Opheliac Gypsy

Five Years.

2011-04-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

Five years ago, today, April 3rd - I was the victim of sexual assault. Every day it surfaces at least a little in my mind, and this year it's a little bit worse than it was in previous years. I'm not sure if it's just on my mind more, or if the half-decade is somehow significant to me. Last year, I wrote out my entire experience here. This year, I wrote a poem. I'm also going to be reading this poem in my English class in the coming week, and while I am terrified of standing up in front of 20 other people and reading it, every time I tell the story, I might help someone else find the courage to speak out about their assault. And that is worth any fear and pain I may feel in my eyes.

I learned that day, that fateful day, that I must trust my gut
I learned I must not ignore when it says that something's up.
I learned that there are those who exploit without remorse
I learned that fear renders me silent and later, rather hoarse
I learned things that make my blood run cold
I learned that under pressure I will buckle, fold
I learned to get away that day, through telling bald-faced lies
I learned getting away doesn't remove handprints from my thighs
I learned that day that there were those who had no sympathy
And those who backed away and stared with abject pity
I learned that some were all to glad to place the blame on me
I learned that few, a loving few, would always stay beside me
I fought that day, and for years hence, with my own guilt, I placed the blame upon me
And then at some part I stopped: it's you that should feel guilty
I hate you for shredding the last bit of innocence I had
I hate you for making me believe that I was bad
I hate you, and then I hate the world, for handing me the blame
I hate with passion any who would think the victim should feel shame
I hope that one day you will feel the wrath of what you've wrought
I hope one day that you slip up; I hope that you get caught.

Fingers, allow me to introduce you to keyboard.

2010-12-09T00:41:00.000-08:00

As per usual I faded out for a time. Missed me? I wish I could say that in some coy, provocative manner, but let us face reality - while I am indeed provocative, I don't consider myself remotely coy. Not anymore, at least. I used to be. Then being coy grew to be, in alternate turns, both boring and aggravating. I'm too good at being coy, at playing games, and thus when I work those, people have little clue whether or not to take me seriously. A mistress of manipulation, perhaps I am, but I quit the manipulation game long ago when I decided that playing with hearts only lead to hurt. Sometimes on only one part, sometimes on both. Sometimes on many.

I certainly know how to jump into things I didn't even mean to discuss.

From the stats, the letter I wrote to my crush back in September seemed to be a popular entry. At least, I assume it really was. So for those of you who enjoyed that one, I regret to inform you that A's affection mostly dropped off, and while it's beginning to climb again, and I continue to have some feelings for him, these days I frequently wonder if those feelings were and are largely because he was there for me when I was fresh and raw out of the breakup. Yes, wondering such hurts. No, I'm not dwelling on it.

In relation, I finally left monogamy behind. I never considered myself monogamous, but I never knew how to discuss it with a partner. The Ex and I had an open relationship, but it was less than ideal under any name. The rules list was complex, and mildly ridiculous at times, and we both violated it. Perhaps him more than me. Alright, perhaps is a bit of an understatement, but we'll cover that later.

I'm not saying I'm poly. I probably am. I haven't entirely figured 100% soon if I'm poly or just a slut yet, and I'm not committing to anything before I know for certain. I used to jump into things with little thought, I'm a bit more cautious now.

I do have a sex life again, though. I quite enjoy it as well. I'd enjoy it more if it were more than each weekend, but life doesn't work well with that right now. In time, I'll give more details. I just need to figure out how to write it without giving too many details or falling into the trap I did back in the day with the Ex and waxing poetic about eeeeverything. Not that that was bad at the time, but these days, if I fawned and giggled over cock, I'd likely proceed to smack myself in the face with a frying pan. Not my cup of tea anymore. I can do it in person - while naked or clothed for sex, faced with it - but in writing? Can't. Would backspace it all.

I've been working on a lot of art and knitting and World of Warcraft when not consumed with sex, appointments for imminent schooling, and attempts to get hired somewhere. My art skills are improving again, it's quite pleasing to see. Sadly, I'm running out of room in my sketchbook and haven't the funds to get a new one.

I think that's really about it for life updates. Unless you reeeeally want to hear all about my every little sniffle. But I doubt it.

So. The meat of the matter; or, what I can't seem to stop making clear: I'm bitter. Yes, yes, my Ex and I ended on an amicable note. As far as the uninformed eye could see, we're still friends. I wish him all the best. But I also feel so much roiling resentment for so many parts of our relationship. I fume over it. I have a tendency to get bitching about it. And I can't help but relate near anything to the three years I spent with him. Is that normal? I don't know. A lot of my experiences during that time have affected me deeply. At 21 years old, that was a large chunk of my life.

We both did a lot of things that undermined our relationship. I say I'm not bothered, but who am I fooling? I grumble. I rant about how much the sex dropped off. I am displeased with how he handled many things, and yes, with how I handled many things. Communication was poor at best most of the time, and we had completely different ways of dealing with negative events. I wasn't always honest. I doubt he was always honest. Hell, I know he wasn't always honest, but I shouldn't air dirty laundry. Should I? Dare I? I don't really know.

I just don't really know. I mean, fuck. I know I'm not perfect. I stopped trying to be a long time ago. But is imperfect allowed to span airing dirty laundry about ones former relationship? Fuck. Questions.

Thinking about this makes me supremely uncomfortable right now. I don't think I'm ready to write this right now. But I will. Soon. I think.

I'll be back.

- Gypsy

30 Days Of Reflection - My Reflection In The Mirror

2010-11-06T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Hi there reflection,

You’ve been, along with my shadow, my constant companion for 21 years now. When I was small, I thought you were me in another world. Sometimes I still wish you were. When I reached adolescence, you were my worst enemy - every time I saw you I saw the bushy eyebrows, the crooked, bumpy nose thanks to that bitch who kicked me in it, the large moles. I struggled to find things I liked about you, but couldn’t.

When I first used you when plucking my eyebrows, I went drastically overboard and wound up with pencil-thin lines where there was anything at all. It took several years for me to take tweezers to my brows again - after that I simply used a razor, to shape, then eventually to shave entirely off and when I did that, when I looked in the mirror before drawing them on, I resembled an alien. Now I alternate depending on how lazy I am. At least I have eyebrows again and can go out sans makeup without odd looks.

When I was younger, I’d look at you, glare at my small chest, and pray for larger breasts. I thought I wasn’t anything without an hourglass figure. Now I look at them and think to myself ‘many guys and girls alike have enjoyed these with no complaint. They’re sensitive, they’re decorated with scars and in due time, with piercings, and they’re awesome’. It took me years to get here, but I finally did.

For a brief time, I hated my jawline. Now I don’t give a crap. As long as I keep on my pills my weight doesn’t do anything funky and leave me with an extra chin, and that’s all I ask of it. I no longer fantasize about getting plastic surgery to have a perfect jaw.

You’ve seen many permutations of my hair, you’ve seen the addition of scars and metal and the ever-changing cosmetic routine. You’ve seen me corsetted in silk and comfy in flannel. You no longer seem to judge me. You’re damn perfect for me, and I’m damn perfect for me. You’re beautiful, and don’t you dare fucking forget it.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Want To Tell Everything, But I'm Afraid To

2010-11-05T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Does it count if they’re deceased but they’re the one person who I’ve ever known that I can think of offhand that I would have feared telling about who I am and have become since they knew me? Everyone I can think of that I want to talk to that lives accepts and loves me for who I am, after all. And most of those deceased wouldn’t care too much. But my grandfather would.

Dear Grandpa,

You had great expectations of me. I was going to grow up, stop wearing the black makeup and the funny clothes, graduate high school and go to university, and become a journalist. Or a lawyer. Or something like that. You were very against homosexuality and the NDP. I never thought nor wished to ask you what you thought of abortion. I know you were pro-womens rights, but when my mom was pregnant with my half-sister she had to live in a home for unwed mothers and was unable to keep her after the birth.

The year that she didn’t get honours, you took her certificate off the wall and didn’t put it up until she got honours the next year.

I know you adored me, that I was the apple of your eye. I doubt I would be now. I’m very much what you never wanted. I haven’t grown out of the black makeup and the funny clothes, although I cannot be buggered to put them on when I’m lazing around or not going anywhere special. I’m VERY openly queer. I support the NDP with a sprinkling of Liberal, an unplanned pregnancy that I don’t feel capable of supporting will be aborted, and if I’m unwed I sure as hell won’t be staying in a home. Are there even specific homes for unwed mothers anymore? I’m really not sure.

Not only did I not get honours once in high school, but I barely scraped through grade ten and dropped out of grade eleven. I scrapped journalism on the level I wanted, am only now looking at finishing my diploma, and I’m looking at sex education as a career. I drink, perhaps too much, and smoke, and occasionally enjoy marijuana and salvia. Rather like my mothers ‘dirty hippy’ half-brother.

I’m also a LaVeyan Satanist, which Mom doesn’t understand and you definitely wouldn’t. It has nothing to do with sacrificing virgins, babies, and goats, Grandpa. It just fits with my ideals and my lifestyle and I love it.

None of this is something you would accept. Never mind the time I had a crush on a skinhead. In my defense, I was young, stupid, and he bought me smokes and loved the same bands as me. But he was massively fucked up, and I look back and wonder what the hell I saw in him. You would have hated him. You would have loved Lad. Lad would have listened to your war stories, and played cards, and treated me well. You probably would have demanded to know why when I ended it.

At least you would have understood why - You and Grandma loved each other to the end of your days. I trust that you would have supported me not staying with someone I wasn’t in love with anymore.

I love and miss you Grandpa, but were you alive, I’d be terrified to tell you anything about my life.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone Who Changed My Life

2010-11-04T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Junior High Teachers,

Yes, all of you. You changed my life. You saw that I was smart, if awkward, and shy, and prone to emotional fits. You didn’t treat me any different from any students academically, and expected the best out of all of us, but one of you bent the rules in gym to allow for the fact that sports and I were an ill match, especially if I had to be remotely coordinated.

You were the realest friends I had in junior high, the ones that didn’t treat me like crap. I could talk politics with you. One of you, my badass goth science teacher, was my first conscious exposure to goth and I was hooked on it.

I don’t think any of you really ever found out how hellish my home life was in the last year and a half of my junior high years. I wish you had. I really do.

Thank you, ALL OF YOU, for being such a goddamn important part of my growing years.

30 Days Of Letters - The Friendliest Person I Knew For A Day

2010-11-03T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Son Of One Of My Dad’s Friends,

I seem to remember you guys were ostensibly there to talk moving shit with my dad. I wouldn’t have even met you, but I’d come down with the most wretched cold I’d had at that point since my first bout with pneumonia. I’d been cooped up, with a sore throat and a bad cough, packing boxes like it was going out of style because taking a break wasn’t an option.

Until our dads fucked off and left us to hang out. You were pretty nice, really. I don’t know how old you were, but I was an awkward fourteen year old who felt wretched and was terminally shy at the best of times.

You gave me halls and made me laugh. Most welcome when I felt so horrible.

I wonder what you’re doing now, seven years on. I hope you’re doing well, whatever you’re up to. Thanks for keeping me sane that one day so long ago.

30 Days Of Letters - The Last Person I Made A Pinky Promise To

2010-11-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear...Someone...

I don’t remember who you were. I sure as hell hope it was something worth a pinky promise. I better not have promised to always give you my last beer.

I’m sorry this is so short, but I seriously don’t remember who you were or what I promised.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Is Going Through The Worst Of Times

2010-11-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear T,

I know things have been tough. I’m glad you have a job now, but I worry you’ll fuck this one up like all the rest. You have a history of lying and stealing to and from your employers, and you always quit in order to avoid notice. The last time you were searching for a job, you lied and told them I was your former manager. I refused to answer the phone, by the way. I wasn’t going to be part of that fraud, close friend or not.

T, you need to stop this bullshit if you want to get your head above water. For the sake of your daughter, my goddaughter. She deserves to have a mommy who doesn’t risk arrest for stealing. Who doesn’t risk a lawsuit. If she loses you she’ll have neither a father nor a mother during her most important years, and I’m currently ill equipped to take her, even if I am her crazy auntie who loves her to bitties.

Much though I wish it could happen, chances are no matter what Hunter will continue bouncing around to avoid detection and therefore avoid supporting the two of you. You need to be strong and have integrity. If you work that, in due time I swear you’ll be able to support the two of you. The budget will be tight, but you can do it.

Please help yourself. I don’t know if I can do anything.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Gave Me My Favourite Memory

2010-10-31T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear D,

How about A LOT of favourite memories? Like running down streets in our costumes Halloween 06, freezing but having fun?

“Swallow, Damon, swallow!” “The phaaaaantom of the opera is there...Inside your pants”. We have made countless priceless memories. You’re my fuckin’ brother, who cares about the lack of any biological connection, we have the same humour and even look similar. People think we’re siblings without even knowing us.

I’m Mary Fucking Poppins, yeah? And in high school we were such goofs. You were always my skipping buddy, no matter what the class or weather. Once we became friends, we were and are inseparable. You cannot get the Betha without the Damon. Two-fer-one deal. We’ve seen each other through bad boyfriends and STD/pregnancy tests, negated friend drama, and somehow you’re the only person I have never had a fight with in our group.

Remember last year, when I got so hammered on your birthday that I could barely get my corset done up, had a smoke outside in very little clothing in -40, and fell asleep on Dan?

Remember when we used to shoplift? And we got pretty good at it until B was caught when I was with her and that scared me off of it. The one time that we went with E to the mall and when we couldn’t find her were petrified that she’d gotten picked up for our lifting, that was harrowing.

There’s so many more memories. You’re awesome, dude.

Life update number twenty zillion.

2010-10-30T13:31:00.000-07:00

So, amidst all these letters, I figured I ought to fill everyone in on the current state of my life, which is...

...Pretty damn good, actually.

Nearly two weeks ago now I moved out of my ex's family home and in with a group of my darling geeky friends. Our first order of business, after taking me to get my schooling ball rolling, was a trip to Calgary, where I had much fun and, on the final day, got the Thanksgiving dinner that I missed out on, as my ex's extended family chose to completely disinvite me from family gatherings. Which would be less offensive if they hadn't claimed to like me when he and I were together and if our breakup had been messy, but it was such an amicable split that when we were still living together but not in a relationship anymore we'd lie in bed and make fun of each other when our crushes made us blush.

Sadly, his family has for the most part made me a pariah anyhow. Because, of course, there's nothing worse than ending a relationship that the romantic love has completely left rather than lying to ourselves and being miserable. As I said to him on the final day, 'it has become rather evident that the only things I was regarded as being good for were menial labour, potential money, and shooting babies out'.

Hopefully he gets the fuck out of there in due time. He's a good guy, just not the right guy.

Anyhow, I'm optimally going back to school to finish my high school education this January, and I'm anticipating that quite eagerly.

Not really much of an offline sex life come lately. Plenty of online, though, and friends are trying to prod me into set-ups with their friends although I'm not sure how well those'll work. I've been out of the dating game for so long that I've sort of forgotten how to not completely scare off potential partners with my attitude towards sex/sexuality, among other things.

But everything is looking up, at least. I don't find myself laying in the dark, wondering whether I'm even worth anything. And that's the most important thing.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Want To Give A Second Chance

2010-10-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

The one thing that’s been nagging at me with this one is that I don’t give second chances very often at all. When I decide that something’s over, it’s over. Done with. Finite. See ya in hell, and not a moment sooner. It takes a long time to get to that point usually if I do the ending, as I have apparently boundless patience for bullshit, but I’ve given second chances and regretted it. So I don’t. So who the fuck would I want to? Then I thought about it for a while longer, and then I realized - I don’t have to know whoever it is. It doesn’t even have to be a person, really, it could be a group of people. So here goes.

Dear Canadian Liberal Party,

When I was a youth with wild illusions of leftist politics, I swore that I would only vote NDP. Then I realized that I’m not terribly confident in Jack Layton. Mind you, until relatively recently your leaders didn’t inspire much confidence in me either. My only memories of Jean Chretien are of his last year or two, when I finally started to give a shit. Paul Martin didn’t appeal to me whatsoever, and besides, I knew he was just a placeholder until an election. So before I could vote I was ardently supporting the NDP, because I didn’t like your lot and I considered Stephen Harper to be a cretin. Still do.

The NDP platform rings true to me, this is true. If an election was called RIGHT NOW I’d probably still vote for them. I’m not overly fond of Layton still, but I like the party as a whole.

However, Michael Ignatieff - I think you’ve grown on me. You were held back by your straightlaced speeches and stiff, formal, academic wording last election. But you’ve loosened up. You’ve shown you can connect with Canadians. And I like that. I like a leader I could see inviting down for a barbecue. I do admittedly have little issue with the Liberal platform, some things I don’t see perfectly eye-to-eye on but the important stuff matches up.

The fact that frankly, you are quite bangable, does not hurt. It doesn’t affect my political opinions at all, but it sure as fuck doesn’t hurt.

I’m not sure exactly where I’ll stand when the next election rolls around, although there’s a definite possibility of one this fall. I may still vote NDP. But, Mr. Ignatieff, you and your party deserve a second chance.

Let’s knock the Tories out.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Judged On First Impression

2010-10-28T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear G,

My friends think I ought to like you. That if nothing else, I should be your friend. Mind you, they also think I should date D despite me being in love with A.

I reluctantly added you on facebook. Didn't really want to talk, since my wrist was giving me serious hell, but better to get it over with. Within half an hour you had admitted to not liking and never reading Harry Potter and had attempted to school me on one of my favorite metal bands. Because, y'know, I couldn't possibly realize that Ripper, the former vocalist, had been in Judas. For fucks sake I only started dating Steven, one of their number one fans, when Ripper was still with them. I dated a fucking Iced Earth encyclopedia for three years, there's few bands I know more about.

You can talk the talk, but you fail at walking the walk.

Meeting you in person, I disliked you on sight before I even recognized you. Something about you makes my skin crawl. You are an ass on facebook, a vile, condescending ass.

I await my first impression being proved either right or wrong. I do not understand what my friends see in you.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Broke My Heart The Hardest

2010-10-27T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

About four years ago I fell hard for a guy from roleplaying. I felt harder for him than my boyfriend at the time. Around the same time that I realized I also loved Hunter (just in time for him to break my heart), he fell off the face of the Internet.

Dear Soda,

I still wonder why you have never come back. I have been over you for quite a while now, and I do not resent you at all for leaving, but I do miss you, and at the time, freshly dumped and fragile, your lack of presence was an added blow. I know at the times you had computer issues, through one of our mutual friends, but I held out hope that you'd come back.

Needless to say, you never did. I wonder what you're doing now. Are you happy? I hope you are. I am.

Once, I wrote a poem about how I felt about you. I still have it somewhere. I cannot recall most of it. I think you would have liked it.

If you ever come back, I'm missing our Blaise/Colin role-play. We need to continue that someday.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone Who Pesters My Mind

2010-10-26T05:19:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

And I manage to go back on myself and address this to the ex who hurt me the most.

Hunter:

I don't know why you still hold court in my mind on a regular basis. I certainly don't want you to, given how angry I am with you, how much so I have been for nearly three years now.

And yet at least once per week I think of you. I seethe, but nothing prevents thoughts of you from drifting into my mind unbidden. All of them are cross. How can they not be? You treated me, Trina, and your daughter, my goddaughter like shit. Because of your lack of responsibility that little girl likely doesn't remember what her father even looks like. Hopefully we never have to tell her what kind of muck-sucking pond scum you are.

I do not wish you the best, Hunter. I hope you learn the hard way, and far too late, just what you lost.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Wish I Could Be

2010-10-08T14:45:00.001-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Potential,

To reach you, I must strive hard, I must dream big. You are a powerful woman, possessing more sexual confidence than I do, not about the back down from fighting for your passions. Well-educated and well-read, you’re a sex educator, or the owner of a sex-positive toy store, as well as a writer. You are who I wish I was now, and would have been had I not left school prematurely.

If you are in a relationship, it is happy, filled with good communication. If you aren’t, you are still an ethical slut, believing in preserving the safety of health and emotions. Perhaps you’re monogamous, perhaps you’re poly, perhaps you’re simply open. I don’t know what road is best for me yet. You’re still femme-androgyne queer, I know that. I cannot picture myself any other way.

You speak your mind, and you don’t lie or stretch the truth. You don’t fear what people think of you. You value it, but if they hate you, it won’t ruin your day. You don’t let your happiness hinge on anyone but yourself - you alone choose what makes you happy and what doesn’t. You continue to experiment with that which catches your mind.

You’ve continued with the body modifications. You’ve finally managed to balance your darkness with your light. You’re still a LaVeyan Satanist, the path still matching your views of the world. However, you also still dabble in Dark Neopaganism, and offer up your love to the Goddess. After all, it is your roots, and you don’t believe in denying them.

If you have managed to kick smoking to the curb, congratulations, but it’s no big deal if you haven’t. I know I couldn’t do it now. Maybe you’ve tried more beyond weed and salvia, maybe you haven’t. How can I really predict that? It relies so heavily on so much.

Whoever you become, you’re stronger than present day...

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Knew In Childhood

2010-10-08T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

One of my first crushes. It seems like forever ago, and I suppose it has been a decade and a half, but given that that's such a large fraction of my life, it still seems like yesterday at times.

Dear Michael,

I don’t remember when you moved into the townhouses, but I remember when you moved out. You were my first crush, really, and if we count childhood ‘boyfriends’ in the SO count, my first boyfriend as well.

Back then, despite how teased I was at school, at home I was a social butterfly, biking with you and all the other kids around our neighborhood. You were two years older than me, something I considered quite astounding, and perhaps this played into my crush. We’d alternate between antagonizing each other and being nigh inseparable. As I pretended to be Queen Of The Power Rangers, you pretended to be my King, and played along quite well.

I remember the time that the other girls and I decided that in order for there to be a King and Queen, there must be a wedding, but of course, at that age you at least were convinced of the existence of cooties. So they held you down so I could kiss you. I remember the time that I was so angry at you that I chased you around with my foam bat, and the time you watched one of the older kids toss one of my toys up onto a roof and I begged you and anyone else who would listen to get it down but nobody would.

I remember when you outgrew me. When it became simple antagonization, and I didn’t know what I’d done wrong but instead of riding with me and defending ‘our’ courtyard against ‘interlopers’ from the others, you’d ride with your friends and tease me, not the playful sort, but the mean sort. I was crushed.

A few years later I saw you at the mall. You’d wound up ‘gangsta’. And I had started to embrace my darkness.

Perhaps it’s good you abdicated, King of the Power Rangers. For this Queen became far too different for the likes of you.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone In Another Country

2010-10-08T09:53:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear S,

It’s been a few years now. I haven’t seen you online, mind you, my old MSN got hacked and I hadn’t talked to you in a while so I couldn’t re-get your address.

I miss you quite a bit. I remember sitting up late enjoying that you were just starting your day. I remember the little jokes, and the long discussions of those we liked, and the time you scanned in your book that you’d decorated that included how awesome I was.

I know the likelihood of me ever talking to you again is slim, but you were, are, awesome, and I hope you’re doing well for yourself, whatever you’re doing.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Miss The Most

2010-10-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

In high school the girl this letter is to was one of my closest friends. These days, she's much different, much changed, and I loathe her. But back then...I miss that her.

I find it rather strange that a lot of those I write these to I highly dislike. The ‘Her’ in this story shares her first initial with one of my former partners addressed in that letter, so I opted for her preferred gender pronoun instead, not wanting to create confusion.

Dear E,

I don’t know if I miss you or who you used to be. You were one of the first people I met in grade ten, and my first crush at Vic. We shared three classes, found ourselves sitting next to each other in English, and were friends before we knew it. Despite your vast amount of surface innocence, my raunchy, inappropriate personality and humour didn’t drive you away at all. We were both bookworm anime dorks, and for some reason, you found me funny.

And I found you funny. And stunning, but I knew perfectly well that you didn’t swing that way at that time. Personally, I highly doubt you ever did, but after I dropped out, we faded out of touch. A friendship I once thought was fantastic turned into me saying happy birthday to you on yours on facebook and you not even acknowledging mine, only two days after yours. I didn’t know whether we’d simply grown apart or if I’d done something wrong somehow without even realizing it.

Then you hurt Her after being with Her for a long time. And by that point, Her was much closer to me than you, having been in the same forums, going to the same things, interested in the same stuff for years. I was livid. I would have never expected that crap of you. And all that I’d built you up to me in my idolizing, crushing mind crashed down into a shambles.

I simply don’t care about you now. I defriended you everywhere, not wanting to see your face and be dually reminded of both how you hurt someone dear to me and how you’d drawn away from me. By now, you are but a blip in my past.

But sometimes I look back and I miss chatting with you while running laps, laughing in math, and harassing one of your friends with lipstick. I miss being able to talk to you about nearly anything, I miss your hugs. But unlike my former lovers who I wrote to, I cannot forgive you. You didn’t hurt me like they did, nor I you - you hurt someone I care about and have, to the best of my knowledge, shown no remorse over it.

I may miss you, but it is not the you that exists today - it is the honest, sincere, caring girl I once knew.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I've Drifted Away From

2010-10-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

A former friend of mine were friends for years. The last couple years of our friendship, we drifted significantly. I don't wish to reconnect at all, but she seemed the natural choice for this post.

Dear Ex-Friend:

While our friendship ultimately ended with a small bang, rather than a whimper, it had whimpered out for two years at that point. We both kept of the pretense of some kind of friendship; you for reasons I cannot fathom, me, because I was used to being used and knew nothing else from ‘friends’. I would like to say it started when you used me as a scapegoat when you ran away from home, but it probably started earlier.

Probably when you started giving a shit about what the popular kids thought. Never mind that, looking back, they liked me more than you. And that’s saying a lot, really, considering that I was the loser, the loner, the weirdo.

Remember the time, only a couple months after you tried running away, that you insisted we switch bikes in the ravine? And how your breaks didn’t work right and I had to ride into a clump of trees and bushes to avoid a ten foot drop into the creek? And how you, knowing I was pretty badly roughed up, still attempted to make me take both our bikes home - a half hour walk pushing two bikes. So that you could attempt to brown-nose to the popular kids.

That was probably the first time anyone other than my parents ever saw me yell out of anger. I remember the very words I said, pointing out that you said you were my best friend, but best friends didn’t treat each other like this. They agreed with me.

We walked home together, you chastised, me seething. I knew then that we were heading down a collision course, but even my outburst that proved there was a feisty girl under all the shy was not enough to gain me any real friends, and so I was left still with just you. You didn’t use me much after that, this is true, largely because you went to high school and moved to a different neighborhood, but we still talked regularly. I visited you a couple times, lying to my parents as they had disliked you and your influence on me for quite a while. I never did tell you about my suicide attempts.

In grade ten, when I lost my virginity, having nobody else to call in a panic when the fact we hadn’t used a condom hit me between the eyes, I called you. And you provided a wonderful tidbit of idiocy - you insisted that I could only get pregnant if I had an orgasm. Strangely enough, you’d already had to end two pregnancies at that point. I wonder if you ever got a clue. I did my best to tell you the facts, I doubt you listened.

At the end of grade ten, I had friends. Real friends. Friends who treated me like their equal, who didn’t use me. And you wouldn’t stop calling.

Finally, I got fed up. I didn’t call you, I didn’t feel like having to say anything directly to you. Instead, I changed my answering machine - to the breakup message of an eight year friendship. You left a scathing message in return, calling me the token ugly friend. I never took that to heart from you. Yes, I have issues with my confidence, but they are wholly from other influences - and I have, for six years now, been surrounded by people who tell me day in day out that I. Am. Beautiful.

I may not have had curves, or the attention from the boys we both knew, but I wasn’t the one with an ugly personality.

We may have drifted, but I am eternally glad for it.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Wish Could Forgive Me

2010-09-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

This one is rather interesting in that those who I wish could forgive me don't know what I have done to wish so. They have not spoken to me in years. I still feel horrible though.

To They Who Remain Nameless:

I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry you’ll never know that I did. I miss you. This isn’t much of a letter, but really, I don’t want to go into detail about this.

I’m sorry.

My lies were numerous, and worked deep into our groups fabric, into my very being. I wish I could tell you myself.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Hate The Most

2010-09-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Some of you will remember my April post about my sexual assault. This is for that fucker.

Dear Montana,

Fuck you very much. With a railroad spike. I hate you. No, more than that - what I feel for you is a seething, boiling deep-seated loathing. You, amongst so many, are the one person I wish a violent and unpleasant death upon. I will never forgive you for the sexual assault. Never. I will be hard-pressed to not let my rage loose should I ever see you now that I am strong enough to not crawl into a dark corner and cry for the bit of me that you killed.

You deserve nothing good in life, and that is that.

Go die in a fire.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone Deceased

2010-09-28T14:45:00.001-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Grandma,

I was a shit when you died. Alright, I was a shit when all of you died. I spent the year or so beforehand resenting you for being so dependent on us, for the turmoil you spun us into.

And then I grew the fuck up and realized that we would have experienced that turmoil even if you hadn’t needed us so much.

I paid little attention when you talked about your youth, and I pay the price now. What little I know comes from Dad, snippets about an incredibly interesting woman. I would give an extremity to have you back, to record your life story.

I’m sorry Grandma. When you died, I had no idea what I was losing.

Now I know.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Don't Talk To As Much As I'd Like To

2010-09-28T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

My cousin is easily one of my favourite family members, yet for some reason we rarely talk.

Dear Julia,

I miss you so much, and yet I don’t talk to you anywhere near enough. I remember re-meeting you in 2005, fidgeting with nerves that I’d get off the bus for vacation and be confronted with someone that was my antithesis. Instead, I found myself with a cousin almost exactly like myself. I still think it was the marshmallows all those years ago; something in only the ones we ate that made us different from the pack.

Every time one of us plans on being anywhere near the other, those plans seem to fall through. Something goes wrong. I hate this fact, because it’s been five years since I last saw you and while we have each other on facebook, we rarely talk.

Why must the one person other than my mother in our family who gets my love of darker music be a province away?

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Wish I Could Meet

2010-09-27T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

This doesn't go out to anyone in specific. This goes to an entire fucking forum. Yes, an entire forum.

Dear LSG,

Since January, posting amongst you has made me feel saner. I don’t post often, I go through days where I only lurk and some days I have a burst of posting. But I’ve always felt welcome. I can say what I need to. I can get the advice I need, sometimes I don’t take it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

I found you when other places I used to frequent on the internet became less welcoming in my eyes, less pleasant, less home. I needed somewhere where I didn’t feel like any post I made was setting myself up for a flaming, where I wasn’t an anomaly. Where there were people who were like me, and people who weren’t who still accepted me for me.

And I found you. On Rav, of all things. Who would have thought I’d find my home on the internet on a knitting site? I didn’t. But I found that.

I check you every day unless I have no internet at all. Once, when struck with no internet, I craved LSG so badly I checked on my blackberry, despite the tiny screen and horrible scrolling. I love all of you, despite barely knowing any of you. I say things to you that barely anyone else ever hears. Without you all, I’d have spent most of the past few months with so much pent up inside eating away at me.

Thank you. All of you. For existing and being so wonderful.

30 Days Of Letters - To My Favourite Internet Friend

2010-09-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Back in the day, on the HP Dialogue Center, I had a core group of excellent roleplayer friends. Of those, A is one that I've stayed in touch with, but Jewelsy has been the one who I've stayed in touch with constantly. She's easily one of my favourite people ever, never mind internet friend.

Dear Jewelsy,

Woman, the moment I am able to visit Washington state, I am coming to see you. Yes, I am. For five-six years (! That’s half a decade!) we’ve been roleplaying our brains out. We’ve got some of the most fucked up storylines I’ve seen so far. We always seem to be on the same wavelength. You were the first person I told about A, even before Steven, because I knew you’d understand. Back when I wanted to move to San Francisco, I wanted to ask you if you’d go with me, because you’re that fucking awesome.

I talk to you about everything. I trust you with everything. I curse the lack of teleportation that currently makes hangouts completely impossible.

I also have no idea how to express all the awesome I feel you are into one letter. You’re just awesome. Here’s to many years more of awesome roleplay whenever we have the chance.

Love ya

30 Days Of Letters - To A Former Romantic Involvement

2010-09-25T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Who to address this to is a hard decision, for I am torn between former loves, former partners, former crushes. I have many of them, after all.

But I’ve chosen two, rather than one - the one that I hurt the most, and the one that hurt me the second most. The one that hurt me the most does not deserve a letter. He’s not worth it.

Dear M,

I am sorry. I never should have dated you in the first place, and that is not a reflection on you, but on me. When we met, and when we started dating, I was very hung up on my first love. And I think you knew that; in fact, you most certainly know that from the drawings I did months after we broke up of him and I. I was looking for a replacement when I should have been focusing purely on getting over him. You didn’t deserve to be the replacement, especially as you were in no way like him. No, you were sweet, and tried so hard to make me happy.

I saw that, and didn’t care. To me, at the time, no matter how much I denied it back then, you were an ego boost. I used you harshly, and I regret it greatly.

I cheated on you twice. Once with him, once with someone else. I never told you this. I never will.

You were jealous of the wrong guy though; you loathed my best friend, who wouldn’t have stolen me from you, but disliked Hunter, having watched me chase him playfully around the pool at city hall. I’m sure you knew even then that I still loved him, but we both were hanging on by our fingernails to the idea that we would last.

I broke up with you by email. I’d like to think I would have done it in person if at all possible, but I wouldn’t have. At the time, I hadn’t the ovaries to watch someones heart fold in upon itself. I knew you were depressed, and I beat myself up over the fear that it would push you over the edge, but I also knew I did not deserve you.

In due time, we became friends again. I began to view you as a younger brother, and grew protective of you, knowing how fragile you were emotionally. When the girl you lost your virginity to subsequently broke your heart, I loathed her. I still do. She too knew you were emotionally fragile, but she didn’t care. She also used you. Perhaps I am a hypocrite to hate her for that, but by that point I was with Steven and you thought we were an excellent fit, over a year had passed since I had broken your heart.

I have only seen you online once in the past year and a half now. I miss you painfully, and wish I could talk to you. I wish I could send you this without completely breaking you, but I fear it would.

I’ll always consider you my younger brother. I hope you’re doing well. I hope you still think of me at times and remember me fondly.

Dear R,

We dated for three and a half days. Not five, as you insist. I still slightly resent the fact that, during that time, when I was so hammered that I was violently vomiting, a friend of Hunters held my hair and rubbed my back and not you.

You told a lot of lies and accused my friends and I of a lot of lies back in the day. Our friendship post-dating was very off-and-on, usually due to your deciding that we were idiots, or that we weren’t trying hard enough for you.

Like M, in due time we became friends again, and you came to be like an older brother. You approved of Steven, and was protective of me as I was of M. I adored you. I needed you. You knew how to make me smile, and gave great hugs, and DMed my first D&D game. You got Steven a job, and were all-around great.

Then when my life was too full of work, illness, and a serious descent into depression, you decided that we weren’t making enough effort to be friends. And I was without a brother again. I resented you much for it. I still do at times.

Like M, I miss you painfully. I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends again. At times, I think of how much of an asshole you could be, and feel seething hatred, and at times I remember the good times and cry for having an older brother again. I want to talk to you, but I hate the idea of trying to be friends again only to have you desert it again. I can’t take much more hurt in my life.

Perhaps some day we will meet when we’ve both stopped expecting so much of people.

30 Days Of Letters - To A Stranger

2010-09-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Stranger,

Perhaps you read this blog. Perhaps you have seen me on the bus, in the club, out and about, or cavorting in a forum.

Perhaps you have your own preconceptions of who I am, perhaps I have my own preconceptions of you. We might be wrong, we might be right. I don’t know you, but I’m always open to making a new friend.

I am a strange person to get to know; shy at the start and stammering like a fool. I fear rejection, a long-held fear dating from being the odd kid out when I was much longer. Despite having been told so many times that I’m an awesome person to know, that clouds my courage when it comes to approaching and befriending people. When surrounded by strangers, I do my best to fade into the background and am always astounded when someone approaches me.

Would you approach me?

Stranger, please approach me. I cannot say if we’re likely to become friends, but I’m interested in who you are, in your thoughts on so many things.

30 Days Of Letters - To My Dreams

2010-09-23T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Dreams,

Like the person whose blog brought me to doing these letters, I’m not sure if I ought to be addressing this to those of you who make my sleep interesting, or the ones that I wish to achieve in waking life. I choose the first, though - as my life is in such a state of flux that I’m not sure just what I want out of it.

So. What hell? You have always been unsettlingly vivid; from the giant sunflower chasing me around Hawkins Lake as a toddler to the rather awkward makeout session with a friend of an ex, I frequently wake from you with a clear picture in my head of the entire dream. At one point, I could control you enough that I could will myself to run and fly, and then I lost that at some point.

I don’t mind you all the time. Good dreams, such as ones where my life becomes everything I want, or that threesome with A and someone I certainly wouldn’t mind boning into next Friday, leave me content, if minorly frustrated with their not being true.

But then you give me the nightmares. Deliver me from these terrors! At least twice weekly it’s a retinue of everyone I love dying, everyone leaving me, rejection, anger, pain. Sometimes you even throw in me killing myself, playing on the depression that still occasionally rears its ugly head and threatens to swallow me whole. Why can’t you always be fluffy bunnies and sex? Why must you leave me to awaken in tears, shaking and scared?

Why must you sometimes come true? Nothing as drastic as death or the whole world hating me, but the nightmare of being raped? I could have done without actually seeing the men who did it, who I had never seen before in my life, weeks later. Sometimes, you draw on my experience with Montana, and then I am truly terrified that it isn’t really a dream, that he really has come back to finish what he started years ago.

I would never give up my ability to have and remember you, but at times, I wish I could at least turn you off when you’re going down a dark path...

30 Days Of Letters - To My Sister

2010-09-22T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Five years before I was born, my mother had a daughter that she gave up for adoption. They have recently re-connected and all the feelings I used to have have floated to the surface.

Dear Sister,

I have never met you. Or even spoke to you, or emailed with you. Five years before my birth, our mother gave you up for adoption. You two recently found each other and started emailing, but I have not asked her much about it yet.

When I was young, I resented her very much for giving you away. I blamed her for giving up my sister. As I grew older I understood why she had to, but it’s hard to explain to a young child that Mommy just couldn’t raise a child before. As I reached adolescence I started to wonder what I would do if I had a child, and while any child I’d conceived would have been aborted, the outcome is still a child I would never know because I couldn’t support it, and so I forgave her. You were always in the back of my mind in those years, my constant wonder at whether you were like me, what you looked like, where you lived.

Adulthood faded all of that to a dull roar with its own concerns. I no longer thought so much about you, having figured that I’d probably never meet you.

And then you contacted the agency, looking for my mother, less than a month ago. And now, when I’m not thinking about my own life, I’m wondering about yours again. The question of where you live, at least, has been answered - in the same city as me. It is incredibly hard to resist asking our mom to ask you if you’d be interested in meeting, but I know I shouldn’t rush into it.

More than anything, sister, I hope you actually want to be my sister. That even if you’re not a weirdo like me and mom, you still can find love for us as family. I always thought of you as my sister, even though we have never met. And more than anything, I want to meet you.

Sincerely,
Me

30 Days Of Letters - To My Parents

2010-09-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

My parents have very different relationships with me, and there's a massive rift between my father and I that we are very slowly repairing. I don't trust him a bit, though, and I cannot say any of what I really want to say, not to him or my mother as I don't want to hurt her feelings either.

I’m going to split this up by parent, since I have different things to say to each:

Dear Mom,

You are my hero. Yes, a lot of people say that, but it’s true. As long as I can remember you’ve been one of the most amazing women I know. You went to school, and graduated, when I was still at the age when colouring on the walls was an art form and Daddy just had to be a superhero because he was my Daddy. And then you worked for thirteen years. I was hardly an easy child growing up - while I wasn’t a terror, we’ve discussed how it was pretty certain I was (and am) on the autism spectrum, but not sure where. We discovered my allergy to insect stings the hard way before I was even starting grade one. I had a knack for ‘friends’ who used me to their own advantage and frequently, especially once I was in junior high and my confidence was dropping like a brick, I’d come home in tears. I remember after one of the grade nine grads prior to my own I was in tears over being rejected by my crush at the time, and we had a mother-daughter sleepover on the sofa. In grade eight, due to Grandma moving in, we were stuck with sharing yours and dads bed while he got relegated to the basement, and we’d sit up and watch Clone High and a movie before sleep. Then, in grade nine, when Dad spent time being a raging terror to both of us, you wound up sleeping in the other room in the basement of the house we were living in. I’ve always been able to talk to you, although I haven’t always chosen to - my not telling you when I lost my virginity is evidence of that. You understand and accept how queer your daughter is, and you try to temper my youthful arrogance with your wisdom. I just don’t always listen.

Dear Dad,

It’s been many years since I could talk to you about my emotions. Your devotion to being mostly stoic and shoving your emotions in a small corner is surely admirable to some, but you want everyone else to do the same. And then, when you’ve pent up the negative ones long enough, you explode. And you wonder why nobody else is doing it. I love you, yes, I do, but I don’t trust you. I respect you largely out of fear; once, fear that you would hurt me again, now, fear that you’ll hurt Mom again. You would never, and likely will never, go to a professional in the mental health field, and so I will likely fear this for the rest of your life. I hate that I cannot trust you to not burst into an unpredictable, violent rage. I never have, and likely never will, forgive you for the times you hit me or Mom, and this colours my ability to look at you today and not expect you to just abruptly hurt one of us. I loathe your unwillingness to allow other peoples opinions to be considered valid, and how you will insult people relentlessly based on some ridiculous thing you dislike. If ever I have children, they will be taught once they can understand that everything Grandpa says is to be taken with a handful of salt and discussed later with me, because I do not want my children to be so vicious with their opinions, views, and attitude as you.

I love you, Daddy, and to a small bit of me you will always be my superhero, but I also loathe you for so much.

30 Days Of Letters - To My Crush

2010-09-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

This one, for my crush, was actually pretty difficult to write, if because I've never said exactly how I feel out loud to him. Yet. I'm working up the nerve. Slowly.

As it turned out, it was the same kind of thing I felt for my best friend - adoring friendship and sexual attraction mixed into one potent little package. I know this post got a lot of attention - and thus I find it only fair to leave a note that A and I are not in love, he is not my boyfriend, my boyfriend is not A, but A and I are still awesome friends who sometimes talk smuttily and roleplay a lot.

Dear A,

I knew I had an internet crush on you years ago. I didn’t expect it to go beyond that when our paths finally stayed on the same course again. Which is probably why it’s so hard for me to admit out loud that I’ve fallen hard for you. Like a lead balloon, pretty much.

And the fact that you’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever known (Best friend aside, of course, but you understand that) does not help that even remotely. You bring out everything that I am and adore it and yet I’m still a stuttery stammery mess even in text when it comes to admitting how I feel out loud. Well, more like actually sending the words when I type them. No, instead I type, backspace, type, delete, give up and say something about bacon instead.

If you do feel the same way, I have no idea how well I can do long-distance. I cheated twice in my last long-distance. Twice. And he was only a couple hours drive max from me. You’re 3000-ish kilometers away. I fear for my ability to resist temptation, for it has never been stellar. I trust you at least, which is far more than I can say for most of my ex-lovers, and strange, given that you could easily lie to me, far more so than they could, but I can’t see you doing that. I hope you wouldn’t.

I hope I don’t scare you off.

Love,
Your girl.

30 Days Of Letters, #1 - To My Best Friend

2010-09-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

The first one is to ones best friend. This wasn't a hard one at all for me - I've had the same best friend, C, for four and a half years now, and he's one of the most awesome guys I've ever known.

Dear CW,

Before you, despite having made countless friends in high school, it had been years since I’d really considered anyone to be my Best Friend. As you know, the best friend prior to you turned toxic before I even hit fourteen, and I’d been unable to really talk to her before that point. What good is a best friend if you cannot tell them everything? I could tell my other friends anything, and I knew it, but I didn’t.

Then I met you. At first, I had a crush. And I fell. And it didn’t work out, but I knew there was something more than acquaintanceship there. I told you things in mere days that had taken me years to tell other people. You understood me. You encouraged me. You reached out and held my hand when I needed it most. Through every broken relationship, fight with other friends, horrible experience, ridiculous crush, everything - you kept me from completely going over the edge.

It was to you I first told how much time I had spent lying to people, and what those lies are, and I still remember lying next to you on my bed bawling my eyes out as you read the journal entry that spilled every little bean. And then when you were finished you held me, and forgave me. I never expected anyone to forgive me for those lies; true, they were hardly harmful, but I had spent four years at that point telling them. I thought for certain everyone would peg me as untrustworthy. With you forgiving me, I was able to tell other people, no longer as concerned since with my best friend on my side, I wasn’t scared of losing people by telling them - I was scared of losing them if they found out without me telling them.

Four years later I have yet to go back to those lies. I’ve eliminated nearly every trace of them. I still wish they were true, yes, but everyone wishes their life could be incredibly awesome. I have you to thank for that.

You dragged me into all kinds of nerddom, was my first contact with the wilds of D&D and I wouldn’t have started playing, or successfully made my first character, if it weren’t for you. I can discuss anything nerdy with you, and sometimes, on some subjects, I out-nerd you (Like how I knew how to make lists on facebook to separate out groups of people). And then I get to teach you something. You understand my inability to explain how to do something without showing how, something which infuriates a lot of other people for some reason. You can still call me at three AM if something is direly wrong and you need someone to talk to.

I always have and always will value your friendship more than anything else. You’ll always be number one to me, Muffindust, and don’t you ever dare forget that.

Love,
Gypsy

Sick

2010-07-15T03:27:00.000-07:00

I feel sick. And I know why.

Because there is a 99.78% chance that this time next week, I will be single. I'm most likely ending it with Lad, and the only way in hell that it isn't over is if he's willing to let me move out and in with a friend, do some serious growing up and shit, possibly some couples counseling, and with this I'd rather just call off the wedding and just casually date once in a while.

Because I don't see us being together anymore.

At least not as we currently are.

I need my independence, and a good kick in the rear to act like an adult. He needs to grow up. A lot. Neither of us is well suited to each other at this space in time and I'm not sure if we will be anytime soon.

I love him.

But we don't mesh well anymore and a lot has to change to make us mesh well again, and as we are we've gotten so comfortable that there's nothing giving either of us any motivation to change. We know we'll accept each others flaws to a retardedly ridiculous level and while we'll yell at each other for them, we never actually try to change ourselves for the better. We just say we're going to.

This is what I need...

The Hitachi, or Why I Won't Be Buying A New Vibrator Anytime Soon

2010-06-28T01:20:00.000-07:00

So having had a few weeks of regular rendevous with the Hitachi (And by regular, I mean every morning I spent at home involved at least two orgasms at its head), I can say some things quite confidently.

Thing One: Apparently my bits don't enjoy having lace panties vibrated into them at high speeds. This is good knowledge and encourages me to buy more satin panties.

Thing Two: The high speed on the Hitachi is actually nearly TOO much power for me. But the low speed is JUST RIGHT. Every other toy I've ever had, I needed the highest speed to get anywhere (And some of those still didn't do the job).

Thing Three: Lad's back, which doesn't respond well to kneading with hands due to the metal plates in it, can be coaxed into relaxation with this thing. This is very good.

Thing Four: Every review I've ever read for this claims that the Magic Wand is loud. What the hell? This is loud? Have you people never owned a crotch rocket that took two C batteries? THAT FUCKER WAS LOUD. I still lived under my parents roof when I had that. My room was next to theirs. I had to turn my radio up LOUD for the fucked if I know how long I spent masturbating back then. And hold it under the blankets. Five of them. It sounded like a deranged washing machine that was off-balance and half-full of jeans. This thing isn't loud. The music doesn't get turned on to cover the noise it makes. It gets turned on to cover the noises I make.

Thing Five: The cats are still unimpressed with the noises, and all feline companionship leaves the room when the noise starts. I can't complain, seeing as a cat watching you get off is rather awkward. They stare and sometimes they pounce. I've had kittens who weren't bothered by vibrator noise. I know this all too well. I've come far too close to free hood piercings. What I'm saying is kitties are dangerous with bits.

Thing Six: If your bed isn't right next to an outlet, get a power bar or extension cord. We've had one forever so that we can charge our phones and use our mp3 players, and it was a damn godsend.

Thing Seven: Holding this against your voicebox makes your voice sound really funny.

I think this shows why I don't do actual reviews. But it's good enough for me. =D

Diversion, Collision, Inability To Pay Attention

2010-05-28T07:01:00.000-07:00

My directions are both diverting and colliding at once, at least in my mind. I alternate between wishing I could purely concentrate on sex for this blog, but that would, given how much more I am than a sexual being, feel artificial. Not that those whose blogs purely focus on their status as sexual beings are artificial, but I can't separate the sexual from the rest of me. I tried. It didn't work. My sexuality is firmly woven in with everything else about me, from the food that I devour (I am a devoted lover of bacon and french onion soup, and a bagel soaked in butter brings me an obscene amount of joy) to the more-than-occasional heavy waves of depression and other mental joys that leave me wanting to either take this here keyboard and beat myself upside the head with it. Add in everything else and it is no blasted wonder that I cannot separate anything about myself.

Lifes little ironies, I suppose, given how much I love putting physical stuff in designated compartments so that I know exactly where it is. Or digital stuff. No, really, you should see my porn. It's organized into these folders: BDSM, Blonde, Boys, Brunette, Legs And Feet, Lesbian, Redhead, Straight, Strap-On, Tits And Ass And Twat. For the record, the last one is for all female-body-shots where hair colour is not available. For the curious, the Brunette folder has way more photos than any of the others. I seem to have a preference. Not that you'd notice offline, when I'm out and about all attractive females illicit the same result. Attractive males when I'm out and about are far less likely, for some reason. Or maybe I'm just biased when it comes to males. Yes, that makes sense.

I have become distracted again. This is what happens when I'm allowed to surf the internet while writing. I get distracted. Not that this is anything new to anyone who's been reading, given my amount of posts that read like a pervy chipmunk on crack yammering on about this and that and oh! Oh! Nuts!

Anyhow, the point is, it's vaguelly ironic that while I attempt to compartmentalize my physical life (It's unsuccessful due to my in-laws being of the disorganized fucking disaster area chaos variety), and succeed at compartmentalizing my digital life (Easy due to how much simpler it is to make a folder on the external drive and move things around), my brain probably never will function on a compartmentalizing-level. I can force myself to not thing about things while doing other things (Until this very moment, I had not thought about warcrack while writing, and despite thinking about it, I have not got the urge to go play it), but I cannot simply say to my brain 'Okay. We're writing now. Concentrate on that and only that'. Because when I say that, my brain responds with 'Okay! Let's do th-Gotta check google reader! Might be webcomic post! Or recipes! Or PORN!'.

It was actually how to tell the difference between a couple different types of potatoes. Yeeeah, I'm getting work done here real good!

Although honestly, at this time of day my RSS feeds are much less distracting than twitter. All the news sites are flooding my feed, and it will continue throughout the day, and seeing as I get 98% of my news via twitter (So does Steven, it's really quite nice for sparking discussion. 'Did you see ____?' 'Yeah, that was shocking'. Yeah, we're dorks), I tend to pay attention.

I had a point in here somewhere. I know I did. Compartmentalizing. I was going to say something deep about it. This is why I shouldn't write blog posts when I've been up all night! Even if I did only get up about twelve hours ago and theoretically should be able to stay awake without fatigue for four more hours. Theoretically. That's why I'm on my second cup of coffee. And why I'll likely consume much more today, as I have vital-to-the-state-of-my-universe-plans, namely seeing a friend and then going grocery shopping with another friend and I'm unlikely to sleep before sometime tomorrow morning, as tonight there is to be D&D with my kickass Aasimar rogue. Yep.

In general world updates: I got a hitachi. There is nothing I can say about it that has not been said by other amazing bloggers. All I can really say is 'Holy motherfucking crap'. And 'Holy shit I don't have to grind against it like it's a girl and I'm a douchebag at a bar'. And 'Holy SHIT THIS FEELS GOOD EVERYWHERE'. Yeah, it's been getting used for what the packaging says it's meant for even more than it's been used on me. I don't know what the fuck is fucked up with my back (Aside from being fucked up and the fact that I'm right now currently thisclose to being menstrual – at least I damn well better be as if that bitch is late I am going to go nuts – and his back being fucked up in different ways that make massage by hand not always effective), but it helps. And up by my neck it makes me talk funny!

Anyhow. This has been another installment of Gypsy Is Incapable Of Keeping On-Topic (Unless it's Serious), I'll be back soon (Hopefully).

PS – I'm 21 and this blog is 3. I would do an actual celebratory post but I can't think of one. Have cake for the respective birthdays if you so desire. Or an orgasm.

April Third, 2006

2010-04-10T07:30:00.001-07:00

For the first time in a long time I am writing something painful – but I've always wanted to write this, in the back of my mind, and being as this is Sexual Assault Awareness Month, it's the perfect time to do so. I am writing about the sexual assault that happened when I was on the cusp of seventeen. This is likely to be a very awkward entry, as I have no idea just how to express what happened and my emotions about it rather than just let them flow onto the paper and leave them sans any editing beyond spellcheck. This isn't a clever story or an everyday anecdote or a bit of erotica, after all, this is something that happened to me and left me unsure of how to feel about myself but with a burning sense of hatred for the one that did this.

On April third, 2006, I was sexually assaulted.

On April first and second of the same year, I was newly talking to a boy online, less than a week after the end of my first relationship – an end that I wasn't entirely willing to accept. This boy's name, I will say it, because it is his name and I don't have a surname and I highly doubt there's anyone reading this who will know the boy that I refer to and if there is I hope they never were in my shoes with him. His name was Montana. I didn't really think there was anything strange about our conversations at the time. If anything, they bolstered my confidence a bit. Looking back, I wonder how I didn't see it, and then I have to remind myself that I shouldn't have had to be looking for the warnings. He said he loved me and was dreaming about me on the second day of chatting. These days, if someone said that to me that soon, I would be terrified. Sixteen-year-old me was flattered.

Sixteen-year-old me agreed to meet Montana. At a bus stop by his house. And go to his house. She did not tell her parents about this, or tell friends where she was going and who she was meeting. The only people that knew were her and Montana. Yes, very unsafe, but sixteen-year-old me wasn't thinking about SAFE. She was thinking 'I'm sad, I thought my first boyfriend would last longer, this guy likes me, let's see if I like him', which scares me now as I'd read ten bazillion accounts of sexual assault and rape, watched countless tv shows involving it, for heavens sake my favourite tv show at the time was Law & Order: SVU – but here I was, meeting a strange guy after two days of chatting and going to his house without anyones knowledge.

That's one of the big things that occasionally crops up when I fall into a self-blaming trap.

I felt something was off the moment I stepped off the bus and into a hug. Something about it felt scummy, rather like his aura was dripping black goo. I ignored it though, and went with him. His mom was home, I figured that meant he couldn't do anything I didn't want, surely I'd speak up if something was going on and I didn't like it, right?

He put a movie in for us to watch. Saw 2. I can still remember the scenes I saw vividly. I still can't watch a Saw movie because of how it makes me feel.

We sat on the couch. He started snuggling. Okay, whatever, I snuggle all my friends and he's a friend, snuggling is fine.

Then he started kissing me. Here is where I froze up. I didn't want him to, but I suddenly felt terrified of saying NO, just because I thought he might hurt me if I did. He slowly pinned me down on the couch while kissing me. I lay there like a limp corpse, not moving, scared out of my mind, but he didn't bother seeing this. I don't know if he was just oblivious or if he was intentionally ignoring the fact that I wasn't participating.

Then he got up, took my hand, and led me to his bedroom, where he got his...Bloody hell, I don't know what to call it, I like all the words that aren't ridiculously silly for the phallus too much to describe that thing with them. I just know that in my eyes then, it was huge. In my minds eye, it was and still is as thick and long as my forearm. This memory may be skewed by fear, but it was what I could swear I saw.

He put my hand on it. He moved my hand for me. Eventually, I went on autopilot and moved it of my own accord. He didn't finish, I don't recall why, and wanted to go back and watch more of the movie. I feigned agreeance, and then checked my cellphone and pretended that my mother had texted me asking that I come home right away.

He bought it, thankfully, He walked me to the bus, I wanted to just run the entire time but I restrained myself. I don't know how I did. The moment I was on the bus and safely away, I started bawling and trying to contact my best friend. I kept bawling all the way to the library downtown, right into said friends lap. While my friends were entirely supportive, I had not the courage to go and report it to the police, and they didn't bring it up. Even then, I suppose, it would have been my word against his due to the only documentation of anything was in my messenger logs.

Not that long afterwards, a friend of mine figured out his username on Nexopia and left him a nasty comment. It led to a girl messaging me asking what he'd done to deserve it. I told her my story, she met him anyhow but left when she got a bad vibe. Since then, I have never told my story in full. Not even my fiance knows everything, he just knows that it happened, the guys name, and that Saw movies send me into the memories. And that I consider the evidence to be have been barely existent at best when it happened and lost forever now.

I still blame myself sometimes. I should have known better. I should have reported it. I know I shouldn't blame myself for it now, but there's that little nagging goddamn voice at the back of my head that says 'YOU are an idiot for letting this happen to you, it's YOUR fault'. I try to silence it. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail and find myself curled up in a ball weeping and resisting all my urges to destroy myself with everything I have.

Every time I see something about a sexual assault on the news, I take a deep breath and read to see if the suspect matches him. I don't doubt that he's at least overstepped one boundary other than me since then. I don't dare doubt it. If he ever does get nailed on something, I will step forward and tell the authorities of my experience. I doubt it'll carry any weight, given the lack of proof, but every little bit helps. Just on its own, it doesn't stand, and I don't know his last name, or where he lives now, or any way to get ahold of him now. I have no idea how to deal with it in any legal way, so for now, I can only deal with my emotions surrounding it – teaching myself that what happened WASN'T MY FAULT.

All I can really say to wrap this up is actually a message to that rat bastard:

Montana. I never said no, but I never said yes either. I lay beneath you still as death out of shock and fear, and you never pulled back and asked if I was okay. For four years now I have blamed myself so many times, but it is your fault this happened. I never asked to be so afraid that I couldn't say no. I didn't come to your house expecting you on top of me. I didn't want it. I wasn't giving my consent. And without consent, you shouldn't have done anything.

What you did was sexually assault me. If you were truly oblivious, which I doubt, I hope you snapped out of it, for the sake of all the girls after me.

If you weren't, I hope someday you get caught with actual proof. I hope karma turns around and bites you in the fucking ass for all the years of my mind working both for and against me whenever I think of what you did.

No matter what, I will NEVER forgive you, or forget. I can't.

Update. Again.

2010-03-15T11:51:00.000-07:00

I am impatiently awaiting callbacks from potential employers, spending far too much time checking my social networking stuff (I'm on ten different sites. Some of them are niche sites. Some of them merely assist in my need to talk too fuckin' much about not much at all), playing a lot of warcrack (I do love me some warcrack, especially since every minute that I'm inside playing warcrack, I'm not outside smoking), drawing, or attempting to write.

Keyword is attempting.

Today I was trimming (I, ah, let things grow wild for a little bit. It was fun. But it was starting to become less soft and more wiry and I didn't like it), and the damn trimmer nicked me. Multiple times. So my twat is bleeding from a place where it shouldn't be, at a time when it shouldn't be. How very utterly lovely. I've been petting it regularly since, begging its forgiveness.

One of my toys broke. By broke, I mean the fucking part used to stimulate me FUCKING BROKE OFF. I bawled my eyes out, it was my favourite. And it did it riiiight before I got off, and changing the stimulation at that point isn't enjoyable for me, so that orgasm never reached its destination.

One of my toys is making a high-pitched squealing noise, similar to the noise Old Faithful made before that toy died. This does not bode well.

And my last vibrating toy is being choosy about when it wants to turn on. Needless to say, I'm having a crap week on the toy front.

Early Morning Alice Cooper

2010-02-06T06:27:00.000-08:00

In the past few minutes I did something I never thought I would do: I deleted one of my old blog entries. For those of you that have actually read my blog entries before, it was the rundown of all the men I've had intimate relations with.

Why did I do it? Well, for one, I no longer feel the desire to scroll around and read about all of them, nor do I really feel like having them read that entry as I become more and more open about this blog (Which I am). They know they've slept with me, I know they've slept with me, I might go over them in brief memory posts at some point, and that's all I need.

If you haven't read that entry before, the most you really came away with was a lot of bitchery and the knowledge that I've had full intercourse with fourteen males, fooled around with an additional eight, and it didn't mention the three females I've been in male-centric threesomes with.

I contemplated rewriting it, but I decided that the best plan of action was to delete it. I may go through my old entries and edit some things that need refining at some point, I hesitate to do so since they do show a growth, but I need to make sure that they're up to my current standards.

Anyhow. As for what else is going on...Not much. Steven and I have the spark back (You may have noticed that I slipped in Picking Up...I have since given up on calling him Lad since I continually nearly type his name anyhow). Mind you, in my spectacular fashion...I never did tell him that I felt that way. Given that I've been having an emotional roller coaster ride lately, I suspect it may mostly be time to look into a higher synthroid dosage and I need to remember to take my multivitamin.

I may or may not be going back to school this fall. If my friend tells the truth, I'll have to take an aptitude test for class placement. I can see it now - They'll probably tell me not to even bother with English and Social and stick me in bottom-rung Math and Science. And I can't even recall if I passed Career And Life Management (If I did, I obviously forgot it immediately afterward).

Most of my free time lately has been spent playing either World of Warcrack or reading Inkheart.

Okay

2010-01-27T02:09:00.001-08:00

I have no damn clue where else to put this, so I'm saying it here -

Friends and I just did salvia, and my god, this is hysterical.

Confessional

2010-01-03T04:25:00.000-08:00

Maybe I'm fucking crazy.

Maye I'm just fucking stupid.

But the spark is fading between Lad and I. Every day I realize that our hobbies and interests are getting more and more disparate. I hesitated a goddamn month to tell him that I started playing WoW. An online game. Because I thought he'd disapprove.

The trust is fading with the spark.

We had sex twice in 2009.

He says it's not me. Well, what else could it be? Twice in a year is more than just low libido. He wasn't ALWAYS stressed, I'm pretty sure.

I can't have sex once or twice a year. I go crazy without it.

Something's missing and I don't know how to fix it.

Picking Up

2009-12-02T21:41:00.000-08:00

...A long time after having left off.

At some point, writers block hit hard for the sexy stuff - just as I thought I was over the worst of the depression and that drama was a non-issue, both started cropping up in spades.

Lad and I were having some pretty bad arguments, about piddly shit for the most part. All it took was a misunderstanding of tone for us to rip into each other. This lasted for a while, actually, but things are improving steadily now (I actually realized today that we haven't fought in over a month - YAY!). Our sex life dipped into an all-time low. My physical health was on a rollercoaster, and while some days I was happy, most days I just felt like crap.

Then the Other Girl started trying to re-connect with Steven. She attempted to convince him to hook up with her days before my birthday. Needless to say, I nearly had a coronary. He refused, and told her to screw off, but it hasn't deterred her any. If she keeps it up, I'm going to encourage him to report it to his managers as sexual harassment (They work at the same - huge - store). I'm doing my best to not interact with her, although I certainly don't hesitate to glare if I see her. He's mine.

Around July-August-ish we closed the relationship. At the time it was because we were still fighting too much, too often, so we decided to close it to focus on ourselves and each other. It worked. We haven't explicitly opened up again, but there's always the possibility. When we have a more defined timeline for moving out, we'll likely sit down and discuss it in detail. Define the rules clearly and, if we do re-open, spell them out in large print for any potential partners.

I'm still jobless, and not for lack of trying. I seem to hand in resumes left, right, and center...And get maybe one interview for all the effort. I'm grateful to be under Lad's healthcare, as it'll help pay for my synthroid and, come warm weather again, my epipen. I hate the emptiness in my bank account though, and I need to find a job.

Now that I'm back, I may finally build my blogroll. Take some new dirty photos. Get my mojo back. Because I'm not ready to be gone - I want to live and enjoy it.

Ever More Updates

2009-01-28T16:02:00.000-08:00

Things are getting brighter and better over here. Lad (Who incidentally is sleeping with his head in my lap as I type this - Awwwww) wound up breaking it off with the other girl. She accepted it relatively well, and no drama is good.

I finally updated my resume last night...Although it was just in time for me to wake up this morning with my period, general digestive system unrest, and a horribly scratchy throat all at once. Talk about a triple whammy. By next week I should be handing them out around town and hopefully someone will call me back for an interview. I can hope, right? *Big eyes* Riiiight? I'm hoping for Chapters, but right now I just plain need a job. I need income. I need...I need...I need french toast souffle.

*Pause*

I blame that on Friendly Hostility. I'm craving sweets something fierce right now, largely because of that.

I'm not doing such a great job of sticking to my resolutions so far, but that's my own damn fault.

Yesterday, in a moment of thoughtfulness while I was supposed to be finishing up my resume, I was contemplating exactly what this blog means to me now. I started out intending a sex blog, but it became much more to me. Sure, it's still largely a sex blog, even if I don't exactly follow much of the blogging community very well - Despite having a healthy list of bloggers that I read and check for updates daily, I have no blogroll. I participate in HNT sporadically, and even though sometimes there's a theme of some sort, I pretty much never follow theme. I just like to post naked photos of myself.

But sometimes I wonder if I'm doing something wrong. Sometimes, my mind screams 'Do things the RIGHT way!', and then I get to sit myself down and remind myself that this is blogging on a personal level. I'm not trying to sell myself or anything else, I'm not doing anything but expressing myself. There is no right or wrong way.

Which makes it okay that I don't post much sexy lately (There's so much angst jam that the sexy sandwich bread is overwhelmed), and that for the past several months most of my posts have been work updates or mindless yelling. It's personal expression, I tell myself. I'm a blogger. Who gives a shit about the 'sex' prefix, I'm not a giant vagina posting my comings and goings, and if I was, the only people reading wouldn't be the kind of people I want to associate myself with. Except during my period, anyone that would read a vagina's rantings about bleeding profusely is my kind of person.

I'm not sure what I'm talking about anymore. All I know is that I was getting somewhere nice and deep, and then my brain went 'Depth? Hah! If I want depth give me pizza!'. I am going to take that as a sign that I should wrap up my ramblings and do something else for a bit.

I'll try to post more often...

Further Update On The Other Girl

2009-01-12T20:15:00.000-08:00

I have laid down an ultimatum.

She has a week to stop clinging to Lad and whining whenever he won't put her ahead of me, his family, and his band/close friendships. If she doesn't, I am putting an axe on their relationship.

I am starting to think that, on the romantic side of being open, we would be better off finding someone we're both interested in. Who demonstrates maturity.

I'm so glad I'm not that interested in openness as a way to find a second love to augment Lad and I. I have Techno Sex God, who is disinterested in the romance thing with me, to ensure my high libido doesn't drive me nuts. That is all I need.

Sigh Another massive update post. My life fluctuates too fucking much sometimes.

2009-01-08T20:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, first off - Oh my god I'm sorry I promised XXXMas postage and less anger. Well, I can't deliver too well on less anger, but here's some XXXMas - And some New Years while I'm at it.

That was indeed Lad's XXXMas present, prior to him receiving it. It looked very similar after receiving, just a lot redder.

On the second, I believe that was. I might be wrong, being jobless and penniless has blurred the days together. But hey, it gave me time to get healthy...And bored...And on occasion...

...Ticked off.

Okay, I enjoy the presence of the other girl. I need to come up with a good name for her. But she's cute, and sweet, and we get along smashing.

But there's a problem.

See, she lives at home, and cannot move out at this point. Her parents are rather intolerant of alternative lifestyles (They call her a slut for kissing Lad - They would shit a brick if they knew that I endorse this, and what I get up to. Imagine what their reactions would be if they knew of the lifestyles some of the people I read religiously have!), and she therefore has to act as a good girl in their eyes. It occasionally escalates to an even more abusive situation. Now, having been a ~~victim~~ survivor of familial physical abuse before, this makes me worry about her. If I could rescue her at this point, I would. I'm very much the Knight In Shining Armor when it comes to my female friends, and I have a very definite tendency to jump to save someone.

But.

I feel she is clinging to Lad. Too much. See, she and I have each other on MSN. At first, this was nifty, aside from the fact that she uses ten bazillion icons, and I...Don't. I use an occasional smilie, because Best Friend managed to get me to loosen up enough, and then I got addicted to nifty ones. She can barely type one sentence without one. But I digress. Lately, when Lad's been working, or has had other plans, such as sleeping because his sleep patterns and his work schedule dislike each other, she has been most insistant that I tell him to get online. Excuse me? He's my fiance, if he is sleeping or partaking activities with me, whether they be screwing my brains out or playing Wii while I watch and be helpful (Or provide him with creative swears), then that is the priority. I am not going to put you over me. I am not going to put you over him getting proper rest.

She needs to find other ways to get the affection and care she deserves without interfering with the way Lad and I work together. I know it's not her intent to hurt us, but this is frustrating me to no end. And I am going to talk to him about this. I know he cares about her, but pandering to her when she wants love and affection without making sure I'm not in need of any at the moment myself is not going to affect us in a healthy way.

The Dumbass made the mistake of trying to get me to prioritize him over Lad. I don't want that to happen on the other side as well.

On a brighter note, my mental outlook on life is improving. I have not felt any urges to hurt myself in over a week. New Years Eve and Day went excellently for me, I spent them with friends and with Lad and we had a blast, all of us. I found my SSN card, so I can now go job-hunting with ease...

...And I reconnected with Techno Sex God, who is interested in reconnecting in that wonderfully sexual way. *Smirky smirk* Life, clingy other girlfriends aside, is looking up.

Oh, god, could it be the weather.

2008-12-17T05:40:00.000-08:00

I am now jobless.

I thought it would hurt more. Instead, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can have my social life, some time to regain my sanity and put myself back in a healthy mental place.

It's been a bit since I last posted.

For about a week in November I had a dominant who wasn't my Lad. I neither desire nor find it appropriate to discuss this, other than to inform you of it, and that I'll refer to him as...I have no idea yet. I'll come up with something.

Writers block is cruel and unusual punishment.

Here, have a photo showing my face as my apology for the briefness of it all.

Holy Fuck.

2008-10-24T00:27:00.000-07:00

I just ejaculated for the first time in my life.

Wow.

Half Nekkid Green Boots

2008-10-23T14:01:00.001-07:00

On a steamy summer day, Lad, A (The vocalist for his band and like a little sister to both of us) and I went down to one of the most happening avenues in town, for no real reason really, I debated buying a hard copy of one of the ten bazillion D&D books i have on my hard drive, decided against it for the time being, and we trotted off to one of the goth shops.

They were having a sidewalk sale with everything outside being half-off.

And that's just where I spotted these - The last pair, for $30, in my size. A perfect fit, and I'd had my eye on them forever, but aside from my winter boots, which my mom paid for and are ridiculous in where they'll take me to the ground, I consider anything over $40 to be out of the question for boots.

And the second Holy Grail Of Boots of the year* was sitting within my grasp and within my budget. I'm no fool - I bought them and did a happy dance all the way to the bus.

I loves my neon green pvc Pleasers, and anyone that tries to get me to part with them shall meet a dire fate.

*The first was a pair of cute Demonia boots in Value Village, for $30, in my size. It has been a good year for my footwear.

Things Are Looking Up - Well, Kind Of

2008-10-23T11:39:00.000-07:00

Okay - First, an update on what's going on at work.

The first new girl pulled a no-call-no-show after being late for three out of four training sessions, so I got to keep my regularly scheduled hours, but we have a second new girl now, who actually managed to keep the job (Although my opinion of her ability to keep the merchandise fronted is low, and I'd like it if she would put some communication into the communication book. So, I'm back on Sunday-Monday-Tuesday shifts, but I don't mind as much because...

A) On my first Sunday shift in three months, we made over $900 dollars in sales. Most days we are lucky to haul in $300, some days we don't even get $50. Needless to say, while I detest hauling ass out of bed to go to work on Sundays, I am quite willing to do so if all the Sundays up to the holiday season are so busy.

B) The Lad and I have moved in with his family until spring, when the weather is warm again and we are ready to move. It's taken some adjusting, and means even less frequent sex, but so far so good. Plus, I am somewhat considering taking a week in the early spring to go visit my parents at last.

Our cat seems to have adapted by amping up the cute - We adapted to our cat being suddenly deposited in a household already holding four cats and two dogs by replacing his collar with a harness for ease of grabbing should we need to get him out of any situation.

Self-Righteous Indignation

2008-09-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

So, essentially, I am PISSED.

I got into work today to discover that, without any consultation with me as to whether or not it still works for me, I have been put back on my old hours, which is both dropping me back down to 15 hours a week (Five hours less than what I need for benefits, so there goes my employee motherfucking health insurance), and dragging my ass out of bed at 9 on Sundays, which I am PISSED OFF about.

Nobody even thought to give me a call to ask if I was still cool with working Sundays, which I am NOT. I enjoyed working Monday - Thursday and having a three day weekend, as opposed to Sunday - Tuesday and having to deal with the crappy public transit on Sundays.

I had heard of the company that owns us being bad at management before, but I didn't think they'd pull this shit. It may be time for me to start looking quite intently into a new job.

I love working there, but being enthralled by the new toys when new stock comes in and such is not outweighed by $300 per paycheck BEFORE deductions when we have to pay rent and bills and for groceries. Especially since we're moving and have to pay security deposit as well.

This is fucking ridiculous.

An update.

2008-08-18T22:58:00.000-07:00

So, you've probably all noticed that lately it's for the most part been negative in this blog...Stress has been riding high, much to my aggravation.

I let that stress just lift today. Let it just rise off my shoulders. It's not going to help any. I'm sick of crying over stress.

And I'm letting the reason behind this lift off both of our shoulders, since it's just hurting both of us and frustrating us.

He's got a paying job again, as does Best Friend, we've got a lovely girl living with us as well who's working on getting a job, and we're making progress on finding a place, although time is ticking.

I need to eat better, but I'm doing my best.

Work is going well, and there is now porn being shot across the street, which will hopefully up the sales in our slow little store. After all, the fact that it's going on is no secret (The location was fairly well given in a newspaper article in one of the two major papers), so I imagine soon we'll have some looky-loos coming around, getting curious. And, well, more sales is good.

One of our regular customers that always kinda gave me the creeps before finally TALKED to me the other day, and now I don't mind when he comes in. I like it when my customers actually talk to me, and engage me in conversation - Then A), I don't want to just go back to my book / dinner, and B), making a sale is ten times easier since I feel much more inclined to recommend products and give advice to FRIENDLY people.

I discovered recently that one of our practically-vintage flavoured lubes has mineral oil as a second ingredient and almost lost my dinner on the floor. *Sigh* Ew.

I'm working on a compendium of what ingredients each of our lubes has, then I'll be moving on to the oils and bath products. Mostly so that I can offer it to any customers browsing with intent to buy, so that they can compare what has what and ensure they're not buying something they'd be allergic to (Case in point - Lad has allergies to both sunflower and safflower oil when they're on his skin, so any products with either are unfortunately only for me. We have learned both of those the hard way - Luckily, hopping in the shower and washing it right off with oatmeal body wash helped a lot). As well as avoiding anything that's just gross (I don't know how ANYONE can use Joy Jelly...).

After that, I'll be starting from one end and going to the other to gauge the strength and noise levels of every vibrator we carry, in a style much like Babeland, just printed on paper. Eventually I'll plug it all into the computer and arrange it in some semblence of order (Either alphabetically or by price range - Price range might work better, considering how many customers seem to be looking for the best thing for the least cost. *Rolls eyes* Because, of course, they simply can't put aside that money and save a bit more for the one they realllly want but is an oh-so-expensive twenty bucks more. Big words coming from the woman that keeps on saying she's going to buy a vibe that only costs thirty, but when you're paying rent, bills, groceries, and trying to move, money dissapears fast).

Essentially, yeah, I've got ambitions. Ambitions that will one day be printed out stylishly, dropped into a lovely pink binder to suit our stores decor, and kept within reach - Which will hopefully derive notice from the higher-ups, and maybe that will let them look past my dislike of upselling, since at least I'm going to TRY to give my utmost service to our customers. Now, if only I could watch the porn and review that in the book. Then the next time I'm asked for a good movie recommendation, I can actually give one - Instead of being tempted to tell them to go find free torrents, since then if it sucks your wallet doesn't feel sad. On the other hand, largely our porn seems to run towards the fake and the horribly unnattractive, so maybe I ought to be glad for the lack of viewing privileges. No need to waste my time on crap when I should be filling boxes.

But in any case, it's almost 1 in the morning and I ought to be in bed, not sitting on my arse in front of the laptop - I've got some interesting tales of work waiting, so I'll do my best to post those tomorrow evening.

- Gypsy

And this is where it gets to screaming.

2008-07-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

I don't have the energy or creativity to do a long, eloquent job of this, so let's sum it up like this:

Lad lost his job almost two weeks ago, he has an interview on Monday.
Best Friend lost his job yesterday. He goes job hunting today.
Rent is due in a week and a day.
I haven't had a cigarette in almost 6 weeks.
The cunt lived with us for two weeks, didn't help out at all like she said she would, left on short notice, and broke my rules about smoking in the house.
I've got the beginnings of either strep throat or tonsillitis.
I've got way more hours at work.
And our lease is not being renewed in September.

I don't even feel sexy right now.

I just feel like it may be high time for the weekend, so that I can decompress.

Head, meet brick wall.

2008-07-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

The dam has broken; I need a good cry. I need one now. I know that most of what is going on is no fault of mine, or his, or anyone in particulars, but it's all weighing on my shoulders and it hurts.

Literally.

Caffeine And Cleaning

2008-06-30T05:12:00.000-07:00

It is 6:12 am. I have what is likely my nth cup of coffee sitting beside me, and I am slowly rediscovering the amazing thing known as our home. Our new roomie, who is nearly ten years older than me, the toughest lady I know (I may be a Bitch, but she is a Broad - If you read The Devils Panties, you will understand me using that term), a total neat freak, and not someone who is going to let Lad and Best Friend get away with being messy (Well, maybe Best Friend, since he keeps his mess to his room, whereas Lad spreads his from the bathroom to the kitchen and every room in between, although our room is for the most part my wardrobe), is moving in around the same time I get home from work tonight.

Her room is also the room that has served as Loki (Our cat)'s room for the past several months, and my old bedroom with all the stylings of my old room. Needless to say, I am attempting to get everything done before she moves in, including shift all my stuff to either mine and the Lad's room, the living room, or the basement, and shift Loki's food bowls and litterbox to where-ever there happens to be room.

And the bathroom needs cleaning.

She and I are going to tackle the kitchen together, since it is too much room for one person, in terms of mess rather than floor space.

Lad needs to mow the lawn, Best Friend needs to chuck some stuff, and I need to do some serious laundry.

Somewhere in all this, I need to go to the bank, deposit the rent, go to the rental office, pay the rent, and go to work to inflict my highly caffinated being on my poor customers. I wonder if I can actually get Lad to call me in as being sick, considering after I'm done cleaning I am going to be dead as a doornail.

On the bright side, once this is all done I might actually feel secure enough for, once we get us a good big load of groceries, Lad's parents to come by for dinner.

And to take photos of the place to send my parents.

Also, I hate summer, for it is too warm to concentrate.

I think I actually like coffee black better than with excessive sugar and cream. I also think I am running on some sleep deprivation.

I'm a masochist in the name of cleaning...And in the name of a good cropping, but the cropping would distract me from hauling five years worth of Cosmo (I read it for the articles, not the sex tips. Considering what those ladies consider kinky, I considered tame at age eleven) and just as many years worth of memorabilia around the house.

Frustration.

2008-06-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

So. Work.

I subbed at one of the other stores in the company yesterday, and it turned out part of my time there was spent under the regional sales manager. Who is one bump under the owner of the company in terms of power.

I went to work in professional-ish black pants, a black tank top under a black lace shirt with ruffles under a black button-up shirt, with black boots. This is what I wear every day, true, but the corporate dress code also, summarily, wants us to look like 'respectable ladies'. Now, never mind that I usually state 'I'm no lady, I'm a bitch' when my friends refer to me as a lady - I respect corporate code and don't want to be oggled by customers too much anyhow.

This woman comes to work, or at least was working yesterday, in a too-tight-tube-top that accentuated her rolls quite unflatteringly, with her wide bra straps fully visible, as well as the back strap, a tight white pleather belt with large gaudy buckle, and too-tight black pants, with flip-flops.

Everyone else in the company dresses in a mature, professional fashion... *Headdesk* Her attitude gets my goat as well, and my stomach hurt pretty much the entire time that I had to deal with her, and I now see why people quit because of her.

I needed tequila last night. I also cried from sheer hatred of this woman. I don't truly hate that often, but she's got it.

On the upside, that store has the pure wand from Njoy in stock and I am now in the process of puppy-dog-eyeing at the lad to see if he'll buy it for me. I wanted one before, now that I've held it in my hand and felt its heft, I want it yesterday.

I prefer to say it dot dot dot.

2008-06-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting, intellectually stimulating post simmering in the back of my mind.

Then there was forums, and then eating, and my cat decided that he was feeling playful, so I now have claw marks on my leg, and I got a bit tipsy earlier so my brain was already fucked up, and then I made videos (That I'm not linking to for now), and, well, that post disappeared into a vast abyss.

So, let's have a recant of my day instead.

I woke up around 9:30 to my alarm. I muttered and whined for ten minutes, got up, finished getting ready for work around 10, went back to cuddle for twenty minutes (It's a ritual I have - On days when I work, since I leave for work when he's still in bed, I get ready as fast as I can and then come back upstairs, set my alarm for about ten minutes before I have to leave, and cuddle up again so that we can maximize our cuddle time. I work day shift and he works night shift, so our schedules on days I work are completely wonked. On days I don't work, it meshes perfectly), and then left in the drizzle.

Work was alright, new stock (I swear that corporate ignores all requests from us and customers and just sends what they see we've sold) was in. I put it away. Then I had to vacuum, and our vacuum is a piece of SHIT. I swear the thing was made in the stone age. There is TAPE holding it together.

So I vacuum, and it drives me nuts because older vacuums are always so heavy and my lower back was sore as it was.

I have to turn it off when a customer comes in, and he takes forever and a day to select a fake vag, but that's no problem.

The problem was the phone call.

Some wanker calls to ask about penis pumps. Do we have electrical ones? Okay, no biggie. No, we don't. Do we carry manual pumps? Sure do - And here I notice the fapping noise. And 'Oh yeah, that's good.'

...

Him: "Do you carry electric pumps?" *fapfapfap*
Me: *Sternvoice* No.
Him: Oh yeah. Do you like big cock?
Me: *Disconnect*

You wanna talk dirty? Call a PSO. That's their area of business. I just sell sex toys, lube, and porn. And lingerie that, for the most part, quite frankly looks like shit. And condoms. And novelties. But not myself, not my body, voice, words - Nothing that is of me.

I think he may have been the same jackass from last Tuesday who repeatedly asked the same questions about keeping his cock hard in a breathless voice. Who called three times in twenty minutes. When he was starting the same cycle of questions almost ten minutes after I was off the clock and therefore not getting paid to tell him about rings for his cock, I disconnected.

I love giving advice, but when you mistake my willingness to give advice / my job with willingness to be your personal masturbation fantasy, you cross a line. Go ahead, wank while thinking about me, but frankly, most of the time I don't want to hear it. If I do, I will make it clear that I do.

Would you like to know what happens when I say I'll finish a post the next night? I completely forget what else I was going to warble on about.

So I'll wrap this up by saying that I love watching Are You Being Served? on YouTube at nearly three in the morning.

I'd like to help you doctor, yes I really really would, but the din in my head it's too much and it's no good.

2008-06-06T00:11:00.000-07:00

Has anyone ever had the dilemma I'm in?

Well, I suppose you can't answer unless I tell you the dilemma.

I want to come out to my fiance about this blog (Which predates our relationship by about half a month - Oh, and when he does read this, if he ever does, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BABY) and Fetlife (Which I've only been on for a month or two, and while he knows I'm networking more, he doesn't know where).

It's not that telling him I write about sex on the net that bothers me, since I've told him about my roleplays with a friend of mine, roleplays that frequently result in a lot of sex. It's not him learning about the details of past encounters that bothers me, since I've already told him a great deal.

Rather, it's the questions. The 'Why do they get to hear it before me', the 'why do you trust the internet enough to show your body', the 'why didn't you tell me from the get-go', the 'are you cheating on me with someone', the 'I don't want you to do this anymore, will you stop'.

To which, the answers are...

- Because it's easier for me to bare my soul in text. You have no problem doing it verbally or with your guitar. I do it better in text, with my face and name unknown.

- Because I just don't care who sees my body that much. I never have. I never will. Go ahead and wank to my photos, if I like you I'll be flattered and otherwise I just don't care.

- Because if I told you from the get-go that I'd be writing about our sex, my past sex, my fantasies, and posting nudes on the internet, and we broke up, you could possibly use all of it against me. I have watched friends get burned hard over having admitted to smoking weed in their otherwise completely tame and well-behaved blogs, I do NOT feel like having my foot fetish and full details of my sexual history spread all over my entire group of friends, which incidently includes my parents and friends of my parents, and I would not be surprised if any of my friends are still friends with our teachers from school. Those who I choose can know that I like being cropped and worshipping feet, everyone else doesn't need to know.

- No. We have been over this. I did once, I won't again, and that night was with the assistance of enough vodka to tip a bull and some whacky tobaccy to switch my ethics to OFF.

- No. What am I supposed to do, internalize everything? Try to meet friends into the same stuff as me without using a website AIMED at just that? I made it clear from the get-go that I may be submissive in the sexual sense, but in the non-sexual sense I don't take anyone's shit and asking me to give up something that I enjoy is at the least a nice big 'State Of The Union, Or Why You Won't Fucking Ask Me To Change Something That Doesn't Harm You For You' chat. Worst case scenario of asking me to change something like this? The boot, up the ass and out the door. I'd rather be depressed over a breakup than depressed because my urge to talk is being REPRESSED.

But I don't know how to tell him.

'Oh, and by the way darling, I've been writing about our sex for all the net to see since we started dating. They've seen me naked a few times too. Love yas!'

Yeah, right.

Times like this I wish I was still just a slut. Nobody cared if I did fuck all on the internet back then, long as I was good at giving head.

Happy Birthday To Me, Happy Birthday To Me...

2008-05-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

I'm all aflutter and I live in a tree... (Okay, not really. Pfah. I wish.)

Happy HNT!

Yep, it's my birthday today...And seeing as I created this blog only a few days after my last birthday, this blog is almost a year old!

Combine that with HNT and today is a Really Fucking Good Day.

My boy got me a Creative ZEN, 4 gigs, so I can finally ignore people on the bus (Not my only reason for wanting one, but when I'm on the bus with a lot of people who aggravate me, it's a damn good one). It's doing good at home, but I still have some tinkering to do with making playlists. My last mp3 player was a piece of crap that just played all the songs without playlists or albums or anything...It's taking a bit of getting used to.

I am looking forward to a long, deep massage tonight, along with birthday spankings.

Have a great night!
-Gypsy

Another update.

2008-05-12T21:49:00.000-07:00

Alright.

It's been a bit of a while again.

I have some ranting, some raving, some depraved squealing...

First off, the creepy guy mentioned previously hasn't come back into the store, but lately I have grown convinced that there's a ghost of some sort at work. At first it was just a vague feeling, then I started hearing footsteps in the back on occasion, when nobody was there, then the bathroom door was closed with the light off when I left the door open with the light on, and I was working alone...And nobody had come in, not to mention we don't allow customers in the back ever. So that was odd, to say the least.

Faces in the mirrors that aren't mine. Twice, the settings on the thermostat have been different - And nobody changes those, ever.

And tonight I felt like something malevolent was watching me.

How malevolent? Well, let's just say I felt safer outside, on a street where only a few weeks ago an elderly man was stabbed in broad daylight, than inside the store. I'm going to keep working there - I grew up with spirits both peaceful and violent - but I'm getting a lot more wary of that place.

On a different note, and one that I've had more than one person evoke a need for me to state it -

Just because someone is submissive does not mean they are not possibly dangerous in non-sexual situations.

I am submissive (Well, mostly), I carry a knife and anything that can be sprayed in peoples eyes on me at all times. Out of all my friends, I have more sadistic torture ideas for enemies than the ones that identify as sadists, I'm more likely to do a horrible violence to people who are threatening me, and you don't want to piss me off in a mosh pit.

Some of the most submissive guys I know could, if they so desired, lay me flat on the ground with one punch. Some of the most dominant guys I know, I could sling over my shoulder and carry off into the sunset.

Your sexual preferences do not dictated and are not dictated by your physical stature, strength, or your mental well being. That nice, meek little thing could be a dominating sadist, a complete psychopath, both, neither. The same goes for the guy down the street who seems like the type to demand that you drop and give him twenty - He could, in his free time, like to be the one on HIS knees.

This community, as it is, should not be full of assumptions about each others proclivities. You don't know what lies beneath the clothing, whether it be an Armani suit, 'gangsta' wear, or full-body latex.

I had more I intended to talk about, but that's about all I'm going to type for now.

-Gypsy

Frustrations

2008-04-23T21:31:00.000-07:00

Life is spiraling back down lately, and with it goes my mood. Lately, I've had more mood swings than I used to, and I don't like it at all. But this time, at least, I can pinpoint the majority of the reasons behind it.

1) We came awfully close to being evicted, all because my fiance's best friend ignored him when he told him to turn his amp down when playing guitar, so I got bombarded with phone calls and shit while I was at work and wound up crying in the change room for a little bit. NOT how a girl wants to spend her work time.

2) I came down with swollen tonsils, sore throat, congestion, and all that fun stuff the next day. And woke up the day after that with a horrible toothache. I'm typing now and not curled up in a corner whimpering because of Oragel. The tonsils are kinda coming and going, throat's only sore after I cough, but the cough I developed Friday/Saturday is worse than the toothache, and my ribs are so fucking sore.

3) Friday night our bathtub drain got clogged. It still isn't clear. Someone should be by tomorrow or the next day to unclog it, but it's driving me NUTS. ><; I want to take a fucking shower!

4) My laptop is being cruel and unusual. *Cries*

5) ...No sex. *Cries* Vibrators just aren't the same when you want to be pounded into and then cuddled in the aftermath.

In other news, that doesn't depress me...

On Monday, at work, I talked to a man for a good hour. At first it seemed fine and normal to me, he was nice and young so I had no problems answering questions about myself (Unlike questions from men my fathers age, which, while it may be biased, always freaks me a bit that they're asking about my sex life - My mind tries to superimpose my fathers face over theirs, and then I have to control the impulse to scream)...And then my little internal creep-dar started beeping. I don't know why the damn thing didn't kick in until then (Unless the cold syrup is the reason), but I started feeling on my guard. After several failed attempts at hitting on me later, and one insistence that his comment about how, if I ever want to fuck a man up the ass, I should call him, was a joke...He left. And then my mind started screaming about how I shouldn't tell strangers who know where I work so much about myself so freely. With people I talk to online it's different (Although I still refuse to give out my name), but he walked in off the street, a total stranger.

And now I'm scared, because he knows where I work and looking back he seemed rather...Intense. Focused. And while that can turn me on sometimes, with someone like him it just puts my hackles up.

What if this guy is like the boy that I had far too close of an experience with when I was sixteen? As it is, only one day do I leave the store alone at night, and now that the days are getting longer, when I leave on that solitary day the sun's still setting. I walk by multiple open businesses to get to my bus stop, one of which is a gas station so close to the bus stop that I can have conversations with the people working there while waiting for my bus. So why am I so worried, again?

Because I can't remember if I told him what area of town I live in. And there's only one mall in that area of town, and I definitely go there often...So I'm nervous. That he'll take the creepy an extra level.

I need to either calm my paranoia or do something about it...

Aside from that, I've been growing out the hair on my mound as a whim (Keeping the lips shaved, though, for some reason feeling my own hair brush my inner thighs squicks me out), and I'm starting to quite like it. Plus now if anyone who knows me intimately asks, yes, yes I do have naturally auburn hair. I'm still getting used to feeling it with my fingers though. But I do like it.

I bought several things from work on Friday and Saturday, not the least of which was a lovely Spartacus riding crop, but I'll babble on about those in their own post sometime in the next couple days.

Gypsy

The Torrents Of Speech

2008-03-27T21:04:00.000-07:00

Alrighty. So I have more to pour out of me and into the teacups of your eyes (That mental visual is thoroughly creepy, but...On with the textuality). If you're not in a reading mood, scroll down, my first HNT is there. Then come back and read.

First off, I joined FetLife a little over a week ago. So far, I am loving it! It's the first time I've been a member of a site that was so open and inviting and accepting of my kinks - Other than here in the blogsphere, but considering around here I'm like the wallflower in the corner (I'm shy, what can I say), most of my social networking sites offer very little for forums where I feel accepted and secure enough to say out loud 'I like being fisted / licking my lads feet / being treated so rough that if my friends from junior high could see me they'd think I was in an abusive relationship'. In other words, those sites? Better for keeping in touch with offline friends who, for the most part, don't know anything about my sex life (And with good reason!). Besides, my mother's on one of them. She doesn't want to know.

FetLife, on the other hand, gives me somewhere to list off all my kinks and interests, display photos that would get my account frozen on those other sites, talk to like minded people who are just as interested as I am in, well, everything I'm interested in.

A breath of fresh air for me.

In other news...

There was another attempt at fisting Sunday night. We're getting closer to success, but him trying so hard left me sore until this morning. Nothing like trying to do kegels and going 'AAGHMOTHERFUCKER'. At work. Luckily, nobody was in there trying to browse the vibes with me when I did that, although someone did come in right after I sat down to try to chase away the woozy feeling I get when I go without my pills and smoke, and jumping up didn't help either affliction.

It won't stop us though. I love that sensation too much, especially when he aims his fingers up and we can see it on my abdomen. That gave us quite the laugh! If I'm not having an orgasm, or on my way to it, I better be laughing - And that combined both. Yummy.

I'm determined, though, and if I have to find a willing ladyfriend to try, I will.

On Tuesday, during an uber-slow period at work, I went around and made a list of everything I want from there. I'll probably post it sometime tomorrow, possibly as a celebration should the lad manage to get the Iron Maiden tickets we're both pleading with the deities of Ticketmaster for.

Earlier I had a few celebratory orgasms for learning that NIN is coming to town this summer. I'll probably be going with Shy One, since the lad isn't too much into their more recent stuff.

I'm pondering some erotic photography, not just the random nudes I take now and again (Now and again? Who am I kidding? I've got an entire album on Private Photo Albums devoted to me being sexual and there's 71 pictures in that album), but something with a photographer that isn't the timer on my webcam and a bit of a different look to them.

First Involvement In HNT

2008-03-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I'm not terribly shy about so much of my body being visible - I've willingly given people links to my online albums of me being sexual, and, well, I just like showing my body. My lad has some (understandable) qualms about it at times...Usually which get eradicated after a good long talk. Given that topics of discussion have been how, in the past, I've looked seriously into escorting, stripping, and being an alt-porn model, by now he's fine with me being seen naked by other people. As long as he can maintain a stance of 'They can look, but if they touch you without my consent, then they're going to hurt'.

Fair enough in my eyes.

On Dominance, Submission, And Etcetera.

2008-02-20T17:02:00.000-08:00

When I first skirted into the land of sex, despite all evidence to the contrary, I was quick to claim myself to be dominant. I never really took control, I never suggested anything, I never did anything...But I claimed to be dominant. I was pretty much full-blown-you-can-have-control submissive, but I refused to admit to it. It took 1.5 years and an experience with being asked to dominate and realizing I didn't know HOW to go about it before I came to terms with being submissive.

I've always been curious, since then, why I couldn't handle the thought of submission. My best guess is that it has something to do with how my father was acting around that point in time, the way he was treating my mother and I at that point in time. I saw the way my mother would defer to his assholishness and vow to never be that submissive. I didn't quite get that there was a difference, a marked difference, in being submissive out of fear and being submissive out of desire.

Never mind that my most frequent fantasies usually involved myself being tentacle-raped, or forced into sex by strangers, or flogged, I identified as a domme.

At least, until my first experience with someone who wanted me to take control. Then I floundered, shook, and luckily he was able to see that, not press it, and take over. Which was just fine with me, and I have maintained a contentedly submissive position to this day, brief experience dating another submissive not-withstanding. The moment a guy showed himself to be dominant, I was already trying to figure out how well we'd mesh. Although even with this, I only have had three dominants actually dominating me offline (and one online, but that ended within three days of beginning), and a whole lot of guys who were more submissive but were good at giving me what I wanted (to be treated rough and tossed around a bit, and then cuddled). One of those dominants, I'm getting married to.

It would just figure that it's when I'm finally in a happy, long-term, at the moment in our personal hopes, dreams, and foreseeable version of the future til-death-do-us-part relationship with the guy I was hoping I'd find all along, that my sexual desires took a turn from pure submissive spank-slut.

My little inner domme is getting stronger and stronger. She wants to wield the whip, crop, and paddle now. She wants to be worshiped and leave marks. And she isn't shutting up.

Take this, add in a not-at-all-submissive fiance (except when he's getting a handjob, then I'm in full control since he's too busy writhing around to give orders), and you have a complicated situation, pushed further by my intense-if-ignorable interest in pegging.

An interest that, for the time being, is not being brought up. It's something that makes me glad he doesn't even know I have this blog - and if he does know, he's doing me the kind favour of not mentioning it. I like my privacy, a fact he knows all too well.

But sometimes, I wish...I wish I were strong enough to say that I really want something. It took 9 months, 3 of which had a book in blatant hint-sending display, him saying something, and then him doing something for it to come out that I want to try fisting. I don't do well with opening up about my more 'out there' interests.

Hell, he's going to have to draw his own conclusions about my complete willingness to randomly start giving him foot massages, not to mention the fact that I've licked his foot. Willingly. Mainly because he thinks foot fetishes are gross, and, well, I have a foot fetish. I pretty much hump air/the bed while giving him massages. The combination promises to evolve into a very interesting conversation when it finally gets brought up, that will likely culminate in 'Well, I want to be worshiping YOUR feet, I'm not asking you to start licking mine. Just enjoy the damn massages and worship', since I have never seen why anyone would have a problem with someone wanting to give their feet that much attention. Hey, fuck, massages feel good and tongues feel pretty damn nice too. And I use nice lotion and give good pedicures. Hell knows if someone wanted to pamper my feet that much, I'd be a very content little lady.

Let's not even get into the golden-shower fantasy that keeps springing up, since I'm not even into those. They just keep popping up thanks to the taboo.

That all said, I AM quite happy. A bit frustrated, but happy all the same.

Although some days I'm still quite tempted to bring up that one of the guys I had an online thing with before we started dating is a furry, just to see his reaction. I am guessing at it being along these lines: o_O;;;;;;;

To which, I will be responding '...Hey, there is NOTHING wrong with wanting to yiff, and seeing as he understood it just wasn't my thing and instead indulged my fondness for naked men holding weaponry, I don't see what the issue is with me dating a furry. Plus his fursona is drop-dead-sexy.'

I dunno. I think I just live for making my laddie go 'WHAT THE FUCK?!?', and now that he's gotten used to me showing him extreme stuff on Modblog, I have to up the ante. Eventually, I will have hopefully gotten him to the point where nothing will squick him out.

Although having kids in three years will likely do that just as well. From what I know from my goddaughter, kids do wonders for raising ones tolerance of what once made ones stomach turn cartwheels at a mere suggestion.

I seem to be developing quite the skills when it comes to going off on tangents here. I attribute this partly to the fact that, where I focused on the less-shocking fantasies and real-life encounters when I began this blog, now I am more interested in actually sharing my thoughts and such. It's still so very sex-centric, but reading back, in a different way.

As the lines of communication open in my bedroom, so does my writing on here. Maybe it's time to bring up that foot fetish. See what I write here next time.

Ah, well, waiting a bit won't hurt any.

Have a gooder.

- Gypsy

I am...

2007-12-24T03:57:00.000-08:00

...A slut. I have one extensive sexual history, and I have put all the regrets behind me. I have learned that I have done nothing wrong by putting out.

...A kinkster. If it has to do with BDSM or one of my fetishes, I am nearly instantly dripping.

...A submissive. I obey my king, god, and master...When I want to.

...Disobedient. If I don't feel like being a good girl, nothing - Nothing! - will force me to do so. Not even a firm spanking, and considering he can really beat up a blush on my cheeks, that says something.

...A size queen. I admit it, horrifying though that humongous dildo is, it also fascinates the shit outta me and I'd love to try and take it all.

...A camera whore. Eventually, I shall prove this. Possibly this HNT. Mmkay? Mmkay.

...An insomniac. It's 5:16 in the morning. ><;

...An artist.

...A lover, a writer. A bitch, a daughter. Everything. Nothing.

A human being. Split me open, and you will find me as alive as you...

Unholy Unvirgin

2007-12-18T23:24:00.000-08:00

I am your holy virgin,
Be gentle all the time.
I am your holy virgin,
I'll blow your mind.

It is 12:49 in the morning. I face a massive obstacle of a disaster-area bedroom. I am also horny. Already having gotten myself off once, with average results, and a pulsating desire left in my mind and my clit. I need to tackle this disaster so that I can either go to sleep or go make tea, a sammich, and take a long, sensuality-restoring bath with two different vibrators before he gets home.

Home.

It's odd to call it home.

Especially when it looks like this:

I want to get this organized, and kinked up...

I want him to come home...

I want him to pin me to the bed and take what's his, every last bit of my body as his. I want a beating...Thorough beating...I want marks, I want teeth...I want him...

I am your holy virgin,
And if you touch me right,
I'll be your nasty virgin

Oh, gypsy...

2007-12-10T22:13:00.000-08:00

...Why art thou such a little size-obsessed girl?

In what goes in. It has to either be really fucking curved to stimulate the G or be really fucking thick. Those fist-shaped dildos by SquarePeg? Oh yeah. You want one. You want him more though. More than just two fingers, now. You want his whole hand at once. You want to feel that exquisite pressure driving you insane.

Greedy, greedy girl. You want to be stuffed full.

And you don't behave.

You whine about spankings - You don't get enough, you get too many, too hard, too soft...Can't you be satisfied?

No, no, of course not.

Maybe this is part of your streak of dominance. Oh, you're no switch, oh no. It doesn't work with you, for some reason. Unless if there are other switches out there that get off, actually get off, on seizing control for long enough to get a reaction out of your dominant, on moving from being spanked and yanked to pinning, biting, demanding within seconds with the same person...Without a struggle, none of the fight that you've seen some people eroticize...And then have your control taken away again, so easily sometimes, and with such regret other times...

Thinking about it gets you wet.

And you shoot off a text.

'I wish you were here right now'.

They escalate with the next one, with 'B) I'm in a really submissive pain-slut mood right now.'

And you kind of got distracted.

By your vibrator.

And two mindshaking orgasms later, you can't even remember what your train of thought was...

Lonely Gypsy

2007-11-25T23:49:00.000-08:00

It's an annoying night.

I have been horny all day - I woke up next to my metal god after a night of hot sex and all I wanted to do was get down there and give him head like I did around 1 in the morning (With both hands occupied, straddling his leg and grinding against it - at least until he forced me to lie back for some reciprocation). No could do, he had to go to work. Ugh.

So I went and played with the kittens.
And I went and checked my email and such.
And I went and visited my brother.
And my brothers uncle came home so I had to go.
And I came home and online.

All the while, thinking about how much I love the noises he makes when I give him head, jacking him off while concentrating on the head, taking him all the way in, his hands tangle in my hair, at least one hand squeezing and playing with his balls the entire time. Thinking about how much I love it when he kisses his way down my chest, and then goes to town on me, fingers thrusting into me hard as my clit gets a thorough tongue-lashing, and a damned good nibbling, and my hands wind up tangled in his hair, and then he's inside me, thrusting, making me try to keep quiet - my parents are in the next room - and it's so hard and he's so hard and I'm so wet...And I wind up on top and I take control - not for long, but I do tie his wrists, not well enough apparently since he breaks free but long enough to get him to answer some orders to tell me how I feel, every inch of me.

Apparently, it's fantastic.

However, I think I need to do even more kegels.

Or it's just really difficult to concentrate on actually squeezing hard when that man is hitting g-spot.

Damn that lad, telling me to squeeze harder for him when he's intentionally making it more difficult. I really should assume full dom mode just to spank him for that.

^_~

I got a wee bit sidetracked there. ^^;

But anyhow, I came home. I came online.
I read my favourite sex blogs, came across a couple new ones, browsed toy sites (anyone who gets me this for Christmas might be a lucky lad or lassie - Chances are, that lucky will be a lad, and that particular lad, seeing as he's getting them from me anyhow, will get one heckuva good blowjob)...Got myself off multiple times...

Ramble at Best Friend on sex-related topics until he has to go (The urgency makes me hope he was going to go get laid, bad though it sounds, the knowledge of Best Friend getting laid makes me as horny as my metal god does. I like when people get off).

And my fiance gets online and then offline and then online again and...Does not have the desired reaction to my statements of horniness.

I was looking for at least some good cyber-foreplay, if not cybersex itself.

He was just not there.

Whatever.

I wish I'd known when I was 15...

2007-11-22T00:30:00.000-08:00

...What a man could do to me.

I turned fifteen at the tail end of grade 9. I attended a small, everyone-knows-everyone school from preschool until grade 9, and was never a popular girl. My extracurricular activity of choice was going home and online.

And then I started high school, where the dynamics of everything changed. I showed up, at an arts high school, with a new hair colour and my already-dark aesthetic slightly refined. Slightly. Not much. It actually looked worse than grade 9. Which wasn't easy.

And yet somehow, I got positive attention. Hit on. Groped. Random flirtations with girls I barely knew.

But the most important sexual event of that point in time was The Asshole, And What Happened With Him.

Why is it the most important?

Because in the span of only 5 hours, I had my first kiss, flashed my tits for the first time, gotten fingered for the first time, given head for the first time, and had sex for the first time. 5 hours. I was fifteen, I had only known him since 3 pm that day, and I felt disgusting when I got home. Not by the sexuality, but by how fast I'd rushed into it, and by how unmemorable it was. To this day, I believe if it hadn't been for that being the time I lost my virginity, I would've just had it fade into my memory, brought up only when relevant, but no. It's there, a sore thumb against everything.

I told my mom that there was a thing at school with all the different clubs you could join, and promptly phoned my 'best friend' of the time, panicked, because we hadn't used a condom. He hadn't come, but I knew pre-cum had sperm and I was scared. She proved how senseless she was about sex when she said that I couldn't get pregnant if I hadn't had an orgasm, which even then I knew wasn't true. I'd been reading about sex for years, I knew enough that an orgasm was not a pre-requisite to pregnancy.

If it was, well, I'd be knocked up so many times by now it isn't funny.

When my period came a week later I couldn't have been happier. However, while I was disgusted with my fastness, I still wanted more. I moved on to giving a guy friend head. And felt disgusted with myself after.

Disgust with myself over sexuality lasted for a long time. I wound up doing The Asshole again, in a washroom stall, when I was sixteen. He yelled at me for checking out a girl and I bailed for good. I had my first relationship shortly afterwards, a relationship that spawned my first orgasm and me finally feeling free to say how I wanted it.

I wish I'd known when I was 15 that I didn't have to rush into anything. I wish I'd known when I was 15 that just because a guy SAYS he'll do anything for you doesn't mean he's telling the truth. I wish I'd known when I was 15 that shame doesn't have to permeate everything.

I wish I'd known when I was 15 that I was as strong then as I am now, and didn't let anyone break me down.

And almost 4 years later I still can see his ice-cold eyes, staring blankly at me, drugged out and crazy...

A Poem, and why.

2007-11-21T22:50:00.000-08:00

I started out a slut you see
It wasn't what I meant to be
Only fifteen and so naive
But for my innocence I don't grieve

Perhaps I should have made a better choice
But I listened to my inner voice
It said 'Go! Spread your legs, be free
With your sexuality'

And so I did, I did just that
Engaged myself in erotic combat
And found, like I expected more
That society can't accept an ethical whore

The men saw me as a toy to use
The women, to hate and abuse
I turned my back, and heard the insults fly
Won't deny, sometimes it made me cry

But I knew what I wanted, and that was sex
I really didn't care about the side effects
Find someone, take what I want
Strip my clothing, my body I'd flaunt

My heart did suffer, this is true
And accusations always flew
Yes, I did steal other men
Don't tell me you didn't time and again

I know what you said behind my back
I know it's from jealousy, what I have, you lack
I'm sorry you're so petty to judge me on my number
Good luck my dears on tearing me asunder

I acknowledge my history now
And for the pleasure given I take a bow
For the pleasure taken I blow a kiss
Sorry lads, I know I'm missed

But I'm the slut of only one for good
And he's now the only man who can get me in the mood
The only ones getting me otherwise you'll find
Are strictly and wonderfully of the fem-gendered kind

------

As the poem states, I lost my virginity at 15, apparently very young these days...At least, amongst my peers. My fiance lost his at 17, and has 2 girls including me under his belt. I have 13 guys including him for actual sex, and over twenty if we include foreplay, and the number raises even more if we include girls. Let's not even GO into kissing partners.

Along the lines, somewhere, I got stuck with the labels that inevitably come if you're a sexually active young female. I had no shame about my body, I still don't, and wanted to put it on viewing and to use.

Apparently, this is a bad thing in some peoples eyes. Good for them. I never really did care.

I have stolen boyfriends, although not for dating purposes. I have been the other woman. I have had another man. I have had sex with near-strangers. I have spoken loudly about my sex life on public transit and enjoyed the attention it garnered. I have intentionally worn skimpy clothing to ellicit reactions from both genders. I have seduced guys that weren't so sure. I have been seduced when I wasn't so sure. I have come close to danger in my past promiscuities, and it taught me lessons. I have been into the clinic five times - five times! - to get the morning after pill when a condom broke.

And I regret nothing.

I enjoyed every single minute of being a slut, a tramp, a hussy, a scarlet woman, an unpaid whore.

I still am one, in a way. I will only open up to one man sexually, and I love him, and we're going to be married until death. Don't cast doubts here. They won't be listened to, because no matter how well you know either of us, you don't know what we're like together behind closed doors, and no, it isn't all sexsexsexsexsex all the time. He knows...Well, almost as much as my best friend, and my best friend knows me better simply because he is my best friend.

But with women, if we both find them attractive, then I have freedom to take and give as I wish. And I will do so. I maintain my slut status, I have merely put the focus on the female gender.

It is my happy medium. In this, I can keep my lust for variety happy. In this, I can keep my desire for monogamy happy. It isn't polyamory in my view, and it isn't a danger to the relationship in either of our views.

I am happy.

Waiting for someone that calls themself my 'friend' to say something about how if I really loved my man, I wouldn't sleep with anyone else, but happy.

These days...

2007-11-19T22:04:00.000-08:00

I had a post.

I had quite the good post in mind, a nice little spot of erotica.

Then I ran into this, and it completely derailed my train of thought.
It horrified me altogether too much for me to think of getting off anymore.

We never expect to hear about children raping children, but this is certainly not the first time. This is not a crime that I will blame on the media. While it does influence some things, I do not feel that ANY amount of television, music, and video games could influence three young boys to rape a girl.

No, the influence here came from someone they knew. One of their fathers, perhaps. A scout leader. A teacher. Someone from the neighborhood. Any older boys they idolize. Perhaps they've watched one of these figures do it to someone else, perhaps they themselves have been sexually abused. One of the fathers seems quite intent on defending his son - Can we start the investigation there? Scary though it seems, this attack could have been thought out. Planned. An adult could have told them to. An adult could have told them to under threat of something they considered worse happening if they didn't.

Whatever the case, I don't believe that this group of young boys simply decided to rape a girl for a lark, and I don't believe this girl is just crying rape after feeling guilty.

Something smells funny about this and it's unsettling my stomach.

Updates and Writings

2007-11-14T16:53:00.000-08:00

Every minute against his skin is heaven. On Saturday, the birthday of my older brother, we and my brothers girlfriend spent the day (And he and I the night) at my brothers house, the sounds of music and two happy couples simultaneously having sex filling the walls with some kind of ecstatic joy. The best sex to date, long, hot, twice, and when the condom broke I promised him and myself I would get the morning after pill and we just kept going...Which made it even better. Flesh unfettered by anything between it, hot against each other, whimpering as the ridges of his cock, barely evident through latex, made themselves incredibly known against my g-spot, delighting in his own gasps and moans as much as he was in mine.

...And then my brother, being finished with his girl and quite the spoilsport, tossed the portable radio in and started talking to us over it. Bigger moodkill than the first time having sex with my best friend, during which three different people walked in. Lame.

There shall be a repeat performance. It shall involve him being tied and dominated, for he has misbehaved today, and I am starting to let out the more dominant part of me, letting it get its own grasp on the handle of the whip. I am rarely so in control that I can actually do anything, for months, years, my natural place has been with my legs over his shoulders and my back on the bed, head hanging off the edge and screaming his name. Well, it's my turn to cause the noise. My turn to dominate.

In related news, my best friend has stated a curiosity about being fucked up the ass, and, while he could always get a man to do it (He does, after all, have quite the fine ass and many a gay man would happily take it), I have harboured my own desires to fuck male ass (And female cunt and ass) for quite the long time - And he trusts me enough to let me do it.

So far, my darling does not know about this - First, my friend and I must discuss it. Then, I'll talk to my darling about it. Then we'll all talk about it. And, if things go well, I'll be picking up a strap-on harness and a few different sizes of dildos appropriate for the job, as well as a good-size package of gloves and even more lube than I already have. I'm definitely hoping for a positive response from my darling - I've wanted this for so long, and to have it present itself, finely uplifted for my appreciation (And slow, moving on to hard and fast, thrusting), is a dream come true.

I also grow progressively closer to my aim of getting my close female friend into my sheets. She and I both want each other, cling to each other lustfully whenever we see each other, seek out each others mouths with no boundaries, but have yet to manage to actually make love. Soon enough there will be a chance though. Oh, yes, there will be.

Now, onto other things...

Blurb from my goes-everywhere notebook...

"The sound the honey bottle made as I attempted to squeeze some into my tea bore great resemblence to the pattern my breathing takes on as my orgasms built - long and deep, desperate, short and shallow, teased, short and deep and quick the closer it gets to its destination, with a slick, sticky, sweet and satisfying conclusion. Note to self - Bring honey into play sometime. Make sure to get it all off with tongue (Getting it in his pubes therefore bad idea)."

And a bit of writing...

"The heat of the room is stifling, but she doesn't leave. She is lost in it, her eyes closed, her mouth open in some silent moan. No matter the crush of people around her, she feels alone, caressed by the music as though it were an actual physical lover. Perhaps it is. The bass travels up her legs, through her jeans, creating vibrations against her clit that no man or vibrator has ever done better then, weakening and strengthening her legs simultaneously, as, even while she wants to just drop to her knees and rock against the seam of her jeans and the beat while fellating the notes as keenly as she would a thick cock. The crowd crushes forward, pressing her breasts against the back of a strange man. The worshippers in a hall of Satan, sex, anger and love. Satan, whom most of these bands - and worshippers - hail in public, if not in private. Sex, which oozes from the crowd and music as much as the anger that mixes together into a hard, rough fucking that leaves even the most staid screaming in ecstacy, and love. Love of the music, love of the instrument, love of the devil, the sex, and the anger that pulse in their veins. The crowd jostles violently, she barely hesitates before slipping her arms around the waist of the stranger, long nails trailing up under the sweaty shirt, unable to see his expression but aware of the low chuckle that rumbles through his torso, loud to her even over the music. She feels wicked. She feels sinful. She feels wonderful. Her hands pause, then, shoving what little morals she has left, slip down into his jeans, slipping below the denim, and past the briefs underneath, to wrap her fingers around his cock. Hot and throbbing in her hand, her fingers barely meet, thumb following the trail of pre-cum."

I got about that far before my inner writer said 'Ah, fuck off, you're too horny to finish this...'

I'll take that as a note that it's time to stop writing and go masturbate.

xox
Gypsy

Still no handjobs...

2007-10-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

...But the lube works amazing for anal. Just the right amount of slick for me, nice and smooth and easy - It's almost always easier for me than for other girls, it seems, but the additional bit of easy makes it even better, since I don't require the period of slow thrusting with lots of lube involved. Which means I get it as I like it.

And finally I get a finger up the ass. I swear, if I were an anal virgin it'd kill me, but considering the first time I had anal, it was lubeless, condomless, and painful, with very little pre-play, almost anything feels heavenly by comparison. My second experience with it involved a tongue, a few fingers, and a lubed condom, and being allowed to take my sweet time getting used to it - I did, and found my preferred anal position in the process. For the curious, that usually begins with me in pretty much fetal position, where I can breathe slowly and relax myself as he enters, slowly getting used to it, and gradually unfurling into doggy as I get both more relaxed and faster with my movements. And then anal went on hiatus. For months. And then he brought it up and I brought up my having experience with it and enjoying it, and, well, now I'm a happy girl with a cock in my ass. Not right now, of course (Would I be typing if I was getting laid? I should hope not!), but usually.

Happy, I am. Every session our sex life gets even better. We tried standing sex, but that didn't work as well as we may have liked. Another time. We've all our lives to try everything, after all.

Also, he got a whip. I love it. The way it hits my cunt...I was twitching from orgasm within a few hits. He better use it again. Oh, he better. I can't go for long without a good beating, after all. *g*

xox
Gypsy

Oh. My. God.

2007-10-13T01:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the lube still hasn't gotten a workout on his cock.

But I have big news - Big news!

He proposed around 8 pm yesterday.

We're engaged!

Blood and Boredom

2007-09-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

Being that today is a day in, a day of boredom, and a day where I am bleeding out the vagina and therefore not terribly pleased with being female, I figure I need to make a nice, long, passionate entry here. Something to lift my spirits.

So first, an update. Boyfriend and I went to the VNV Nation show on Friday night - I have just realized that mentioning both name and date will give away my location, but being as you don't know my name, his name, or anyones names, you would have to try to rely on going to the club it was at and asking a lot of people in order to find me. Being that only two people I know personally have the link to this blog, one of them being my best friend, the other being a close personal friend, neither of them are likely to just point a stranger to the real identity of 'Gypsy'.

Maybe you could put two and two together if I mentioned my fishnets, my skirts and specifically the jingle skirt I occasionally don, accentuating the motions of my hips, the motions taught to me by an aggravating teacher who refused to accept that the tendons in my arms and legs are tight, a fact that makes even walking flat on my feet uncomfortable at best, impossible most of the time, and at worst, downright hazardous. I walk more easily in stiletto heels with a height of at least three inches than I do in ballet flats, and dance just as well - Although bouncing up and down has its hazards no matter what footwear I'm wearing, seeing as although my abilities to walk and dance are marvelous, anything that involves either stillness or landing in the same spot turn on my lack of balance. You may recognize a velvet tank, or my happy cuddled spot against the chest of a tall fishnet-shirted man-boy, legal, but not THAT masculine.

I have a distinct hatred for the overly-masculine, and a distaste for the overly-feminine, and in fact have a very specific type when it comes to bodies - Taller than me, not a difficult thing. Somewhat muscled, but not Steroid Boy. I'm not overly picky about hair colour but do seem to tend towards the blonds and boys with dark, dark brown hair, not quite black, but dark, dark brown. Facial hair is always a bonus, I like to play with it. A gothic appeal is a necessity, tattoos are a bonus that I will obsess over and I'll toy with a piercing for hours. Makeup has to be done well, but when it is, I'll be dying to mess it up in the sheets.

How well does my darling fit?

He is the very epitome of the body I like, tall and semi-muscular, blond hair that I enjoy messing up, a blond goatee that he refers to as a Satan stache and I can toy with for hours. He definitely has a gothic appeal, and has as much love for fishnet as I do, which means I may have to protect my pink and black stockings.

And yes, I do mess up his makeup in the sheets with awesome regularity, and he returns the favour to my own elaborate facial decor.

I am nearly tempted to wax poetic about his cock, but I already did that. *Chuckle* And such repetition so close to the original isn't my style.

But anyhow. We were just getting down and dirty in bed after the concert, my parents having enough respect for all of us to set us up a bed in the basement. We get a few minutes in to some good, hard sex, and I stop him. We're in the total dark. He asks what's wrong.

A few sniffs of the air - 'Is it just me, or do you smell blood too?'.

It wasn't just me.

And, well, we were on white sheets that my mother would be seeing, so we did the prudent, not-disgusting-my-parents thing - We called off sex for the night, cleaned up, and cuddled up to sleep. I was most annoyed, but whatever. Out of it, though, came the declaration that we won't have any light-coloured bedding on our own bed.

And when we move to the coast, we better get somewhere with dark carpeting too.

It's bad enough that what used to be three-day events that tapered off on the last day are turning into uterine massacres with tidal waves of blood washing out...No end in sight...

MUST IT RUIN MY SEX LIFE?!?

Ramblings and such.

2007-09-24T19:23:00.001-07:00

So I tried out that lube last night, and it was gooood. Nice and slick and it stayed moist for a lot longer than I usually do with that particular toy.

Next test subject: My boyfriend's cock.

I have now realized that I have yet to do as I keep intending to and blathered on about his cock, so I will say now - It is fucking amazing.

Perfect length (About 7 inches), perfect girth (The same as my favourite vibe without the waves...Obviously), and he works it well. The taste of his skin drives me insane with desire, I could give him head for hours and never complain about my jaw getting sore simply because I'd want too much to make him hold onto my hair and make those small noises that tell me I'm doing good, for him to thrust to the back of my throat, to hold his hips to the bed as I take him all the way in myself, to taste his sweet, salty cum filling my waiting mouth.

Just thinking about it makes me want him even more right now.

I also really currently have this urge to dominate someone...

Updates

2007-09-23T19:13:00.000-07:00

So the sex life just keeps improving, and improving, and improving.

Last weekend, we did anal. It was as good as I remembered, better even, because there was emotion involved.

We haven't had sex since that night (He wasn't in the mood Thursday, when I recut my scarification, and we went to Cannibal Corpse last night so he was exhausted, whereas I was hyped and horny), but for the next time, I've picked up some astroglide gel. After some taste-testing, I've concluded that I don't mind the taste of it at all, and it'll get a workout with my favourite vibe tonight.

First test drive on him will be a handjob.

This should be interesting enough.

Anal

2007-09-15T00:40:00.000-07:00

Anal has finally been seriously discussed with my boyfriend.

The consensus is that we will try it at some point in the future, I'm hoping sooner rather than later since I miss it - Oh, fuck, do I ever miss it!

I can hardly wait.

Happiness.

2007-08-16T21:01:00.002-07:00

So, I faded out of this blog for a while, and I assure you, there is a perfectly good reason for that!

That reason?

On June sixth, I found myself with a boyfriend. Not a boy for me to toy with, to fuck senseless and eventually walk away from like the other boys I've had relations with this year, but an actual boyfriend, and the first man I've loved since Hunter.

It'll be three months in September. Our relationship moved very fast into sex, although slower than my others. We fell in love very fast and we are very committed to each other. I am permitted to have my girls, something I could never give completely up, and should he ever get the chance to get any of the men he'd like to sex, he's allowed them. He can have my girls too if he so desires, considering I get them first...And if I'm doing them I see no reason for me to complain about him doing them...But from what I know, he has no desire to have them.

We're taking our sweet time with opening up sexually completely, I don't know all his fantasies and...He doesn't know a lot beyond my kink, a few of my past partners, and my bisexuality. And my blood fetish.

I did turn him on to vibrators! ...When I'm using them...

And he made a comment Wednesday in Spencers that I interpreted as interest in anal. I am hoping my interpretation was correct...He did express willingness to fuck while on my period...

Either this man is very tight-lipped on his fantasies or I'm just that damned hot. <_<

The other week there was a party, I spent most of it making out with this lovely girl J. J and I have been flirting for MONTHS...Constant suggestion that we wind up in bed together. I am hoping this happens someday soon, she's absolutely gorgeous and I want to make her feel amazing.

I am getting a job ASAP, I'm excited because I'm applying at sex shops! I want to work around the sex industry, it's been one of my dreams for years.

I am also on my thirteenth day of quitting smoking for good! I feel absolutely fantastic.

Wanted: Vibrators

2007-08-16T21:01:00.001-07:00

Silk Touch Egg
Orchid G
Hitachi Magic Wand
Blueberry Buzz
Lumina Wand
Saturn Wand
The Cherry
Rock Chick
iBuzz
Sybian! *Drool* Yeah right, not gonna happen.

Lucid Dreams #39

2007-08-06T01:00:00.000-07:00

That there is an amazing, amazing, AMAZING vibrator. It takes AA batteries, which are easy to get ahold of and relatively inexpensive. The curves in it are designed for g-spot stimulation, but holding where the vibrations come from against my clit drives me just as crazy. As for g-spot stimulation, only my boyfriend does better. This vibe has made me scream and shudder and whimper and has coaxed genuine moans out of me (I'm usually a screamer, not a moaner).

However, be aware that the waterproof jelly attracts dust like woah. I have to clean this when I haven't even used it.

And I highly recommend using a lubricant with this toy, I don't get very wet outside so I need to add a bit of saliva into the mix to get it in. For some reason the jelly tends to make it difficult otherwise.

Overall, though, a kickass wonderful vibe.

To A Partner

2007-06-05T02:47:00.000-07:00

Being whipped, spanked, beaten, slapped, pinched, scratched, bitten, dominated. Sucking cock with his hands on the back of my head, thrusting into my mouth - Please, master, let me fuck myself while I suck you? Hard, fast sex always hits g-spot for me, especially doggy-style or with my legs over his shoulders. But when he goes so slow I'm begging for it...Yes...That's so fucking good too.

Put your hand over my mouth to shut me up, expect me to bite it. I bite hard too. Sorry if I hurt you, but if you need to shut me up then you're doing something very, very right.

If there's blood then I don't mind. I really don't.

Tie me up. Render me immobile. Torment me until I'm begging for mercy, begging you to fuck me.

Dominate me and let out your sadistic side - I want it.

Another club night!

2007-06-05T01:29:00.000-07:00

Yippee! I finally have someone who has the link aside from my best friend! <3 That's two people who know me offline who get to hear about my sex life. Okay, my best friend does anyhow. That boy's not surprised by anything I do, whether it be a fantasy, an experience, or a person. I could probably fuck the CN tower and he wouldn't blink. Although most people'd be like 'What...The...Fuck...'

Anywhore.

Saturday was Gay Prom AND club night! Complete win. However, it was extreeeemely hot, I nearly passed out from heatstroke earlier in the day and was not very pleased. I recovered, that's all I can say there.

Gay prom...Was lame. Lame, lame, LAME. Techno music can be nice, but it's prom. Some people were there with boyfriends or girlfriends. Romantic is nice for dancing close with someone you love, techno's better for...not dancing really close, I guess.

But the club, as always, was kickass!

I have a serious love for the dance floor and can usually be found there, dancing my heart out. For hours. With few breaks. I try to not stop unless my feet hurt, I need to use the ladies, or I need a drink.

This was one of those nights.

I danced. I danced some more. I danced with a lovely lady (Who has the link to here and is a better dancer than me). I danced with Marcus and with his glowsticks. I danced with strangers. And I danced with a guy who's gorgeous. And warm. And a very, very, very good kisser. He drove me home, we probably would have wound up fucking in the truck in the parking lot if I hadn't been bleeding and not inclined to bleed all over the truck.

And I nearly fell over in the bathroom before going to bed.

-Gypsy

A looong update

2007-05-29T01:58:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry! I left you in the dark for a long time!

But here's a nice long post about all I've been up to.

The nineteenth was my first time clubbing, and I had a fantastic time. My best friend and my 'older brother' came with me, quotations because unlike what I imagine a real older brother would be like, he knows I have an active sex life and can watch me writhing against a guy who's biting my neck and making me moan on a dance floor without killing. Um, that story comes later in the post.

So we go, and my best friend's late...And I thought he was later, but it turned out I was waiting INSIDE and he was waiting OUTSIDE...When my 'brother' went out for a smoke, he found him. I paid his cover and he ordered me my drink. First legal drink! Yay! Something 'strong and blue'. I think it may have had rum in it, I'm not sure.

We follow that up with jagerbombs, which gives me the discovery that Jagermeister is DISGUSTING AND I HATE IT. I didn't even finish the shot of Jagermeister, I gagged on it like I did on the first guy who tried to get me to deepthroat. I was so thankful for the chase of Red Bull I could have kissed the bartender. C (best friend) finished the Jagermeister shot for me, aside from the bit that spilled on my shirt.

The last drink for me was my drink of choice - Triple Black Smirnoff, the drink that rocks my world but doesn't make me drop my panties immediately and dance on a table. The one that does that is tequila, which rocks my world even more, but still turns me into an even bigger slut than I am.

And the people! I spent the better portion of the night dancing real close to a guy who turned out to have a girlfriend, but he's nice anyhow. I also made out with a random girl on the dance floor and got lightly tapped by a flogger in the hand of a total stranger - Although an attractive total stranger. I got in a cab when I finally got tired and stumbled into bed when I got home, content and drunk and woke with a hangover.

That day, I finally joined IMVU, far behind most of the crowd. And in my first night, I met a nice guy. I thought he was a nice guy. Added to friends. Cybered. Etcetera.

The next day, I was supposed to meet my friend C for some scarification - I'd do his designs, he'd recut the spiderwebs on my breasts and we'd have some smokes. He stood me up. I went into the mall. I bought a new toy and batteries for all my toys - More on that new toy in a separate entry, it deserves its own.

Then I came home. To my new friend. That night mostly consisted of me going on mic for him while I got myself off - The first time I'd ever done that, and while I enjoyed it, I'd rather do it without having to be quiet to avoid detection by the parents. Legality aside, they still don't need to know my sex life.

Even outside the cybering we seemed to click. So well. We both were big on reading and writing and such. We both wanted to be appreciated. Etcetera. I was looking for a dominant guy, he was looking for a submissive girl.

We repeated the process the next night, and the night after I went on cam for him.

The next day, I found out the kicker. I mentioned my liking for girls. The man flipped.
And that is how I found out my online lover was a hardcore homophobe. I can handle a guy not being a fan of gay guys, I can see why it'd be disconcerting to have a guy come onto you if you're not into guys. I mean, most lesbians I know can handle a man hitting on them. Most gay guys I know can handle a woman hitting on them.

Something in a straight guys mind frequently seems to be wired that cock should never touch cock.

This guy just went a lot farther. In moments, the guy who had called me perfect was making me feel worthless and inferior over my bisexuality.

Needless to say, I was upset. I cried. I could still cry over it now. He had seemed like a great guy but he just couldn't handle me liking both genders, and you know what? It's both okay and not okay at the same time.

I'm not encouraging homophobia, but I can understand where he was coming from. He probably got it drilled into his head that not being straight is WRONG from an early age. It's not all his fault.

However, he could have made a better choice in his reaction. He had a girl that up until her bisexuality was perfect. It wasn't like I was going to leave him for a woman. I am extremely devoted to some people, as long as they're willing to show me the same devotion. We could have worked something out.

But he wasn't willing and, upon my final reaction that I showed him (I told him to shove a pineapple up his ass. Fully warranted, I was crying and upset at losing him), responded with an immature message on my IMVU profile calling me an emo whore.

This means that I don't care if he ever comes crawling back, looking for forgiveness. I have my pride.

And of all the things the one other man I truly hate has done, not once has he called me emo or a whore. No, H has always recognized me as a capable, powerfully sexual woman who happens to be submissive and promiscuous. He respects those parts of me. He has taken advantage of them, and I hate him, but he would never talk down to me or about me for such a reason as a well-warranted insult or my sexuality. He knows I hate him. He loves the insults. If ever we tangle between the sheets again, I'll have a burning submissive ass from the beating it'll earn me.

Now, moving on.

My first reaction to that emotional onslaught, after crying, swearing, and resent, was to drink. My father is anti-alcohol, so this drinking had to wait for Saturday.

So I returned to the club.

I ran into R, my now older brother, and his girlfriend A there - A is gorgeous! R is a truly lucky man.

I had some Djarum blacks.

My former lover showed up with his flavour of the week and flaunted her in front of me. I drunkenly, like an idiot, talked to him.

And then I danced. And I danced. I danced with my friend from the first time, and effectively established him as someone I'm comfortable dancing with in a sea of strangers.

I danced with M, who let me dance with his glowsticks - I think I sucked but I can only get better with practise.

And then I danced with D. D, who is easily the best thing I've found offline in a while. He knew to bite and suck and lick my neck without being told. He knew I like both the gentle, pecks of kisses and the sloppy, tongue-tangled ones. He knew how to do both.

He knew how to ensnare me, and he did so on a crowded dance floor. We continued that long, dancy courtship for a few hours.

Then my dear 'brother' pulled me outside for a smoke and to grill me. This is where R is like my brother - He was worried. I had to give him all the info I knew about D, assure R that I was sobering up and fully consentual and knew what I was doing, and that I'd be fine.

He let me continue.

We continued. It came to the question of me going to his place.

I went.

And it was amazing. First off, D is a gamer, and his favourite game is first-person-shooter. I have an odd fetish for first-person-shooter games, dating back to H.

Second off, D knows how to drive me insane...Get me off...And cuddle.

I was not neglected with D. He took care of me, he cuddled up afterwards, he's affectionate like I am...And we repeated after waking up.

I hope to have another encounter with D. I truly enjoyed myself.

And now, I am sick, and sore, but happy.

- Gypsy

So hello...

2007-05-12T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hi there, anyone who happens to be reading. Call me Gypsydoll, or Gypsy, or Doll. I'm not comfortable with giving out my name yet, even my first name, maybe it's a desire for privacy, although why I don't know since I am not a terribly private person.

This isn't my first blog; it isn't even the first blog I've managed to maintain AND reveal a lot of myself in, but it is the first one that I'll be nearly totally honest. No fudging the details, nothing left out.

So here goes. My online name here is given, my offline name starts with B and if you become a friend then you may call me that instead. I'm young, not illegal though - I'm quite legal, at least here in Alberta. I am a highly sexual person, and I will acknowledge that from the get-go. If you are uncomfortable with open, occasionally explicit sexuality, then here is what I have to say to you: GTFO of my blog. Sorry for the rudeness, but I frequently encounter rude, heartless opinions of my willingness to tell all - Although I don't mind being called a slut in the proper situation, there are so many situations where it is merely offensive.

However, I will now tell more about myself, and since I have started off with mention of my open sexuality, I will tell you more about that. I am a submissive first and foremost, with a decided obsession with recieving pain. I enjoy recieving spankings, whippings, cuts...I daresay I just plain enjoy being hurt. Unfortunately, finding a dominant is easier said than done, especially since so many I have known were in it simply because they wanted a willing, completely submissive slave - Which, although is something that turns me on, is not me. I tend to intentionally misbehave for the punishment, and nobody would know what to do with me! Quite frustrating, really. I may enjoy being yanked along on a chain, and serving, but serving doesn't mean I abandon any hope of getting the sound flogging I want!

Along with being struck, I have a hard love for bloodplay. I want to bleed and if possible I want my partner to bleed. I have no real preferences in relation to blood, aside from that I don't want to bleed excessively and there are some areas I feel uncomfortable with being cut. I am sure this holds just as true for many, and it applies nearly equally to my biting obsession.

I hold many fetishes, at the moment I mostly am preoccupied with whips, floggers, paddles...And shoes. I have a serious shoe and stocking fetish that can distract me at any moment, which serves quite distracting!

I'm openly bisexual, with multiple experiences and interests with girls, but nothing that quite fills what I want yet. On the girl front I'm looking out for a switch girl who's willing to be dominant sexually, but will let me keep my non-sexual dominance and who will let me let out my dom side in the bedroom occasionally.

Guys, I used to want constant domination from but I am gradually becoming more and more interested in dominating a guy, proof to my mind that I am becoming more and more of a switch the older I get and the more experience I have. At the same time, I have become more and more submissive - At the end of my last D/s relationship, my Master's voice alone could give me the urge to submit. I ended it because it was unhealthy for my psyche, seeing as he was an ex-boyfriend who had hurt me multiple times and had no remorse for it.

Speaking of guys, there's one in my life right now...I feel very deeply for him, but doesn't it just figure - He's like all guys, he doesn't tell me how he feels about me and leaves me confused. I've done a lot of crying about it recently, I'm trying to stop because it's life. If he doesn't want me then there are other fish in the sea who will...Still I feel like if I lose him I'm losing something really big...

Okay. Other stuff. Need to not think about my current relationship situation.

I live with my parents, and likely will for the next year. We have a cat who is entirely and completely psychotic.

I'm working on quitting smoking.

I also really lost my steam when I stopped talking about sex.

Well, I think I'll drop off now so that I actually have stuff left over to talk about in my next entry.

- Gypsy