Drunk, It Happens

It happens, 

In the moment I know I’m irrepressibly drunk.

I have the realization that my life is spiraling out of control but, it doesn’t scare me.

Rather, it gives me pause when I chuckle and think, 
“Who gives a damn?”
 
I throw my hands up, laugh out from my whole body and tense as my form is swung around like as it is on a carnival ride.

I am alive.

Alive.

..............

...

Time Line & Existence

Although I've always been known as the "historian" of my family as I'm the one that snaps the photos, the one who documents things in my calendar and the one who designs the extravagant scrapbooks, I have a hard time putting the pieces of my own history together into a logical time line that is completely accurate.

I'm getting lost down the rabbit hole as far as my erotic history is concerned and I need to figure it all out.

The reason this is so important to me is that I hate confusing dates and people and events so much, its one of my obsessive flaws that I've never been able to break. I always want to have things filed straight in my own mind.

 

standing still on a distant shore...

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The problem here is that all of my romantic/sexual/hedonistic adventures and experiences all pretty much butt right up to one another as far as a time line is concerned; I'm just one of those girls who seems to be able to flit from lover to lover without all of that messy grieving and such.

I could be with Man A on Monday, like where its going and yet a week later after its lost its enchantment, I'll be with Man B on Sunday next and then Man C on Tuesday once I realized that Man B couldn't kiss very well.Or like with Gadget, I was seeing a long time friend intimately about a week after I ended our very serious two year relationship.

I believe I just think, Well that didn't go so well, let's try again, and I don't make a big issue out of it. It's not out of being shrewd and heartless but it goes by the fact that I am very analytical and straight-forward where my relationship coping skills are concerned.

While I'm mostly thankful for this, this ability/handicap makes it so much easier to be a rampant slut.

Why am I like this, do you ask?

I think it may well be because I am not one of those people who sits around regretting decisions, nor one who is willing to sit around and drown in one's sorrow. I like to take each experience in my life and consider it a learning/life experience, to heighten the positive and move on. While this makes things easier to view them in this way, I have at times tended to fall toward the negative side and this too has propelled me to a greater ability to take a deep breath, step outside the grief and move on.

Why torture yourself with what can't be changed?

Talking to Horns tonight made me realize that though I've been a slut, I haven't let it make or break me, which is vital. I enjoy sex and intimacy and fun, but I don't allow it to become all I'm about like some can do.

While I'm more willing to wake up early for sex versus breakfast, it isn't the only passion that drives me in this life. I have learned that one can be a sexual being without sacrificing one's worth and personality and while I'm an extremely accommodating, loving and generous young woman, I respect my body, my life and my spirit far too much to throw myself to the wolves in an effort to find myself a goddess in the eyes of every man.

I used to sleep with a guy when I was younger and he would roll off and I would frown as he sighed with his release as I was disregarded, I felt used up and rejected. These times were good for me as they showed me what I was not looking for and drove me to find what I craved to complete my sexual and sensual self.

I know that some would read these ideals I hold so dear and find them to be a contradiction of my sexually submissive nature; I think not and feel that they are very necessary for me to have while in this position. Submission isn't about being broken down into the most basic elements for enjoyment by a dominant, but rather is about finding that paramour in a man that can feel your passion and your spirit, find it alluring and can see a way to enhance that fiery bit of you to his pleasure and ultimately, yours too.

I submit to please and in doing so, I find pleasure too.

Being human is such a crucial and complex thing. On some levels we are very base in our needs and drives while in others we excel in our complications and refinements. We are each so many layers all clinging together to make a being who is all at once so many contradicting things.

This is the beauty of our existence.

We suffer and grow and fall down and soar but in the end its all about having the power to be yourself at the end of it all.

..........

...

Oh Brad.

There's one thing to say and that's, 'Brad, I'm mad for you too. Oh Brad.'

Alright, so I bet you're asking 'What's up with the not-so-subtle references to The Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

It all has to do with one of the first guys in my life that made me change my thoughts on love, relationships and sex. His name was...well...Brad.

 An anime image I've had since High School that I thought looked very much like the man in question, even down to the bone choker.

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I met him during my Freshman year in High School in art class, when his heavy book bag crushed my be-sandled toes on the first day of school. He bent down to collect his spilled belongings, spouting countless apologies and when he looked up from behind his long-ish hair and his glittering blue eyes met mine, his jaw dropped.

I milked my "injury" all through the class just to get him to pout his lips with compassion from where he sat across the table from me. I kept looking at his shiny brown hair, in a long layered sort of style that came down to his shoulders and also his hands. They were the hands of an artist, somewhat spidery and with grace and fluidity. I also liked his lips and wondered what they would feel like on mine.

At the time, I was a virgin but I was having the most perverted thoughts in that class, my pencil tapping on my sketch book, my face dreamy with thoughts of a dark room, his body strong and pounding over my own, his teeth lightly nibbling my neck.

I jumped with fright when I felt a hand on my shoulder that brought me back to reality. Brad looked down at me,

"Class is out. What were you so lost in thought about?"

His smile sent me through the roof. I laughed it off and mumbled something about being out of it. As I stood he handed me my discarded pencil,

"Hey, do you have this lunch hour? We should hang out under the big tree, score it before anyone else does."

I nodded and smiled my acquiescence, my eyes sparkling with joy.

After that day under the tree, Brad and I spent as much time with each other as we could, the vibe never really stirring from that of friendship but I was happy, he was so funny and smart. I remember one day we skipped our next classes after lunch and just sat under the tree, him scribbling with a Sharpie on my Chucks while we talked about what bands were coming into town. It was a flawless friendship.

That is, until he kissed me one day before Christmas vacation.

I was coming down the stairs from the art building and he caught my wrist and pulled me into a tight hug, as I giggled with surprise. His unusually tall frame crushed against my own petite one. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his brows pinched together in thought and confliction. I questioned his grim expression,

"Brad, what's up? Is everything okay?"

He nodded slightly and then tried to smile,

"I just...have to...uh..."

With that, he slid his agile artist's hand behind my head, his fingers in my hair and bent down to kiss me, his lips warm and soft and dream-inducing. I sighed as he kissed me more and more deeply, my hand grasping the sleeve of his coat for dear life.

He then nuzzled his face into my neck and whispered ever so softly in my ear,

"I had to kiss you, I'm sorry but I love you and it felt so right."

A tear slid down my cheek, my heart racing and his eyes were looking right into mine. I couldnt breathe and I knew I loved him too. My voice came out barely audible as we stood there, holding each other,

"Don't apologize. It was the perfect kiss and...I...I love you too."

His smile was brighter than the sun and he laughed out loud in his joy, hugging me even tighter kissing me all over my face. I giggled from the joy of it, the moment where I knew my feelings had been reciprocated this whole time.

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Perfection doesn't last and soon I found how horrible Brad's life was at home. His mother was very young when she had him and had no idea how to take care of him or his little sister. They fended for themselves and it made them feel lost and alone.

Brad had problems with anxiety, depression with feelings of suicide and had issues dealing with keeping himself happy. He said I was his cure, that I completed him and made him feel like there wasn't any reason to be sad. He said I was better than the pills that they tried to force on him. He must have been right because I never really saw that darker side of him.

That is until his father sued his mother for custody and would have to move up north to go live with him. Brad cried to me at school the day after he found out, his arms wrapped around me, barely able to speak. He was happy to be getting away from his mother but he wondered how he could ever survive without me. He was scared he would revert back to his depression back to his thoughts of death and ending it all.

I cried too and my heart truly broke that day for the first time.

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After Brad had been gone for a few weeks, he started to tell me over the phone about how he couldn't bear to be without me anymore, he thought he would die. It was one week before summer vacation and he begged me to come out and see him, to stay with him and his father, his sister and just be with him. I spent two weeks during early summer that year and it was bliss.

After that trip I left for London, England to be with my best friend for the rest of the summer. We partied, we went to clubs, we went to museums and Harrod's. I grew up. Even though I talked to Brad every day while I was there, I knew things couldn't be the same if he wasn't with me like he used to be.

I decided when I got home that I couldn't deal with a long distance relationship, even though I loved him and missed him and it broke my heart to hear him over the phone. He understood though when I told him, my words covered in tears. He cried with me and told me something I'll never forget the rest of my life, his exact words were,

"You'll always remember this love and this comfort. I'll always love you and I'll always have this piece of your heart that's mine forever."

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Over the next several years I still talked to Brad and saw him a few more times between lovers and trysts but we never had sex. To him, I was still the virginal high school girl who wanted to change the world.

A few months before I met Gadget when I was eighteen years old, Brad begged me to come up and stay with him again. I was feeling down and had just gotten out of a horribly abusive relationship that actually led to me pressing charges. I was a broken girl and I missed Brad like he was my second skin.

When I saw him at the train station, my heart lifted and I cried out his name, running to him. We collided in the most amazing embrace of my life, his lips on mine, his hands tangled in my hair and tears from both of us. I still loved him, and he loved me.

Late in that afternoon after I had settled back into the familiar guest room, I walked down the twilight hazy hallway to Brad's room and rapping lightly on the door, I came in. I looked at him from under my eyelashes as he pulled a tee shirt on over his tall, muscular form. I closed the door behind me and sat on the bed as he stood looking at me from across the room. I spoke softly through the silence,

"Your dad just took your sister to her meeting and he's going to stay with her."

He looked at me searchingly, his eyes deep in thought. I beckoned him and knelt up on the bed. He came over and as he pressed his body to mine, he touched his hand to my face and smoothed his soft fingertips over my eyes and down my jaw to my lips. He kissed me and I felt just what I had when I was in High School.

I pulled on his tee shirt when our kissing became more fevered and he tugged my tank top off. We stood apart for just a moment, trying to take this moment in. I smiled and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. His voice was strong,

"You know, there has never been anyone else for me. I haven't ever been with another girl, not even kissed one. I've been waiting because I knew that one day I would be there to save you when some asshole hurt you. I knew that it would be time then. I still love you, you know that."

"I love you too Brad." A tear slid down my cheek and he wiped it away gently with one bent finger.

He kissed my teary eyes, wrapping his arms around me, his arms so strong and sheltering. He was right, he was there for me when I needed him most, always. I sighed and let myself go, I was safe.

We undressed in front of one another, our eyes timid yet full of lust, full of need. I laid down on my side and begged him to come to me with my eyes. He laid down next to me, his arm draping over my waist, holding me.

It was heat and passion when he took me, his virginal spirit feeding the empty place that the demon of a man before him had broken. He held me tight and looked into my eyes, really making love to me. I smiled and kissed him softly, my arms around him. I felt waves of warmth radiating through my body, happiness finally claiming me after so long. I was surprised to hear his voice,

"Touch yourself and come with me, I need that."

So I reached down and touched my swollen clit as he made love to me, our bodies to tightly pressed together I couldn't remember where I was, so lost in sensation was I. When I came I held on to him, as he rocked his orgasm against me in time with my own. It was singing angels and fireworks and all of that, I was lost in it all. I cried a little as my back arched and my breath caught and he kissed my neck and my lips and made me realize everything was going to be alright.

We laid together for hours, sleeping on and off and I felt like if anyone saw us, they would see the glow of our ecstasy on our skin.

We slept deeply that night and made love everyday while I was there, each time more lovely than the last. I rode him as he sat up against the wall and I held his face, his eyes looking straight into my eyes as I came as he touched me. I cried then too.

We kissed goodbye at the train station at the end of the week and it felt like the last scene in Casablanca. I got on the train and rode home in silence, healed but still needing his warmth. I missed him already.

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I talked to Brad yesterday on the phone, he's doing well and he no longer has those dark thoughts he used to. He's happy at University and working, helping his father raise his little sister. He told me that he still misses me and that there still hasn't been with another girl.

I got emotional when he told me that but I understand him and his motivation. Ours is a complicated love that's simple to the two of us and we both understand it perfectly.

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We all have something that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering
The better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone

-Dig, by Incubus

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... 

The Whore in the House Next Door

I am full of questions today and full of jubilant energy just springing from my rabid love of adventurous knowledge seeking and interviewing and I'll tell you why; Yesterday I found out that in the house next door to mine, lives an actual, living, breathing prostitute.

I couldn't be more jazzed.

 

Is it still called a "Peeping Tom" if the perpetrator is a girl?

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Let's call her Lily. Lily is from Sussex in England and she's lovely and intelligent and healthy and lives a very lovely life with her husband who is also from England. She has lovely red hair and a pretty pink yogurt sort of complexion and she's in her late fifties.

It absolutely bowled me over to hear that this woman was a sex worker.

I'm not in a judgmental head space when I relay this information to you, but rather my mind is all twisted by my discovery. I have friends in my city who are sex workers (my state does not permit prostitution in any way, shape or form, by the way) and I've found them to be the most honest, vibrantly self truthful people I've ever encountered. They seem to have this air of dispatched preconceptions that so many people seem to have, including me. It frees them up...a lot.

So unfortunately Lily had a run in with the law about licensing for bank transfers from her credit merchant that processes customers pay information. She runs a house where several other girls work from and she pretty much heads it up so she took the brunt of the drama. This is how it came to be community knowledge.

The other horrible thing about Lily's predicament is that now our neighbors have started to shun her and her lovely husband for fear of catching her horribly contagious case of the "whore flu".

 

Do note that during the Victorian Age "gay" was a term appointed to those working 

in prostitution versus those who were homosexual.

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Our neighborhood is a mixed sort with older people, families with kids, single people, and we even have a pastor from our local church. I was sickened when a particular neighbor who may or may not be the pastor came up to me as I walked my dog one early morning and asked,

"So what's your position on the twisted sinner that lives next door to you?"

I nearly gagged as I replied,

"I really don't know who you're referring to as we're all sinners here on Earth, Pastor."

With those burning words, I stuck my little chin in the air and trotted back home with my tiny dog in tow.

I really couldnt believe that he had asked me that and had judged her so severely based on one piece of her life even though he knows her quite well and used to consider her a friend. Its so sad to me.

I feel a human being should be judged on the whole combination of their person, their soul and their merit and not on the one pointless mark that they happen to be a sex worker.

Whores are people too, damn it!

(Do know that I use that word in only the most loving way.)

Being a slut of some high degree, I know what its like to be judged for being sexually free and open and my heart goes out to Lily in her time of need. It hurts to know that even in modern society an enterprising woman can't be respected as she should just because some tend to find her line of work morally reprehensible.

I even baked cookies and left some on her doorstep with a note that said,

Keep your chin up, things will be better. Signed, A Friend.

So Lily, if you did enjoy those cookies just know it was me, the bouncy college student who lives next door that gave you that little nudge to make you smile.

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The Monday Buzz: Jo System Silicone Lube

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