blue-eyed angel

i had this dream last night, about a boy i obsessed over for years. this crush started in elementary school, and i am very obviously not entirely over it. thankfully, it doesn’t torture me like it used to.

i’m back in my hometown, but somehow it is beautiful. the rich green pastures glow, fog like lace still hangs in the trees as the sun glowed into them. he has some unexpected occupation here – perhaps he runs a small restaurant. i see him over other people’s heads. he’s as tall as me now, perhaps a hair taller. that blond hair, those piercing blue eyes, his pursed lips still cause a shiver up my spine.

it’s possible that he invites me home to dinner, to catch up on where we’ve gone with our lives.  it’s unclear how i end up in his bed, still clothed but trembling inside.

his kisses wash over me in nerve-wracking waves of pleasure.  we’ve been waiting years for this, and it’s more perfect than any previously-treasured fantasy.  we hold our bodies just far enough apart that the electricity crackles.

things progress, as they are wont to do.

we’ve bent the rules – he dips inside me, lingers for a moment, retreats.  i know i can’t be trusted for much longer.  “i don’t have any condoms,” i say.

“neither do i.”

——-

god damn my brain.  still, it’s nice to know that my subconscious is into safer sex.  and that, in dreamland, i remember that i’ve got a husband.

and…  well, hot morning sex while his voice is all gruff is a hell of a way to top off a great dream like that.

ooh… ahh… ow…

let’s talk about diseases.

they’re not awesome.

i spent more time than i should have as a condom-phobic borderline slut. in retrospect, it was a lousy idea. at the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal, but i’m currently counting some pretty immense blessings that i didn’t wind up with any life-altering diseases. pregnancy was life altering enough, thanks.

anyways, i’m not planning on making this a big lecture or anything, but i wanted to bring it up, because it’s a bigger deal than the young and rabidly horny tend to think. if you don’t like the way condoms feel, just get over it. it’s really not that bad. if you’re sensitive to weird ingredients in lubes, try unlubricated condoms, and use a lube that works for you (i’ve had great luck with liquid silk and pink). if you’re allergic to latex, check out polyurethane condoms or the female condom (which you can insert up to 8 hours ahead of time, and doesn’t require a full-on erection for playing!). remember, the doctors say that you need 6 months of barrier-protected sex (including dams and condoms for oral, rimming, etc…) and two fully clear sti screens (make sure they’re testing you for everything) before you should seek non-barrier contraceptive methods or leave safer sex behind. i know, i know, it’s pretty unlikely that you’re going to make your new playmate slap on a dental dam. but really, it’s not all that bad. get confident with your safer-sex tools, play around and find what works for you. please don’t die of some horrible and avoidable disease. it would just be very lame of you.

in parting, please watch this amazing and incredibly beautiful and slightly gut-wrenching french hiv-awareness video (thanks boinkology!).

writing pseudonymously

a certain number of you know precisely who i am. if you’re one of these lucky folks, you at least know who my husband is, and perhaps you’ve even known him since before he and i started swapping bodily fluids. you may have been to our house, eaten a meal with us, or watched our young son play with his favorite toys. you could even know the few other people that i’ve mentioned.
i invited you here. so why, if i’m comfortable with your knowledge of my more personal habits, am i writing under a pseudonym? why is my family never referred to by name, and why do i go to such lengths to avoid naming any personal acquaintances?

i have no reputation to protect. i currently have no employer, and when i do reenter the workforce i plan to work somewhere that will either ignore, respect or support the type of writing i do. i’m not trying to hide anything from my husband, or anyone else.

there are those of you who do not know me. the likelihood of running across this blog uninvited and figuring out who i am is amazingly small, but it is there. there are a notable few people that i would prefer to keep out of here. these are the small reasons.

the big reason is that, if you do know me, you might feel awkward knowing so much about me, my marriage, my sex life, my emotional ups and downs and other convolutions. maybe i hope that you’ll be able to detach the writing from me. it makes it feel less like gossip, and more like an abstract story.  the characters don’t need the faces and names that i know.  the elements of their selves outside of this small world are irrelevant.

i hope it helps you continue reading.

wet

i’ve been telling myself lately that i’m going to make a list of the oddities that arouse me.  it all started on the bus one day, as i watched a pair of practiced hands solving a rubik’s cube.  such surety, backed by some invisible knowledge, an understanding that i do not share…  my mouth watered, my heart beat, my cunt smiled.

i get the same feeling when i find myself watching figure skating, basketball, dancing.  there’s a connection to the body free of thought and full of grace that leaves me awed and breathless.  watch a barista pull a shot, slip a perfect rosetta into the foam on your latte.  it’s one of the sexiest things in the world.

i’ve felt the trance of perfect, effortless coordination.  i’ve sung in it, danced in it, biked in it, fucked in it.  it’s a glittery, ephemeral place.  i’d like something that can take me back there.

i had a long period of fairly run of the mill arousal recently, brought on by all the usual and expected things.  i have to admit, i was feeling stuck in a very vanilla rut.  but then, miracle of miracles, i saw this.  now i want to cover myself in zip ties and fishnets.  i want to get hit, to taste tears and blood.  i want that rough wrestling sex i used to know so well.  i want to take advantage of someone who isn’t afraid of hurting me.

it’s possible that i’m being a bad spouse.  i watch my husband’s coworkers and friends with something like hunger, but not quite lust.  should i be more demanding that he fulfill those parts of me that he’s afraid of?  is it better that i take it easy on him, and casually wait until someone else fills those needs?  there’s something wrathful in me that wants to be challenged, wants to love and hate and fight and fuck in some miraculous storm.  i love my gentle husband.  there is no conflict with him, and i’m mostly sure that this is the way it should be with us.  but where to find that electric, destructive passion?  when will i have the time to hunt it down?  who is it that could fix my grammar as i correct their spelling, both resenting the other’s equal superiority?  it’s an affair i have to delegate to the dream realm for now.  maybe someday i’ll be sitting on a bus and feel it again, watching something that i don’t understand, knowing there’s just as much that i do.

tiny awesomeness!

i waste a lot of time sitting on my ass in front of the computer, but once in a while something great pops into the range of my glazed-over eyes.

i give you…  Tiny Sepuku!

adorableness!

advice!

perspective!

it is everything i have ever wanted.

the christian thing

i wasn’t raised christian, and i never really knew all that much about christianity. about a year and a half ago i took a job making jewelery for a friend’s family business, and i met a very special person. let’s call her maggie. maggie was 18, raised in the middle of nowhere by extremely conservative christian folks. we’d sit there at the work table, stringing beads and learning from each other. she taught me about the christian faith that she had found for herself, asked me about my life and experiences, basically made “christians” (a word which had previously seemed pretty synonymous with “backwards fools”) really relatable and human. unfortunately, her parents were the kind of people who didn’t want their kids to know anything about sex. maggie didn’t even know what was happening to her when she got her first period. (yeah, betcha didn’t think that happened anymore, huh?) not knowing this, i brought up the topic of premarital sex one day, and she freaked out. i dropped the subject quickly, and did a lot of thinking.

recently, the topic of my new life plans came up in a conversation with her. basically, i told her that i want to be a sex educator/relationship counselor, and that knowing her had made it apparent to me that accommodating personal (specifically religious) beliefs will be a very important part of that. she wanted to know more about it! oh, such a happy moment for me… i love seeing people open up and look sensitivities and fears right in the eye… anyways, i wrote back to her and thought i’d post that letter on here.

well… conversations with you changed my perspective on christianity. i really felt connected to your beliefs through your words, which you took so much time and care choosing, without writing me off as some pissant nonbeliever. i had never before felt like i understood or felt someone’s faith, especially without being judged for not sharing it or having it sold to me. i think that it is unfortunate that your family has such a hard time with being straightforward when talking about sex, and i guess i think that it’s pretty easy to get really scared of sex within the construct of conservative christianity. the catholic church has certainly been very opinionated on all sorts of things related to sex and sexuality, and preachers of all sorts seem to love sending the message that sex is dirty/shameful/whatever. the personal connection between sex and religion, however, is not something that i think a church should have any hold on. if the bible is the source of your faith, that’s what you should be following, not someone else’s opinion or rambling interpretation. i believe in following your faith and beliefs, with the emphasis on -your-. i also believe in letting others believe what they do freely, without trying to convert of judge them too much. so basically, it comes down to the fact that i want to help people. i think that sex and relationships are very important things, and they’re places in our lives where we can experience a great deal of hurt and damage, but also an incredible amount of revelation and growth. because they’re such delicate, precious, personal things, i think it’s really important to build sexuality and intimate relationships on a supportive framework, with as much respect and personal freedom (to include religious beliefs, personal standards and opinions, etc.) as possible.

i feel so good writing about this stuff. i love the idea that i could actually help somebody with some of the body issues, confusion, fear and embarrassment that so often come along with sex. i want so many more people to be as fulfilled in those areas as i’m becoming.

it’s just so damned cool.

if i had a lot of money…

and if it was actually in production, i would order one of these in whatever is bigger than a king.

talk about supreme snuggle puddling.

in other events, my husband is currently (finally!) coming to fully grasp the polyamory thing.  he has been accepting and open and patient and incredible about it, but now he actually gets it.  it’s pretty amazing and exciting.  he’s been wandering around with this intense expression on his face most of the time.  he seems a little surprised that it feels so natural.  i remember that feeling; i understood profoundly what that whole “cup runneth over” thing meant.  it runneth over alright.  straight down my cheeks.

the crying has calmed in the intervening years, but i remember it clearly.  how is it that tears are so often mistaken for sadness?  it’s becoming uncommon for me to cry when i’m down; hurt, confused, frustrated, overwhelmed, overcome yes, but sad…  not so much.  and of course, being the good american male that he is, the husband hasn’t been doing any crying (at least that i am aware of).

did we just catch a glimpse of where we’ll end up?  it felt unbelievably right.

distance be damned, i want to try this now!

lemon love

i would blame susie bright for cheapening this or making it seem unoriginal, but i really can’t, because she’s just too amazing.

almost five years ago, i discovered that the right pie, baked with enough love, has the power to create everlasting (or at least fairly long-term) love. i got one long-term love affair and a husband out of it.  (the last chapter of susie bright’s mommy’s little girl book contains her own love-pie recipe – fresh cherry.) i think it’s time i share my secrets with the world, because if there’s anything we need right now, it’s love-drunk pie-filled happy people.

this lemon meringue pie recipe was given to me by my grandmother, who says that it came from the Westford, VT cookbook (circa 1910) via her mother and grandmother.

first off, you’ll need a pre-baked 9″ pie shell.  you really ought to make it yourself, but you can be forgiven for not knowing the secrets of pie crust.

Ingredients for the filling:

1 cup sugar

2 rounded Tbsp. cornstarch

pinch of salt

2 egg yolks + 1 whole egg (you’ll need to save the whites for the meringue)

1 1/2 cups HOT water

1/3 to 1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

1 tsp lemon zest

Ingredients for the meringue:

2 egg whites (yep, the ones you separated earlier)

2 Tbsp. cold water

1/4 tsp. baking powder

1/4 cup sugar

Directions:

Preheat oven to 325 F.

In a double boiler, combine the sugar and the cornstarch, making absolutely sure that there are no lumps.  Add salt, yolks and whole egg, mixing vigorously.

Add hot water and cook until thick, stirring occasionally.

When thick, add lemon juice and zest.

Pour mixture into pre-baked pie crust.

Beat egg whites, cold water and baking powder until stiff, but not dry.

Add sugar slowly as you continue beating until the meringue will hold a strong peak.

Cover the lemon pie with this meringue, making sure that it touches the crust all the way around.

Bake for 12-15 minutes at 325, until the meringue is lightly browned.  Cool or chill and serve.

——-

Well, there’s my secret.  If I make this for you, it probably means I’m up to something.  But don’t take it personally if I don’t.

these magic moments

there’s this small section of my brain that has devoted itself to indexing my peak sexual experiences. interestingly enough, my two deflowerings haven’t made the list. sure, i remember them, but i look back on them with a sort of patient, detached neutrality. they were okay. not much more. it’s the really transcendent experiences that have formed a little nest in my mind, a glittery little soft place full of half-closed eyes and quickened breath.

feeling another’s cervix.  the first simultaneous orgasm.  getting fisted.  being slapped in the face when i came.  learning to breathe in deep to come harder.  two more hands, another mouth.   the stunning absence of jealousy, fear and embarrassment.

some things are secrets, held pearl-like in my memory’s archives.  some of these i want to yell from the rooftops, to blanket the world with their pure beauty.  not yet, though.  for now, they belong only to those who felt them, who were moved by them.  they could never shine as brightly for anyone else.

——-

the past week has been a whirlwind of awesomeness.  the highlights were…  an old friend, dancing with and kissing an adorable transguy,  roadtrip (including brief pilgrimage to babeland!), using our enormous comfy bed for all of its best purposes, and staying in for new years.