A few years ago I was pretty sure I was dying. How sure? When 911 came to my office no one blinked an eye. It wasn’t for me, but everyone else was as sure as I was apparently. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Part of that was my fault. I’m not the regular check up kind. A friend of my mine was a recently diagnosed celiac and urged me to take gluten out of my diet. What the hell? I did it and I got better. Decided to stop paying the docs to torture me and cut gluten out of my diet. Should I go back and really find out what happened? Eh…I feel better.
So whats the silver lining? I’ve gained a few pounds over the last few weeks for various reasons. The main reason is I eat more when I’m happy. I don’t want to go back to what I was, I’ve found that if I don’t eat after 6 I lose weight pretty fast. So I fixed an all gluten meal for my kid. Can’t eat it. I was forced to eat the salad which was pretty good. So…silver linings.
I’ve heard this phrase followed by “what the hell does that even mean?” a few times. It means you either keep the cake or you eat it. You don’t get to have it both ways. But why would you want to keep the cake? In the words of Kaylee Fry (Browncoat for life!): Cause I’m pretty.
I use this phrase when I want two things that contradict each other. I want to be rich, but I don’t want to work for it. I want to be paid to write, but only what I want to write. I want to be a kinky girl and a mom/accountant. You either get one or the other right? Well, I’ve been trying to have the last one both ways anyway.
I didn’t write last night because I’m unsure how my daughter meeting my boyfriend went. She’s not talking to me. I can’t believe I’m sharing this stuff publicly, but I have nothing else to write about otherwise, and I’m seriously trying to make this writing thing a habit. Anyway…teen not talking. Typical right? I started re-evaluating why this guy is in my life because this maybe the first honest roadblock I’m up against….and it’s a doozy. Is it worth it to try to work through my daughter not caring for him if that is the case?
First…seriously…is it just the kink? If I take that away do I still like what I have? I’m left with a guy that buys me stuff that I never have to worry about paying for in other ways. A guy that takes care of himself to the point I don’t have to worry about him at all…but I still do. A guy that remembers things about me like I don’t like pink (which he has fun putting me in pink because he’s a sadist, but I digress), or that I can’t eat gluten so he finds places I can eat, or remembers when I take my daughter to the doctor and asks how it went. Oh hell yeah I want to keep that shit for as long as I possibly can. Who has that?! No one I’ve ever met. He could never buy me another thing and I’d still walk barefoot through broken glass to stay with him because of the little things. Of course we are only coming up on our fourth month together. I’ll see where we are in four more.
As it stands right now I’ll not badger the girl on how she feels about the subject. They’ve met. He can actually come to the house once in a while instead of me trying to plan my life around the two of them separately. And in four more months maybe she’ll be like…yeah mom he’s cool and I’ll still have my little things. Then it won’t be a contradiction so I won’t have to worry about keeping cake, storing cake or eating cake….because you know what?
The cake is a lie.
My marriage disintegrated after I ended up in a hot tub with two men, neither of which were my husband. Makes me look pretty bad huh? Maybe. I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember shit from that night. I will tell you my husband was there the whole time and even brought me the alcohol. So…fill in your own blanks.
Truth is my marriage ended ages before I just didn’t want to make my child a statistic. I fail at faking emotions though and….it just didn’t work. So now all sorts of things I never thought would happen are happening. It’s not all roses, but its definitely the fire and brimstone I thought would follow me by breaking my oath to stay with him forever.
So tomorrow I’m introducing my soon to be teenager to my 68 year old boyfriend. Oh dear goddess what am I doing? Am I weird? The answer is a resounding YES. I can also honestly say I am happy. I think it’s going to be OK, but it is definitely something I never in a million years thought would happen. My parents are still married…as far as I know. I have no clue what it’s like introducing your kid to a new guy. Especially in our situation. Good things about the age difference? He’s not going to want be a father figure. I don’t have to worry about that. She needs to be respectful, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.
A part of me has been dreading this, but I’m kind of looking forward to it now. I get to put my two favorite people in the same place. And the weird? Well that’s just par for the course.
“To trudge: the slow, weary depressing yet determine walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.”
That’s me…tonight….with this stupid writing project.
“There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” -Hemmingway
That’s all wrong. First…Hemingway did not say it (that I can actually find….someone named Red Smith might have) and second…no…no…it’s not fucking easy at all. Some days I look at the white space with its flashing cursor and the damn story or poem is actually written for me. Other (most) days I look at that same space and the little blinking line just sits there mocking me like the smug little shit it is. I could decide to write 365 days a year on how I love to write but I can’t, and then suddenly I would be able to write about that either.
The problem with the opening a vein routine, for me at least, is that I don’t want to fucking hear about it. It’s all daddy issues and fuck my childhood bullshit. And if I don’t want to hear about it than you certainly don’t want to hear about it. Well…you might want to hear about my daddy issues. Not the ones that happened when I was kid…no fuck that. I mean the aftermath. I’m dating a guy 30 years my senior who fucking rocks my world. Not sure if this is daddy issues or just a girl…standing in front of guy….waiting for him to beat her in the fun way because he’s fucking amazing at it. Heh heh.
Ok…I wrote. Fuck all this shit. Diablo 3. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a little more to write about.
I want this. I want my writing to be my job. However, like anything, the moment you HAVE to do it, it becomes tedious. Last night I was playing a role playing game with friends and attempting to apply for jobs so I did not write. And I should have. This is why I don’t get paid to write…yet.
Honestly I was surfing my phone and watching Star Trek the majority of the time because my character was off playing house with her multi millennial hubby. Oh the stories I could tell from this game, but our characters are quite interesting. Mine, Emily Thorn, was an orphan raised at a catholic orphanage with no idea who the fuck her parents are. I should note this to the game master so it can come into play one day. She was so irritating the orphanage gave her the last name Thorn and she never got adopted. Eventually she became an EMT. She’s tiny with short blond hair and resting bitch face that could possibly kill you. She does light up whenever Hassan is around however.
The group has, over time, communed with enough dark forces that we are hard to hurt, and nearly impossible to kill, so Emily’s functionality as the healer has waned. She more or less just calls her hubby most of the time who hails from the Hyborian age and amassed a large empire over his incredibly long life. Why is he so head over heels in love with Emily? Well she was, and remains, completely different from anyone he’s ever known. Most people grovel and she’s just…whatever. Also it’s nearly impossible to get her to flip out. The Necronomican may have something to do with it as well. (remember those dark forces). We aren’t even anti-heroes. Also everything on TV is real. For instance: Supernatural is a documentary. It’s a fun do anything you want kind of game. And we do…anything. We have a tendency to start every game with: ‘Hey, NSA, if you’re listening this is all role play. We have no intention of actually doing any of this.’
I’m playing a crusader. I had a cool post about but internet crashed. So…crusaders cool, even though I prefer ranged magic, because the wizard is a self absorbed twat. And doing the same thing every time sucks. Have a nice night.
I remember a little way into my first year at college in 1996 I wanted to go home so I pack my shit up and I went. I want to now so bad today, but there isn’t one to go to. I don’t think there was back then either, but at least I didn’t have to worry about bills and grades. Life as a teen wasn’t so bad, but there was always an underlying dark yuck that followed me everywhere I was. Seems it still follows me. Everything is an almost…well almost everything. What do I have now?
- A wonderful healthy daughter
- A full belly
- A full tank of gas
- Rent will be paid next month at least
- A Car I love
- A man I love even if I haven’t told him that full out yet
- Friends that I love and love me
Life is good even if it isn’t perfect. One thing someone with a rough past can almost always say is that things have been worse. And if you are sitting where I’m sitting now you can say they tend to get better.
Home isn’t where the heart is or where you fall back to when you have no place to left fall. It may be for some people, and I guess home is something a little different for everyone, but for me home is where you make it. Just some days it’s a little harder to make than others, but that’s why I’m the Battle Raven.
I’m cheating. Season 12 of Diablo 3 came out and I’ve been enjoying my “free” time there. So I slacked on writing. You get a story I wrote a while ago. This story involves consensual non-consent. Sometimes that means what I have with my boyfriend: he can do anything he wants to me any time without discussing it first. I can ALWAYS call “red”, but it would take a lot. We have this arrangement because I trust him in a way I’ve never trusted anyone before. In the case of the following story it is what some might call fulfilling a rape fantasy. I don’t like calling it that because its not rape….consent is involved (red will always stop a scenario no matter what) even if it walks a fine edge. If this isn’t your thing move on. If it is….enjoy.
A few years ago I was standing at a reunion of a family that was mostly not mine. I wore capris jeans with frayed holes in them and became the subject of conversation with a preacher. The standard joke: “I just threw away a pair of jeans like that. Should have had you pay me a hundred bucks for them.” He also asked me why I would want to scar my body in reference to my tattoo. I tried to tell him they were free, but he was far to amused with himself. Honestly it should matter. Petty shit like that from “Christians” made me give up on being spiritually awakened.
At one point I decided I rocked those goddamn jeans and I’d rather be sexually awakened then whatever the fuck they thought they were. These days though I just want to….be. If someone wanted to comment on my jeans (still have them) I wouldn’t care. I honestly don’t understand why they would. It’s just clothing. Here…let me take it off if that helps ::evil grin::
When you are comfortable with who and what you are the “slings and arrows” of society stop bothering you. You don’t get pissed because someone attacks your beliefs or style. You certainly don’t get pissed if someone believes differently than you…even if it’s really fucked up. Difference becomes interesting.
This, I feel, is awake.
I’ve always had this fantasy of being tied and forced to orgasm long past the point of pleasure. For a long time I thought it was because I was a total freak. It turns out I’m normal in certain circles. A few months ago I gathered up my courage and went to a meeting point of one of those circles. Life hasn’t been the same sense. Tonight you get the story of my first scene.
I met a guy. He’s a sadist, though only because he gets pleasure from being on the top side of the slash. He takes nothing if his bottom isn’t enjoying it. I am a bottom because I thoroughly enjoy being on the receiving end. Marks make me giddy. I may very well be the yin to his yang. I don’t know that I can mark myself a masochist anymore. I am not a fan of pain at all, but I’m nearly addicted to the feeling of flying that hits you immediately after the pain subsides. The greater the pain the higher the feeling, and so I yearn to be able to take more. For now I’m only beginning.
My first scene starts in a dark corner with a fair bit of teasing while watching a small group converse at a picnic table. He whispers in my ear “do you want to try a little playing?” I indicate my desire and he leads me through the house to a front room a little away from everyone. He likes to be very public, but I’m still not quite there yet.
There are two crosses here; large X’s standing silently against a white wall. On the other wall is a small table with a radio playing the kind of music I love. If I knew nothing else about this group their taste in music would have made it for me. I stay there while he goes to grab his toy bag. There are so many words that will never mean the same to me again.
I’m nervous which I love. He takes out a pair of cuffs and secures them on my wrist before slipping off my dress. Leaving me only in my panties he locks my wrist to chains at the top of each side of one of the X’s. My first sensation is a pair of clothes pins attached to my nipples. They sting. I’m getting a little ache between my thighs thinking about it now. He starts with a light flogger made of wide soft leather. It’s more thuddy than stingy. I get remember all the toys he used on me now. Eventually he used a heavy piece of leather on my ass that left the most beautiful bruises. This is almost my favorite part.
He says he isn’t into playing when his play partner legitimately doesn’t like something and yet….I hate electricity. I’m terrified of it. He has something called a tazapper that doesn’t hurt, but it arcs quite vividly with a loud pop. It’s everything I hate about electricity and he hooked me with my back to the cross and started threatening me with it. I laughed and screamed at the same time. I managed to get my body behind the damn cross which is pretty impressive. I suppose you can honestly say I have a love hate relationship with this particular play.
Eventually I was standing breathless on the cross and he blindfolded me. I thought we were done, but the scene isn’t up to me and I would have it no other way. A collar was snapped around my neck and a leash to that. He led me in just my panties through the house to a chair in the living room. I had to dress while blindfolded.
I spent the rest of the night cuddling with him: safe, warm and on cloud nine. I can’t wait to do it again.