Monday, March 19

Because I always must be honest in this magic mirror,
I will say this was a weekend where the dopamine
junkie recessed.

A lovely weekend for Hugo and I, at play here in the
spring City sunshine. I felt pure, solid, present.
But when I try to ask myself how this grounded feeling
came to be, I don't believe I can say it is because I
am now content, that I have "gone back to sleep" or
given up the dream of the maximized inner freak.

Either I have steeped myself stronger in denial that
ever before, or the bento box dissociation of
personality has enabled a fuller self.

But it is selfish. I do not see the sense anymore of
the ascetism (ah, but you call it ascetism, DJ, but
your inability to communicate your desires effectively
is not the same as ascetism!) or the martyrous
compromise/sacrifice of self in the attempt to satisfy
some singular ideal.

I watched the movie Pi this evening. Something inside
me keened as I watched the protagonist drive himself
mad with the search, the computation of his magic
number.

I want to understand my heart. I want to understand
my desires. I want to explain why I am the way I am.
I want to be an unabashed human experiment/example.

Sometimes I wish my intellectual heroes had the
occasion to intersect with these thoughts of mine,
that on another plane I am having a lovely dinner
party; Nietzsche is there, and Joseph Campbell too,
Hermann Hesse and Anais Nin, John Fowles, Josephine
Hart, Milan Kundera, Bjork. I wouldn't even want
their words necessarily, or their guidance. Just a
hug.

I wouldn't want to be Salvador Dali's friend, I just
want to be the confectioner of his favorite bon bons.

Suddenly though, I have an urge to go out and purchase
something silky and black.

Wear my little black step in mules with the pretty
heel. Leave my hair down. Redden my mouth.

Seems simple enough. That's as far as I go in the
sexy uniform department.

I do alright nude. And I don't do too badly in just a tshirt and sweats.

But in my little black uniform, black silky fabric
grazing lightly over curves, smooth silky skin
beneath, a pretty heel, hair and red lips -- I can be
anyone.

Red toenails. Exposed Instep and Ankle. Naked calf and
thigh. The submission of shoulders. Inky black
ribbons of hair. Fingers to shoulders, smooth naked
skin. Swell of breast above black fabric. Thrust of
nipple beneath.

I could be anyone. I could be anywhere.

I am sibilance.

Soft
Sweet
Succulent
Seductive
Smooth
Sharp
Shaved
Saucy
Sadistic
Slave
Stiletto
Silent
Sucking

SWITCH.

A strange inner calm has descended upon me. Another S
word. Serene.

(What was that? Was that Resolve?)

How wonderful though, to be a woman, to be able to
blame our frailty, to be endowed with the
"prerogative" to "change our minds"?

This weekend was idyllic, halcyonic perhaps.
Que sera sera.

On another note, since I am on a Female positive tip
-- this is Maximum Horny week.

Any man who ever had a LTR must have experienced that
pre-menstrual horny cycle. A wise man controls the
monster by feeding his woman chocolate, and feeding
the kitty, who will be miauling in heat . . one
ex-boy was so attuned to this cycle that long after we
broke up, he was still on the same "heat cycle" as me.

His premenstrual treatment won huge points. He
massaged my back and my hands, left chocolate around,
smoked bowls with me and kept the voracious kitty well
fed, purring and content, leaving me so sated the
Crazies and the Cramps didn't stand a chance.

We also fucked on my period. Sometimes it was the
only thing that relieved my back and headaches. And
we both agreed that during this time he achieved the
deepest and most satisfying penetration. He'd have
gone for the red wings but I wasn't into it then. But
I gave the best head in return for this treatment,
going for his spongetip in the truck and taking him in
my mouth with guiltless fervor.

Lesson: He served my needs, and I went to lengths to
please him. I never felt as if the scales were
unbalanced -- I felt we were feeding, not feeding off
of, each other. Alas, we had our time together and
then we had to let go. Obviously he means a great
deal to me, I still love him. Probably all the more
because we let each other go voluntarily. It was just
time and we both knew it. I'm not sad about it. I'm
grateful. Our bodies served each other very well, and
our spirits mingled and danced for a time.

His birthday is coming up. I have become a guest to
his life. He has become a ghost to mine. But we'll
spend time. I'm still allotted a few choice days
within the year where we will sup together, chill in
the truck which held a million memories, be still,
listen to music which always sounds better when we're
together, and be happy and sad for these brief moments
of quiet contentment which we afford ourselves as a
treat from our now divergent paths.

Morsels of bittersweet chocolate memories melting,
lingering on my tongue.

He was also the first boy to make me cum with his
mouth. He knew my pussy very well, what I responded
to, was very attuned to my moans.

I always guided the pressure and direction with my
hands on his head, and he followed.

Hot breath on kitty, kisses and small bites on my
inner thighs. Closed mouth kisses on my mound to get
my hips pumping at his face. One thumb lightly
grazing my seeping slit. Brush of his lips on me, as
if by accident. Smiling as he gets my breath ragged,
my eyes desperate, and my body undulating, pumping at
the air.

Always gentle with kitty. Never harsh or mean. Never
rough. He made out with my kitty like he tongued my
mouth -- soft, deep, sucking, soft bites.

And didn't go for my clit until he was ready to make
me cum. Mmm.

And would get up to make me kiss his cock, stroke it
in my mouth, before resting himself between my legs
again. And what was even better is that I knew he
liked it -- he would grind himself against the
floor/bed/whatever while he would lick me. 2 fingers
at the most, inserting into me palm up, cum come cum
come on.

Gah. My orgasm would not be one big explosion but a
series of seizures he would bring me to, the whole
time he does not stop sucking on me, only decreasing
the pressure, being respectful of my highly sensitized
clit.

He didn't want me overstimulated, overly exhausted or
too sensitive or tender.

Because he wasn't finished with me yet.

The sweetness of fucking we perfected together we
share now with different partners.

As a girlfriend told me -- sweet little memories.
that's all love boils down to.