Moving on Up.....

Please excuse my quietness over the next little bit. I'm still here, but with internet coverage being spotty during the move... I may be off the radar for a bit. Fear not, though, I promise to be back with sexy stories and lots and lots of pics for those few brave souls who stick around!

Much Love,
S&S

Sex with the Panda is......

Effing amazing. I'm trying to pull myself out of this crappy ass mood, so I'm gonna tell you more about my sex life with the Panda.

<A little backstory (AKA the boring shit)>
We went to school together. We knew each other, but never really hung out. I remember him being quiet and looking at his sneakers a lot. I remember thinking he was funny and cute and wishing he would talk to me more. I didn't dare do too much to approach him because his long term girlfriend and I were aquaintences, and I didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

We ran into each other not too long after high school. The girlfriend had broken his heart, and I was single. We hooked up. What I remember the most about those few days was that he went down on me. It occurred to me later than he was the first person ever to do that. I don't think I came, but I remember it feeling sooooooooo goooooood..... I was all fucked up in the head and wasn't even able to remain present in my body during sex, so the poor guy was left wondering what he was doing wrong. We had a few days of wanton sex, then I was planning on moving out of state.

He said later that he really wished he had asked me to stay. It would have been awful. I was way too young and inexperienced, and like I said, fucked up in the head. And he wasn't over his ex. If we had tried to date back then it would have been terrible. But I think the idea occurred to both of us.

So I moved and went on with life and he moved and time passed and we both grew up a lot. He moved back to the area. I didn't. I got on facebook. One of us friended the other (did you friend me or did I friend you?) I was happily in a new relationship with Mr AA. Panda was happily single.

We talked on the phone, once. I felt something... something sparky, like touching a 9 volt battery to your tongue, when we talked. It was easy. It was fluid. It felt really good in a way that made it feel like it could be a dangerous thing to my new, happy relationship. So I *lost* his phone number and didn't talk to him again.

We stayed FB friends but rarely spoke there. A comment or two. A *poke* now and again. That was it. Then it happened. Right before Christmas Mr AA and I split up. I was planning to take Mr AA "back home" with me for the holidays (for the first time), but of course, now I would be going alone (well, just me and Miss Dog). Determined to make the best of it, the Panda came to mind immediately. I messaged him and told him I'd love to get together and have dinner or just meet up for a beer or whatever while I was in town. I will be honest, the thought of hooking up with him *did* occur to me, but I figured it would be very unlikely to actually happen. Much more likely would be us meeting somewhere in town, gossiping about people we knew, laughing about old times, and catching up on the last decade (plus a few years....), and then me going my way and him going his.

Well as we all know this winter has been a nasty mean bitch. She dumped a metric shit ton of bad weather on us and I decided to message him and tell him I couldn't meet up, but would love a raincheck for my next trip up. Ironically I was standing maybe a mile from his house when I sent that message (although I had no idea at the time).

So the holiday passes... then (help me out here).. somehow we end up emailing. Chitty chatting. I have a horrible memory. His is amazing. Hopefully he will comment and fill in all the exciting details here cause I've already lost them, lol! But I'm feeling that sparky energy... just like before. And it feels great!!! And so two aquaintences, and one time hook ups, who are now relative strangers, find themselves growing closer and closer via email, then voice, then video. And now we are..... I donno. What are we?

<End=Boring Shit>

So we have sex. Not as much as *I* would like, but fairly often. Being like 600 miles apart, it's cyber sex. But it's soooo much more. His voice drives me fucking insane. I can close my eyes and listen to him talk about the most mundane things, and just focus in tight on his voice, the timbre, the vibrations, and I probably could cum from that alone. Seriously. And when we have sex.... even then he asks questions. Is my pussy wet? Where are my hands? What toy am I using? How am I holding it? Is it vibrating? If so is it on high or low?

And then he slowly takes control. "Take the toy out. Rub the outside of your pussy with it. The lips. The clit. Hold it there. How wet are you now? Is your pussy drippy yet? No don't put it in. Keep rubbing. Ok it's drippy now? Now I want you to shove it in. No not all slow and sensual. I want you to fuck yourself hard. Harder!"

He is listening to my noises and looking at my face while this is happening. He can tell from the look on my face what I'm doing. He can tell when I'm going slow. He can tell when I obey. How? I have no earthly fucking idea.

And when I'm about to cum and I'm filled with his voice....

"STOP. Take the toy out. Thats right. Rest it there, against your clit (again let me remind you he cannot see what I'm doing. And yet somehow he has this 6th sense... he's like Miss Fucking Cleo when it comes to knowing the state of my pussy)

"Ok now shove it in. HARDER! DEEPER! I want you to fuck yourself like I'd be fucking you right now. And I'd be fucking you hard. And fast. Where are your hands? Pinch your nipples. Twist. There you go. Thats good."

By this time I have my face half buried in the pillows to conceal my moaning and panting from my roommates, I've totally forgotten that he can see me, and my verbal skills have deteriorated to a choice few one syllable words. Mostly "fuck".  As in "fuck yeah", "oh fuck", and "fuck me please fuck fuck please yes ohmygawd YES FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKK"

And then the clincher. "Cum for me." And I do. I do. I do. Oh god I do.

Now I want more than a hug, Panda. Much much more.


I wanna get you in the back seat windows up
That's the way you like to fuck, clogged up fog alert
Rip the pants and rip the shirt, ruff sex make it hurt
In the garden all in the dirt
Roll around Georgia Brown that's the way I like it twerk
Legs jerk, overworked, underpaid but don't be afraid
In the sun or up in the shade
On the top of my escalade
Maybe your girl and my friend can trade; tag team, off the ropes!
On the ocean or in the boat! Factories or on hundred spokes!
What about up in the candy sto' that chocolate chocolate make it melt
Whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little booty up with my belt
Scream help play my game; dracula man I'll get my fangs
Horseback and I'll get my reigns, school teacher let me get my grades

I wanna, lick you from yo' head to yo' toes
And I wanna, move from the bed down to the down to the to the floor
Then I wanna, ahh ahh - you make it so good I don't wanna leave
But I gotta, know what-what's your fantasy......

-Ludacris "Whats Your Fantasy"

Fuck it. I need a hug.

Seriously, this blog is gonna have some actual sex in it, eventually. I promise. The Panda and I did have some great sex the other night (quickie for us, it was only like an hour or two), but other than that I've been pretty boring lately.

I don't wanna talk. I don't wanna blog. I don't wanna think. I just want a hug. A big, close, lay my head on your shoulder and breathe you in hug. A *stop thinking about everything and just exist* hug.

I know, logically, that everyone is busy and I will be too, beginning like, now. I've been in this holding pattern that is just now falling together into a "plan" of sorts (yeah... I swear there's a plan in there somewhere!) and I'm getting the ball rolling.

I'm really trying to keep my wits about me and just hide plow on ahead, keeping my eyes on my current issue or goal only, so as not to get too overwhelmed or freaked out. That's not really working so well, but for what it's worth, I'm trying. I feel ignored. I feel alone. And yeah, I'm totally overwhelmed and freaked out. Yup. I admit it.

I know that he doesn't feel well, and that he was probably busy with work stuff today. Just like I know on a deeper level that he's holding back. He wants us to "meet" first. To confirm the attractions and feelings that we both feel so strongly "online". Which, by the way is TERRIFYING. What if he doesn't want me? What if his feelings change? What if we just don't click? Talk about making a chick even more insecure. I'm a freaking basket case. I'm so scared that he doesn't feel the way I do. That this is some dream or crazy fantasy that I'm just going to wake up from one day. I know he can't make any promises, but god dammit I wish he would give me more. Especially with everyone else in my life totally flaking right now, I just feel like all I'm doing is reaching out for people... and nobody is reaching back.

Panda. I want you. I need you. Please come hold me.

You say I'm a dreamer
We're two of a kind
Both of us searching for some perfect world
We know we'll never find

So perhaps I should leave here
Yeah, go far away
But you know that there's nowhere that i'd rather be
Than with you here today

Hold me now
Warm my heart
Stay with me
Let loving start
Let loving start 

-Thompson Twins "Hold Me Now"

Closing this Chapter

I met Mr All American on a very important day. It was actually the one year anniversary of the suicide of my "true love". The first time I saw him, I just... I was struck by him. He wasn't super hot, or super funny, or... anything I could really put my finger on. But there was just something about him. I was drawn to him. It was like I looked up and saw this spiderweb filigree between us, just existing. It wasn't that white hot heat of desire, or that feeling like all the oxygen just got sucked out of the room. It was just *there*. And all of a sudden my mind, which all day (and pretty much the whole year before) had been focused on my deceased lover, made room. It was like Mr All American walked into the room of my mind and kicked him off the bunk, laying *his* stuff on the bed where the ex had just been laying. And he just sat there and looked at me. And I just sat there and looked at him.

We knew each other casually, seeing each other at mutual friends' houses, for a few months. We spoke in passing. Like I said, it wasn't some overwhelming thing. It was just *there*.  I will say that he was that "cool guy" in the room. He was the guy the others looked to for (tacit) approval. He was the guy who ultimately decided if they were all going out, or if they were just talking shit. He wasn't the loud guy, He wasn't the "center of attention" by any means. But when there was a decision being made, he was the one they would follow. They waited for his opinion before stating their own. I noticed that right away and liked that he didn't use that to manipulate people or lord it over the other (more passive) guys in the group.

Then came one night in particular. He seemed to be everywhere I was. We talked. We seemed to just chatter on in our own world all night long. I swear we could have talked for days. And he asked me to go out with them that night. Unfortunately I had plans early the next morning so I couldn't, but I did agree to see him later in the week. Not just he and I but in a much smaller group than normal.

That night was similar. We talked and joked. We hung out. We had fun. We were comfortable and lighthearted. It wasn't overwhelmingly passionate, or filled with desire, but that was ok. It was actually kind of refreshing, really. I went home with him that night. Our lovemaking was... different than anything I had ever experienced.

That's how he originally got his nickname. Because all my lovers of the past had been... twisted by life. And those twists come out when you fuck. They were all different in different ways, but you could almost smell the *damage* on them, coming off along with the natural smells of sex. This guy, he was lily-fucking-clean. It was like fucking the psychic energy equivalent of a bar of Dial soap. Don't get me wrong, he was fun in bed, from beginning to end, and he wasn't boring per se... but... he was.... normal. The honest to god first normal person I had ever slept with.

Long story long we barely spent a night apart after that. His place. My place. And soon (way too soon, of course), he moved in with me. We settled into a "normal" routine of a "normal" life, and I really thought I had found the guy. Finally, the person I could really see myself marrying. (I've been proposed to 4 times. Never married.)

I mean he actually honest to god wasn't crazy. I kept waiting for it... cheating.. drinking... drugs... he had to have some big secret he was hiding from me. But no. There really wasn't one. And I grew to trust him. And love him. It was cathartic to love someone who was normal. To experience a relationship that was "normal" after all the damaged, hurt, and fucked up people I had been with before him. I'm not blaming them, I mean I picked em, after all. I'm just trying to give you an honest picture here.

We had our issues. It wasn't perfect. He had never had a *real* relationship before. You know, the kind where you truly love each other. Where you truly want to know each other deeply. Where you get close enough to see the really tender bits inside each other. I call it the "training wheels" relationship. But he was smart, and committed, and I knew he truly loved me, so I figured we could and would work those issues out as we went along. It was a bumpy ride at times but I never doubted that we would make it through together.  

And then it happened. I got pregnant. Which in itsself was a miracle since I had been told that it was very unlikely I could ever concieve. We were elated. Extatic. Sure we would have loved to be married first. Sure we would have loved to be in a better place financially first. But we were sooooo happy.

Well, he was. I felt there was something wrong. I did from the moment I saw the results on the home pregnancy test. I didn't want to tell anyone. I went to the doctor. I ate well. They all told me it was just "jitters". I justified it in my head that teenage girls would throw themselves down stairs and still have healthy babies. That babies are resilient, and once those little guys attach inside you, they are pretty much gonna handle themselves.

And then at 5 months I started bleeding. And had a miscarrage. I'll spare you the gory details. But it was bad.

I went crazy after that. Depression. Hormones. Health issues. A cancer diagnosis. And all this in the time that he was working out of town more than he was here. It was too much. I acted erraticly. I started smoking again. I decided to paint my entire house. I didn't leave the house for days, a week, at a time. I barely slept or ate. It's amazing that I kept the dog alive.

And one night I felt the need to reach out. I reached out to someone I had met on Craigslist years before. He wasn't on there for sex and we had never had sex. He was an older guy, in an open marriage, who I had had some really good conversations with in the past. He came over. We sat on the porch and talked and smoked and talked. I told him what had happened. He was very insightful, and really helped me. It wasn't sexual at all. We sat and talked for an hour or two then he left.

But with Mr AA out of town... and this other dude coming over to the house... this dude I had just *happened* to meet on CL.... well you and I both know how that would have looked. So I didn't tell him about it. And of course he (for whatever reason) was looking at the phone bill and noticed this number he didn't recognize. So he looked it up. AND of course this guy's Craigslist ad pops right up in the google search. Duh.

So Mr AA waits. And stews. For weeks. Finally he's home, and decides to bring it up. He asks about this number. That I called and texted on this date. I was cought. I was cornered. So............ I lied. I told him the guy HAD NOT come over. That we just talked a little bit. And I lied about how we had met. I focused on the true parts... that he was almost like a father-ish figure. That I was going insane and needed someone, someone who had life experience. Someone who had hurt like I was hurting and wouldn't just offer shitty meaningless platitudes. I cried real tears and looked him right in the eyes and I lied to him.

That was pretty much the beginning of the end. It wasn't until way later that he told me he had googled the number. And saw the ad. And knew at the time that I was lying.

And then he dicked me over pretty bad. Twice. I could go on and on about that, but suffice it to say that it was a breakup and it was ugly, as most breakups are. So I'm moving on with my life. Literally. I will be moving to a new state soon, and much of my life is and will continue to be in a state of flux. I'm trying to focus on the positives and on the changes that I want to make both internally and externally.

I guess I just wanted the story to be told. To be laid to rest with the respect and honesty it deserves. I will be moving on, as I hope he does, with lessons learned and a new, deeper perspective of my own faults, strengths, and a renewed focus on where and who I want to be.

Goodbye Mr AA. I'm not mad. And no, you aren't the bad guy. We both fucked it up.

"There is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft....When you kill a man, you steal a life. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness."

- Khaled Hosseini "The Kite Runner" (quote truncated)

Barbie Dream House and the Beej

I wasn't into Barbie when I was a kid. I liked crafsy things, or science-y things or boy toys. I liked books and puzzles best of all. But to me, the Barbie Dream House was the ultimate status symbol. We never had a lot of money, so many of my toys were hand me downs, or bought secondhand at Goodwill or yard sales. Which I was really ok with (for the most part). I learned to love the mystery of putting together a puzzle not knowing until the very end if all the pieces were there. I was also an only child. And due to a number of factors (my "strangeness" being a big part), I was an isolated child. I had one or two good friends, but I was never popular, and never had friends over to my house. I always went to theirs.

But in the afternoons, when I was home alone and had control of the TV, and the commercial for the Barbie Dream House would come on, I would sit in rapt amazement. Those girls, always pretty and well dressed, sitting in their pretty house, with their pretty friends, all ooohing and aahhhing over this toy.... It was like peeking in your neighbor's window and seeing Narnia. It was a different reality. And part of me yearned to be *that* girl. The one who lived *that* life, with all those pretty friends to come over and play with her perfect Barbie Dream House in her pretty pink bedroom while her mom made cookies and dad was at work. The one who had what her friends wanted. The one who could sit back and enjoy watching her friends enjoy her toys, and in that way enjoy them all the more. 

So what does this have to do with a sex blog? Everything! The Panda and I had a discussion yesterday about blowjobs. For some reason I see them as totally different than sex. If I had a cock and someone wanted to suck it (as long as they didn't have cold sores, cause I have an *issue* with those) I wouldn't think twice. Gosh... You wanna suck my cock..... Ummmmm *checks for cold sore* OK! No problemo! And I would whip her out and let him/her go to town. As a woman I'm not nearly that casual about letting someone go down on me, I'm not casual at all about giving blowjobs, and I'm not that casual about sex (nor would I be with a cock), but for some reason I see receiving them as totally different.

I was recently in a relationship. We were together for about 2 years. Lets call him..... "Mr All American". I'll post more about him as time goes on and you'll see why he got that name. His job took him out of town a lot. Sometimes weeks at a time. And during these heavy times I would encourage him to go out with his work buddies, to eat with them and go to bars, etc. And I told him on many occasions that although I did not want an "open" relationship of any kind, and would consider sex to be cheating, if he ever had a girl (or guy) who just wanted to blow him, to go for it! I encouraged it. Masturbating in a hotel shower every morning loses its fun fast, I'm sure. I even told him that I thought it would be soooo hot to just randomly receive a pic message from him of some chick with his cock in her mouth. I would have LOVED that. He wasn't comfortable with it. He didn't understand.

See... it's like that Barbie Dream House. It's mine. It lives in my house. And you have to understand that and respect that to play with it. But... yes.. you can come over. Yes you can play with it. And I would get pleasure from seeing your pleasure in playing with it. Part of that pleasure is knowing that after your mom comes and picks you up and takes you home that Dream House will still be there in my room. Because it's mine. It lives here with me. Yes I play with it on my own, and that gives me pleasure, but there are other types of pleasure to be gained. Playing together. Watching you play.

Maybe you had to be a lonely kid to understand. I donno.

Finally.. Something SEXY!!!

I really feel like I have dropped the ball here. I created this blog as a place for my inner slut to come out.. (SMUT, I meant SMUT I SWEAR)! But so far... nothing but faggy posts about *connection* and *frustration* and even (gasp)..... *love*.........

But fear not my (imaginary) readers! For the fuck fairy has not left the building in shame yet.. and there is and will be much to speak of before she does. From the puppy (who is so not getting his red wings tonight. EWWW)..... To the Panda who makes my pussy drool like an old yard dog in August (and makes me cum like its nuttin)....

Yeah I crack me up.

To the other couple players in this weird effed up place in my life. I have a woman who wants to snuggle me, a couple of guys who want me to Domme them, a guy who loves me as a coffee date, a guy who loves getting in my mind (and my bra).... and then there's him. I don't know if he gets off on my weird sexual conquests or if he just gets that I need the freedom to make them and loves me enough to give it to me. You'll have to ask him that. I guess I could, but I doubt he would answer me anyway. He's a tricksy fucker that way.

But he did miss my reference to him as my "boyfriend" earlier today. So maybe it's just old age setting in.

*grin*

"Happiness lies neither in vice nor in virtue; but in the manner we appreciate the one and the other, and the choice we make pursuant to our individual organization."

-Marquis De Sade 

The High Seas of Friendship....

So I have this friend. Lets call him Mr X for now. Until we find a suitable nickname for him. I'm perturbed with him at the moment, so naming him now would end up with his having something snarky written in sharpie on his nametag forever. Barnacle Bill comes to mind. But I digress...... So Mr X is your typical perfect guy. Sort of. He is brilliant, successful, handsome, and still young enough to turn heads. He is perfect...... on paper. 

See he has this secret. No it's not a mole in the shape of Oprah, or a third nipple or anything like that. It's way worse. He has barnacles. He has serious barnacles. And the most frustrating thing about it is that even though he swears he doesn't *want* barnacles..... he still accrues them way faster than he removes them. Now I know what you're thinking... WTF are barnacles?!? No it's not something you have to go to your doctor and get a cream for. Unfortunately there is no cream. Barnacles are those people in your life who are there for the ride. They attach themselves to you for their own gain... getting all the goodies but doing no actual work. In reality they are adding to your weight, and if not addressed will sink even the strongest boat.

Now one or two of these annoying fellows can go unnoticed... but barnacles multiply.... quickly..... and before you even realize it your hull is coated with them. And then you have to pull your boat out of the water and apply some old fashioned elbow grease to remove them. Ok yeah.. we are doing a whole boat metaphor here people. Just in case I've lost anyone........... Ok so back to the muddy waters of metaphor-land... (I crack me up)..... removing these suckers... well... it sucks. It's hard. And it's one of those things that you really need to be committed to doing. And I really thought he was. Until today.

There I was doing him a favor... minding my own business.... (ok maybe I was being a little nosy).... and I found something. I'm pretty certain he didn't buy that for himself..... (certainly not in "pink"), so I know who he bought it for. And I know why (V-day is coming soon, folks). He has been vehemently denying that she is a barnacle... that he would allow that... he swears he's been sooo gaurded against that.....

And yet there it was. Staring me in the face. And I realized something big. You know when you have that one friend.... Everyone has this friend... who is constantly complaining about their partner, or their job, or whatever, but refuses to change their behavior or their situation, right? The friend you love but want to bean over the head with a 2 by 4 because you love them and you can clearly see that they have the ability to change the things they are complaining about, but they somehow just DO NOT see it. And they are destined to continue complaining about the results of their own actions (or inactions) forever... and ever.... until they finally get it.

He likes his barnacles. Or at least... he's not as ready as he thinks he is to get rid of them. Oh, one or two, sure, no problem. But here he is.... creating new ones as fast as he's dropping the old ones.

So what do I do? Do I keep my mouth shut about my discovery, and just nod and smile as he rants about barnacles and how well he is doing ridding himself of them? Do I call him out on it, and watch enraged as his eyes glaze over as we have *that* talk yet again? Or do I just move on, accepting that *that friend* is an emotional barnacle themselves..... one that I certainly don't have room for in my life right now.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose freewill

- Rush "Freewill"

Know When to Hold Em......

I was originally going to write about The Puppy tonight. Don't worry, I'll tell you about him eventually. (All names in this blog will be converted to nicknames to protect the shamelessly guilty, btw.) About my manipulation of the Puppy and the morality of it, and how far I should take it. But that's not what's on my mind. As I lay here in my silent house in this lonely bed with only Miss Dog to snuggle with my mind is firmly centered on the Panda. Don't worry, you'll hear a lot about him. For now suffice it to say that he is.... a flame. An old flame. A new flame. Honestly, a terrifying and yet totally unignorable flame.

In my normal relationships I hold most of the cards. I've always done this. I control the pace of the courtship. I control the tone of the interactions. And when I'm ready, I force my opponent (I mean PARTNER... yeah, totally!) to show my their cards. To bare their souls to me. I ALWAYS make them say it first. I always make them take those first steps alone, and I intentionally make them wonder if I will follow, or if I will abandon them in that bare, wide open no man's land of feelings. I can justify these actions all day long but it doesn't make them any less shitty or manipulative. It just is what it is. And in the end, I am always the one to pack up my toys and leave. I am the leaver. I am NEVER the left. It's a source of pride for me (as if I need any more of THAT).

The Panda asks too many questions. And he calls my bullshit. And he sees me... through the smokescreen of cutesy bullshit or indirectness or bad behavior or whatever I happen to be throwing his way. I feel like he's looking at me. And that freaks me out. And that attracts me in a way I have never felt in my life. He makes me want to lay my cards on the table. He makes me want to run to him and babble all the feelings I have for him at his slightest hint of interest. I know that's not healthy. I know that's not what's needed. I know I need to find a healthy medium here.

Whatever this is going to be, it has already been the most different thing in my life. I expect that will continue. I just hope that when we finally can look in each others' eyes, and touch, and feel.... that I will see as much longing, as much tenderness... as much love in his eyes as I know he will see in mine. I'm laying my ace on the table. I'm all in.

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart
That's not the shape of my heart

 

- Sting "Shape of My Heart"

This is not reality

I wake up slowly. The room is dark and quiet. There is a moment of panic. Immediately I can smell him. In the pillows, in the sheets, and I know where I am now. I sigh and snuggle deeper in the bed, reaching my arm out for him. He feels me shift and reaches back to me, grabbing me and pulling me to him. I nestle my face into his neck and inhale deeply. He smells like home. I wrap my arms around him and hold him so close, loving the feel of him, the realness of his warm sleepy body. My eyes close again and I feel myself falling...... falling...... into sleep... into him.... into this new life........

This is not reality. This is only a dream.

Hello World....

This is me. This blog is going to be sexy, and funny, and probably boring a lot of the time. It's going to be a chronicle of my life now... stories of funny/sexy/interesting things that have happened, and hopefully, generally, an interesting view into an interesting period of change for me. I'm not an exceptional person in any way. I don't stand out in a crowd. You'd never look at me and say to yourself "now lookie there, self, I bet SHE has had an interesting life." I'm one who blends. Into the background, mostly. I'm not supermodel hot or super geeky smart, or desined to change the world. I'm just one more person, in this writhing sea of humanity with the inane desire to say to the world "here I am..... here is my heart, here is my soul..." Maybe the goal of all these blogs isn't to differentiate, but really to show how we all are so similar. Sub or Dom, Mono or Poly, Male or Female, we are all aching and striving together for many of the same things.

"We are not special. We are the all singing all dancing crap of the world."