A Tone Of Sorts

gee, 5 years already.

today marks an anniversary

i got dumped on this day.

such a mix of i really knew better and this isn’t working reality

but shit, i so didn’t have a plan.

just weeks prior

these images were taken.

i don’t know how these happened

actually.

he was not easy to work with in this way.

participating within my creative ideas and all.

these are a vibrant set of images

that i really love.

perhaps he was enjoying himself too?

the tone of them is immediate.

as circumstances go it was a long weekend

my standing in the doorway shirtless would otherwise have not have been a thing to do.

today.

for fun, or to honor said five years – i removed him, leaving just his hand.

a ceremony of sorts.

creative ceremony

with a bit of fuck you on the side.

felt demonstrative to do that.

i like them even more.

in things pandemic

these images sure resonate with the word TOUCH

or 

the lack of.

or in my case, the lack of.

since leaving him. 

forever ago.

i feel like screaming TOUCH ME from the roof tops.

an ache that is rattling inside me.

i know you feel that too.

i sometimes feel the weight of all of us missing normalcy.

as days go today

i am in a mood of sorts

distracted to derailed

to

i can’t remember the third “d” word.

angry. annoyed.

the top image with the doorknob is my very favorite.

 

 

 

 

I’m Still Here

so my cat’s newest antics in the morning to awake me is getting her claw stuck in the tin mirror i have hanging near my bed. it’s not her mission to get stuck, more so the sound her paw makes on it is fun sounding, and to her that’s a way of communicating. i need lessons in cat speak perhaps.

i’m still here. hello. i’m here!!

i had a dream a few nights ago. when i think of this dream it STILL makes me laugh. out loud. all by myself. to tears. roaring with laughter. last night i thought about this dream and ended up sobbing. is the dream a vehicle to remind me of laughter. the tears of joy?? Or should i be troubled by the ridiculousness of the dream.

or am i simply miserable?

i’m still here. hello. i’m here!!

over the decade that i’ve been writing here. few will reach out to me and tell me that they “read me” from blog post to blog post. from the beginning to the current. in one sitting. in one anonymously nude sitting. wow. each time i hear this i feel amazed. remember i thanked someone for being at my blog last week? the high traffic? someone had sat up the entire night. reading me. wow.

one man, long ago, was in an italian coffee shop. he said, there he was in public enjoying this delicious secret. he then went home to his wife. and he told me about her. and his unhappiness of their marriage. i never quite know what to say. thank you? thank you for reading my work. Thank you for enjoying my photography  i don’t usually hear from these men again. they just want me to know that they spent time with me. which is of course rather wonderful.

what I wish is a deeper sense of their experience. i was here isn’t enough. it’s not that the person isn’t enough. i just wish that I WAS MORE.

I’m still here. hello. I’m here!!

the longer things pandemic keep us isolated. the more my personal reality looks me in the face. i never counted the days that i’ve stayed at home before. ( i was last in my car 15 days ago ) 

the truth is, thats rather normal for me. i can do blur of time really well.

it’s what comes with the pandemic mind that I am having trouble with.

i know i do not feel this alone.

this is all a real mind fuck.

an article is circulating. don’t get me started about the stupidity of the press – – it’s about the insensitivity of asking “how are you?”

are you kidding?

the article pissed me off. like fuck you pissed me off.

do not diminish my caring inquiry. do not turn caring and asking into some better politically correct bullshit you should say it this way language. no no no.

I’m here. hello. I’m still here.

Lately, I’ve been turning old nude images of me into art.

i feel rather delighted and proud of them.

and then, i talk myself out of sharing them because

i decide that noone gives a shit.

they don’t want to see my art

they want to see my ass.

i remind myself that i make art not for you

but for me.

but i wish that my art was cherished.

or more so, that i was cherished.

with things pandemic, things art feel like a big thumb squishing my creative mind into the woodwork.

i’m here, hello, I’m still here.

my intimate times with myself are less and less.

and my photographing things intimate

are even less.

but then a moment finds me.

a moment spired usually by some stranger being kind.

and i feel attended to …

for a second.

i’m here. hello. I’m still here.

out of that, my creativity is affirmed.

images like these

which are very me

and very creative

are just a moment in time.

that i give away.

that slips away into internet heaven.

i’m left with

many many strangers

men

and women who

perhaps have a moment of joy.

i should feel satisfied somehow.

i don’t.

this triggers stuff.

emotional stuff.

because that’s what it all is.

one big ball of way too much.

I’m still here. hello. I am here

 

 

 

Autumn 2014

halloween.

in my fantasies

halloween includes heaving breasts, no panties, sneaky kisses  and getting some.

that’s what costuming is for.

otherwise its some popular forced march that i never belonged to.

i’ve had good ideas for the party i have to go to

and feel once i am there like the douche bag/wall flower that i really am.

have i described myself that way before??

i can be brassy and bold

for a sec.

and then stupid peer whatever knocks me flat.

if i never participate in the parade known as halloween that’s OK.

FIVE years ago. i was getting laid. a LOT

i felt desired.

on the side. here, at flickr. there was other deliciousness happening

i was getting the attention i deserve.

perhaps that’s the difference to today.

the attention vessel is so very very empty.

on flickr a comment called me “a rider”

excuse me?

REad my “about”.

it’s not all about the pictures asshole.

or perhaps it is.

these pictures were taken in the house i lost

i hate the farmers tan.

not a fan of the belly.

but i remember feeling great arousal.

i remember thinking someone would like these

i remember photographing myself here.

probably the same pants i had on last post.

i miss the wet

the want

the attention.

in the same week, a very hot image of mr cowboy and I.

i was on the counter. legs spread, there was rum

and levi’s.

damn

strange day today.

something pretty wild happen

unexpected.

it may not all pan out

but the tone of the day altered because of it.

 

 

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.

 

What Attraction Felt Like

you may like me

in a desire me sort of way

i won’t ever physically feel that

not in a knowing way

not in a way that things can be with

something real.

something

touchable or

tangible.

I could adorn a certain dress

or have freshly washed hair

or reveal the nape of my neck

those simple details can get the attention i yearn for

those days are so very very long gone.

sometimes

i might think i look ok

and feel attractive and pretty

i imagine adoring eyes.

the leaning in to kiss me

or my favorite

when you pull me to you

in lust.

i want it too

you can tell.

the air between us

takes a breath.

a touch can give me goosebumps

a touch can make me blush

a touch can have me arch my back

bring me to a purr

a touch can take me elsewhere in my body and in my mind.

someones touch  readies me for more

i am responsive that way

i am not one to say no

because i enjoy touch

i enjoy it so so very much.

it was the men in my life who said no

never i

i had desire

all the time.

when the want was mutual

the touching felt amplified

louder

hungry

i remember a very hot summer afternoon

i was wearing a simple cotton nightie

it had bits of lace at the edges of its square neckline

the cotton was thin

slightly sheer

i stood in the threshold of the back door near him

i had just taken a bath

A huge breeze found us.

he had been ignoring me for weeks now

and i remember thinking with every part of me

i want him to want me

i want his desire

i remember the sun on my face

late afternoon warm.

the wind was so unexpected

we just stood there as it swept over the two of us.

my nipples got hard

i gasped.

he was not detail minded sexually

but for some reason in that moment

a kiss on my neck found me.

i looked at him

clearly hungry for him

he responded.

when someone says yes

vs no.

attraction is one of the best feelings.