Random Acts of Awesome

That's what I spent this holiday season being. Yes, that's right. I really got into the christmas spirit this year. I gave my all to my fellow man, I was happily generous and giving, I was greedy and excessive, I was cranky and stressed, and I was drunk as fuck.  I went and saw a movie Christmas Day with Z, which was a lot of fun. We saw Black Swan. Interesting movie. Then we went to Santeria and had amazing mexican food, which he couldn't eat most of because there was more jalapeños than meat in his. This fact changed our plans from going on a strip club crawl to going back to his place so his belly could settle down. We were only supposed to cuddle and watch a movie, but that never happens. I always go there with the best of intentions. Half the time we're at his house because he doesn't feel up to going out, and we always plan on just sitting around cuddling and watching movies. In fact, I've taken to trying not to cuddle so as to facilitate the "Friends

God, I started writing this one out YEARS ago, and just now finished it. It's interesting, seeing the changes, not only in the way I write but in how I feel about things... I've been stood up for the first time in my young, uneventful life. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, my ego is looking down a gaping hole of doom, with the “Well, OF COURSE he stood you up! You're ugly!” birds of prey, and the “Oh god, I'm never going to get laid again unless I accept the attentions of desperate men who think I'm a whore...” jackals circling and looking ravenous. On the other hand, I'm feeling pretty lackadaisical about it all. I didn't allow my self to stay at home and eat chedderwurst and watch The Secret Diary of a Call Girl, like I really wanted to (rowr! Billy Piper...). I got sexed out and caught the bus downtown and let myself look at any man who walked past instead of ignoring them the way I normally do. This pulled my ego out of the land o

The concept of polyamory has been coming up quite a bit in my life lately. Both of the periphery, and directly related to me. It's gotten me thinking about what it means, whether it's truly viable, whether it's something I want for myself. Honestly, I tend to think I'm too jealous a person to deal with a serious, committed partner having sex with other people. And when I'm in a serious, committed relationship, I tend to not be attracted to other people. That's probably a mix of upbringing and genetics, since my parents were passionately in love and my father never looked at another woman. I'm softwired to expect that from a mate. But, when it comes to friendships and sex, my views are very different. I'm involved with a married couple, both of whom I consider very good friends, and both of whom I'm sexually attracted to. They don't live near me, so distance contributes to the ease of our relationship. But even if they did, I think we could make i

I'm cranky. I'm sick, tried to call in, but since nobody could cover my shift I had to be here. Ok, I can deal with that. It's crazy busy, and we need the coverage. Whatever. But my boss still hasn't approved my vacation request I sent in weeks ago. I told him when I sent it that I needed it because my dad is going in for surgery and I have to be there. Now it turns out that my best friends father, a man who I admired greatly growing up, is dying of cancer. He's in end stage, and they've given him anywhere from 3 weeks to 3 months. I have to see this man before he dies. I just have to. I don't know why. He was somebody who... I don't know. He loved me, very much. And was very vocal about it. I grew up surrounded by such restrained people, and he was so vibrant and ebullient. He actually scared the crap out of me for most of my life. He respected me. In a way that I didn't know how to respond to. He expected more of me, and when I disappointed him...

Freedom. It means I can come to you with the taste of another man on my tongue. With the memory of his hands on my body and his fingers in my cunt, with the feel of his cum on my lips, my cheeks still flushed from the intense pleasure he forces upon me. And I can laugh with you. I can enjoy your company. I can twine my fingers with yours, brush my body along your side, watch your lips as you speak and imagine running my tongue along their seam. I can sit on a couch with you in a dark room, watch a movie while I run my hands lightly up and down your leg. I can lay my head in your lap and breath on your erect cock. I can fuck you, make love to you, ride you, and watch your eyes above me as you labor. I can wrap my legs around your waist and love the feel of every part of you touching me. I can be desperate to watch you cum, desperate for the taste and sight of you, yearn for the touch of your hand on the back of my neck. I can love you, in my own way, as we lay side by side, laughing at

I've had a couple of hilarious, yet eye-opening interactions with men lately. Saturday evening I was waiting at the bus stop just outside of my house, and since it was windy, I was actually waiting inside the little shelter. It was the gloaming time of evening, where the sky was still bright blue but the rest of the world was dark. The shelter itself is in shadow, so it was REALLY dark. And I'm normally pretty wary of that. I live in, if not a bad neighborhood, a neighborhood that makes me very, very aware of my environment at all times. But this time, for whatever reason, I wasn't paying attention to anything but my phone. I was standing in the shelter, facing the street with my back to the wind and the rest of the world, with my face buried in my phone. And for some reason, I suddenly realized what I was doing, and how odd it was for me. And I looked up. As I was lifting my head, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my entire body shivered. In completely stereoty

It's like netflix, but weirder.  I've been having a really hard time articulating things lately, and I don't know why. It's annoying. So, I'm just going to talk about whatever pops into my head for now, and we'll see what happens. I may very well delete this post at some point in the near future, because I have a feeling I'm about to develop a sort of Turrets of the mind. Though, if I'm honest with myself, turrets actually has very little to do with language. I was reading a fascinating article about a man living with Turrets in The New Yorker the other day ::adopts pretentious tone and starts puffing a pipe that magically appears::.  Yeah, that's all I have to say about that article. It was good. Fuck the New Yorker, though. Them and their hoighty toighty coolness. WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE, FUCKING JEFF GOLDBLUM??? Speaking of fucking Jeff Goldblum... I wish. Or maybe not. He'd most likely be an incredibly awkwardly self conscious lover. "

It's been a long time since I've been able to show anybody around my town. And it's been never that I've gotten to show somebody around my adopted home who actually had the same sense of pleasure and sensuality that I do. There's something really awesome about being able to take somebody somewhere that you love, knowing that they're going to love it too, and for the same reasons you do. I recently had a friend of sorts come up and visit. This is somebody I grew up with, and somebody who I've always had an intense connection with. I have vivid memories of having conversations with this guy as a teenager, and feeling a mental connection that I had no context for. I had a hard time, as a young adult, making mental connections with other human beings. I don't know if I thought I was too smart for them all, or too stupid. Regardless, this particular connection taught me that they were POSSIBLE. That I could relate to other human beings, that I could enjoy con

I went to a party last night at this place called Club Sesso. Ron Jeremys Club Sesso . It was a good ol' fashioned swingers club, complete with lots of private rooms, lots of not so private rooms, a GIANT bed in the middle of the upstairs loft area, and lots of smarmy single men swarming around not so many women. I felt a bit like I'd stepped back into the 70s. BUT, it was a party for kinksters, so there were some distinctly none 70s elements, such as a complete dungeon, a shibari suspension demonstration, and lots of spanking going on. It was interesting. I was expecting it to be a lot ickier than it was. I've avoided this place, even though it's hosted some events I've been interested in, because I expected it to attract a lot of douchbags. And the douchbags were there. But they were outnumbered by the kinksters who, as a group, tend to be very nerdy, and very respectful of others boundaries. I went with a friend, because she wanted to check it out and didn't

Over the past couple of years I've developed the libido of a 14 year old boy. I really have. I've always had a higher than normal drive, though it's been depressed in the past due to issues with repression and angst. I'll go through periods in my life where I feel like a monk, with no sex drive at all. Periods that are coming fewer and farther between, though. It's been months since the last one, and that period was marked by quite a few intervals of particularly non-monklike behavior.  And nowadays, if I have to go through a couple of days without any form of stimulation, I feel like I'm going to explode in a messy morass of undefined anger and need. It's bad.  And it's odd. Because I don't want less than the full thing. I can satisfy myself, of course. I've become a connoisseur of self inflicted orgasm, and there are many, many different ways of pleasuring oneself. But none of them are as satisfying to me right now as interacting with another h

I'm sitting on my stripped bed, waiting to put my sheets in the dryer, not having gotten dressed for the day yet, wearing a baby blue button up shirt that doesn't belong to me, and eating mint ice cream. It's getting dark out, slowly, and is alternating between a gentle rain and a vivid sunshine. My cat is staring at me out of the corner of her eyes, willing me to drop some ice cream on the floor, or hurry up and finish so she can lick the bowl. I can almost feel the heat of her sheer determination making my hand waver as the spoon wobbles its way to my mouth with another luscious mouthful of creamy, minty goodness. Ha! NO ICE CREAM FOR YOU, MANIPULATIVE CREATURE!! I'm sore. Sore, and tired, and happy. My limbs are a bit shaky, and my mind is a bit lost. What is it about the struggle that is so sexy? I surely do love wrestling, and while winning is nice, losing has become better. There's a part of me that's made nervous by that fact. I never want to make losing

I went out with a new-ish girlfriend for drinks and hijinks the other night. That, in and of itself, was interesting, because she's gay, and there weren't very clearly defined parameters of what we were doing going out for drinks. I treated it the way I would any other interaction with someone I found attractive but wasn't dating, and that seemed to work fine. We had a freaking blast. She's a HUGE character, and the two of us attracted some amazing energy. Plus, she's brilliant, emotive, and fun to talk to. Good times. And then, about half way through the night, an ex lover texted me. He'd seen us in the bar and wanted to know if we wanted to hang out. We'd left by then, but I asked my friend if she felt like company, she was down with it, so I invited him to the place we were at. I was kind of leery, though happy to see him. The last time we'd hung out, it was awkward. There was no chemistry, he'd gained a bunch of weight and looked miserable, and I

Didn't get laid, got in a fight... uh huh... it ain't no big thing.  Actually, I didn't get into a fight. But I didn't get laid, either. Not that I was expecting to! Though it would have been nice...  Anyways. Went to a party. A Halloween party, of course. It was a Victorian theme, so I threw on some lingerie, and wore a frock coat over it. Very authentic. Eh, fuck it. It was easy. I enjoyed the party quite a bit, as I tend to do. I like parties. I get a little frantically social though, and this one was no exception. I was running around like a butterfly high on crack, making witty jokes, engaging in ridiculously deep conversations with very drunk people, then seeing something shiny and running away, leaving a general sense of befuddled well being in my wake.  At one point I found myself out on the porch, reading peoples palms in the rain. I was a little typsy, and feeling very, very honest. As a result, Js girlfriend got told that she was basically a manipulative crea

Man, what a weekend. Not just fun, but I feel like I made a truly good friend. It's not often that I relate so deeply to people, and it's happened twice for me over a very short period of time. I feel both a little shell shocked and very lucky. For the sake of privacy, that's all I put down in writing. But man, I'm still buzzing a bit from the high. :D 

I had a friend recently tell me that I should start handing out performance forms to people I've been with. I think that, if done well and kindly, this might be fun. Problem is, I rarely want to rate the people who I'm feeling kindly towards. I mean, fun is fun. True, there's more exceptional levels of fun that stand out in my mind. But if I had a good time and came away from an experience smiling and feeling good about the world, then it was a pretty damn good time. And experiences where I DON'T feel that way are few and far between. Because sex is FUN. Or it should be. Which brings me to this past weekend. I've been aggressively pursuing dating more. And by aggressively pursuing dating I mean actually answering emails that people send me on OkCupid and the like, or putting up an add on Craigslist. Because I like that little safety buffer of the internet, the net that lets me trawl for goodies while throwing away the psychos. And because those mediums are heavily g

It's days like today that I realize how much I truly miss my family. I'm making an apple pie with apples that grew in my yard, I cleaned my house so that it smells fresh and sweet, I've got candles burning on my counter, and food in my fridge. And I realize that I'm making a home. I'm always making a home. But who am I making a home for? Myself? The men who live in my house? My friends? I don't know. But it doesn't feel like enough. Because what I come from is so much more than that. It may never feel like enough, because I have no intention of living a traditional life. And with that thought comes a measure of peace. I do like who I am. I like my life, and the freedom and beauty it provides me. These candles on my counter are an altar, where I stare into the flames and try to create a world inside their depths that's full of sweetness, health, and happiness for me and everyone around me. I watch them flicker with my breath, I breath their heat into my l

I had an interesting conversation recently while camping with friends, sitting around a campfire. I was talking about my mother and how, after having had the conversation I needed to have with her about how her views of my sexuality fucked with my head, my feelings of resentment were gone and our relationship moved on. I was saying that I felt it was incredibly important in my own life, and maybe in others, to let things go. For almost purely selfish reasons, honestly. I don't believe in allowing past negativity to define my future, and in order to get to where I needed and wanted to be emotionally, I had to have a difficult, accusatory conversation with my mom. I'm not an accusatory sort of person, and if I'd had my druthers I'd have forgotten about it and moved on without needing a sense of closure (which is what I think forgiveness really is).  And as soon as that conversation was done, my feelings toward what happened changed completely. It didn't require her ap

I wake up slowly, consciousness coming reluctantly. I open my eyes, and I’m lying on my side with my face burrowed into my soft pillow. My eyelashes whisk against the cotton as I slowly blink, and it sends a shiver down the side of my body. My arm is lying under my head, and I stretch my fingers a little, almost anticipating the sharp tingle of blood returning to them. I feel my limbs reconnecting to the rest of me, and I stretch underneath my sheets. My calves are sore, and I can feel the muscles sullen resistance to change shape. I push my toes down, and force the muscles to stretch out like crackly taffy. I raise my arms and scoot further down the bed, pushing against the headboard with my hands. I love this stretch, the feel of my shoulder blades testing the resilience of my skin between the dense muscles of my back, my arms so tangibly connected to my slowly rotating shoulders, and the slow, cinnamon burn of muscles releasing a nights worth of tension. When I’m done I

God, I love fall. This is, and always has been... (shout out to Spock!!), my favorite time of year. Bar none.  The sunlight starts to fade gracefully from yellow to white, slowly finding itself leached of life giving color, a gentle reminder that everything dies. The leaves on the trees bloom with that last burst of energy and intensity before the end, the grass gets so green it hurts to look at it, and the air takes on that smell of brown sugar and cinnamon. That smell that reminds me of childhood, of maple syrup, scarlet maple leaves, air with a hint of crisp chill and sunshine with a frantic heat, and that bone deep knowledge of death.  It sounds morbid, huh? Not to me, it's not. Death and rebirth. There's a reason the fall and spring equinoxes have been associated with such sensual celebrations. It's a sensual time of year. 

Where are you now?  It's been a long time since I've wrestled with the conflicting needs of my spirituality and physicality. It's been a long time since I've even thought about it, or questioned my lack of belief.  And I don't miss it.  I don't need it. I love beauty, almost worship it. I see it in everything, and within beauty there is depth. With that depth I build my reality, and it's a lovely, strange sort of reality. Every now and then I see the ragged edges where my reality doesn't quite mesh with the rest of the world. And every now and then I realize that my edges need some smoothing, and I'll try and adjust them a bit, make them a tad more lined up with others reality.  And then sometimes I see others reality starting to creep up on my edges, and I light a match and I cauterize that particular edge. I burn my candles and herbs in my cauldron, I stare into the flames, I think real hard about what I want to have happen, my face flushes and my

The contrast between dominance and submission, between aggression and passivity, has been on my mind a lot of lately. I don't know that I've ever truly been comfortable in the role of being a switch, somebody who can be crawling towards you in desperate need one moment and throwing you on your back in overt aggression the next. It's who I am, I accept that, but I don't know that I'm comfortable in that skin.  And I want to be. I want those two sides of me to be balanced. That's a difficult task to accomplish when I'm caught up more in one role than another. I've been sleeping (heh... sleeping) with someone who is quite dominant. This has allowed me to explore my submissive side (and helped me discover a love of handcuffs) to an extent I've never been able to before. It's fascinating, fun, and deliciously scary. It's also leading to an imbalance in the force.  I recently had an opportunity to explore facets of my sexuality with someone who was

It changes so quickly. 2 months ago, I had two girlfriends who I considered family. One of whom was completely caught up in her own drama, involving men, and who I'd been avoiding as an energy drain. And one of whom I was seeing pretty much every day, going and getting a beer with after work too often, talking to every day, and felt as close to as a sister. 2 months ago, I was flirting outrageously with a man I'd never met, who'd I'd known for 5 some odd years online, and who I'd had a crush on for most of those 5 years. I was frustrated because we had incredibly hot conversations that made my mind melt, and which I couldn't seem to duplicate in real life amongst the many men I was dating. I was having a lot of sex, but very minimal actual interesting connections. My roommate and I both felt like monks, alone and isolated by choice. I was becoming pickier and pickier about who I took home, based on nothing more than the fact that I was getting my mental needs sa

::pounce:: HAHA!!! Try moving now, motherfucker!! ::smug laugh:: Honey, I bench press more than you weigh. ::disdainful sniff:: Don't move too much. I don't want to hurt you and my knee is in a bad spot. You'd better be careful. ::more wiggling to gain a better, more secure grip of arms around head and legs around leg:: ::sudden sensation of vertical movement:: Uh huh. ::wide eyed, half angry, half awed stare, trying to look dignified while dangling in the air:: HEY!!! ::more wiggling:: ::looking down and seeing bulging arms:: NO FAIR! ::realization of awesome nature of moment, repressed SQUEEE of delight::

I went to my favorite tap room last night after work, looking forward to a relaxing sit by the window with a book and a beer, only to find it MOBBED. By nerds. There was an open source con going on, and they all came to MY FREAKING BAR afterwards. I saw this guy, Michael, who I’d dated for a bit a couple of months ago, standing outside and went up to chat. He’s big in the local OS community, and was at the conference giving a talk. He’d been the one to suggest Baileys as an afterhours place for them to geek out. Normally this would be fun, but I was in a mood and just wanted to chill and read my book. So I went inside, found a dark corner, and tried to look moody and uninviting. It worked, though a few nerds came up and tried to make conversation. They were easily repulsed by a vapid stare and some hair twirling, and for the most part I had my peace. As I was leaving, after the place closed, I stopped by a large group of them who were still sitting at the outdoor tables and told them t

I have a summertime ritual of rereading a bunch of Anne Tyler books. I read them at the beach as a young adult every summer, sitting under an umbrella avoiding the sun. It was a ritual my mom and I had, and we'd switch books as we finished them. My favorite was always Ladder of Years, followed closely by Searching for Caleb. I'd sometimes read those two or three times in one summer. They haunted my imagination with their poignant love stories and both reverence for and rejection of tradition. My moms favorites were Accidental Tourist and The Tin Can tree. I think she related to the kooky love story, and the concept of the death of a child was intensely personal to her, as she'd just miscarried a little while before we started doing this. We wouldn't only read them on the beach, sometimes we'd read them on our summer porch with tea, but that's the memory re-reading those books brings up. Sitting next to my mom, surrounded by the large group of kids we always had

I have a feeling I'm going to be appalled at myself after I write this out, but right now I haven't been able to stop an evil, smug little smile from creeping onto my face all afternoon. So, last night, this guy B came over. I've been seeing him off and on for about 4 months now. He's got some quirks that I find annoying, but for the most part our sexual chemistry more than makes up for that. One of the most annoying quirks is his tendency to bite. Hard. I've had bruises with perfect teeth shaped imprints from him. Now, I don't actually mind biting, for the most part. I like the contrast of sensation, between arousal and pain. And this guy knows that, and has taken too free license with it in the past. I've talked to him about it, and told him to go easier, to not bite so hard. And he listened, for the most part.  But last night, he bit me really, really hard just after I'd had a REALLY intense orgasm. And that level of pain transfered all that intense f

I'm sitting in a beer bar all alone, enjoying a nice brew, listening to Daft Punk, and ignoring the relatively nice seeming crowd around me. I should be happy. This is my scene, after all. Instead, I'm cranky as fuck. I feel like a teenager, angsty, antsy and agro. JUST SO CRANKY!!! Part of this stems from a lack of consistent sex. A larger part of it stems from a constant exposure to my ex. I love my ex. He's such a good guy. BUT OH MY HOLY FUCKING HELL, HE CAN BE A FLAMING DOUCHEBAG. He's still an invalid, and he's a bad patient. Whiney, bitchy, cranky, selfish, and full of self hate. Awesome. And I have no shields against it. You know how, when you're a kid, and you see your parents fighting, and you think "Jesus, people. If you'd just step back from your stupid egos you'd realize this is not nearly as big a deal as you're making it out to be."? And then, as you become an adult and you get involved with someone, and there's that mome