i was contemplating

creating another blog for this material, but after conversation with my housemates i have decided to include it here. regardless of my current decisions to 1) not relate with people (specifically men) based on sex/sexuality/manipulating sexism and 2) to not date anyone until January, i am motherfucking horny and I love sex as a form of expression and relating. I have committed myself to not giving in to the sexual repression replete in society- the repression that dictates our rape culture. I love to talk about sex, i love to have sex, i love sex- i love, even more, getting people's deep dark thoughts about sex out of them. it's too bad i can't be a good lover to otis right now- we had fabulous sexual possibility.

current sexual fantasy:
blindfolded. gagged. cuffs on both wrists; the cuffs are attached to each other behind my back. occasionally in my thoughts there is a black thong, garter belt & thigh highs, sometimes i am bareskinned. the male is indeterminate; sometimes he is a recent lover, sometimes he is one long past. always he is dominant, and nearly faceless.
i am on my back. he pulls me up to his kneeling form by my hair or neck; he puts his dick in my mouth carefully, slowly moving himself in as much as he can, pulling me on to him. i lick the vein lining the length of his cock with my tongue, savoring the taste of his sweat.
he pushes me off of him and flips me over roughly, taking me from behind forcefully, hitting my upturned ass hard with his hand as a I groan into my gag. he uses my cuffed hands as a handle to pull me harder onto his long, hard cock. i groan louder as my pussy drips onto my sheets.
He pulls out and i whine; i want him back inside. he shushes me, pushing my face into the pillow carefully he kisses my back and starts rubbing my asshole with his well-lubricated finger. His condomed dick rests momentarily at the gate of my ass; he starts pushing slowly in...

ok. ack. that turned more into softcore than i wanted it too... but i am reluctant to edit it. oh well.

its still tuesday

and damned if i'm not sad. someone mentioned otis, and my housemates started looking at pictures full of him & me, and i started remembering his face... the way his lips sloped carefully into his pretty, stubbly face... his dynamic nose that seemed to rise above his face like a dolphin dorsal over the oceans surface.

i am too much. i am too demanding and uncouth, i am defensive and tired. i am tired of constantly having (or feeling like i have) to call people on their shit, in order to be taken seriously. I just wasn't prepared to do it on my vacation. and i'm sorry. perhaps i was (am) a little burned out. and i let it get the better of me. do i constantly have to fight? I have had to fight for my life, and i'm tired of it. honestly. can i get a break? i'm tired of men, i'm tired of fighting them in this sexist society, i'm tired of being on my toes constantly. i'm tired of being tired.

i want more equanimity. i resolve to find some.

it's tuesday

and all i did today was hit the river. it was great. i love my friends- i have worked hard to build a positive and transformative community here, and its fucking working. yay.

i have decided to interact with males based on our shared humanity, not the possiblity of sex. mmm. gonna be super hard, i think, for all the reasons i listed below.

ok so

i'm a little obsessed now. i've gone into a writing mode. i get crazy about writing when i'm distraught, i can't seem to stop, one day i wrote ten pages of single spaced autobiography. it is that very piece of work that I am so proud of that might have made a certain someone- lets call him Otis- a little scared of little old me. i gave him my sixteen page autobiography and asked him to read it, he didnt for a very long time. when he finally did he said nothing to me about it. ever.

the autobiography is full of me. it's supposed to be, is what you're thinking, i know that- but this was full of me in a way that most things and people have never experienced. i am a recovering meth addict, i don't look it or act it at all, but i am and this piece was full of it. of rock and crack pipes and going down on drug dealers and survival and my childhood and father and death and poverty and everything that i am, just laid out neatly for a reader to dicover, and i have a feeling that he did not want to know all this about me. my past is unpleasant. i am not ashamed.

i am sad, though, that all this history adds up to one big trouble of me. i am not an easy woman to be with, and i told otis as much- there are lots of reasons he doesn't want to "be romantic", i'm sure, probably my autobiography was a small part of a big pie. i just broke up with my partner of two years, lets call him Hank. he's probably the biggest part. Not him in particular, otis and hank are friends in fact, but the fallout of me post-breakup and my subconcious and not-so-subconcious desperation were probably also factors.

hmm. desperation.

which is where we come back to the sum of my histories. desperation. what else do i know? for as long as i remember, i have been locked out of love- my mother would throw us outside and throw the locks shut when we were kids, couldn't come in to pee, my parents were so desperate for love from each other us kids sometimes stood outside looking in and when they couldn't love each other anymore they had a hard time loving us fully- for all sorts of reasons. work. bills. losing everything.

my life has been full of desperation. when my mom left i was all alone with my brother and dad and my father started worrying about my basic survival, he showed it in funny ways, saying things like "use your womanly wiles to get what you want"-the essence of his message. i quickly internalized this, understanding that i, most likely, would not be able to make my living doing construction like my hero father. i would have to find another way to get by.

hmm

riding home tonite i wondered where all of my neediness has gotten me, where i have ended up, what deep and fucked up hole patriarchy has dug me that i throw dirt down on myself over and over again. sexism has made it so that i effectively destroy my relationships with men in all sorts of insidious ways.

I have a terrible confession that makes me sick to my stomach, it turns me over in my bed late at night when i should be sleeping soundly. I turn everything into sex. I do it so that I can get what i want and need. If i turn it into sex, then men give me attention and resources. in fact, this little mechanism of mine has been very helpful in many different ways, in fact it has gotten me some basic resources over and over and over... like food, money, housing. I have been forced to use parts of my body as lures to men with resources I need, here's some titties, can i have dinner? heres some ass, can i have that apartment? great. thanks.

i feel out of control and overwhelmed and damned if i'm gonna let this happen to me again. i refuse to lock myself in the boxes society loves to put me in, i have been imprisoning myself, making masters out of men. no more. i wonder what i'll lose in the process, but it can't be worse than the humanity i've lost in the making of me as piece of love for men's needs.

i think im beautiful but can't believe it unless men think it too. i want to reach out and love people based on our shared humanity, not because i want them to help me feel better or more or less sad or more happy or less lonely or anything else. it never works.

to some very specific men out there: i'm sorry that i needed you to be everything that my dad couldnt. i'm sorry that i blamed you for my unhappiness. ok, so sometimes you could be overtly sexist assholes, but damned if i'm gonna blame you for my unhappiness anymore.

only i can be responsible for my happiness.

i'm giving you the finger...