Stream of Buzzed Consciousness 

Hold me. Steal me. Kiss me. Penetrate me. Own me. Overwhelm me. 

Cherish me. 

Make time for me. 

Flirt with me. 

Touch me. 

Watch me. Crave me. Respect me. Try to resist me. And fail. 

Part me. Challenge me. Fill me. 

Excite me. 

But instead you love me and ignore me. Two sides of a complacent coin. My currency. My choice. 

The Solo Ride

I exited the train, strode down the wooden platform and saw him standing just past the turnstiles. Tall and handsome in a grey sweater, tan jodhpurs and brown riding boots, he was unmistakably my guide for the day.

“Hello,” I said to him in his native tongue. The five days prior in this European country had perfected my accent.

“Hello,” he replied, a look of slight surprise on his face.

We walked out towards his car in tandem and in silence.

“How are you?” I asked, nearing the limits of my recently acquired skill in his language.

“I’m very good,” he replied, a crooked smile alighting his face, “And you?”

“Very good.”

“You speak my language?” he asked.

“No, not well,” I said, reverting to English, “I do try though.”

“What you know is very good.”

“I have a good ear, but limited vocabulary.”

He glanced over at me as he opened the door to his car, a ghost of his first surprise still haunting his features.

“I hope I haven’t kept the rest of the group waiting,” I said, referring to my slightly late arrival.

“There is no one else,” he said.

“What?” I replied, confused. I thought I had scheduled this village and countryside ride along with a group of other horse enthusiasts.

“There is just you, so no one is waiting,” he confirmed. Continue reading

Feels Like a First Date Continued

Old friend from high school needs a name. From here on out I’ll call him Jake. Not in the least because he could be Jake Gyllenhaal’s brother they look so much alike. 

That evening we lingered over drinks. Then we lingered over dinner. Finally we lingered over dessert, still talking. Still sharing mutual memories but from our different perspectives. Brief touches on hands, arms, shoulders were scattered throughout. When the server came by a third time and asked if we needed anything else we exchanged sheepish grins. 

“I suppose we should leave,” I said. 

“I’m getting that feeling,” he said wryly.  

Neither of us moved. I took a deep breath. 

“I want you to invite me to come over to your place. And I want us to have one more drink there and keep talking. I’m not ready for this to be over,” I said.  Continue reading

Choices We Make 

I glimpsed soul mate love. It’s fleeting glory touched my lips briefly and passed. Passion. Fire. Thunder. All these things touching me. And then gone. 

But I found a new path. A new way to be happy. He is steady. He is safe. And he loves me. 

And I love him. 

He is a good man. 

But sometimes I see the passion I glimpsed in others. And I miss it. 

This song plays as I help Nathan wash my car. 

“She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man

Talkin’ to herself, there’s no one else who needs to know

She tells herself, oh

Memories back when she was bold and strong

And waiting for the world to come along

Swears she knew it, now she swears he’s gone

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

She lies and says she still loves him, can’t find a better man

She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better man”

And I know that’s true. I won’t find a better man. Maybe the passion will come. I see hints of it sometimes. 

So it comes down to choices. And I choose to stay with this good, better man. 

Packing 

I’m packing a carry-on bag for an upcoming trip  and realized that I am taking more bras than shoes. 

The plunge black one for the low cut cocktail dress. The nude one for under my casual white tee shirt. The black and violet lace bra for the square necklined dress. The white strapless one for the strapless sundress. And finally the sports bra for the yoga class I plan to attend. 

That’s five bras. FIVE! For a three day trip! 

And for those wondering… I’m only taking three pairs of shoes. 

Xoxo 

In the Absence of Plans 

Tonight I try an experiment. I have no plan. Well. That is a lie. I have a plan to have no plan. The idea is to simply begin writing and see what happens. 

I know. It’s an old trick. But I’m still curious. The title of the post just came to me. The Absence of Plans. Funny… On the surface I can appear to go with the flow. And that is perhaps because depending on the situation I often do. Why fight a current if it will take you where you’re headed anyway. 

But often I have deep and well laid plans. Ones I tell no one about. Ones where I have visualed the many paths that can lead to where I want to end up. 

I rehearse conversations. It’s something I’ve done ever since I was a child. Suppose Ashley says X, how will you respond, I would ask myself. And then if you say that, she could retort with X,Y, or Z, the train of thought would continue until I had bounced around how I would respond to a tangle of conversation. All this in a matter of moments. 

I wonder if all that bouncing around in my brain at such a young age developed stronger links throughout regions in my brain, making diplomacy and thinking on my feet second nature. 

Why do people call it second nature? If it’s natural enough to be second, isn’t it really first nature? I digress. 

But I suppose that was the plan all along. 

But oh yes. This is supposed to be a somewhat sexy blog. And I’ve been letting you all down of late. 

No. You will not go reread what you’ve written while you dream up something sexy to write. It just has to flow. 

-pause while I ignore my own instruction and reread- 

Is feeling centered and happy the absence of sexual angst? I ask because that feeling of being on edge, that terrifying delight of almost out of control, is absent. 

Sex is an almost daily (sometimes thrice daily) event. Sometimes it’s quick. Other times it goes on for ages… foreplay to coupling and back again multiple times. But I’m slowly fumbling at something here. 

I’m. Not. Lonely. Every night I share my bed with this man who is figuring out how to show me he adores me. I am happy. 

There is a fine line between pleasure and pain. And not just in the physical sense. Love is like that too. Take it to the very edge… The brink… And it fucking hurts. It’s not happy anymore. 

So maybe I don’t love him as passionately as I have loved in the past. That doesn’t mean it isn’t love. 

He’s fondling my breast now. Perhaps in his sleep… Or not. I will put my phone away and find out. 

My Eyes Changed Color

I looked in the mirror literally moments ago and was surprised by my reflection. Normally my eyes are a peridot green, flecked with yellow and gray. But tonight there is no green to be found. Instead they are almost void of color, like an overcast day 24 hours before storms come rolling in. They were this icy shade of gray when I was a child. The green didn’t show up until my late teens. I wonder what it means. If anything. 

   
 

Changing Scenes 

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a deep, rumbling laugh. I stood in the bedroom of his sprawling ranch house in Big Sur country wearing tawny riding breeches and a red sweater as we discussed which of his dozen horses would be my mount for the day. His three daughters and one son would be arriving for the long weekend later that day. But I didn’t have to do any planning. Mrs. Prill would see to it that dinner was served at seven, he explained. I took a deep breath and threw my arms around him. 

“You make everything so simple!” I laughed. 

The scene changed. 

The massive kitchen with a giant fireplace is briming with conversation and savory smells. The children, all in their late teens and early twenties banter back and forth. They are affectionate with me. I sip my tea, taking it all in. It feels like home, but with a piece missing. 

The scene changed. 

The man and I were walking along the coast at sunset. Hand in hand. The memories of the day played through my mind. It was perfect. The house. The land. The horses. The coast. The California sun. The big family. The security. The tall, distinguished man. Too perfect. I felt a stab in my heart as I thought of Nathan. Where was he? Why had I left him? 

I began to run. Faster. Faster. So fast my feet barely touched the ground. And then I was flying! I caught a current of air and let it lift me high into the sky, away from the man. It was glorious, like being inside the most iridescent opal you’ve ever seen, with a symphony of string instruments accompanying you. 

I woke with a start, the room dark and the soft sound of Nathan’s breathing. What did it all mean? This dream outlined my perfect life. Down to the large, ready made family that I didn’t have to birth and raise. But when I realized it had all been a product of REM sleep, I just felt relief. Because I didn’t leave Nathan. He’s still right here. Beside me. 

I Admitted to Masturbating 

Though it may not sound like it for any of you who have ready much of my blog, today was big day for me. 

I decided to work from home today and around 3:00 the urge for release hit me. So I went to my bedroom, got my trusty rabbit, and proceeded to have a lovely orgasm shortly there after. But that’s not what made it a big day. 

It’s what I did afterwards that I’m still shocked by. You see, I called Nathan. And told him. I think I need to write a bit more about why this is such a big deal. 

Cravings Cease

I do not crave men as I have in the past. They are in my life, on the peripheral. Fulfilling various, occasional needs. I do not mean that flippantly. Being loved and touched is still an intense need. And Nathan’s been doing an amazing job at both. But the drive to devour is all but gone. I think it is because I’m finding fulfillment elsewhere now.

The new job I took a while back is exciting, challenging and so very fun. It doesn’t feel like work. I’m pouring hour after hour into it, sleeping little.

Something just occurred to me. At my old job, though I enjoyed it, I was constantly constrained. Frequently reminded that I was in a cage. Controlled.

That is all gone now. Completely. I’m free.

Were my man-eating tendencies brought on by an attempt to have some form of power and control in my life? Was it a coping mechanism because of feeling so powerless in my day-to-day life at work? I don’t think my old job is completely to blame, but there’s something there. Maybe it caused my id to be exaggerated. Things to ponder.

My last posts before this one brought me to the brink of a close call emotionally. I was teetering on the edge of making a friendship with a man named Kevin something more than it should be. But not now. It was so easy for me to let it go. I didn’t bait him for more. I didn’t play the game.

I still think of Ian every day. Every. Single. Day. His death has changed me. If I thought I was an old soul before, I’m practically ancient now.

Maybe my dusty heart will be tempted to write again soon. Something with flow rather that the staccato thoughts that are coming at the moment. I don’t know.