Thursday, October 20, 2011

Speeding





You're a passenger in a car.  You want to go fast, and even though you have the authority to exit the car at any time, you don't.  

You want to go fast.  

You love the thrill as the car takes corners a little too fast, as the buildings race by the side windows in a never-ending blur.  Butterflies and a hint of exhilarating panic dance in your belly as the car weaves in and out of traffic.

The car goes faster still.  Horns honk as your bumper glances off of other bumpers.  People dive out of the way, as your car is going way too fast to avoid them if they don't.  Faster still, more danger, more panic.  The car is coming up behind cars too fast to weave anymore, you're just hoping to miss them by sheer luck.

You have a decision to make.  Live with the panic, close your eyes, and continue, or open the car door and jump out.  

It's not a matter of whether or not you'll survive the jump; you will.  You will roll, and you will bruise, but you eventually will come to a stop, stand up, and hobble away.  Staying in the car is a far more dicey proposition.  You might not survive, then again, you might.  It's exciting, and others look on in envy.  You can maintain your daredevil flourish; but those that notice it aren't the ones with their life at stake.  You are.

The car bounces off a curb, spins out of control, knocks your head against the side door before continuing on, just as reckless as before.  It's time to jump, or time to resign yourself to reckless fate.

You open the door and exit the vehicle, landing on your side, and rolling.  Finally you stop; you're okay.  Sore, but alive.  

Hopefully, it will be awhile before you get back into a car like that.


***



It's getting cold.  The summer is gone.  Yes, the same summer that I bitched non-stop about, with 75 days of 100+ temperatures.  The summer that I couldn't wait to end...is gone.  And I miss it.

But dammit, I'm holding out.  Even if I have to wear a jacket, I'll wear shorts or a skirt.  And if it gets too cold for a skirt, I'll still wear either flips, or open-toe shoes.

And if and when it gets too cold for that...I'll be depressed.  I'm not a winter girl.

But soon enough, it will turn summer again, and I'll be happy. My swimsuits will come out again, and so will I.  Then it will be blistering hot again, and I'll bitch about the summer, and wish it would go away.


***

TumblrArt vs. Traditional Art


Does new art, the digital stuff and otherwise, get the same respect as traditional art (oil, acrylic, watercolor paints, etc.)?  Should it?

Before about a year ago, I didn't have much experience with art of any kind.  School trips to the museum was about the extent of it before I really started getting interested.  Even then, it was mostly in the way of traditional art.  I dated a painter for a short while, took a few lessons, and studied the great ones (and still do).  There's a certain quality to it, whether it's classic-style or contemporary painting.  It seems 'fine' and more often than not is very layered and finished looking, even if it's a very busy-looking abstract.

http://www.gallerytoday.com/

In contrast to that are the newer styles of artwork.  Some of it is paint, but a lot of it's digital as well.  Here are a few Tumblr sites that feature different styles of the newer art:

http://magicalfelix.tumblr.com/


http://prathmesh.tumblr.com/


http://resouled.tumblr.com/

A lot of it has the 'feel' of illustration more than anything else.  Is illustration the same as art?  I think it is, it just carries a certain style.  I also notice that a lot of it draws from sci-fi, anime', and fantasy styles.  I'm sure a lot of these artists are graphic artists with formal training, but I can also imagine that a lot of them are self-taught. They're the introverts who sit in the back of class, creating incredibly intricate pen and pencil drawings, now graduated to intricate pieces of digital and mixed-media art.  


The new art, the TumblrArt, is the future.  Something about it lends itself to online viewing, where traditional art, in my opinion, always just makes me think "this is great, but I wish I could see the real thing."  With digital art, you're already looking at the real thing.  




***





Human beings are filled with endless and insatiable desires, one must take a steadfast vow to cease from vainly striving to satisfy them.

This is the struggle of life.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Roller-Coaster and Sympathy- A Short, True Story






The party on Friday night was in a hotel beside the freeway that had seen its better days.  They- whoever they were- had a block of rooms on an upper floor, and I doubt there were twenty other rooms occupied in the whole place.  It was dancers on their night off, plus their friends, and others in a cast of random characters.  Mark and I got there at about 12:30am and were immediately met by my new coworker Chanelle, who I hit it off immediately with on my first day of work. Chanelle- who came home with me after my second shift, got high with us, and had some fun- was already high, and looking for more fun when we got there.

I knew very few of them, though I knew their kind very well.  Sometimes, I'm part of their kind.  When you're working, you're earning, and on a night off, you let loose a little bit...or a lot.

I'd been there before, with the dimly lit hallway punctuated by the sharp light coming through each cracked door, propped open.  Music hummed from different rooms, as well as incessant knocking on doors that got closed, both intentionally and not.  Mark was enthralled by the partiers, especially Chanelle, who was equally enthralled by him. They disappeared while I went for a drink, leaving me alone even as I made conversation with strangers.  I called Shari to come join us, its the kind of thing we used to attend together when we both worked at the same club.  I just stepped back into that life a bit, and even being there with a guy, I wanted the security of having her there with me, too.  As it turns out, I barely saw her until the next morning.

*

The time compresses late at night, with several hours spent among a group of rooms, among the same people, in various states of consciousness.  I had sex with Mark, but then lost track of him.  I wandered, through shots and powder, among people that I recognized and who became instant disposable friends in that way that party-goers become as the hours pass.  I found Mark in a room, fucking Chanelle; I turned around and left, seeking another substance and another small group of people.  I later found him, and he lied about where he'd been and with who, so we fought, viciously.  I did something stupid, and maybe an hour later we made up and had our fun, then fought again, this time fueled by more than just anger.  We didn't speak for an entire day after that, and I eventually fell asleep with Chanelle, awaking to an empty room and one barely coherent housekeeping staffer pulling the bedding off the floor and into her rolling hamper.

I found Shari and we went home; we were going to get showered, and then go to the State Fair for the day with a group of friends.  On our way home, we found out that my boss' wife- also my co-worker Greg's mother- had a massive stroke and was near death.  She decided to go on to the fair, and I went to the hospital to meet Greg and his dad, both in shock. I left them there and resumed my plans that night, as the bar where I work, which they owned, was closed due to the family emergency.

*

Late that night, maybe around 1am, as I was heading home I stopped at Greg's when I saw a light on.  He lives alone, and my phone was dead; I thought he could use the comfort of somebody looking in on him.  Ever since I started working with him, we had a good relationship.  One night after work, we had sex, and a few times after that it had happened again.  He was my friend, I cared for him, he was sometimes more than that.  He let me in and cried his eyes out.  That night we had sex twice and fell asleep sometime in the wee hours.  The next morning his estranged wife and daughter came by to check on him, to offer sympathy.  I walked through half naked, hungover and unwitted.  His wife stared daggers through me, I felt like a meddling slut, even though I'm not, they're separated.  She looked at me as if to say "oh, it's her, huh?".  It was, as it had been before and probably would be again.

I didn't want any more trouble for Greg, I just wanted to be there for him, and I was.  As far as the sex goes, I don't know if I manipulated him, or likewise, or both, or if it was just natural.  It was natural to me, with or without manipulation, which might say something not so great about my nature.  The wife I can handle, the kid affected me more.  Do I have a problem?

*

I made up with Mark and met him to go watch football.  We had sex, cleaned up again, then went to the bar.  When we don't fight, we're great together.  He makes me feel good, like I'm where the fun is, and like I'm the magnet that belongs attached to him.  He likes to put his hands in places that aren't altogether appropriate for public places, and every time, I'm somehow helpless to be appalled, or to stop him.  He is magnetism.  We argue and then we make up.  We fuck and I only want more fucking.  I can live with the scorching, but do not put out this fire.  He has a belief that he'll always get what he wants; if it's me he wants, then he might always be right.

He's dismissive and arrogant, and sometimes I get so mad I don't want him anywhere near my sight.  I've been physically violent with him once.  I've been physically and sexually attracted to him wholly and without exception for nearly three weeks straight.  Maybe the good and the bad are symptoms of the same phenomenon.  Maybe the bad and the good are of equal, intense, extreme.  Maybe it's a test.

No, the good is definitely better.  The bad just takes its toll. We fought on the phone today, we made up by text an hour later.

*

Tonight he's coming over.  I won't be able to resist whatever happens, I know and look forward to this.  I hope to avoid any bad for another day.  I'm on a runaway train, fearful and dreadful of the dark tunnels I'm plunged into, but delighted to have the butterflies in my belly go crazy with each wild swing.

Greg will call, as he did today.  I'll go see him, and comfort him the only way I know how, as I did today.  His mother passed, I can't make it go away, but I can make it better, he tells me that I do when we're together.

And then I will deal with Mark again.





Thursday, October 13, 2011

Power



Not to go all Tony Robbins/self-help on you all, but all of us have the power to take the next step, whatever that might mean to each of us.  A homeless man's got the power to make it to the next block if the block he's on's not earning enough change.  Warren Buffet's got the power to make a bigger dividend on his investment portfolio if last week's formula's not working as well this week.  

I've got the power to be happy, to take and keep control, and to find the things I want in life.Whoever said that people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be, they were onto something.  


Our world is fucked up, getting more fucked up all the damn time.  We can't change that, we can only change tiny components of it, and only then after extreme efforts and upheaval.  But we can change ALL of how we process the world as individuals.

***

What do I not have power over?  The way I react to certain people.  Luckily, it's usually in the interest of physical gratification, but still...it warrants mentioning.

***

CHECK 'EM OUT!



Today, like last week, I want to bring attention to somebody who you probably already know about, but who nonetheless deserves some extra attention to her writing abilities.  

She's somebody of many shades, like an artist able to mix their blue, grey, and red periods interchangeably and with equal skill.  She's a friend to many and a bright persona even to those who don't know her personally.  

But enough introductory compliments, let's talk stories, and how incredibly versatile she is.  

Do you prefer a fun romp of group sex with just a touch of darkness (and I don't mean skin color)?  Try Blondie's Wild Ride.

Do you prefer a romp of group sex with more than a touch of darkness (and in this case, I mean both the tone and the skin color)? Try Blondie and the Black Knight.

How about something completely different, in the way of a finely textured love story?  Try Paris in Flames, an award winner, no less.

Love Poetry?  No Problem, she's got you covered there, too.

Is BDSM your thing? Then read Mrs. Vandermeer's Rules, a series whose quality is reflected in the nearly perfect scores.

How about Lesbian?  Masturbation? Fairy-tale tinged taboo?  She's got it all, just a staggering array of variety.  

Like most writers, I do variations on a few common themes, some better than others.  But do yourself a favor and get acquainted with her work if you haven't already.  And, as always, let her know what you thought, even if it's not a public comment.  She'll really appreciate it.  

You can find all her stories here, at LushStories.com.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

What if you knew?

What would you say if you knew that what you see is what I want you to see, and nothing more?

If I was consistent, dependable, and steady, would your frustration with me simply be replaced by boredom?

How would you react, if you knew that I loved a pill more than our conversations?

What would you do if I told you that I think about you night and day, but in only physical ways?  Would you be ecstatic or devastated?

What if I wanted to go to Africa for a month, or Europe for a year, without a clue of what to do, would you think it crazy, or would that embody everything you love about me?

If I was everything you wanted and committed to being nothing less, would it be enough for you to do the same?

What if you knew about me all the things that I know about myself?



You look at me as if to say "I know what you're thinking, I know what you're about, I know what you try to hide."  But the joke's on you; you don't know shit, you simply want me to think you do.  If you did know, the look would be different.  The faux-dominance...would it turn to pity, anger, or would you just go cold?  Would your interest vaporize?  I choose the game over truth, mostly because I dare not challenge your reality with mine.




Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Comfort Zone


Maybe my lack of a comfort zone is my comfort zone.  


Maybe restlessness is nature's way of getting you out of the way of a speeding bullet, pointed right at you, aimed at your destruction.  You shift out of the way, it whizzes by, your life is spared, but you're none the wiser.  All you know is, 

"I feel so restless."


***

Today I walked into a club, as a contract dancer, for the first time in several months.  When I quit my last dancing gig, I left a place that nobody with any dignity would stay in, if put in my shoes.  Today, I walked into what I hope is a far better place.  So far, so good.

So much is the same: same dingy gym lockers, same muted friendliness from 10% of dancers, and nearly hostile suspicion from the other 90%.  Same weary man/woman posting the order, and in my case, laying some ground rules.  This lady, the bitter former dancer, is going to be a lot of fun to deal with, I can already tell.

Some of the 'same things' are good, though.  Same confident rush on-stage.  Same ability to slip right into character, to shed my real self and wear a pared-down, glowing, shape-shifting one for as long as I'm (insert fake name) in a sheer gown, wandering from table to table, with hopefully more table than wandering.  

Maybe, aside from the dull routines, smelly/creepy men, and the hint of menace that you never really shrug off unless you're a naive idiot, I still like it because it's real.  

Sitting wherever you are, having just read that, you might take issue with me calling a strip club a "real" environment.  I beg to differ.  In there, I offer conversation, attention, a break from whatever the hell you would be doing or worrying about, and for a relatively small amount of money.  You say it's, in fact, a considerable amount of money?  Maybe so, but try buying an escort of my caliber for the night, plus the guilt of full-blown sex on the purchase, and then let me know how expensive lap dances and a few drinks are?    

There is no bullshit of the real kind.  Bullshit of the verbal kind flies all day and all night, but the real bullshit- the empty promises, the fake feelings, the deception- all that is nowhere to be found.  Time for money.  Compensation for a service in demand.  It's real, when so much of the world is not.  My mind can make sense of it.

I know how to navigate this world, I'm wired for it.  No, I didn't grow up in the club, but I did grow up having to keep my wits about me.  I grew up knowing that money was what mattered; it was the difference between eating and not, between having an apartment, and not.  I still get hurt, but I know better how to avoid it in this world.  


There's no comfort zone there, but I don't expect one either.  I landed in a comfort zone a few months ago, and have been restless ever since.  

I don't know the resolution to this, but that's true of life, for everyone.

***

I was there with somebody else, following his lead through a living room strewn about with leftover food, spare drinks, some trash, and lazy boys gazing at the television.  We disappeared into a bedroom to do what we do, no different than any other boy and girl on any other day; just another way to pass the night and see how how good it can get. 

Walking out with my head held high, past the same skunked out boys that hadn't moved a muscle in half an hour, he asked me who I was.  I said, "you first."  

He was Joey, I was irrelevant.  I'd been there with his brother, I was off limits, but I smiled.  He looked down at another part of me, told to shut the fuck up by his brother, but he smiled back anyway.  That's all he was able to say, and that's all the time I had.  Another boy in the wrong place, while I was with the wrong guy.  


Thanks for this, Jackie.  The wire would tie our hearts together, cutting the flesh with every ill movement, you're damn right about that.  




Monday, October 10, 2011

Restless


*note: as always, actual names and places are changed to protect the guilty and the innocent


"You two are trouble, that's all I can say."

He said it with a smile, but I know he meant it, and I know he's right.

"He" is the guy I wrote about here and here.  

It's been a hell of a week-and-two-days since Mark sunk his claws into me first time. Those first few days we were all over each other at nearly every opportunity; I had no choice.  Not only did he cast a strong fuck-spell over me, but why let any chance to savor perfect chemistry go to waste?  So I didn't.  I didn't know him that well yet, but didn't worry too much about that, there would be time for us to either bond intellectually, or not.  

This all changed last Tuesday night.  

I made plans to meet him at a place where he was playing in a poker tournament, where I went on to have several drinks with my friends while he failed to have the courtesy to lose early, leaving me fairly tipsy and him completely sober by the time he was finally done playing.  Soon after, we went back to my place, only to find my roommate Shari drinking with our neighbors, already several drinks in herself.  

She and I have had our problems lately, so while Mark wandered off with our neighbors in search of beer (which we almost never keep in our refrigerator), we took the opportunity to cry, hug it out, and due to a little too much emotion plus a little too much booze, things escalated from there, and didn't stop. It was about 1:30am in our living room, and all the pent-up resentment, jealousy, love, and lust was coming out all at once. I don't know how much time passed before Mark came back in- alone, thankfully- but when he did, I heard the door and looked up to see his jaw practically hit the floor.

As unpredictable as I might be, I'm certain that he didn't expect to walk in on me and Shari having sex on the couch. Either way, I was drunk, I didn't want to stop, and I didn't want to explain, so I did the only thing that made any sense at the time: I motioned for him to come to us.

I'm sure it started much more awkwardly than several vodkas will let me recall, but Shari had no objections and Mark had no problems. I undid his pants and the rest he took care of, I put him in my mouth and got him hard, I felt his hands slide down my face and over my shoulder, leaving a trail of shudders as they raked across my buzzing skin.
 
Mark got down to his hands and knees to kiss me, touch me, and soon after, he crawled onto the couch, replaced Shari's head with his dick soon after, and it was on. Shari crouched over me, bare body lowered down on my face to give me a taste, then slid down, kissed him, and grabbed hold of his dick while he was fucking me. I felt him slide out of me, then heard her breath draw in sharply as he slid into her, fucking her slowly with me underneath them both. Other than the fact that I was having a hard time breathing with her weight, plus the force of his strokes, bearing down on me, I was deep in the zone, right in the mix, and in that groove where I've been with Shari before: sharing an experience without anyone feeling left out.
 
We put him on his back and we both rode him. She got him right to the edge, leaning on his chest while he pulled out and painted her ass, which I then licked off. He got hard again and we started again: he fucked me in his lap, he fucked her standing up, and finally, he fucked me on the floor until he came, and then we had another few drinks and he stayed the night. As happens when it's just the two of us, I came(and more than once), and when the dust cleared I was completely satisfied. There was no post-sex weirdness between any of us, and since then, I think the three of us have been together three more times. We hang out together, we've slept (as in, asleep, not just sex) together, and we've showered together.

I don't get the feeling that things are spinning out of control, and/or that I'm in a weird situation with Shari and Mark; it's more that I think it's weird that I'm not at all alarmed by this "arrangement". I mean, can this be sustained? I'm tempted to say that only in movies can two girls share a guy this way, and not have it end in disaster...but any example I can think of from TV or movies does end in disaster, sooner or later, so I'm sort
of in uncharted territory here.

He and I still go out one on one, and so far, I'm the one he calls, not her, though I'm not sure if I'd really care if he called her, too.  A friend asked if I'd be okay to know that they had sex on their own, without me, and I'd like to think I'd be okay with that; after all, I've given her no reason to think it would bother me if she did.  I like to be in control of things- or if I'm not in control, at least be sure of, and comfortable with, whoever is in control.  With the three of us, he's the only person with any semblance of power, and for now we both seem okay with that.

I'll find out as soon as tonight if that still holds true.  He's right though, we're definitely trouble.

***

Something's been bothering me lately, but it's not been anything that I could tie to a specific situation, or person, which bothers me even more.  But I think I've finally figured out that I'm not unhappy, or overly stressed out, I'm just a little bit restless.  

For about a year and a half, I was without roots, but at least I had some focus.  I knew I needed to make some money and improve my situation, and I knew (roughly) how to do it.  Since then, I've been really fortunate: I have a great friend and more that I live with, surrounded by other good friends, too.  I work for generous people, I have a good place to live, and I drive a reliable car.  But, somewhere along the way, I've started to get a little bit itchy.  Maybe it's the fact that I'm still staring down three more years of college just for a bachelor's degree, and of course more than that for anything else.  

Either way, my restlessness is really starting to boil over a bit as I sit, morning after early morning, through classes that are truly meaningless.  I don't say that as part of the whole "college is meaningless" opinion that you hear people spout off with from time to time*.  What I mean is, that compared with classes that I'd actually use someday, the ones I'm in are total bullshit.  I mean, "Organizational Behavior"?  The fuck?

Or how about this one: "Cultural Studies".  Here's an idea, buy and read "The Economist", watch "Rick Steve's Travel Europe", go on a couple of hours-long Wikipedia binges and don't be an idiot when communicating with other cultures.  There, I just gave you a curriculum twice as challenging and rewarding as this waste of tuition.  

I'm not saying that I want to quit college, but while sitting in these classes, little by little losing the will to do anything but show up for test dates, I wonder why I would waste my own money to pay for such a big time commitment, which will stay on my academic record (should that ever factor in a meaningful way down the road).  

So, I'm going to dust off the lucites, and take a couple of day shifts in a club where a friend and former fellow dancer now works.  It's a bit of a drive from where I am, but it feels right, and if I hate it, I can always just quit, which will put me right back where I started.  But if I find myself right back in the zone, then I'm still carrying 9 hours credit while doing something that I find myself missing more and more, earning more money, and keeping the night job that I also enjoy.  Plus, being a day-shift, I'd still have those nights free.  



.

I'll keep you posted on how this works out.

*usually those people never went to college, ironically enough.  This is sort of like never leaving the borders of the US, yet claiming constantly and vocally that "America is the greatest country on god's green earth!"


***

Now I think I’ll have me a coffee with six sugars
In a world full of ass kissers and dick pullers
I’m tryna walk a straight line but the line crooked
I’m shooting for the stars, astronauts dodge bullets
Yeah, I bought a brand new attitude
The hate is music to my ears, I got my dancing shoes
Sometimes we question shit that there is no answer to
But I just built a house on I Don’t Give a Fuck Avenue
-lil wayne






Thursday, October 6, 2011

Bridget Bardot











Bridget Bardot: still a badass

***

Ever notice how in a group of people, when somebody's name comes up and some random person says "oh I hate that (insert name), she's a bitch!", no matter how many people say "hey, I know her, she's always been really nice to me", that everyone else is going to walk away thinking that she is, in fact, a bitch?  

Why is that?  Why are negative characterizations stronger than positive ones?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The Rear View



You know who I'm sometimes jealous of?  The people with big families.  I know that I might be romanticizing it, and that some of them might not be much more than a big group of people who all carry around heavy baggage of resentment and dislike, but whenever I hear about them or find myself around them, it always seems like a good thing to me.  It seems like those people with big families wouldn't know what to do if one day all of those family members were no longer around.

Since I have a really, really small family (dead brother, dead mother, dying father, and two aunts), I go back and forth between trying to find things in my past that I can identify with, to try to generate some sort of history of myself, and completely leaving it all behind.  Leaving it behind is not as bad as it seems, given that it doesn't amount to much in the first place, and emotionally speaking, I checked out on what little family I have long ago anyway.

I learned a long time ago to travel light emotionally, it's mostly served me well.  Lately, I've taken things a little more to heart, and so the hard things are a little harder, but I know it's healthier to not shut everything and everybody out.  I'm finding a happy medium: leave everything that's past and everything that's poisonous in the rear view mirror.

Abuse, bitterness, anger, past loves, past life: leave it behind.


***

So, in case you were wondering how this situation turned out...


I'm happy, and semi-freaked out, to report that the sexual chemistry is every bit as powerful as I thought it might be when we finally hooked up.  We texted back and forth a couple of times, then finally met up at a mutual friend's party on Saturday.  Two hours later, we left together, and shortly afterward, in his apartment, as soon as the front door shut behind us...


I love sex (surprise, surprise), and I've had a lot of partners.  A lot of those were *very* good at making me feel maximum pleasure.  Some of them needed very few cues toward what my body wanted/needed out of sex, and a precious few (maybe 2) have seemed to know exactly what I wanted before I could even tell them.

But for the first time, with this guy, all of that is beside the point.  Whenever we're together, I only want more of whatever we do, however we do it.  And the only times we haven't been together since Saturday night have been the nights we didn't spend together asleep (otherwise known as Monday night), and the times that  one or both of us are working.  I don't expect it to keep up at the same rate, but I'm enjoying the hell out of it right now, and doing my best not to worry too much about the future (even though I can't help myself sometimes).

I'll see him again tonight, and in between all the non-verbal communication, we'll hopefully have some more verbal action.  I'm still getting to know the guy, and it would be good if we continued to connect in other ways, too.  We just haven't given ourselves much opportunity to do so thus far.




***
CHECK'EM OUT!

I'm starting a new series, where I give deserved compliments to the people that I know, and many that you might know, too.  This inaugural version of CHECK'EM OUT, is for Dancing_Doll, a.k.a. Ashleigh Lake.




She's a very great and talented writer of erotic stories, and if you're lucky enough to know her, then you know she's an even better person.  That part's up to you and your shining personality, but what I can guarantee is that by going here, or here, you will find stories to keep your juices flowing and your imagination occupied for hours...and take it from me, you'll always come back for more.

In case you couldn't be bothered to click the links embedded above, here's her blog address: http://ashleighlake.blogspot.com, also linked from the right hand column of this blog.

My personal favorite is "The Blindfold Game", but her best one is up for serious and continuous debate.  So, judge for yourself...alone or with a partner that shares your love of erotic lit.