Here

a lot of hits to my website and flickr this past weekend.  thank you.

i like it when you are here.

on the weekend

that’s actually pretty rare.

if you recall

i gave up posting on the weekends

radio silence and all

but,

sometimes i guess that isn’t so.

no comments though.

sigh.

somewhere around my 50th i snapped a photo of my chest using the bulb from the hood light of my stove as my light source.

i thought it was a nice portrait of sorts.

a bust as they say.

ha!!

i tried that shot again.

9 years later

recently.

couldn’t get rid of the shadow of my beard using light room.

the perfectionist in me isn’t happy about that.

i will give the shot another try

soon.

there is a person recently on flickr who really let me down.

i keep saying that things use to roll off my back a lot easier

now they linger.

and circle the drain a little longer.

i hate the spin that offers me emotionally.


 

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.

 

 

 

 

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

When We Meet

lets see if any of you read this

recent posts have offered a variety of talking points

conversations aren’t happening.

whatever happened to conversations?

a certain someone needs to be heard.

sometimes fans reach out to me and get personal.

they then imply that we will meet.

in theory. why not meet?

i’ve met a few of you over this last decade.

in hindsight, not sure i should have…

further commentary on that …complicated. my part of it included.

the flurry of meeting was lovely. romantic. and indulgent.

friendship sustainable?

no.

the truth is most men are really not in a position to make a meet happen.

or more importantly they can not sustain a meet once it’s occurred

reasons for that lack of ready might include: uh – married, so so very many of you are married, financially not able – since meeting is at your expense, or the real reason: lack of intention.

this lack of intention i further describe as placating

as telling or saying what one thinks i want to hear.

men will say anything to have sex with me.

am I being arrogant in saying this??

or can the truth of it resonate?

men say to themselves. “give me some of that” 

i fall sometimes for the idea of meeting.

of having the attention i deserve

the feeling of cherish

the excitement of it all.

vs the reality.

the reality is something very different.

i am thinking at the moment of this writing of one very particular man.

i liked his appearance.

i liked his mind.

i liked how he paid attention to me.

he got me.

he knew which buttons to push.

he was sexy and he knew it.

simply.

i wanted to meet him.

he said he wanted to meet me.

In the throws of it all

my MIND met him in a variety of circumstances.

the fantasy of which

was delightful in one breath.

and, not so delightful in another.

i felt frustrated by what i couldn’t have.

i can’t go into a fantasy without visual appeal

can you??

i have taken up with a man or two and didn’t give their appearance much thought.

they were kind, and attentive to me.

they wanted to meet me.

i want folks to try me on.

i feel we should give others a chance.

they were very disappointed when I wasn’t attracted upon meeting them.

which felt pretty awful for both of us.

now, i think it’s of value to have a vetting process.

my fans say that they are very attracted to me.

even without my sharing my face.

you tell me that my images provoke.

men say they fantasize about me all the time

men imagine themselves with me

within my photography.

which i appreciate hearing actually

rather powerful.

or they tell me that my images are fodder for masturbation.

SIGH

 ( none of you use fodder and masturbation in the same sentence.  ) 

it’s to be expected i guess. after all i am nude. online!!

for me in reverse so to speak, it’s not your dick/cock that i want to be a part of.

( if i had a dollar for all the men that send me images of their anatomy. i’d have no financial problems )

UGH. please don’t do that.

again, do not send me images of your anatomy.

your hard whatever is the last thing I want to see.

i want to see YOU. your eyes, your lips, your hands. a beard and mustache if you have one…the shoes you are wearing.

show me something that that i can be drawn to

and then it’s your mind that i fall for.

how you GET me.

how you treat me.

what you are curious about.

how you desire me.

and then it’s WHO you are in the world.

are you up to something or are you bored and apathetic?

often the above goes to a sexual place.

makes sense when all the pieces are there.

i can’t really do the sex thing all by itself these days.

not like i use to.

it’s not enough

sex is not enough.

i ache

ACHE

for connection

a connection that cares.

or a connection that can sustain a care.

Fans care.

in their own way.

how they act on it is…

well, it’s what it is.

or isn’t. mostly.

i’ve said fleeting many times here.

men come and go.

whhhhooosh they are in touch, enthusiastically.

and then poof. they are gone. as quickly as they reached out to me.

most simply don’t have time for me.

or the energy.

or the reality.

most are not looking for something personal

they want something distracting. entertaining. immediate

they are hungry in their own way.

a meet. a real one?? shifts things.

a meet makes it real.

or if when we meet and it is in our minds

its a fantasy.

The plane was delayed. The airport was bustling. Around me the mix of people swarmed accordingly. some coming, some going. many arriving, more just getting to the next place. a blur. Airports are probably my most favorite people watching place. It’s how I survive the waiting. I make up stories about the folks before me. I began people watch story making as a young girl. I spent way too much time in airports. There goes mr and mrs green. here comes sir tall, flower dress lady has too much makeup on. oh, look…those two are kissing again. how lovely they are. i’ve never written my narrative down in the midst of a wait. perhaps i should sometime. i have had a banter with another or two where we narrate together. mr tall is nervous i say, the other then says, the battery on his phone died.  he’s sweating i say, he needs another coffee the other adds. And so it goes. 

I am meeting a stranger at the airport today. a handsome stranger. and I am very nervous. I told him to be in the moment when we meet. To pocket his cell phone and let the meet be. I don’t need to know you are getting off the plane. I will be there to meet you. Just know that I am waiting. I find the management of a phone and travel frustrating. I get that they can be useful. I completely get that. I just find them distracting. Folks forget to simply be. The plane will land. You will get off the plane and I will be there to meet you. I am a person of my word. 

90 minutes later the arrival is announced. He is here. Oh my gosh he is here!  I position myself out of the way, but stand in a place where I hope to be the first person you see once you walk into the arrival area. One by one others arrive. Delays make many anxious. Connections are now altered.

I see you first. Sauntering, casual, tossled hair…you are good looking. I like that. you look for me. I like that too. Our eyes meet. You stop. We grin as wide as grins can be. A pause in time. A moment for sure. You step up your pace. I feel a blush coming on as you near. You notice. and you say, oh my gosh you are blushing! I say, I am!! I then say HI there! You say HI. Your eyes are bright and warm. Inviting. Your right hand reaches for the hair at the base of my neck, you are taller then i expected, you smell of gum. and you pull me to you. you whisper in my ear. you are beautiful, you say. you are so beautiful. you’ve taken my breath away. You see me struggling as to what to say next. you kiss me. gently. lip to lip. touch. want, curious. i feel all of you near me, the kiss finds its way to hungry. Our lips are a good fit. I tremble. You say, wow. I grin. you grin back. we hold on to each other.

in my fantasy, i replay the kiss over and over and over.  in my collection of fantasies, there are lots of kisses. in my memory of real meets, those kisses get replayed in my mind as well.   

what a goof i am. what a hopeless romantic.

some kisses don’t make the instant replay. those kisses are not memorable. i hate that. some men are very good at replicating that first kiss. it’s like they get that a first kiss is worth repeating. i once met a man, older than I who had never kissed someone before. i was an eager lover back then. he said are all women this enthusiastic about kissing. I said, i have no idea. you tell me. this is when i found out he was a virgin. many years later he will tell me. a man always remembers their first time. You were that first for everything for me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Thought

july was quite the month.

like intense.

i don’t realize how until i went back and looke at my image narrative.

i am often too hyper focused on the now.

i thought perhaps i didn’t get all that nude

just because of the emotional nuances of it all

but i guess i did.

i lost 7 lbs  in 8 weeks

( did i say this already? ugh )

12 lbs over the past year.

some nice improvements to my blood work.

which means good work. continue doing what you are doing

i hurt my knee.

met an absolute asshat doc about that

made my gp doc laugh like heck when i called that dude an asshole.

i am taking a vacation

trying hard to feel i deserve it

but all the stars have really aligned.

i might even feel relaxed

i am fighting a fungal thing

think jock itch but for lady bits

the tissue is angry and not responding.

there is apparently the beginnings of

atrophy.

a-t-r-o-p-h-y

here that gents??

when ya don’t use your parts

they wither.

wrinkle

disappear

and die.

as much as i self touch

i sortof hoped i could bypass atrophy

but the way i do the change of life

none of the maladies associated with it will bypass me

nope

miserable as fuck menopause they should call it.

if it gets to where sex hurts.

i might have to just not.

and right now.

if you wanted me? like in real life

i’d have to say that I couldn’t.

and in this moment. in my writing that very thought.

that breaks my spirit immensely.

which brings me to a memory.

when my second marriage was ending

he, an older man. had performing issues.

we may have been separated even.

funny how sex still occurs in troubled times

don’t you think ??

a gal i know as a gag

gave me my first vibrator

i was in my late 40’s

i didn’t quite get the appeal of them at the time

suffice to say it was something i had to get use to

to practice with.

i remember showing it to him and he was very angry about it. like pissed off.

after a failed bit of lovemaking he said something like

oh why don’t you just go do yourself

and i was really hurt.

i then said, hey wait a sec….as long as we are a couple and sexual

doesn’t aging shift the game??

like in general… don’t couples who age together find new ways to make love ?

i am not interested in masturbating when the real thing can happened between two.

the truth later revealed was that he wasn’t attracted to me any longer

and that whatever sex was attempted was pity sex ( first time i heard that phrase. lovely )

and that he really wasn’t vested in figuring it all out.

so a big fat whatever.

it felt so hopeless.

after that —early match.com years

boy there were a lot of creeps out there.

i hear that woman are equally as creepy as men in online dating

what does that mean?

is it them?

is it the platform?

is it the world?

how does remarkable couple karma happen with so many others?

will i really die alone here???

later —- when i was better at masturbating

i did introduce toys to certain equations.

meaning with a compassionate partner

who wasn’t expectant

a giving thing.

and sometimes that was very exciting for both.

all i can say is i guess you just figure it out as you go.

HOW You Communicate With Me Matters

its an anniversary month of sorts.

something happened a year ago.

things roll off my back a lot better now

which is what had me consider this topic.

as i got to the end of this post

my anger found me

so.

as much as I think i’ve improved

perhaps around this topic I haven’t.

i was really broken last summer

i was very fragile.

I was hurting. I fell apart.

metaphorically i started stitching my art.

stitching the pieces of my life back together.

this post is about communicating.

in particular about communicating with me

If you EVER drop the ball in a banter with me.

meaning if you reach out to me

and something begins.

whatever that something is.

and you,

for whatever reason disappear.

I will think less of you.

i repeat, i will think less of you.

This is how it works with me

the degree of how much less varies.

add this….

it takes a LOT for me to think you are a shit for not writing me back

but at some point i get there.

when i get there.

when i get to the it’s been a month with no reply space and place.

or i have asked 10 questions

and get a reply to 1

or if you promise to write

and don’t.

I think “whatever” 

I think less of you. I lose respect and I rethink bantering with you.

i have those considerations to make now.

i then sortof wonder — do all the people in your life that you care about, do they wait a long while for a common courtesy reply?

because if the way some of you fleet with me?? and the way you treat others is actually the same?

perhaps you are a shit.

my bad.

i get a TON of I’m sorry.

and,

when i read I am sorry for the millionth time. i feel UGH coming out of my pores

I really don’t care about what kept you from common courtesy with me. or your i am sorry. especially the chronic i’m sorry folks.

if you have to say your sorry. does that not indicate some layer of you fucked up? 

Hi — sorry i’ve been busy, it’s been a year since my last ….

UGH,

I care that nothing happened to you, i care that you are not seriously ill or that you didn’t have a car accident or something. I even care that your life is full. but self important busy is not a full life.

I say this because when and if I AM IMPORTANT enough, many very busy busy important traveling, juggling men and woman HAVE found ways to treat me well. They treat all the people around them like they that matter and with common courtesy. I have experienced this, I know this for a fact. Good communicators are out there. I adore this quality in others.

i care about the we in the matter …

MOST of you write to me in some form of praise, adoration and desire to get to know me.  I like that. Actually, I love that.  YOU usually reach out to me.

In that place of attention that you do give me –  I risk.  I risk my emotional well being,  I allow something to begin. I give it a shot. More so I give a lot of myself rather freely

and then,

as if pattern was truth.

the replies from you fizzle.

explain this.

explain this to me in your reality.

how hard is it to send a reply?

is it me?

is it you?

I KNOW most of you. not all. but MOST of you pay great attention to things phone.

Most phones gets WAY more attention than I do.

AT the core of why i engage or entangle or allow bantering emails in the first place is because why.

I AM LONELY.

I value the attention. DUH. 

so if the attention isn’t happening.

whats the point??

why do you want to be in communication with me????

Anyone who reads my blog knows that i love to write. I have a lot to say. I use many words. I reply thoughtfully. I reply thoroughly. If my messages are 200 words and your reply is 50 words. Unless you get to the point beautifully — the short often thumbed on your phone messages do not address me. my words. my thoughts. MY courteous reply.

This gets old fast.

I try and be patient. I wait. I don’t ream anyone a new asshole or anything

but.

after some time goes by

i think less of you

i then think whatever

and then,  if it’s been a long while and silent.  well, then i just think you are a shit

if you want to know if you are on my shit list.

message me.

if you want to redeem your shit.

do so. and mean it.

do not try and pacify me

if you think this blog post is whiney.

or not appropriate.

you may think that.

I am frustrated.

I get to be.

what happened a year ago was unacceptable.

that circumstance ended a 6 year friendship.

if you recall i have added boundaries. those started a year ago

these boundaries are allowing me to put what is important to me first.

i am getting better at them.

please respect me

don’t mess with my willingness to befriend you

get what works for me.