then they all figured out who was meant by Carlos. By the end of the night, we had indeed had quite a large amount of sex. According to Maya's (bff) account later, half of (a beach town) could hear it. The next afternoon, we all had breakfast together at a restaurant before heading off in our own directions. I asked right across several tables stuck together what Carlos's actual name was, so that I could write it in my book. (at the time I was keeping a list of men. I later gave up this practice otu of lack of caring or wanting to keep count)
Fast forward several months to Lily's 21st bday party. I am currently with one of my short-term boyfriends (whole 'nother story). Carlos is there and pushes me into a bathroom and locks the door. He wants me to undress so that he can take pictures of me. (long side note: at the time I had a 25 inch waist with practically the same size (although considerably less saggy) breasts and ass. I indeed, as one man put it, had a body like Betty Boop--only longer. For comparison, I currently have a 28" waist. And the wonderful red pubic hair--as you know I feel is the best part of being a redhead.) I kept tell him no, and trying to get back to the door, when he said, "Come on, someone like you?" And he was right. At that point in my life, that was a very accurate expression of surprise and frustration. Even so, I got out of the bathroom w/o ever taking off my clothes and left the party. This is the point in my life where I completely identified, and would be accurately described, as a slut. He was right. A person like me shouldn't care what kind of liberties others take. While I never took money (more's the pity) and I was always in control (for the most part) of what happened to me, it was all out of deep sadness. At the time, I would have become angry if someone said I was acting out from the sadness. Isn't anger a normal response to honesty we don't want to hear?
It was from that time, that Lily has commented on before. She told me once that she never dispared of the woman I have become with (My Knight), because I was obviously never happy then and I am obviously happy now (this was before the current period of sadness).
Know that this is not the worst story. I was not a nice person. (My Knight) came to me when I was tired. So tired. And he held on. Passion doesn't just express itself in one area of life. It is all over, and at that point it was wilder from years of... of something that corresponds to every bad idea about men being confirmed. He held on so tight. Years later, when I realized that he was in some part a normal man in regards to sex, I was able to come to him as an equal, as myself, and know that he is not actually bettter than the rest of us.
In retrospect, and sobriety, I believe it was Lily's 18th birthday. Maybe she will let me know. Nothing about that time is direct to a timeline. I became even more high a week or so ago and told my Knight all about this conversation. He does have the right to know all the ugliness. There is so much ugly back there.
Recently I have seen doubt in others eyes. Doubt in me, doubt in my trust of my knight. I have put all my chips in one bowl and am dependent on another person. I am not afraid of that dependency. Nor am I worried about him being dissatisfied with me. There is no one so amazing to me as my knight. We can exist together simultaneously on an ethereal world where conversations are obscure and intriguing to the extreme; and on the basic world where we love based on sex and consideration. No man I have ever met has lived up to being this close to a true genius. And if he needs to be fucked by a whore, I am just the woman for THAT job. We are both old enough to accept, and revel in, that part of our relationship. We are enough for each other.
Seems like I am teaching myself. Maybe that is nice.
I realized in the traffic home that the (partial) story of the cocaine guy probably left the impression that I was raped. I was never raped. I was NEVER raped. There are times were the condition I was in leaves one to worry about the state of morality among men (young and old), but whatever happened (and I don't always remember) I did invite them back with the definite intention of sex. It was always about power.
So, cocaine guy--lets call him Carlos, as I did then even though that was not his name. I was camping at the beach with my best friend, her sister, some other friends, you get the idea. Lily (bff's sister, 40's movie star) boyfriend was headed down from Austin and bringing a friend. I had recently read an article that said it was bad for women to to sleep w/ 10 or more men before marriage. Currently I had slept w/ 9 (not including giving my friend a blow job one night a couple years before this) and decided the this friend was going to be #10 to put me squarely in the realm of slut. Whenever I decided that I would have sex with this stranger, I couldn't remember his name and started him calling him Carlos. Lily's boyfriend called again when they stopped at a grocery and asked if there was anything they should bring. I called out that they should be sure to bring condoms because i was going to have sex w/ "Carlos" when he got there. I got a blank stare, but then they all figured out who was meant by Carlos. By the end of the night, we had indeed had quite a large amount of sex. According to Maya's (bff) account later, half of (a beach town) could hear it. The next afternoon, we all had breakfast together at a restaurant before heading off in our own directions. I asked right across several tables stuck together what Carlos's actual name was, so that I could write it in my book. (at the time I was keeping a list of men. I later gave up this practice otu of lack of caring or wanting to keep count)
Fast forward several months to Lily's 21st bday party. I am currently with one of my short-term boyfriends (whole 'nother story). Carlos is there and pushes me into a bathroom and locks the door. He wants me to undress so that he can take pictures of me. (long side note: at the time I had a 25 inch waist with practically the same size (although considerably less saggy) breasts and ass. I indeed, as one man put it, had a body like Betty Boop--only longer. For comparison, I currently have a 28" waist. And the wonderful red pubic hair--as you know I feel is the best part of being a redhead.) I kept tell him no, and trying to get back to the door, when he said, "Come on, someone like you?" And he was right. At that point in my life, that was a very accurate expression of surprise and frustration. Even so, I got out of the bathroom w/o ever taking off my clothes and left the party. This is the point in my life where I completely identified, and would be accurately described, as a slut. He was right. A person like me shouldn't care what kind of liberties others take. While I never took money (more's the pity) and I was always in control (for the most part) of what happened to me, it was all out of deep sadness. At the time, I would have become angry if someone said I was acting out from the sadness. Isn't anger a normal response to honesty we don't want to hear?
It was from that time, that Lily has commented on before. She told me once that she never dispared of the woman I have become with (My Knight), because I was obviously never happy then and I am obviously happy now (this was before the current period of sadness).
Know that this is not the worst story. I was not a nice person. (My Knight) came to me when I was tired. So tired. And he held on. Passion doesn't just express itself in one area of life. It is all over, and at that point it was wilder from years of... of something that corresponds to every bad idea about men being confirmed. He held on so tight. Years later, when I realized that he was in some part a normal man in regards to sex, I was able to come to him as an equal, as myself, and know that he is not actually bettter than the rest of us.
In retrospect, and sobriety, I believe it was Lily's 18th birthday. Maybe she will let me know. Nothing about that time is direct to a timeline. I became even more high a week or so ago and told my Knight all about this conversation. He does have the right to know all the ugliness. There is so much ugly back there.
Recently I have seen doubt in others eyes. Doubt in me, doubt in my trust of my knight. I have put all my chips in one bowl and am dependent on another person. I am not afraid of that dependency. Nor am I worried about him being dissatisfied with me. There is no one so amazing to me as my knight. We can exist together simultaneously on an ethereal world where conversations are obscure and intriguing to the extreme; and on the basic world where we love based on sex and consideration. No man I have ever met has lived up to being this close to a true genius. And if he needs to be fucked by a whore, I am just the woman for THAT job. We are both old enough to accept, and revel in, that part of our relationship. We are enough for each other.
Seems like I am teaching myself. Maybe that is nice.
Monday, December 5, 2011
My dreams, they aren't as empty
Maybe this post should be name, "If there is anything good about me". Either way. I don't feel that I can make grown up decisions. Well, really one grown up decision. What's the lesson here? That I can't play nineteen any longer?
I have not closely tracked my ovulation, but it felt like my knight might have made it home in time. Now I know that was not the case. I know for a very obvious reason. What makes it worse is that I woke up thinking that I don't want another baby. I love my life. I am excited about my life. I have an amazing and cool husband who gets my rocks off and is building me a massive high bed (think pool table); two awesome kids; and celebrity lust addiction. My life is moving ahead.
I don't understand why this thing had to happen. The miscarriage thing. Half the month I feel like this baby idea is crazy, and half the month I obsessively take pregnancy tests. My conscience is definitely corrupt. It can't last this way forever. I will run out of thyroid drugs and no one will prescribe for me what I am doing with them.
The problem is that now I can't make the decision not to keep trying. At the same time, my knight cannot make that decision without risking my unconsciously holding it against him. I had moved past any and all anger I felt about the vasectomy before this happen. The miscarriage. Why does this shadow my life? My miracle baby that is never to be. My anti-miracle.
I have not closely tracked my ovulation, but it felt like my knight might have made it home in time. Now I know that was not the case. I know for a very obvious reason. What makes it worse is that I woke up thinking that I don't want another baby. I love my life. I am excited about my life. I have an amazing and cool husband who gets my rocks off and is building me a massive high bed (think pool table); two awesome kids; and celebrity lust addiction. My life is moving ahead.
I don't understand why this thing had to happen. The miscarriage thing. Half the month I feel like this baby idea is crazy, and half the month I obsessively take pregnancy tests. My conscience is definitely corrupt. It can't last this way forever. I will run out of thyroid drugs and no one will prescribe for me what I am doing with them.
The problem is that now I can't make the decision not to keep trying. At the same time, my knight cannot make that decision without risking my unconsciously holding it against him. I had moved past any and all anger I felt about the vasectomy before this happen. The miscarriage. Why does this shadow my life? My miracle baby that is never to be. My anti-miracle.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Howl at your beauty, like a dog in heat.
Series of circumstances lead to me being ready to put photos on this blog. Well, possibly only one photo. Just know that I own a copy of a very easy and well made tights pattern. Enter the most hypnotizing red, white, and black stretch jersey. Add to the recipe meeting a very artistic and talented photographer who wants some sewing work. How could a blog photo NOT happen?!
My Knight is a better person than I am. I knew that when I met him, and despite being a stronger woman now than I was then, it is still true. When he called from the hotel last night, I told him all about my photography exchange plans and the rendezvous to discuss both projects--photo shoot and sewing. This good man, my Knight, who knows I chat about sexuality with all my girl friends (and even long time male friends), had a pang of jealousy that I did so with this male photographer. He was really rather sweet about it and thinks he might want to be there for the shoot.
While I do enjoy the attention I get from all the young men who like my red mohawk, I could never desire anyone other than my Knight. I may have the ego of a nineteen year old, but at thirty-two, I know there is no one so good as my Knight who would actually want ALL of me. This good man, the best man I have ever met, has seen me in every low state and continues to worship at the alter of my femininity and desire. What spoiled housewife could ask for more?
My Knight is a better person than I am. I knew that when I met him, and despite being a stronger woman now than I was then, it is still true. When he called from the hotel last night, I told him all about my photography exchange plans and the rendezvous to discuss both projects--photo shoot and sewing. This good man, my Knight, who knows I chat about sexuality with all my girl friends (and even long time male friends), had a pang of jealousy that I did so with this male photographer. He was really rather sweet about it and thinks he might want to be there for the shoot.
While I do enjoy the attention I get from all the young men who like my red mohawk, I could never desire anyone other than my Knight. I may have the ego of a nineteen year old, but at thirty-two, I know there is no one so good as my Knight who would actually want ALL of me. This good man, the best man I have ever met, has seen me in every low state and continues to worship at the alter of my femininity and desire. What spoiled housewife could ask for more?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Somebody's screaming, staring at the ceiling
And finally it is me, again! I have been wanting to post this for days now, but trying to figure out ways to have more sex without the kids noticing has distracted me. My Knight left again this morning. This means there will be no pink line this month. At least there are good times. Maybe I can live the rest of my life without a pink line, if it is full of good times. Still, eliminating, again, the chance of a pink line feels wrong.
Revisiting my last post--I find I cannot be upset with Mr. White. Although I know that it takes two to make a marriage happy, I also know that you can't make someone stay in a marriage when they refuse to do so. My image of Mr. White has him a an old fashioned wild boy. Old fashioned, in that he does not want to split with the women who leave him. He wants to figure out a solution. I married an old fashioned man. He's not wild, but probably that's why he married me. The thing is, I am not actually wild. For him, it is wild enough that I have vibrant red hair, a round ass, and a mohawk. Bonus is that I want to fuck him all the time--at least when my cycle throws up the libido hormones.
It has been such a good time the last few days. Months without having this much fun together. My knight left this morning before dawn and I woke in a bed empty of any full grown man. I woke alone and cried. To be so happy for a few days and have it ripped away. Life sure has been nice to me, but there is a price.
Revisiting my last post--I find I cannot be upset with Mr. White. Although I know that it takes two to make a marriage happy, I also know that you can't make someone stay in a marriage when they refuse to do so. My image of Mr. White has him a an old fashioned wild boy. Old fashioned, in that he does not want to split with the women who leave him. He wants to figure out a solution. I married an old fashioned man. He's not wild, but probably that's why he married me. The thing is, I am not actually wild. For him, it is wild enough that I have vibrant red hair, a round ass, and a mohawk. Bonus is that I want to fuck him all the time--at least when my cycle throws up the libido hormones.
It has been such a good time the last few days. Months without having this much fun together. My knight left this morning before dawn and I woke in a bed empty of any full grown man. I woke alone and cried. To be so happy for a few days and have it ripped away. Life sure has been nice to me, but there is a price.
Monday, November 14, 2011
So think of something new
Just to show how out of popular culture I am, I just found out that Mr. White is splitting from his wife as of June. This adds a new level to my lonely moping.
Obviously it is none of my business. Cursed with a family sized level of compassion, I can understand how easily things can fall apart for good people. I also understand that two people have to work to make a marriage happy for it to be.
But Fuck it! Sometimes somebody has to just come out and say, "Let's find what the fuck is going to make us happy together and do that!" Love bubbles fade away if you don't feed them.
At a Halloween party with mostly single parents as guests, I met a lovely artist. I am actually able to have good conversations about single parenting--spending about 40% of the year as a stay-at-home single parent. This artist said wasn't it lucky my Knight and I had so much time apart so that we would stay passionate for each other. Let me tell you now that I kept my mouth shut when she said that. That is the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard.
Yes, it is good to have your own interests. When you are apart for long stretches, all you have is your own interests. Phones and video conferences and instant messaging does not make a man who can hold you while you cry over a stressful event of the day. An event, most likely, that you will be over by tomorrow, and certainly by the next time you see the man that should be holding you. Basically, days, weeks, months, apart just leads to feeling separate. It is too easy to just get on with life and focus on being happy. That is human nature. Except maybe for those who are actually 19 years old.
When faced with the obstacles of a busy life and too much time apart, it takes an effort to make sure you keep your mate alive inside you every minute of every day. To put a 19 year old effort into maintaining passion. Also, you have to understand how hormones play a role in passion and feed on that. You need to make the commitment that staying together is more important than being happy while you are apart.
We've lost this type of commitment in our society. At least sometimes it feels so. We don't teach marriage or mate selection to our children.
So I wish the best for everyone. I wish for everyone to learn the lessons they need to in time to make use of them. I wish for second, and third and fourth, chances to make happiness. I wish for everyone the painful compassion that leads to making others happy.
19 or 32, saddened either way
(post script: The compassion I feel is honest. That doesn't mean I don't have an overly healthy sense of self worth. I am nothing if not self aware. If I didn't have such a big ego, I would have an inferiority complex being married to a man who is actually a better person than I am. As it is, I am brazen enough to be a good partner.)
Obviously it is none of my business. Cursed with a family sized level of compassion, I can understand how easily things can fall apart for good people. I also understand that two people have to work to make a marriage happy for it to be.
But Fuck it! Sometimes somebody has to just come out and say, "Let's find what the fuck is going to make us happy together and do that!" Love bubbles fade away if you don't feed them.
At a Halloween party with mostly single parents as guests, I met a lovely artist. I am actually able to have good conversations about single parenting--spending about 40% of the year as a stay-at-home single parent. This artist said wasn't it lucky my Knight and I had so much time apart so that we would stay passionate for each other. Let me tell you now that I kept my mouth shut when she said that. That is the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard.
Yes, it is good to have your own interests. When you are apart for long stretches, all you have is your own interests. Phones and video conferences and instant messaging does not make a man who can hold you while you cry over a stressful event of the day. An event, most likely, that you will be over by tomorrow, and certainly by the next time you see the man that should be holding you. Basically, days, weeks, months, apart just leads to feeling separate. It is too easy to just get on with life and focus on being happy. That is human nature. Except maybe for those who are actually 19 years old.
When faced with the obstacles of a busy life and too much time apart, it takes an effort to make sure you keep your mate alive inside you every minute of every day. To put a 19 year old effort into maintaining passion. Also, you have to understand how hormones play a role in passion and feed on that. You need to make the commitment that staying together is more important than being happy while you are apart.
We've lost this type of commitment in our society. At least sometimes it feels so. We don't teach marriage or mate selection to our children.
So I wish the best for everyone. I wish for everyone to learn the lessons they need to in time to make use of them. I wish for second, and third and fourth, chances to make happiness. I wish for everyone the painful compassion that leads to making others happy.
19 or 32, saddened either way
(post script: The compassion I feel is honest. That doesn't mean I don't have an overly healthy sense of self worth. I am nothing if not self aware. If I didn't have such a big ego, I would have an inferiority complex being married to a man who is actually a better person than I am. As it is, I am brazen enough to be a good partner.)
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