Sometimes you just need what you need. I’m still learning that it’s okay to have needs, to admit that the hunger is real, especially when it comes to sex and sexual/sensual self-care.
I’ve been out on that open road You can be my full time daddy white and gold Singing blues has been getting old You can be my full time baby Hot or cold
Let me just say: thank fuck Mercury is out of retrograde. No excuses but it always makes things tougher and requires more thought especially with communication. Loads of emotions lately and it’s not been the best nor most productive week but I’m trying not to hold that against myself. However, the question remains, would you…
I have always struggled to be fully present, it’s something I have been focusing on learning and fostering within myself for only the past year. I still have work to do. Due to the usual challenges, I was shocked and a bit delighted to notice this little row of four puncture points, one for each…
The sky is filled with snow, not yet fallen, lavender clouds, mission unfulfilled, laden with infinite perfection in countless, tiny stars of ice. I am that snow: soft and silent, falling without memory or hesitation. A flurry of pale desire blankets us and your warm hands begin to thaw my frozen heart.
You should be waking up here. Or me there. I want you at arm’s length or closer. Come to me. Stay awhile.
This week has been a countdown since Saturday, measured night by night until I see him again. He’s new, I’ve held back from mentioning him here, but Reader, my heart is excited.
Fighting with my body, with my mind and heart, again. Looking for validation in strangers’ hands and mouths and jutting cocks. Swallowing air that feels like sea water, crying tears that feel like sand. Why wasn’t I born beautiful?
She thrust the camera into my hands, it was heavy and older than we were. She lay back playfully, coy as she pulled up her shirt, pert tits wobbling softly.
Come closer, burrow in against me, muffle the sounds of the rain with your body on mine.
This photo was never meant to be a feature. Imperfect, forgettable, lacklustre.
A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him up for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown. WB Yeats
It’s been quite a week: libido in overdrive but creativity in major drought. In both senses I’ve felt a bit scrambled.
I discovered a new hashtag on Instagram yesterday …
It’s been a gray couple days. Not feeling myself, not wanting to connect, trying to understand what this funk is. Maybe I just need distracting?
Late for dinner plans, couldn’t keep my hands off myself. Just a quick lift of my dress, a photo, a text … and then his stream of heart-eye emojis. I win.