sexloveandgrace, Author at Our Lady of Lust and Grace - Page 48 of 70Our Lady of Lust and Grace

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Putting Fear to Bed

May 20, 2016

I had to think about this.

And when the answer struck me I laughed hard enough to scare the cat.

My girl once said to me “Sarah, if you ran into him in a grocery store you would have him on his knees.”

I don’t want him on his knees, unless his face is pressed into my belly and he is breathing me in while my fingers run through his hair and he slowly slides my panties down…

Been working on the book again.

Sorry not sorry.

Plan C is to finish the thing and send it to him. At least we will be alive and in love somewhere page by [living] page.

And he will know.

Pseudonym so no one else will.

Everyone was welcome in my brain. I had this website. I did things, wrote about them and tried to learn. I left myself clues, this was a time capsule and a history lesson all rolled into one.

I was trying to build a house on memory lane. But the postman only brought old love letters. The paper only brought old news and the radio played the soundtrack to my past, I never got to hear anything new.

Comfortable? Yes.

Happy? No.

The porridge is cold, the chair is hard and the bed is too small.

This isn’t my house. My home is with him.

I am not the girl I was before. I’m not the girl he met. I’m better. He showed me a better way.

I touched on this a few articles back.

Up until 3 years ago I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. It is only through spilling things here, rehashing and learning that I have finally come to some comfort and knowing with myself.

2 years ago when he met me I was still an idiot.

I wasn’t incapable of listening but that voice of low self-esteem was so fucking loud both literally and figuratively, everything else was drowned out.

“He can’t possibly want me, I am nothing, I am not shiny.”

Had I just listened, he tried shiny and he didn’t like it.

He said the words “I fell for you a long time ago.”

Like that old cereal commercial, Mikey likes it and he doesn’t like anything.

I am something all right. In his words I am everything he ever wanted and everything he has ever run from.

I figured something out. Those things he ran from are the things I left behind. On my own.

Once upon a time I wanted attention and any attention would do.

And having gorged on both good, bad, real and bullshit attention, I am good without any of it.

Nothing felt better than the sound of him breathing on the other end of the line while he listened to me speak. Except the sound of his voice when he would respond and he told me his wishes and wants.

I am finally becoming that clever girl.

You are the love of the best part of my life.

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The Quotebook

May 20, 2016

They say it takes an average of 10 times hearing a song to like it, and an average of 3 weeks to make or break a habit.
The operative words there are on average, and I am anything but average.
If it’s something good I have one day, one night, one listen and I am addicted.

Love songs are drug songs (1) and I was an addict.

Fuck waiting 3 weeks, 3 days. I have waited long enough.

After this relapse and perhaps one more, I am coming clean.

I don’t know how to quit you (2)
I am a smart girl, I could figure it out if I tried hard enough, truth is I don’t want to.

Everything else is disposable, he is not.

I had this grand mal epiphany last night, and it might be too late. But it feels like the right thing to do.
Regardless it’s my lesson, I will get it tattooed and it will be mine to keep forever.

I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did.

I am sick of my own shit. I am better than this.

Last night was decision time on whether or not I went back to work and I quit that too.

I had this plan to write my swan song. Use Good Will Hunting as my jumping off point.

“I’d ask you about love and you would quote a sonnet.”

That is all I’ve done here, quote things. (See above and below)

One of the first quotes I remember reading was “My heart is a sharpened dart of longing, coming towards you always.” I typed it into Google looking for the author and my blog came up. Fuck. We could just call it case and point and be done with it.

I lost sight of that somewhere and my heart became a single flip flop on the floor at a foam party. Only one person needed it and it was lost in this giant mess and there was a disco ball and bad EDM music. My head hurts and I just want to go home.

I have never been to a foam party, sounds dreadful.

But I do know what love is.

Its sacrifice that feels like freedom.

It’s saying and meaning I’ll give all of this up and fly across the country for one minute with you.

Sick, well, cranky, happy I don’t care. All of that is you and you are all that I want.

I have said my goodbyes to everyone else so I can say an honest, clean hello to you.

I have buried my dead and the girl I was alongside them.

She was everyone’s girl, now I am just yours.

All these things I held so dear don’t matter anymore.

I had to stop being the things he ran from. I didn’t really like those parts of me, they were outgrown and didn’t fit. I was just being stubborn.

When I was 16 years old, someone told me to become a writer, a real writer I had to throw out my quote book. In my stubbornness, I still have the thing. It won’t be coming with me. It is time to set aside childish things.

The only advice approval attention I want is his.

“The reason you are so loud is because no one ever listened to you before.”

Truth.

I now know what it like to be heard and it is not what I imagined nor what I want.
I had the whole world listening to me and I don’t want to hear anything but your voice.

“Sarah, you are all over the god damned place.”

Also truth.

I didn’t even argue. I knew he was right. For one minute I had nothing to say. It was a good minute.

My place is with him.

I was walking the dog just now, planning this thing out in my head, and like I said, wanted to do something Good Will Hunting themed…

And the rowdy tea party in my head was yelling Silver Linings Playbook

“The only way you can beat my crazy was by doing something crazy yourself. Thank you. I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck.”

And then this…

“O my father, favor me now. Lord of Flies, favor me now. Now I bring you spoiled meat and reeking flesh. I have made sacrifice for your favor. With my left hand I bring it.” (3)

The actual fuck now?

Paired nicely with Elton John’s Sacrifice in my head, and that quote from Beautiful Creatures. But on paper it looks like that car wreck I mentioned. I have been focusing on one shiny thing right in front of my eye and when I sat up and looked I realized it is just a piece of what once was a windshield and there is blood and carnage everywhere and I am still holding the steering wheel.

I am not left handed. The sacrifice is this, this blog. This compulsion I had to write about stubbed toes and skinned knees. Screaming infidelities (4). These memories I held so scared mean nothing to me now. Please let it be enough that I came to this on my own.

Mostly. He nudged me gently before he left.

I think part of his confusion was seeing my mess after only knowing my clarity. I would have run away too.

When I write to him, for him, about him I am focused.

“That’s the good stuff…”

“And then we get to choose who we let in to our weird little worlds. You’re not perfect, sport. And let me save you the suspense. This girl you met, she isn’t perfect either. But the question is: whether or not you’re perfect for each other.”

We are. And I am not stuck anymore.

Now if you will excuse me, I have one more thing to write and then I have to go see about a boy.

(1) X Ambassadors

(2) Brokeback Mountain

(3) Stephen King

(4) Dashboard Confessionals

Italics = Good Will Hunting

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It’s Not a Diary Darling

May 19, 2016

FROM LISTENING COMES WISDOM, AND FROM SPEAKING, REPENTANCE.

Lord, hear our prayer.

I repent.

“It’s not a diary darling.”

Forgive me my slowness, but he is right.

I should have defended him.

Took me 55 days to catch up.

Aaaaaaand she finally gets it folks.

It will go without saying a paragraph or two into this that this post is as ironic as me saying ‘it will go without saying’.

Because I am saying it…see what I did there?

Everyone sees everything I do. What the fuck was I thinking?

Love, love will tear us apart again. Joy Divison

It wasn’t love that tore us apart. The same social media that allowed us to find each other drove him away, I crashed the car.

I was driving, I did this.

And now I am fixing it.

-The Night Owl made you, you sure you want to tear that all down?

-With a wrecking ball. (L.A. Confidential)

I could live quite happily with him in utter obscurity, and I will if he lets me.

Y’all can keep the squawking to a minimum.
It looks like I am walking away from this blog for a man.
Because I am.

2 months ago you couldn’t have pried this thing from my cold dead hands.

I pulled back and looked at it objectively.

I am a smoldering car wreck. Everyone is watching and no one is coming to clean it up.

Some people are dancing around the flames, others are roasting marshmallows with sharpened sticks.

I don’t need a reminder of how I have fucked up, I got it.

I pride myself on very little, but my inability to lie is well earned. A conscious decision I made and put immense effort into. I trained the muscles in my mouth so well that I choke on any half-truth.

If I go back and read most of what I wrote, I have changed so much that it reads like a lie.

I used this thing, this medium as a time capsule, and a way to figure myself out.

It’s a map of how I got here and I am not going back…I don’t want to.

I can’t have that.

Hand me the matches.

The numbers were always arbitrary. Cartoon thumbs and hearts never did a thing for me.

I was dancing like no one was watching because I truly didn’t think they were. Turns out they weren’t watching me dance, they were staring at their phones reading what I wrote.

I tried living publicly and I didn’t like it. I got my big blue thingee and it was lovely but it didn’t last a full 2 weeks. I cannot begin to explain the shame, fear and loathing I felt in the aftermath. I shouldn’t have to, it’s mine.

I know it sounds strange but I didn’t see it, I too was staring at my phone. And 17 days after I realized they were, I can’t anymore.

There are perhaps a dozen people reading this that I know in real life.
Way more, but this is a select group. Ones that do not speak to me.
Some hate my fucking guts and are celebrating my downfalls.
A few love me, but not enough to talk to me…they just want to see what I am doing.
That ain’t love baby.
And to the others? Go find something useful to do, or take another perc or get your hair did whatever it is you do when you aren’t dancing. I wasn’t watching.

I am cleaning up the car wreck. Nothing more to see here. Move along.

I will miss that chorus of ‘me too’ a bit. It was good to hear after feeling alone forever, but even then they were just words on a page. There is nothing tangible about being internet famous, I don’t even want to be famous. Never did.

Nothing has ever felt or sounded so good as him saying ‘good girl’. Like angels singing. When I wrote for him I had structure, discipline, purpose…I am spoiled now. That is all I want.

I only ever wrote this thing for myself. Didn’t expect anyone to read it, got surprised when they did.

I just lied just now.

I have written to people when I should have been talking to them. Safer to send my thoughts into the ether than have a conversation. But again, that isn’t love…it’s just bullshit

It has served a wonderful purpose. I am now writing every day. I needed the discipline.

He was right, there is no structure here.

There are some dirty/pretty things, half a dozen posts that I am truly proud of.
The rest just reads like a candy-coated journal.

I am working on a book and there is another one or two I always wanted to write.
Structure, discipline, coherency, consistency. I can tell a whole story now.

Pen names methinks. I don’t want to be famous.

I did a lot of soul searching. Dodged a few epiphanies, got hit square in the face with one…And then someone summed everything up perfectly this morning.

I was scared of him for a long time, even after he came down from the pedestal I put him on and became human. I was afraid we would meet and I would just disappear. I spent 18 years as a shadow of a girl in relationships. Not knowing who I was or what I wanted. The woman I am now fought that idea tooth and fucking nail.

I woke up yesterday and realized the woman I have become wants to get lost in the man he is.

This is my educated decision.

He is my world.

I am done fussing and fighting.
White flag is up, and if he lets me, I will use the thing as a sheet to make our bed and lie on it with him.

Farewell vain world I’m going home, my savior’s mouth, he bids me come and I don’t care to stay here long. (Sacred Harp Singers, Cold Mountain OST)

Wouldn’t be a blog post without a song quote now would it.

men

Tripping Down Memory Lane without Skinning my Knees

May 18, 2016

For once. Actually, wait for it…I almost made it.

Normally I end up bloody, road-rashed and crying in a puddle of my own making.

This was better.

I saw a meme about bigger men cuddling better.

That shit drives me nuts. Real women do this and real men do that and skinny bitches are bad and men can’t do this and blah fucking blah. To each their own. If we all like the same thing there would be only Appleby’s, the Gap, Oprah’s recommended book list and top 40 music. I would die from banality within a week.

I am always after Young Un to borrow my eyes and see what I see. He fusses about having a ‘dad bod’. This negative body image shit isn’t limited to women.

I personally think he is sexy as fuck. More so when he opens his mouth to sing or speak, boy has substance. I don’t covet him anymore but I am not deaf/blind either.

But that’s me, I am a sapiophile. Attracted to intelligence over looks every damned time. That and compatibility.
I spent way too long with men who had no desire to know me on any level other than how well I cooked, cleaned and fucked.
I’m past that now. But even they had bellies, some of them.

There is an anthropological precedent that leans towards a natural attraction to a heftier man.

Cave men had to journey far and wide to bring home the proverbial bacon. Bigger belly, more fat stores, more successful of a hunter.

I messaged he who posted said meme and said ‘I like cuddly menfolk’. I do.

Hot Neighbor and Gelfling were exceptions. I outweighed both of them by 10 or twenty pounds (never could guess weight). Their hipbones and cheekbones sharp as knives. The pixie dust running through my veins loved the pixie dust running through theirs. And if my washing machine ever broke I coulda just scrubbed the dirt outta my clothes on their abs. I let them go.

Wolfling was tall and toned, but he was a fun gym-rat-sport-fuck, nothing more. Although he had moments of sweetness too, I will give him that. But that is all he gets. I let him go a long time ago.

I pulled up pics from the archives just to say ‘look, this is what my exes look like’.

Ex hubby and the Hulk in particular.

“Well, I figured the Hulk was big, you call him the Hulk.”

“Good god I loved walking next to him, feeling so safe and so small”. I said, “how I felt about him wasn’t conditional on him loving me back, mind you he finally said it the day before he moved far away.”

I said something to him about loving Memphis Lee, and he said “We love you too.”

My eyes lit up, so did his. I remember that moment clear as day, blue eyes shining in the sun, that squint he would get and just the slightest curl to his mouth when he saw that I heard him and understood. I do, I did, I always did.

I just love who I love for as long as I love them.

My love for the Hulk manifested in an hour drive every two weeks to knock on his door and give him candy and a hug. I called it reverse trick or treat. Sometimes he let me in the house, sometimes he didn’t. He had the sads worse than I had ever seen. He moved home the day after he said that and has been happy since. And I let him go.

I had a private photo album hidden up in my Facebook with photos of ex-hubby. I’d forgotten about it and briefly wondered if I had deleted it, but nope, there it was. Was being the operative word. I opened it looking for proof of his thickness to prove my point and braced myself for … something … anything.
And nothing happened. That was what shook me up a bit, the nothing. I took what I needed, just a moment from the past to show the present and deleted the damned thing. I let him go years ago.

I spoke yesterday about the distinction I make about ‘before’ and ‘after’. Sufficed to say, ex-hubby was from the time called before and there was no magic there.

The time called after has been a sort of fairy tale. My bliss coming in metered doses, chapters if you will.
No happily ever after…yet.
Glass slippers and valiant knights, wolves in men’s clothing, Giants and other assorted beasts and fae.
And now this…
“You’re the King and I’m your lionheart.” Of Monsters and Men.

I found my king and I am his lionheart. I just had to figure out what that meant.

I started the whole body type conversation trying to explain that I don’t have a type, but I do.

It’s just not physical.

I love someone.

“He loves me and is terrified of it, I am not over him. I blink and he is there, so I try not to blink.”

“…you’re not over him….It’s never fun it hurts.”

(over him is not an option)

“Especially since I know he is just being a chickenshit.

(oh lord)

Maybe I do have a type.

FUCK.”

That was when I started to cry. Not from the memories but because of the reality of this mess.

I love someone who is afraid, because I am afraid too.

I wasn’t running, I was standing still. Which, as it turns out, is just as bad.

I likened my heart to a revolving door. I don’t know how to deny entry without risking broken glass and no door at all.
Time to tear it all down and start over.

He comes and goes and until now I just let him because I too was coming and going.

Not anymore.

Maybe I should move out of this building and build a castle with a moat around the empire in his chest.
Keep us both safe from the world and broken glass.

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One More Time

May 17, 2016

I watched a stormfront roll in last night, this straight line of absolute black taking over the sky.

Storm comin’. Winds of change be blowing, huffing and puffing and tearing my house down.

This house I built needs to come down, the revolving door has got to go.

It was 2 degrees yesterday, 16 today and windy as fuck. I am recalling something from high school about thermals and fronts. Just vague, but I understand the reason for the wind. Both proverbial and actual.

My life begins again when the weather turns warm, always has. Winter finds me hiding, hibernating, gathering strength.
In spring my soul feels dirty, and wilted from disuse and being buried under snow.
Summer adventures leave me sweaty and breathless in the heat of August nights. I dance in the rain and chase storms. Baptisms in lakes and oceans keeping me clean.

Summer is taking it’s time this year. It snowed yesterday.

Mercury is poised to go direct on my Nana’s birthday, which also hails the first day of Gemini season. Although I have noticed my fellow twins have started celebrating early, greedy bunch we be. And proud too. And really fucking greedy.

I however am currently beating myself up for being greedy, and blind. I am not proud.

Went for a ride on my wrecking ball again, all the while lying to myself and others and subsequently apologizing.

I am so fucking sorry.

I wasn’t trying to lie. I tried to run and I can’t. I don’t want to run anymore. I know where I want to be.

And now I am waiting.

This standing still thing seems to be my way.

It’s not currently serving me so…time to move.

Bravery is, in my understanding, ‘movement anyways’.

I wasn’t ready.

Lamest excuse in the book, but the truth.

I wasn’t brave before, I wasn’t even that smart. He sent me the fucking instructions and I am just now reading them.

He just wanted me. Not photoshopped and cleaned up. Just me, raw, real and dirty as fuck.

I look at me now and me then and see very plainly all the things I had to do, be and become. The most important lesson being this one.

This might be one of the last pieces I needed.

I am getting epiphanies and signs and they all point to him.

I look back at old conversations had by different versions of myself at various levels of becoming and I can see very clearly that I really just wasn’t ready. I wasn’t enough.

I have read all the memes that tell me that I am enough…but I can openly admit no, no I was not.

I had potential.

My skin wasn’t thick enough, my understanding wasn’t deep enough.
And the worst of it was my resolve waivered, not because I didn’t want what I want, but because I didn’t think I was worthy.

He did.

Then I was a young witch, whose green eyes, as she stood naked by the river springs, drew down a god.
Pauline ~ Robert Browning

Um, now what? What do you do with a god? And especially what do you do with one who doesn’t currently feel godlike? What if he never did?

Just because I see a Titan doesn’t mean he does.

And just because I see a silly fumbling girl in the mirror doesn’t mean that is what he sees.

Like I said I drew down a god. There has to be something in me he saw and wanted. And I know exactly what it is…exactly what I am.
Emotionally loyal and physically wanton. Just his.

Each of us has our own projections of who someone else is.
It is coloured with our perceptions, not narcissism…just pieces of a puzzle left blank and our mind’s eye fills in the voids with our past experiences, our hopes and any other crayon we can get our hands on.

My whole life has been a long series of ‘fuck shit up, find truth in the wreckage and try again’.

I love someone who needs beyond all things to be chosen over and over again it’s time to set aside my insecurities and give him what he needs.

I have to try one more time.

men

Cyranos

May 16, 2016

I had one of the more fucked up conversations of my life today.

If my sister heard me say that she’d undoubtedly quip…”Well that must be pretty fucking weird coming from you Sarah.” I don’t think she reads this, probably best all things considered.

It was sister. It truly was.

It wasn’t the words so much as the source. All things in good time and in context.

I read a thing a while ago that I shall now paraphrase out of sheer exhaustion and laziness. I have been writing for 13 hours, I can’t seem to turn my brain off nor stop. I haven’t eaten save a few handfuls of M&M’s. I am running on caffeine alone. 4000 words of good copy.

Maybe it’s time for the fighter to be fought for, for the lover to be loved something something blah blah blah.

I read it a while ago and for a brief moment I allowed myself the luxury of hope.

Hope is a four letter word. I try not to indulge.

I posted today, something called Still Is. I tried to hide it over on my page.

Didn’t really work so good. And hour later…the ding in my inbox.

“It’s about him isn’t it.” Statement, not really a question.

I paused before answering, sometimes the truth needs a deep breath and a whiskey chaser.

“Yes.” Another statement, no question. Everything seems to be about him even when I don’t want it to be.

“So fucking call him already and stop torturing yourself. Or give me the number and I’ll do it.”

Ever get that feeling that hovers between awe and dread. Ya, I had that.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and all, but no. Bad idea.

The awe turned quickly to AWWWW.

Seriously? You would do that for me?

It’s not that far of a stretch for me. I do this shit all the time.

And it’s funny, I can easily set my ego and wants aside to help those I have coveted and fucked, no problem…never expected to have that happen to me. I always get the polar opposite. If they don’t have me, they hate me. For a while anyways.

And here is this man that by all rights I hurt rather badly and rather recently telling me “If he has any fucking ounce of a clue how valuable you are….he will swallow his pride and finally come get you…..if he’s half the man he claims he will hold on to you like it’s life or death….because it will be.”

It is such a strange sensation to be treated the way I treat others.

Case and point.

Young Un messaged me last week out of the pale blue.

We talk once a month sometimes more, rarely less, hence the paleness of the blue.

Been doing this for a while. Tripping in feelings and using the other as an opposite sex touch stone of sorts. Ego strokes and advice from someone who thinks differently enough to break the loops/bad mantras we both get stuck in.

Said he needed advice.

I love that he trusts me. I love him.

It’s been 2 years and 2 days since we met.

We had a rough go for a bit in the middle there.

But in my candy coated way of glossing things over, he was, and remains sweet as fuck.
Because he always was.

I credit him with my first steps of becoming. He was the first boy who was my choice. The first one in a long time that was of my tribe. In the brief time we had together he treated me like gold.
He made the transition from mundane to magic a lovely one and raised the bar.

He laid out his dilemma.

Said “the overthinking part of my Scorpio brain is having a meltdown”.

Oh baby, I know those.

His sounded like “what if what if what if”…

He is smitten you see, been talking to this girl since Christmas, but she had a boyfriend.

Now she doesn’t.

So the ‘what if’ was clearly labeled “what if I don’t say anything and I lose her?”
Followed closely by “what if I say something and I lose her?”

Conundrum.

I am Queen of the land known as SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT. It’s actually pretty hard to shut me up unless you put something fun in my mouth.

Young Un is fully aware of this. I practiced on him one time in late July and again in March.

I also have some shining examples of phrases that make girls swoon…

So I Cyrano’ed.

I said…

Here’s what you do.
Go look in the mirror.
Use my eyes so you can see what I see.
Realize how incredibly handsome and wonderful you are.
Then tell her what you just told me.
That you value her friendship but you are smitten as fuck and you don’t want to lose her.
Tell her she is worth waiting for if that is what she needs.
You used the term ‘head over heels’, tell her that, because honestly it is sweet as fuck coming out of your mouth.
And one more thing…tell her talking to her is the best part of your day…if that is the truth.

He told me it was the truth and he did SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT.

10 minutes later…

She said the same thing back to him. I could feel him glowing through my phone. And I glowed along with him.

That is what love is.
I’m not IN love with him, I don’t need him with me, his mess is mine and so is his joy.

He told me he is glad we stayed friends, I am too.

I forgive and have been forgiven.

And listen here all ye who are actually listening…if she/he is important, don’t let them go.

“And he had better grab onto you and hold you like you’re the fucking Holy Grail.”

I am beginning to believe I just might be.

It’s time to say what needs to be said, in my own words.

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Still Is

May 15, 2016

“Who knows” I said, “you and me…the idea of us might have been the knife that cut him out for good. I have no way of knowing.”

I don’t. I look and wonder, hope and faith fighting it out. But I know nothing.

And the moment I did know, was bittersweet. In the way of those horrid romance novels, I had to leave to see the truth.

And now I wait, and I work. Can we just skip to the end now, the happily ever after or something like it. A sort of fairy tale. Shaking sleeping beauty, wake the fuck up.

I saw and re-posted that Bukowski quote today and broke my own heart, hard. I did that and I’m bleeding out at the thought of it.

I am so fucking sorry.

As a teenager, I fancied myself a writer, dropping bad acid and dripping bad poetry on bad trips. Reading Bukowski made me realize I am not a poet. That sometimes less is more (but I can’t shut up) there is beauty in simplicity and I wasn’t the only one who thought the world was seven layers of fucked up. He made me fall even more in love with words. I saw that words are power, the can kill or heal depending. Like knives.

Silence does that too, kills or heals depending.

Limbo is a bitch.

I said before that my heart went away a year ago and never came back. It’s true. She bounced off a satellite or three, slipped away from me in middle of the night. Traveling through time zones and space, landed softly. She’s currently locked out of the house. This is me, helping her scratch at the door.

Every time he breaks me, and he does, I put myself back a little different. I like the person I am becoming, the one that heals and forgives, gets stronger and braver. Like a mosaic, or a stained glass window. But this time I broke him and I don’t know how he heals, I never did. To the naked eye it seems like something he cannot do, or maybe just not alone.

The only thing I know is he needs time, which I have and will gladly give. The other ingredients of his forgiveness elude me. I know he values loyalty and I fucked that one up, royally. Openness and honesty I can do. I have told him a few times that I fucked up, apologized with sincerity and then make a point of not making the same mistakes twice. He forgave me once.

It doesn’t help that I find new creative ways to fuck up or that he finds new things to look for and assume.

I’m tired of this dance, my feet hurt and I am a little dizzy, please can we just go to bed already, I’d rather dance with him there.

Accepting all I’ve done and said,
I want to stand and stare again,
til there’s nothing left out…

Peter Gabriel radio edit In Your Eyes.

lost boys

Holding onto a Ghost

May 13, 2016

https://www.facebook.com/KingsPoetry1/photos/a.1723946661175572.1073741829.1723932144510357/1772039469699624/?type=3&theater

Fucking hell, dammit Jason.

Here I am, 9.5 hours and a time zone away and he is picking through my brain again/still, looking for what I need to hear before I know I need to hear it.

He’s good like that. And it’s this weird juxtaposition between comforting and maddening.

At least he wipes his feet and cleans up in there a little when he comes.

When we split (correction I did this) when I said ‘I can’t’ he said, ‘I know’. He fucking Solo’ed me.

Fucker.

I wrote twice during our brief time together about other men.
More if you count my notes scribbled on the back of pizza flyers in a cab on my way to work, the bones of a post called “Plastic Pussy” that will probably end up in the pay-per-view section.
I discussed it with him first. Said “Baby I gotta get this out.”
Writer’s write, that’s what we do. Write what you know, okay got that down, a little too well.
And if a writer falls in love with you, you just don’t die.

Mine ghost, but death never comes.

It was supposed to be past tense, passive. It wasn’t.

My ghosts haunt. Active, present tense.

Herein is the problem. It’s okay to have ghosts, skeletons in the closet (mine boogie out and down on the regular) and monsters under the bed.

But…

I invite mine into my head, bed, laptop and life always.

I can still feel you there, are we tangled in time somewhere? Armistice.
(We will get back to that, I think I have an explanation)

Happy, Fun, Consensual, Sexy Time with a few Partners

May 11, 2016

Author’s Note

It has come to my attention that the term gang bang might be an exclusively male idea/ideal.
That is not how I meant it, however ‘orgy’ doesn’t fit because it implies mixed genders.
So what I meant was…whatever you would call me being sexually satisfied by many men at once, men of my choosing.
If this offends you, too bad.
If this triggers you, I’m sorry.

“Did I tell you the gang bang story?”

I typed and waited. Bracing myself out of habit and fear.

“No” he replied. “Not yet.”

Hmmm. No “ew, gross”. My comfort leveled-up in that moment.

This has become a litmus test.

Gaging reactions when I say those two words.

It’s not my gang bang story.

I haven’t had one.

Yet.

Once upon a time in a barber shop far, far away there were two barbers. There were really a dozen, but this story focuses on these two. One was an uptight dude and the other an open-minded woman.

Open-minded Woman said one day, out of the blue “Damnit.”

“What?” inquired Uptight Dude.

“I just realized I forgot to scratch something off my bucket list before I get married.” She said.

“And what is that?” he asked, mild concern in his voice.

“I wanted to have a gang bang.” She smirked, and waited for the fallout.

He huffed and puffed, grumbled and rabbled and finally spit out “well that isn’t very ladylike.”

She sighed, smiled and snapped back sweetly “Well then, you can’t come to my gang bang.”

I heard the story second-hand. I immediately wrote down the words, “You can’t come to my gang bang.” Knowing I wanted to write about this somehow, someday. A bunch of us were sitting around a dining room table, laughing, talking and drinking…swapping stories. 2 of the guests, barbers that had born witness to the aforementioned exchange.

That was about a year ago now. Took me this long and a few other occurrences to find my brave.

I’ve yet to have a gang bang, not sure about her. Fingers crossed.

I grew up in a small town. Having sex with more than one person every 6 months was considered slutty-as-fuck. I hid my escapades as best I could, but the label caught up and stuck. I tried to fight it, but as I get older and more comfortable in my skin, I am what I am. Sex is awesome. But that multiple partner taboo seems to have stuck with me. I should just channel Taylor Swift and Shake-shake-shake it off.

Once in my life I’ve had sex with two different men on the same calendar day, many hours apart, a righteous shower in between, two different locations. See how I had to pad that? You can take the girl out of the small town, but… I had so much guilt I was wide awake at 3am. My girl checked on me to see why in god’s name I was still up, I confessed, she absolved me and I fell right asleep. I needed to say it out loud. “How do you feel?” she asked. Sated, the answer was sated. And sore, and sleepy. Thanks mama.

Gang bang has become a reoccurring bright red thread weaving in and out of the tapestry that is my life.

There was the Ashley Madison hack wherein I heard a woman, about my age, married, kids, who had an account specifically to get fucked by two or more 20something guys at once. It was her kink, and I respect that. Especially because she made me feel less alone.

I can’t remember if I heard her speak before or after I started writing ‘voyeuristic husband slutty-as-fuck wife porn’ on demand.
I’m working on a novel, for publication. Due date is looming. Late July. Everything happens in late July.

The more I think about it the more I am grateful that I no longer work at the club. Except…I did recently work with an ex porn-star. And guess what her last movie was…yep…gang bang. I haven’t seen it. Not sure if I want to shatter the illusions I have in my head.

Seems like everyone else saw it. She had no shame about it at all. Nor should she. I gaged reactions from different co-workers when the subject was raised. They ranged from “ew/gross”, to “she has a really pretty pussy”… My reaction? Holy shit, good for her. But I couldn’t say it out loud lest I out myself. I never got a chance to talk to her about it before she left. I regret that a bit.

A few days ago, another dining room table, a bunch of friends sitting around having drinks swapping stories. My girl was taking a long time to tell a sex story, so I cut in and said ‘so then you had a gang bang…’ she said, “No, but I want to.” I looked at her with awe and reverence and I could barely get the words out…”Me too.” I whispered. I’ve never said it out loud.

There were smiles all around the table as the conversation took a brief detour about how to make that happen for both of us. I fucking love my friends, I truly do. Feels like coming home after 40 years of wandering.

I had a taste of how that felt late last July. The idea of another person being home. How it felt to be completely understood as I am. A man accepting and encouraging every bit of depravity I could imagine and celebrating me for it. He got me writing about it. I filled his inbox with debaucherous fantasies and realities and he praised me for it and found me a publisher.
It took me a while to wrap my head around him. Until one day the answer came. He is a lot like me when it comes to love, sex and the rest of it. Emotional monogamy is paramount and sex is just sex.

We had a falling out as of late. It is my fervent hope that one day I will get to come home to him. Time will tell, with help from fate, faith and work.

Now I know a lot of you will say ew. Think that I am setting the feminist movement back centuries. Judge me as dirty, depraved, wanton and slutty-as-fuck. To that I say “Yes, I am those things. And if you don’t like it, you can’t come to my gang bang.”

men

Apparently You can Handle the Truth…who knew?

May 10, 2016

At no point was I lying. I was fucking trying, even when it started to slide I tried to not end up in the ditch. Last time I tried that we ended up upside down in a swamp, this is not a metaphor, this happened. I hit the gas instead of the brake when I shouldn’t have hit either and just coasted. But I barely knew how to drive back then.

What happened is this. The one I wanted beyond measure and reason told me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want me. I saved the texts. Listened to a lot of Fleetwood Mac, believed him and set about healing and filling the space he left.

I was without heavy equipment, holding one of those kiddie beach shovels and staring into this massive abyss. Every now and again believing I caught a glimpse of the monster, but I wasn’t sure. Jason showed up with a backhoe.

He showed me off and celebrated me. I did the same. We both knew what it was like to be kept a secret and to be kept guessing.

He was safe, sane and my kinda weird.

Listened to everything I had to say without prejudice.

Starting writing things about me and actually posting them. I did the same, I wanted to, he was worth it, he deserved it and it was fucking fun. This freefall into softness.

I thought if I stopped hurting I would run out of words. I didn’t, I found new ones.

Everything was on display for the world to see, like Christmas window dressing, elaborate and shiny and making everyone smile.

We went mildly viral.

We went to bed in Toledo Friday night and he looked at me and said, “Thousands of people know we just had sex.”

To be clear, he is my kind of weird. This was not.

I freaked out a bit.

I liken myself to lots of things. Commonly a pendulum/wrecking ball and damn did we swing far and wide from what I was used to. But I wanted to see, so did he, the edge is where the best view is.

And then I ran.

I spent today/yesterday and most of last night trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong, why did I run?

I think I know. Jason really knows. He saw the whole thing coming and decided to try anyways, says I am worth it. He is an amazing man, truly.

He has forgiven me my trespasses and we are back where we started, friends. Amen.

He took a day and night, got drunk and posted many a thing. Nothing to sharp, I didn’t feel persecuted, like at all…

I wasn’t getting the shunning I felt I deserved. So I whipped myself…

It wasn’t necessary. Everyone saw what happened, plain as fucking day. Everyone but me…

Jason said I had to forgive myself first, but his forgiveness and these words from a stranger made that a lot easier. Maybe in the time called now, taking the hard road can be a lot easier if you don’t circle the same 7 miles out of sheer stubbornness. I got myself so close on memory and wits alone. Now it’s time for a little faith.

This showed up in my page inbox and I wept tears of relief.

Okay so I’ve never done this however watching it all unfold for days now and reading all the comments, blogs, and memes I feel inclined to write this…there is a community of writers and page owners and I found these two there…Sarah and Jason…they chose to share a portion of their journey with their public, (on Our Lady of Lust and Grace as well as her blog and personal fb/ Jason King the writers page) not for drama or attention but for decided choice reasons and as a statement within their relationship…now to a degree we feel invested and of course that we have a right to weigh in, even me because. ..Well…here I am. The thing is…it’s not a choose sides, judging, or pissing contest…this is two people navigating a part of their journey…and sometimes that gets ugly…sometimes toes are stepped on…and sometimes it hurts…however all that being said it is still wrapped in beauty and worth the dance. I think Jason knew who Sarah was and where she was at in her life but made the choice to move forward…because he needed too…and I think Sarah essentially did the same…for different reasons but ending in the same place…both were well intentioned, breathing in hope but living in truth…and ultimately as much as the journey was about ‘them’ it seems it was really about themselves on their way to self-discovery and evolution. They played their roles and are fulfilling their purpose. He knew as much as she knew. She is no worse or responsible then he is. They both knew…and pushed forward anyway on a wing and a prayer…isn’t that the point?…isn’t that what we all do?…you can’t fault people for being who they are and living the best they can and are able…we journey where we need to grow and it is my opinion and hope that Sarah learns how to become her own poet, yes that has double meaning, and truly love and honor herself and that Jason learns to break patterns and find healing so he can embrace love and stop having to fight or self-sabotage in the name of it…however that looks and whoever they end up with…much universal love and respect to them both.

From the page runner at https://www.facebook.com/FirefliesMoonlight-406903469415962/

Go show her some love like she just showed us.

All I know is this. My old wounds have not closed and I am the only one who can tend to them.
The hole has reopened and I am walking around it trying to figure out what to do.

That was the only lie I have told, I know exactly what to do. Write my own damned story

My heart is in the abyss and I’m going in after it.

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