In Case You Thought I Was Weird

this happened 12 years ago.

the entity came to me in the middle of the night.

it did not ask permission to touch me.

but it did.

the entity took.

in essence it was like rape.

however giving and adoring,

it took and

it left me shaken.

shaken i tell you.

there is a part of me that says it was a dream.

i dream vividly. and often. i remember my dreams

but a part of me that knows the physical potential of an entity

and thinks perhaps this was a spiritual lover.

weird. i know

but if you have known of entities before ….

not so weird.

the details are extremely sexual.

arousing, physically palpable, the attention left me breathless.

imagine that you are asleep.

you are awakened by kisses and gentle caresses

still in a sleep daze

the attention becomes more sexual

finger probing

oral

sexual and very pleasuring.

except noone is physically there.

your imagination can not fill in the blanks that have left you

remarkably aroused,

i would then awake, breathless with my legs splayed open

hungry

it happened over and over

for months.

it got to the point where i said

no.

i said, i don’t know who you are

you do not have my permission

to touch me.

i do not want you to do this.

it scared me.

to frame where my heart and mind were at the time.

my nest was about to be empty.

financially I was going to hit a brick wall

i had lost use of my right hand

my adrenals were fatigued.

this fatigue showed up

in my body.

physical manifestation of…

i was completely falling apart

my second marriage was ending.

betrayal in many many forms are what ended it.

i was the victim of maliciousness.

sociopathic.

i felt embarrassed by its failing. he fooled many. so so many. i was a fool

i felt mortified about being single again

i did not believe that i was of value

as a person

or as a woman

i felt a loss in my life

like a grief so crushing

that i lost a good portion of time

to tears.

and an inability to cope.

at the time i lived in a magical attic apartment of a queen anne victorian home

the energy in the space was kind.

visually magical.

crooked in a vintage way that pleased me.

like syrup on a plate of pancakes would pool on one side of the plate crooked.

i loved that apt.

that place was also a transition place

for all the things mentioned above.

this was two years before i bought my first home.

many many things to get to the other side of at that time

this was the year i lost 100lbs.

my nude photography began here,

in therapy, i did not have to defend the reality of this creature who touched me

i did not have to justify

i did not have to explain

i did have to be real though

about how violated i felt.

and,

that the patterns of my life

include many many who TAKE.

my therapist suggested that i shift the taking feeling

to one of adoring.

that i was attractive

and adored.

fair.

and so.

i affirmed my …me, myself and I

as beautiful.

a self worth practice

that I have instilled ever since.

i am affirmed of that beauty

by adoring fans here.

even if who i was 12 years ago

is different.

very different then who i am now.

and even if my self confidence is low.

these are not the best images.

i was just figuring out this little digital camera

which later,

if you recall. i dropped

and it died.

now, the light in this place would have offered some magic for self captures.

a good portion of these belongings are now long gone. sold. memories.

my breasts don’t look like this anymore either. this was my very first nude capture.

what a memory.

 

 

 

 

Flower Power

I dreamt last night that a flower and succulents were growing in my groin.

( how’s that for an opening sentence?)

there was a single flower, short stemmed with a blue crocus like blossom – it’s center was yellow and button like. it’s petals fat and juicy, much  like that of an engorged jade. it looked like a pussy.

next to the flower there a large cluster of pure white plants. each had three small leaves. unlike most succulents they were soft to the touch. almost mossy.

all of this was nestled in the spread of my legs. specifically, in the crease on my right side

WTF

the examination room was huge. pure white. gleaming, with tile floor to ceiling. the room was brightly lit. i was drenched in white light. they guided me to an oversized rocking chair. the doctor, garbed in all white adorned a lamp of sorts on its head. all I could see was the Dr’s eyes.

i showed the Dr my flower power

armed with oversized tweezers, the removal of the flower revealed very short roots.

the succulent removal was trickier. the individual  leaves would pop and their juice would burn me.

the dr was very careful.

once all was removed

my wounds were treated.

at one point i thought the Dr might have been my mother.

but there was no vibe of judgement.

later, i saw that the Dr was a man.

with a mustache and a warm smile.

noone spoke.

( take in 2011. when i had way more hair )

 

 

Annual Entitlement

i celebrate another year older in a few weeks. 

it’s the one time of year where I want to be celebrated. it’s the one time a year where i want the attention. the sortof attention that it’s all about ME. it’s the one day that i want to know, like really really know, that my being born matters. i gave up a very very long time ago that my birthday is going to be some planned momentous occasion. planned by another anyway. I make my own way in the hey it’s my day lets celebrate department.

the entitled part of me has a wish list. i always do this. you know the drill.  it’s a list of items where later I can say. oh such and such gave me that for my bday. it’s about having something treasured that reminds me.  my being born matters 

folks are funny about being celebrated. some don’t want an ounce of hoopla.  i say nonsense to that. it matters that you were born.

others i know expect a month long celebration. and they get it!! ha!! how do they do that?

in today’s day i have no expectations except a small practical suggestion i sent to my kids. because that’s the other part of me. i am pretty pragmatic.

next year i turn 60 on my birth year 1960.

part of me thinks. gosh perhaps thats a year to plan something.

what would i plan?

i have NO idea.

i had an invite this year for a road trip

a gal i know moved in with her man.

i would like to meet him.

investigating it further

the drama was going to be too much.

my ability to roll with drama lately is nill.

i also had to put a car repair before a road trip

but, this repair puts the annoying front brake sound to rest.

and perhaps i will go a year without car repair drama

i like that idea. i like that idea a lot

the year i met mr cowboy, our first date was around my birthday.

he did all the right things, truth be

maybe i am just a pushover.

the day one is born matters. 

just like quite a few of you here

over the years

have gone out of your way

for my birthday.

thank you for that.

today is the day of the week i do art all day, i wrote a summation of what i plan to make in the upcoming year. it took me a better part of the day to make sense of it all –  this is a new strategy for me. i am not quite at the place to see this past year in my rear view mirror. it was a good year that way. a different year but a good one but, i hit a stuck place recently because of some pretty serious overwhelm. i stopped all. i went internal and I did some thinking. and today. all that thinking came together and made sense. i am feeling rather inspired. inspired by me. who knew

 

 

 

Keep It In Your Pants

sex with me

is private.

it’s a gift i give

by my choosing.

it’s the best part of me

that many, yet really very few, have had.

yes there are the lovers, the fucks, the strangers, the husbands, the “mr’s”

many.

who knows what any of them might say about

what it’s like to be with me.

i am complicated

i became more and more complicated as i got older.

in my about here at my blog i say,

as long as the covers are on

the lights are out

or when passion has nudity become a remarkable blur.

i say it that way for a reason.

because i am more self conscious than i can even begin to say.

when chemistry occurs

or if someone will have me

or when i trust

or when i feel like i can

i let my hair down

i get hungry

i get vulnerable.

i get gullible

i am a sucker for compliments

and kisses.

i am a sucker for a hint of interest.

i am not an obvious sexual creature

more so, i am a surprise of a lover

under the covers. in private.

when my work here began.

my nude work

my art.

i was not prepared for the sexual piece of it.

and,

when men do what they do

or can do.

i was horrified.

for a very very long while though i did not know or understand why.

turns out

quite a few sexual things are TRIGGERS for me.

triggers to a past.

age 17 past.

age 17 trauma.

cum

oral sex

and your dick.

are things I don’t really want to see.

in private, with permission, in a relatedness.

I feel differently

but casually?

as casual, as dick pics and such are?

um. no.

please don’t send me that shit.

i am a big girl

i do not curl up and go fetal in distress

if someone sends me these things.

but I do get rattled

especially since the beginning of 2018

I get rattled even more.

do you really want to rattle me?

For those men who are on Flickr?

i can not control a man’s pervy feed

but don’t expect me to be aroused by it

far far from it.

this reaction is MY problem.

My boundary.

my past.

my stuff to get to the other side of.

I mention this today because seemingly dick pic sharing happens in waves

and in very recent times

WAY TOO many of you have shared dick pictures with me.

you’ve sent images without even asking if it’s OK.

Lesson number one.

Ask a ladies permission.

Don’t send me that shit.

got questions?

ask me.

years ago?? 2008?

All of this was very new to me.

while naive

i was somehow more playful.

Now?

i am not.

broken.

have respect for fuck sake.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve Been There

the hardest part about being alone

or lonely

or without “that person”

is remembering

when i did.

i have had a great many

in my life.

that really wanted me.

they couldn’t stop thinking about me

i’ve had them call

or write

i’ve been surprised by them.

courted.

i have been adored

i’ve had men make love to me and mean it.

i know exactly what i am missing.

something happened along the way.

i couldn’t get a decent date

relationship had fallen out of fashion.

both sexes began to retreat. detach. or become apathetic

soon it was either lets be friends with benefits.

or we can be friends.

or more so,

lets just get laid.

i tried that on.

the sex only gig.

a flurry of men

for fuck sake

and nothing more.

what an empty and shallow thing.

what a waste of my great mind, my wild laugh and my creative brilliance.

and then, recent life happened

and i broke.

if someone approached me now for sex? lusted for me?

i couldn’t do it.

i wouldn’t even want to

writing that?

thinking that.

remembering when someone wanted me?

breaks my heart into a million pieces

I Can See That You Are Here

many say “i have been following you for a long time”

some later reveal that they have been a fan for a decade.

um.

i don’t know who you are

unless you tell me.

i can see ( via the blog traffic graph ) when folks are poking around.

some have been as of late. a bit more anywho. thanks.

traffic is generally low.

but so am i

so, i think its fair that i get what i give.

the other day i introduced myself to a local artist.

i gushed my affection for …

i have been a fan for 7 years.

and that person is here.

in my town.

took me weeks to get a 10 minute appointment

i was nervous

and way over enthusiastic.

i felt sortof stupid. pubescent awkward stupd

but i wanted and needed that person to know

the impact. the fascination. the longevity. the story.

does that matter to someone who has a zillion fans?

that person will likely never be my best friend.

or a friend even.

the knowing is now there.

i know you.

or you know me.

surface.

where have relationships gone?

people stop me.

i know you. they say.

they know my bearded face

or my around town photography.

6000 of them

one of me.

i don’t know them.

how could i?

i have been thinking a lot lately about the phrase “i’ve got your back”

i will vet a new date. is your interest vested?

like do you REALLY want to know me.

or is your interest a maybe, we’ll see interest.

i miss vested interest.

i come from abandonment.

i have symptoms of fetal alcohol syndrome

does the betrayal begin there?

if i think

i can list.

“you SO did not have my back ” 

i didn’t expect loyalty before i was born.

i didn’t expect this as a young girl

as a student

as a young lover

as a new wife

blind faith

victim

betrayal

triggers

a recent trigger and reminder was a memory of a friend.

back when i was a teen

where my intense family drama

created a life long fear in her

i never knew

woah.

the circumstance could have had been different

the entire family didn’t have to stand there and shame me

they didn’t have to be OK with what was going on

someone could have stood up for me.

years later i asked one sibling

do you not have a mind of your own?

not sure i really KNOW the “I’ve got your back” thing.

especially now.

do you think you are that person for someone?

is someone there for you??

i am fiercely loyal

if i feel an ounce of fleeting

my loyalty will wane.

trust shifts

i evaluate

or

reevaluate.

if there is silence. long silences

i make up reasons why it’s over.

why it won’t work.

why i am last.

a year ago i had a man and his dog for dinner

i was feeling especially vulnerable

i was horribly bitten at the time

the evening was effortless

fun even

haven’t seen him or his dog since

sigh.

he is the one who doesn’t date and has a dog instead

he has one of my books.

a year.

i realize that the difference between blog posts of 2019

and past years is that

this year i took on communicating in real time

current work,

current nudes.

current shit or triumphs

truth is

my current times are not that compelling.

perhaps i am not that interesting

in my real life not too many know about this blog

or my alter ego.

a few who do.

are critical.

not all.

just a few.

i have felt they don’t get it

or me.

below images of masturbation

a session of self touch of sorts

i think it’s rather beautiful

in its own

hey thats me sortof way.

maybe its so in my eyes only.

i found pleasure at least.

i’ve got this

i’ve got me

i’ve got my back.