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.

 

 

 

 

 

Triggers

if you say the word trigger

it’s an alert.

it says you have survived something

and usually those somethings are not good.

its a word that is used way too often now.

unfortunately

i loathe mainstream terms

sure i survived.

a LOT

but when there is  hashtag and a campaign around it

when survivors are now a tribe

no.

The words do however set the tone.

and the word trigger

i find very useful

i didn’t mean to run into these images but here they fucking are.

the triggers in this trio are there.

allow me to share.

first image. i remember this day. i had put this dress on backwards and didn’t notice. so like me.  this shot – headless me? was a bit like where had I gone. the “i” part. I love the missing head, the front of the dress on the back of me and the feet in the other direction — this is a great odd shot. I was losing my home here. my lovely little circa 1926 bungalow. my lovely 27 windows of 4 way light. my first space of my very very own. the owning of which happened without a plan in 4 days. my income once here began to spiral. the beginnings of repressed memories and trauma began here. and, so did my alter ego that all of you know so so well. ( or think you know anyway ) I have been writing for cathartic reasons lately and am glad of it. thank you for reading. and for noticing. i am ok. just alone as usual.  but thank you for wondering. so the trigger in this image was the toaster oven. go figure. when i moved in with mr cowboy. he pitched my toaster oven. big big demonstrative ceremony to the dumpster. this has got to go. in the scheme of things NOW I actually have no need for one. but then — a toaster oven was a fixture of home. and he dismantled home emotionally for me. at so so many levels. he messed with it. he messed with me.

second image.  in my creative mind and heart. images like these are an expression and story i want to tell. coupling. my belief in two. visually the moment captured here = lust and desire. it shares an i feel pretty and it pauses a something between two that is a feeling. not a selfie, not contrived, not predicted. it’s real. i can feel the tenderness of these two lips touching. it was like that between us. chemistry at it’s best. lips kissing to wet between them lovely. yum.  the day after this was taken. this man dumped me via text. who the fuck does that. i was stunned.  i gave it or his so called dump some time, because it was JUST weird. He crawled back with an automatic sorry and a handful of pesticide ridden yellow roses. I allowed that. this is where i should say to myself wtf  — because i asked for more of him.  we all have part in our messes. the trigger in this one — stops me in my emotional tracks. the very very memory of such tenderness makes my stomach turn inside out. how is this even missing from my LIFE. we all deserve kisses. lots and lots of them.

The last image was taken for someone who at the time was paying attention to me virtually. he. like most. fleeted. but at the time this was taken for him. the banter was very lovely. I enjoyed taking this image and would do so for  special certain reasons and circumstances. This image reminds me triggers all of my humble beginnings – 10 years ago — my alter ego, my courage to be nude and my looking at myself. inside and out. I keep trying to say… that person is no longer here. I keep speculating about trauma, and age because the other side of it all is there and real. when i look at this image i don’t see the same flesh. and age has altered the demographic

At some level I have stopped looking. or have lost the desire or the feeling of i am…worth looking at i guess. and this isn’t to self deprecate. this is to say who really cares. because who does ?? because really.  if am deserving and worthy. then that should be standing by my side.

My cat was sick last week. for about 4 days she wouldn’t leave me. her curled form upon my chest had me feel a tenderness again that had me weep. she’s a fucking cat. and some of you are not cat people so, i get that but  …the emotional value of a pet is sortof there. and she, and I are together more than anything else. the thing is. i, as you know, tell stories with my photography. i offer a narrative. and doing so in social media has had a volume of folks fall in love with her. It’s pretty neat. In the spirit of that — two strangers and one friend have gifted funds for a now empty vet envelope. not small change either. generous gifting.  That said, I am fully prepared for a next circumstance for her in a way I would have not been able to manage on my own. THIS is pretty great.

I should write more about the gifting economy sometime. and money, and triggers.

another time.