Exposing Myself for the Sake of Community

I went back and forth for days on whether or not I was going to participate in Hy’s Boobday. Obviously the side that wanted to won. One of the things I love about how she does it is that anyone can participate as long as they follow her guidelines. It’s inclusive. And there is something truly beautiful about that. And that was the deciding factor. I want to support an inclusive community. And if I can do that by taking and sharing a photo that I feel celebrates the figure I was given, then I’m good with that.

Not only did it take me a while to decide if I was going to join in, it was also a thirty minute process of trying to capture the feeling I wanted in the photo. I’m exposing myself. And I wanted the vulnerability that comes with that to be felt in the image. Yes. There were some I culled that had me “presenting” myself… back arched, breasts forward. And they were damn sexy. But right now, that’s not how I feel. So I shared this. This simple photo of me in a threadbare v-neck tee left behind by an old lover many years ago.

My fist submission to Boobday.

My fist submission to Boobday.

Happy Boobday, y’all.

I Didn’t Want to Wake Up

I was standing at the edge of a decorated high school gym. The lights were somewhat dim. But not too much so. I was new. The new girl. So often I was the new kid. This feeling was not unfamiliar.

The silky teal frock I wore could have been from a 1960s film, sleeveless with a full skirt. Pockets even. I love pockets.
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Reminder: Never Have I Ever This Friday!

Marian Green:

I’m playing!!!! You should too!!! Even if you don’t blog but are a regular commenter around here… Please do!!!

Now for my what I’ve never done… But would like to… Hmmm

Originally posted on Love Sex and Marriage:

I’ve already received a handful of entries for this Friday’s game, Never Have I Ever, but the more the better! So in case you missed it the first time, or if you don't judgejust forgot, this is just a friendly reminder to get me your entries before it’s too late!

So here’s the DL. Email me something you’ve never done. It doesn’t have to be sexually explicit, although most are. Think something up and get it to me before Thursday (lovesexandmarriageblog@gmail.com). On Friday, sometime mid-morning, the game will go live and will stay open until Monday at noon.

Come on. You know you wanna play. It’ll be fun. *nothing like some good old fashion peer pressure!*

Thanks everyone!

*hugs and kisses*

~caitlyn

PS-If you’ve already submitted and did not hear back from me yet, that means I didn’t get your email. Try again!

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I Don’t Wanna Talk About It

Rod Stewart croons in his gravely, scratchy way, “I don’t wanna talk about it, how you broke my heart…” Tonight those lyrics ring deep and true for me. Not because of my heart. It’s quite intact these days. But because of life [read work] in general.

But I don’t want to verbalize the issues. I don’t want to talk about it. Why? Because when I do, I think I should be able to handle the stress, the pressure. When I say it out loud it all sounds doable.

But how I’m feeling is opposite that. It doesn’t feel doable. And to say out load that I’m hanging on by my very finger tips when I believe I should be able to handle all the responsibilities sounds weak. And oh how I don’t want to be weak.

But I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Is it weak to walk away? Can I walk away? Theoretically I know the answer to those questions. But how I feel isn’t lining up. Not yet.

I feel trapped. And can’t seem to get my head clear of the drowning waves of work long enough to make a plan of escape.

But at the end of the day, listen to me. And how shameful it is that I’m wailing about the stress of my job, when there are so many who don’t have one in the first place. I suppose it really is all about perspective.

But I still don’t wanna talk about it.

My First TMI Tuesday Post

So I ran across this meme on sweet Fatal’s blog, You Linger Like a Haunting Refrain, and I thought… A meme!!! Fun!!! We’ve been talking about getting more involved and solidifying our community lately… so why not? If you want to play along feel free to link to your post in the comments. The official instructions are at the bottom. And check out Fatal’s answers too!

Without further ado, my first TMI Tuesday:

1. Do you give pet names to anything? (e.g. Significant other. Car. Breasts. Penis. Vagina.)

puppyYes. I give pet names to anything that will be still long enough for me to name it. It’s a problem. But they are all very common ones. Nothing too outlandish. Or punny. I’d love to nickname a guy’s penis Stanley though. You know… like a Stanley Power Drill. Badda bing, badda boom. I’m here all night, folks.Stanley-FatMax-20V-Hammer-Drill

2. Is there a pet name that you can’t stand being called?

I’m sure if someone tried hard enough there would be one that might get on my nerves. But as long as the tone of voice is endearing, I’m pretty easy going about the name.

3. Has your body ever done something that you didn’t understand? Even if it was a ‘first time’ something happened?

Oh yes. Several times. There’ve been mundane things like the odd leg cramp or my hair getting curlier for no apparent reason. But other times it’s been more serious. And on two of those occasions I’ve ended up in the hospital. Way to go body!

4. Which body part do you spend the most time on? (grooming, applying, etc.)

Well, because I’ve been spending so much time working on my figure with running and biking, the actual time spent grooming and applying makeup is WAY down. Like by 75 percent. But even within that greatly reduced timeframe I’d have to say my eyes. I do love my mascara and will apply at least five thin coats to get that feathery fringed look.

perfect eyelashes

5. The name of the best lover you’ve ever had.

On the blog he’s been mentioned only as The Connoisseur.

6. Have you ever taken an ex back?

No.

Bonus: What’s your biggest concern in the world today?

A lack of kindness and compassion.

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

P.S. When I first started blogging two and a half years ago I didn’t even know what a meme was. I had to google it. Turns out it’s a fancy internet term for a game or group of questions passed around on the… wait for it… internet.

The Time I Borrowed My Grandmother’s Vibrator

A while back I was at my grandmother’s house for a long visit and, after several days of helping get her flowerbeds up to snuff, tiling the bathroom, hanging curtains, picking and canning peas, and relocating dogwood trees, my body was aching. As I lay prostrate on her brown shag carpet in her living room, softly moaning (while also internally debating if I had enough energy to rip up and replace the worn, dated carpet) my sweet grandmother walked in.

“You’re plumb worn out aren’t you darling,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I admitted, “And a little sore too.”

“Oooo, I’ve just the thing for that,” she clapped her hands and swished back towards her bedroom.

She returned carrying a box. It landed on the couch with a heavy thump. Whatever was inside wasn’t light.

“That will fix you right up,” she said, obviously pleased.

“What is it?” I asked.

“My vibrator,” she said, without a hint of irony.

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You Pick My Next Post

Hi.

Marian here.

I miss you. And I’m stuck. My motivation seems to have gone on walkabout and if it’s not too much trouble, I would so love to have your assistance. I have several topics jostling for position in my head to write about and I’m not writing anything because I can’t pick which one to do first. That and the lack of motivation thing. So will you help me? If you wonderful people will just tell me what you want I’ll get all fired up and post away.

Here’s what I have noodling around, but haven’t put a word to paper yet.

1. The Time I Borrowed My Grandmother’s Vibrator

2. Do I Swallow After a Blow-job? And Why or Why Not

3. Is Cheating Genetic?

4. Why People Cry at Weddings

Do any of those sound remotely interesting? If so which do you want to read first? And if you have other ideas… Please, for the love of cool autumn night and floppy puppy ears, let me know.

Hy and I were talking today and we agree with LSAM… We miss the sense of community we had at one time around here. The path to that isn’t super clear to me, but I know that if I don’t write, I am losing an important part of me.

I’m excited to see what direction I get pointed.

Love and hugs!
Marian

Living in This New Reality

I’ve called 911 exactly four times in my life. The first was when I was eighteen and driving home from a late college class. I passed an accident that had just happened, literally minutes before. People had been flung from their cars and were laying on the pavement. Other vehicles had stopped and blocked the road so the injured didn’t get run over by the traffic. The 911 dispatch officer assured me that medics were already on the way. I wasn’t the first to call.

The second time was also at night. Things were getting serious with the man I had been dating and he wanted me to meet his parents. This entailed a 10 hour drive deep into the heart of middle America. An hour out, he passed a small pickup truck. The driver took it personally. He chased us for miles, attempting to rear end us and push us off the road. Mobile phone coverage back then wasn’t what it is today and at that point in the drive neither of us could get a signal. When the emergency call finally went through I passed the phone to him and listened as he described our pursuer and detailed our location. In minutes blue lights flashed on the horizon and the pickup truck braked and u-turned.

The third time was just over a year ago when I witnessed an act of deliberate road rage. A large pickup truck must have thought the minivan driver in front of him was driving too slow. He whipped around her, almost taking out the back corner panel of an adjacent SUV in the process, pulled in front of the van and then slammed on his brakes. There was no time for her to stop and the nose of her van met the tail of his truck with a sickening crunch of metal and squeal of tires. Like the first time, I wasn’t the first person to call and report the incident.

This last time (and hopefully it will be the last) I was not driving or in a car. I was in my house. With someone I thought was one way, but come to find out, is another… at least when alcohol is involved. What I did was naive. I see that now. It has taken me some time to get my head around what happened and to decide how much I should write about it. So I will tell you what I feel I can. Continue reading

I Brought Danger Home

Something happened this morning. Something that scared me. Badly. I realized just how sheltered I am. And I’m so thankful for it. Never again do I want to see or experience the level of self torture and affliction I witnessed. I’m not cut out for it. I feel everything.

Thinking about it now, I’m not even sure the last time I felt truly afraid. Maybe that time I was driving at night in a foreign country on the other side of the road in the other side of the car and I realized just how bad my night vision is. But that wasn’t the same. That was funny scared. There was nothing funny about this morning.

I brought danger in my house. My intentions were good. But the outcome was not. On the phone with the 911 operator I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, my pulse racing, my body poised for flight if things escalated. Continue reading

What It Feels Like to Be Objectified

It feels good.. . until it doesn’t.

Entering a space, confidence high, the appreciative looks of men feed me, building my strength. There is power in feeling like the most desired woman in the room. They don’t know me. But they want me. At least they want that which they are presented. When I’m not known, being what some would call objectified feels like a compliment. The exterior is all that can be responded to. And the armor may be artful, but it’s also titanium grade. The responsive energy just polishes it up.

There is a difference to me between being someone’s fantasy and being someone’s object. As the fantasy I’m still shielded, part of me unknown in one of two ways—either my heart or my appearance. I love being a fantasy. It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

It’s when the armor is pierced that it goes awry.

“Why are you still dressed?” ExBoss once asked soon after I crossed the threshold. It wasn’t the question that stung. But his tone. I cared deeply for this man, and had opened my heart up to him. He knew me, not just how I looked, but how I thought, what I was passionate about. But that night, as far as he was concerned, my purpose was to be his release. That was it. Other than as visual and physical stimulation, I held no other value to him.

At the time I laughed it off and said something coy like, “Because you haven’t undressed me yet.” But the seed of abasement had been planted. And when I drove away into the night, the smell of him on me, I seemed to be nothing more than his cum rag. That didn’t feel good.

In the digital world it’s different. There the approach is often reversed. Emails lead to online chatting, which can turn into texting and phone calls. Time is spent knowing the other person. And sometimes it stops there. But every now and then, it doesn’t. Sometimes pictures are requested. If I acquiesce then suddenly I’m known in a different way. And then which direction will it go? The faster it escalates, the easier it is to see. Continue reading

I Just Want to Lay Here and Touch Myself

I don’t want to get off the bed. I don’t want to keep a schedule. I don’t want to be responsible. I don’t want to do what I should.

I just want to lay right here and let my fingers gently caress my smooth mound. I want to delve between the slick cleft and find the waiting pearl that is the most alert part of me at the moment. I want to be languid, and stay blissfully naked, doing nothing more than admiring the contours of my body.

But I don’t always get what I want. So up I go, into leggings, a t-shirt and Nikes, before heading to the track to push my languid ass around a small town football field in lane two until my lungs feel like they’re going to explode.