Cherished (Adult Content)


“Why are you here?”

“I need to be hurt”

I hurt him.

With gentleness I stripped the clothes off his body, as he trembled, kissing and darting my tongue out as the urge struck me. His breath was already sharp and jagged as I smoothed his hair away and tied a soft scarf over his eyes.

With care I wrapped his wrists in soft, supple leather restraints. With affection I strung him upon the steel bar that spanned the high, wide doorway that allowed me to have access to every inch of his skin.

I hurt him

With love I marked him. Floggers of varied makes  and weight warmed his back, slowly increasing the depth of red raised skin.  I created wings along his shoulder blades, made of burning lines he thanked me for. Practiced aim and a dragons tail  whip left gorgeous triangular patterns on the muscles that braced his spine.

I loved him

I saw his walls, the limits he thought he had hit. I petted the lovely pain I gave him, my lips traced his wounds with oh so soft kisses. I circled him, caressed his face with tenderness and whispered of his safety with me. Give it to me, let me take all of the pain for you my love, let me shoulder this for you. I will keep you safe when you fall to pieces.

I brought him close to breaking from pain, from pleasure, from love until there was nothing left

I broke my beautiful boy and deftly put him back together again.

One tear , one touch, one word of love at a time.

I licked the tears from his cheeks, digging nails into wounds while he could not resist the haven between my legs.

He loved me.

I poured water over him, washing every inch of him clean.

I baptized him in our private rite of cruelty and care..

I cherished him.




Beautiful Curses


The light was bright yet diffused through the white sheet they hid beneath. Her mother was lying upon her side, her body making a space for the little girl to be. The little girl never felt she was where she should be, except in the rare moments here, a fragile place of temporary respite.

Their foreheads rested against one another’s and the little girl breathed in the breaths her Mother gave into the world, giving her own back,  creating a cycle of secret, safe proximity. One of her Mother’s arms bent beneath her, so that her palm cupped the little girls cheek. Her free arm held the little girl close, pale fingers drawing soft circles on the little girls bare back. Every so often her fingers would find a spot that they decided to massage and sooth. The little girl could hear the comforting crash of waves nearby and smell the salty air mixed with their own. Breath in. Breath out.

Her Mothers face was as close as it could be and the little girl tried to count the pale sprinkling of freckles that could only be seen when she was very very close like this. The little girl loved the freckles. She did not have any on her own face. The little girls skin was smooth and olive toned. Her Mother was as pale as cream, with shifting blue eyes that changed with the light and her mood. Right now they were closed but the little girl knew they would be clear and dark when she opened them. She studied her Mothers’ face often. In moments like this and in the moments she was not supposed to see. In pain, in pleasure, in fear, in sleep and in that place she went when all she wanted was held within the needles the little girl hid when she could. Breath in. Breath out.

Everything about her Mother seemed different, foreign and special. The little girl was all bare thin dark limbs. Her cheeks were broad, her eyes almond-shaped and slightly slanted, she had brown hands with pale palms, nut-brown nipples and kinky dark brown curls. The little girl thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world and was thankful that she herself was ugly in comparison. The men who came thought she was lovely too, and the little girl thought this must mean she was not, since she was so different. This gave her some comfort even while she felt sorry for her mothers beauty. Breath in. Breath out.

Her Mother’s fingers left her back to trace her ears and trail along her nose. The little girl knew her nose and ears were the same as her Mother’s, she knew the silent gentle touch was reminding her of their sameness.

“You are my Wild  Little Thing, my Beautiful Wild  Little Thing “ her Mother’s words were whispered in the sacred space of cotton, light and shared breath.

The wild little thing told her Mother that she did not want to be beautiful. She wanted to be wild and free and swim in all of the oceans in all of the world.

Her Mother’s forehead furrowed, creating a crease not quite centered between her brows.
Why can’t you swim in all of the oceans AND be beautiful?”

The little girl thought about this for some time and petted her Mothers pretty pale face with her own small thin fingers.

She told her mother that she liked being wild and free and she didn’t think you could be those things AND be beautiful. Everyone tried to keep you when you were beautiful, and the little wild thing didn’t want to belong to anyone or anyplace. When she thought about being beautiful, she felt arms holding her down, her breath being taken away and pain. She thought being beautiful hurt too much, she would rather have the sea and freedom.

Silent ears rolled down her Mothers face, somehow making her even more lovely.

Then you will stay my Wild Little Thing as long as you want and I promise to show you all of the shores you can explore , okay?”

The wild little thing, the little girl , knew her mothers words were as substantial as the grains of sand being pulled in by the tide. She knew that there was only this small space where their breath and touch anchored her to this moment. But she nodded against the hand of her Mother and said “yes, okay” to the promises that would never be kept.

As her Mother’s eyes drifted shut the little wild thing left the confines of the beloved tiny kingdom of two, beneath the soft sheets, in her Mothers arms. She ran to her ocean and began to race with the receding tide, playing a game only she knew the rules too. Her dark slanted eyes streamed silent rivers, but only the waves saw,so it was okay. She dove into the water, floating on its surface when she came back up and pretended the sky and water were the whole of the world and that she would never be so unlucky as to be Beautiful.







The Abyss (Trauma Warning: proceed with caution)


I liked the jagged edges of the broken mirror and how it reflected pieces of me back. It seemed fitting.

Blood splattered my cheeks, small flecks decorated my skin like gory confetti. I licked my lip and tasted the metallic iron truth of the fluids I was showered in. My smile twisted in the broken reflection but I let myself sink into the peace I felt despite being surrounded by destruction and chaos. Perhaps the peace was due to those things?

Turning on the water in the sink I began the process of cleaning up the blood that had snuck into the crack between covered skin and gloves and of course the blood splashed Pollock like across her face. I was so damn cheerful that I caught myself thanatomorphose-bathtub-blood-guts-slime-pushumming a happy little tune. Some stupid song I had heard on the radio, the type that you professed to hate but still knew all the words too. Singing to myself,  I scrubbed my skin and thought about what to pick up at Trader Joe’s for dinner on the way home. I loved their beef jerky but I didn’t think my roommate would approve that as a dinner choice. It was my turn to cook but I didn’t feel like actually making anything. Maybe pot stickers?

I carefully examined the small amount of  exposed skin around the cuff of the suit an dmy gloves, making sure any blood was cleaned up. The rest of her was covered in a full bodysuit, the type you’d wear to a crime scene so you didn’t contaminate it. I had been careful and made sure to use the cleaning solution she had brought along in a spray bottle and cleaned off the sink and anything I might have touched, compulsively pockets the few small things I had come into contact with, like souvenirs. This was all excessive precaution, I knew I had been very careful not to leave anything of myself behind.


by saratheresee on Deviant Art

Until this point I had avoided looking at the bathtub filled with blood, water and Mary’s quickly cooling earthly remains. It was not due to any revulsion, it was because I had found myself giggling like a madwoman, fighting the desire to pull apart the flesh that was now opened up from Mary’s wrist to halfway up her forearm. I liked seeing all the layers of fat and muscle, so pretty.  I knew I couldn’t touch her, that would be stupid after all the careful planning I had done.

I could still feel Mary’s hand, warm and alive, as I helped her cut open those delicate veins. Down the block, not across the street. Any job worth doing , was worth doing well..

When Mary opened the door to see me on the small tidy porch, she hadn’t recognized me. I would have been surprised if she had and my plan would have been shot to shit, so it was for the best. She hadn’t seen the last few hours of her life in my smiling face  when I greeted her and offered condolences on the recent death of her husband.  Mary had graciously accepted the story of travel and only finding out about the death now. I told her that I hadn’t seen her husband in years but my father had been a friend before he retired from the utility company they had both spent their lives working for.

” My parents retired down South to get away from the cold, but when my father knew I was going to be in the area he asked me to come by personally, to send his condolences. I’m sorry to bother you, at this difficult time but would you mind if I came in a for a few minutes? I brought a few small gifts, they aren’t much but I know my dad would appreciate knowing I had done this for him.” I said this all in the apologetic tones of a loving but slightly put upon child of pushy parents.

” Of course dear, it’s okay, I understand. He had a lot of friends that cared” said  the women that I barely recognized almost 30 years later. She let  me into the neat home that matched the tidy porch. She was smaller than I remembered, her hair a faded grey instead of the brassy auburn that came from her favorite Clairol bottle in her youth.

After taking my big puffy coat and hanging it up in the hall closet, Mary lead me  into the kitchen, asking me if I’d like a cup of coffee or tea?

“Oh, thank you, tea would be wonderful, it was just so cold this winter and a warm drink always seemed to hit the spot on these kind of blustery days, didn’t it? Actually, I brought a pie for you from  this tiny bakery my dad said your husband loved from the old neighborhood, and some tea from this shop I found around the block. Do you like tea?” I asked as I handed her a beautifully wrapped bakery box from bakery many miles away and tea from yet another nondescript location nowhere near where they sat.

tumblr_l6x248IPi81qcdeua” I do enjoy tea, I have always preferred it over coffee” Mary explained as I watched as she went about the process of making each of them a cup of strong tea on a cold wintry day, filled with the weight of things she didn’t know were to come.

“Pecan pie is one of my very favorite pies though it’s been years since  I’ve had it. My sons never liked it and my husband always though tit was too sweet,  but this looks wonderful and some days you need to have a treat. Thank you,  this was very kind of you. Please make sure you thank your father for me. You’ll have a cup and slice with me before you go?”  Mary asked s she unwrapped the box and placed the pie on the counter.

I had remembered that Mary loved pecan pie, it was the biggest reason I could never stomach the stuff despite my deep and abiding love of most things pie. I smiled and looked pleasantly pleased at Mary’s seemingly, kind smiling face.

“Of course I will. Thank you for letting me barge in without any notice. My dad will be real happy I got chance to chat with you and that you liked the pie”

“Don’t you want to take off your gloves? ” Mary inquired

“No, I have a condition called Raynaud’s. Have you heard of it? ” Mary shook her head ” Oh, well most people haven’t heard of it. My circulation is terrible, it just takes some time for my fingers and toes to get warm. Sometimes they even turned blue.  It’s no fun in the winter but what can you do? I’m sorry, just give me  a little while, and I’ll be able to take them off. I know it’s strange, but hopefully you’ll excuse this small eccentricity? ”

“Of course, you take your time”

The air filled with the small words of people that are generations and worlds apart. The weather, the traffic, a shared hobby of knitting and questions about marriages and children. Her son was on his honeymoon in the Bahamas, had she ever been there? No she hadn’t but she heard it was a wonderful place to spend a honeymoon.  What type of wedding had they had? This subject filled the space with the joy of a proud mother watching her son at the altar and all the work that went into making it such a perfect event.  While she had done her research and had a tale to tell, Mary didn’t seem in any hurry to get down to the business of messages for the dead. I knew about the wedding. The younger son she spoke of was my half-brother, and we never had much in common but there was no way to predict how things would have been with everything that had happened between them. Yet I knew the reason I would never know the answers and that I was never going to be invited to a family event sat  from me.

The kettle began to whistle.

“Let me get that!” I exclaimed and jumped up quickly, in exactly the helpful, polite way I should and poured hot water into the waiting cups, all the while keeping up chatter about dresses and floral arrangements. Yes, I loved orchids, they were so elegant.  I carefully placed the hot cups in front of each of their places at the circular kitchen table that had one of those thick table clothes that was plastic on one side but slightly fuzzy on the underside. The pattern was  a horrible collection of roses and foliage in shades of faded oranges and reds.  I placed a small slice of pie on each plate Mary had left out and brought that over as well.

Mary took a tentative sip, her eyebrows rising in a small show of surprise.

“This is spicy!” she exclaimed

“Yes, it’s a chia tea made in a small shop I like to visit when I was in town. Do you like it?”

“It surprised me but yes, I do, thank you.”

I smiled and continued to blow on the surface of my own cup.

“I’m glad you like it! I wasn’t sure about the choice but it was a lucky risk. Wasn’t it nice how these things sometimes just worked out?”

The sedative I had slipped into her tea worked quickly in exactly the way it was meant to. It was a strong dose, in the liquid form, of the same type, meant to be in the empty bottle I would leave beside her later. I didn’t think it would be looked at too closely, these things happened with the elderly and recently widowed. I knew Mary had a history of depression and so it all made a perfectly tragic, neat type of sense, which suited my needs. I had been afraid she might completely pass out, but she just became groggy and limp, slumping back against her chair. She didn’t quite know what was going on, but I thought I saw unease in her eyes. The drugs made it almost impossible to work up any real emotional reaction but I think fear can always find a way to slip through.

I took off the leather gloves I wore to reveal latex beneath and began to clean up all signs of our little tea party. A pie on the counter would not be remarked upon. As she watched, unable to react, I told her who I was and that is when I knew with certainty she was afraid. I was a ghost from a long distant past, possibly one not thought of in many years.

I washed cups and asked ” Do you remember the corner under the stirs int he old house? You would lever me there for hours, until I learned to sleep upright.  When I sat or slumped in exhaustion you had me kneel on rice,do you remember?”

I dried everything I washed and calmly listed, in detail, the abuses her son perpetrated upon me with her consent”

I told her that while she had tried to beat it out of me with that rod against my legs, I still walked upon my toes.

All of the little chores done that erased my visit, I came back tot he table

“Do you remember the little table and chair you had me sit at, while you, your son, my half brother and his father sat at the dinner table?”

I had not been worthy, good or clean enough to share a table with them, I knew because she had told me many times.

She struggled to talk, but I ignored her incoherent mumbling. She still couldn’t move very well but she tried too, succeeding only in a very ungraceful fall from her chair. Her head made a satisfying sound on the tile. It made me giggle.

sad manga at table

I let her lie there, squirming, gurgling and trying to get away from this place she found herself where all of her power was stripped away and she was at the mercy of another’s hand.  As I pulled the bio-hazard suit from the little pouch in my bag and put it on, her struggles became more pronounced.

I thought that I could smell her fear and the thought kept me smiling as I told her about how it felt to be denounced in front of a church congregation at the age of 7.
“In need of cleansing I think you said, tainted by the sin of my mother, unclean..had she said demon possessed? Or had I just added that part? Did she remember? My memory was always a little shaky on these things, but my therapist says that’s normal.”
She was wiggling away, like a pale corpulent maggot. I didn’t think she was going to answer me. Rude.

” You didn’t let me say goodbye to my mom, you didn’t let me see her when she was dying alone int hat terrible hospital by herself. I could get over the rest of the stuff you did to me, it wasn’t even as bad as some of the stuff that came before or went on after, but that one thing, I just couldn’t forgive. I thought I’d get over it, you know? I told myself that I would wait and if I couldn’t let it go, I’d come find you and make things right.”

I went to her as she tried to get away. I petted her grey course hair then forced her jaws open with my fingers and closed her nose as I poured more of the concentrated liquid into her mouth.  I kept her mouth closed as she was forced to swallow. I held her gently until she went limp in my arms.  Old and frail, she was a shadow of the monster in my head but this was a loose end that had to be cut.

When she came too, Mary was in the tub with tepid water around her. I had been sitting on the toilet lid beside her, killing time with the crossword at the back of the New York magazine I had brought along in my bag.  I needed her to be awake for this part.

Tears poured down her wrinkled cheeks as we made the cuts together, our hands intimately entwined as her flesh parted beneath one of the broken mirror pieces I had retrieved for her use. I felt tears flowing down my own face but I couldn’t say how much of each drop was of pain, relief or joy.

I left the small neat house, as neat as I had come to it, other than the quickly cooling body of the only one still left from the years when I was the weak, powerless one.  In the cold windy day, I was just another thickly bundled, anonymous human, briskly getting to where they needed to go.

I realized I ahd made no plan for what I would do after,  my tasks were complete. Across the street or down the block? I didn’t look back as I laughed into the wind, the sound and  a cloud of  foggy breath engulfing me as I kept moving. I didn’t know where I was headed, my body felt empty and light, as if I might blow away before I could make a decision.

I would just keep moving forward, there was no reason to look back anymore.




Fairy Tale Bruiser or Theme Reveal


atoz-theme-reveal-2016 v2


I have always loved stories. When we define ourselves, we use the words we see ourselves through. They are the words that define the story we tell ourselves,as well as others.

I remember discovering fantasy and science-fiction and feeling as if the world had shifted beneath my feet. I think Anne RIce might be my intro, followed by Octavia E Butler, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Tom Robbins, Gaiman, Jacqueline Carey, Terry Pratchett, Mercedes Lackey, Laurelle K Hamilton, Patricia Briggs and many many others. I always tended towards fantasy and I always tended towards women. I loved women that carried swords, hunted vampires, struggled to defeat the monsters within themselves and in general, kicked butt.


Michael Sowa


My favorites were always the fairy tales. While I believe it is common to think that anyone who loves fairy tales is waiting for a prince , fairy godmother or some magical intervention to swoop down and make it all better, that was never how I saw them at all. There is always an orphan, a terrible plight, a loved one in jeopardy or some other extreme example of someone in need. I enjoyed the struggle of characters that were more real to me than most of the humans in my life.

When  I was around 13 a psychiatrist noted that I had sociopathic tendencies, a made sociopath as opposed to one born without the capacity for empathy.  This really meant that while most of good little girls and boys were taught lying, stealing, violence and


Malisande and Phedre; Kushiels Dart by Jacqueline Carey

skullduggery were inherently not only wrong but dishonorable, I was taught how to do them well and rewarded as my skills developed. It is a bit like being taught that right is left and left is right. It’s gonna fuck you up in a myriad of small and substantial ways. You can learn to accept the “right” way of things, but it’s not the same integral aspect of your personal foundation, that the people around you seem to be built upon.

If you had to pick your own path and there was no road map given by the people who raised you, what would you pick and choose to build yourself upon? For me I found  that map in it the pages of books filled with heroes and heroines that fought personal demons as much as real monsters upon their paths.

In a week or so April will be upon us and so the A to Z Blogging challenge will begin. I have examined a lot of ideas regarding the theme I want to explore and this concept of finding myself in stories, in rewriting my own tale keeps clinging to my thoughts no matter jamie-and-clairewhere I turn. I have never been good at short stories. I envy and adore the storytellers that have mastered the small gem of a moment, a day, a single experiences and can spin it into a tale that sticks to everything you hear afterwards, reshaping the weft and weave of future experiences. This project has been something that I have used to force me to write, try new things and both fail and succeed at both.

My project for this April will be combining the idea of fairy tales, self-definition and how I continue trying to find a path toward being the bitch with quick wit, a loving heart, honor and strength to confront the shadows.

Just remember that in most good tales, a lot of tears, pain, breaking and growth happens to get there.


Image: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues By Diana Rowland


Buckets, Bowls, Cups OR Mixed Metaphors on Jealousy, Love and Acceptance

In my daughter’s preschool classroom they taught them the concept of “bucket fillers” and “bucket dippers”. The bucket is the physical, mental, spiritual YOU. Have you heard this before? It is based on some of the first concepts of Buddhism I was ever exposed to.


For my daughter it was about giving and taking; doing Good, being Kind, sharing and cultivating a generous heart, these were all ways to fill not only your bucket but other’s buckets. Being selfish, mean spirited, hurting others, these were all ways that not only took from other’s buckets, but also from your own.  At every turn, the children were asked about their choices and if the were being a “filler” or a “dipper”. It was a convenient and easily accessible analogy for the kids and lead to longer more detailed conversations about Buddhism in our household and what it really meant to give and take.

I have heard a few stories used to teach this lesson over the years to young and old and i have been thinking about the concept often of late. Why? A version of this lesson has made it into my own explanations of what it means to share partners, to love openly and to be ethically non-monogamous.

I was a t a birthday party for one of my oldest friends and most favorite people and ended up in a conversation with a girl who couldn’t understand the dynamics of what being polyamorous meant. Partially this was logistics (hold on..she goes out with..and you do him and they do…AHHHHHH! *insert exploding head*)

Onward friends, to the hard won wisdom found, when I try to explain foreign concepts in simple terms to people that  already think I’m a nutter.

Ah yes buckets. Buckets are not sexy or cute, they make me think of mopping floors, puke and other unpleasant ways to spend a day off. Lets switch to bowls, okay?

wooden bowl drop

We each have a bowl (in my minds eye, mine would be a lovely hand carved wooden one that is wide and deep), in it lies all that we have to give and all we have to take.


Doing things for others, whether we’re talking Good deeds or charity , are well known ways to be happier, because the act of giving time, money or care makes us both happy and more likely to give more.

This also means , showing up for the people in your life even when it’s inconvenient, smiling at a stranger, spending quality time with friends and making dinner can all be acts of kindness that fill our bowls. I feel like most of us already know this stuff, but it doesn’t hurt to remind ourselves about the wonderful selfishness of giving. It is the kind of reciprocity that feeds instead of drains.

Another aspect of this lies in how we fill our bowls with self-care. Reading, going to the movies, meditation, exercise, bike rides, flour fights in the kitchen, baths or maybe just taking a nap on the couch can all add to what we have in our bowls and therefore what we have to give.

One more side this idea is accepting acts of kindness, time, energy and love. This is the part I always had a hard time with. Accepting other’s care has always been difficult. I like to take care of people. I like to feed them, listen and provide safe harbor; yet my life and this year in particular have been lessons in humility and gratitude. In the act of accepting what was being offered, my weathering-the-storm-manrelationships were strengthened in ways I couldn’t have predicted.  I realized again how fucking arrogant I can be and how that arrogance blinds me to other people’s need to participate, make a difference and be present. Maybe one day I’ll stop needing to learn this one, but I highly doubt it.

So how does this new-agey touchy-feely liberal hogwash tie into the sexy stuff?
I’m so glad you asked!

As I tried to explain at my friends’ party, the ability to share is all in how you think about it.

First I am giving my partner freedom, trust and acceptance. All rare commodities that make me happier because I can give that gift to someone  I love. If someone else speaks to an aspect of  their needs that I can not supply, I’m glad they found it. This could be sexually or a whole host of other things.  I am somewhat of a homebody, I lack some common levels of empathy and generally speaking I’m rougher rather than soft in most aspects of life and love. I do not expect to fulfill every need nor should I be expected to do so. I can give them those things through acceptance, trust and freedom to explore. As an aside, if you look around and can’t appreciate the value of these gifts, you are an idiot and deserve to lose them.


Second, I am caring for myself when I am taking care of my needs. The easiest example I can give is my bi-sexuality. Do Kinsey photoyou know the Kinsey Scale? It’s a common tool to test sexuality . I am a 3, equally homosexual and heterosexual.  To only have one gender as an option is like always being a little bit hungry , no matter how happy I am. Having both genders in my life makes me feel balanced and more whole.  Feeding that need instead of pretending that it either doesn’t exist or feeling like I’m wrong for wanting it in the first place, is pretty wonderful and fills me up in ways  (yes I totally see the pun…) I can’t explain easily without going off the mushy deep-end here.  This is an easy example, but there are all kinds of self-care we each can do to fill our bowls so we have more to give.

Third (I DO so love lists), I have no need to change anyone. This means, I am not looking to any one partner to be anything they are not. I know that when I am completely accepted, it is …freedom.  We are all imperfect, dented and a little bit bruised from this life. I have scars and I have come to realize that I am not the only one and I find them the most beautiful part of the people I love. I can fill my cup and others’s as well simply by giving that back. I can accept what they have to give, accept it without expectation of more and always be satisfied. Acceptance is such a precious gift. I get to accept what my partners have to offer freely and with joy, I don’t need any one of them to be something they are not and they get my love and acceptance for who and what they are. This is such a drastic shift from the place I have often found myself, in a place of want, where needs are not being met simply because neither person can be everything.  No one is satisfied and everyone feels like they are wanting. It seems really foolish to think it could be otherwise.



I am not jealous, because there is no need to be. My partners are telling me what’s going on, I am a participant in their world. Additionally, their happiness makes me happy. Why shouldn’t it? I am the person they bring their stories, worries and adventures to and I love that. Who else should they talk to? I love them and I trust they love me and if they don’t that’s okay too. Yes, I am not dependent on any one person to keep me upright and fulfilled but that isn’t even the point. The point is twofold. I don’t want them to be with me if I am not making them happy, if I can not be something they accept, love and are accepted and loved by. I want them to have that! I really do. My role in their life way be a for a reason, a season or a lifetime but in any of those situations it is not dependent on a single role or title I need to define them by or be defined by, myself.

I just dig them and that’s enough to fill our cups.


My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life ~ Psalm 23:5-6




Part One, Step Three: Profiling and Deconstruction

I keep rewriting this entry. It is too close to the skin I think.  I am trying to stay away from the turmoil of my divorce but I keep landing there on this one. Therefore I am going to try to explain without being too “in it”.


My marriage broke up for a lot of reasons, but one of the crowning jewels, was an intrinsic lack of honesty.

My former best friend dated my wife a long time ago and now they have officially moved in together (my 7yr old let me know). I don’t think either one of them was particularly honest about being over the other, to the world or themselves. My ex thinks I was dishonest about many things, chief among them ..I don’t know, she won’t tell me..really, she just tells me I’m a lying liar filled with liar filling but won’t tell me about what (I’d at least try to be fair and tell you, what I am a dirty liar about, but I can’t. So she will just have to write her own blog).  In fact she can’t tell me because I’m such a lying’s a bit like chasing ones tail. True story. I can’t make this shit up.

A year ago, I helped orchestrate this aforeTelenovelamentioned, former best friends’, wedding AND I was in it along with my daughter..just think about that ( if you can keep it straight in your head, good job!). It just gets better or worse depending on your viewpoint and love of Other Peoples Drama (OPD). It’s like a lesbian telanovela!   

It may surprise you to hear that you can be open or poly or non-monogamous and still cheat. It’s in the details, it is in the truths you tell yourself and your partner(s). Many people can make this work, adults that say what they mean, and mean what they say. My situation doesn’t negate my desire to find a version of my own happy ending(s?). In its own way, it has made me more vehement.

The most difficult part of this is realizing,  I am happier. I am all kinds of flawed but I’m 52ca756b69bd37233cd47fbb34c18051okay with it. I like myself. I like my life. I missed being this person, whom I like. I wasn’t, for a while and it’s good to be back. Which it feels  incredibly selfish to say, since the cost is my daughter’s sense of security and family. While I can honestly say I wasn’t the one who wanted this,  the truth is, I’m grateful. I look forward to the day that I’m able to say “thank you”, without rancor.

There are many reasons for the Great Separation and Divide, and it wasn’t just honesty about actions, it was honesty about who we are and what we want. We let a lot of things go into the “We’ll figure it out” pile, until that pile grew and grew and came toppling down.  Opposites may attract but that doesn’t mean they stick. I think we loved one another but stopped liking each other, and that isn’t sustainable.

So what does all of this mean for dating and profiles? The result is,  I know who I am. I have had a little time to get wrist deep and tear myself apart. Despite the pain, I like the process of breaking and rebuilding. When everything I defined my world by, fell apart, it was just me and I had to decide how I was going forward. I couldn’t blame anyone else for not taking care of my own shit.

I am obnoxiously upfront in my profiles. I want to start from a different place with anyone that might want to say hello. I am arrogant, elitist and dramatic in them. Why? Because I am all of these things. If you aren’t secure enough to approach and face the world with confidence; if you aren’t intelligent enough to put me in my place; if you are reserved and want quiet, conservative restraint; if you want sweet touches and gentle love? I’m not the girl.

I decided that I would throw out the whole “trying to look attractive” idea and see what happened when I  set firm filters and just said “I am this” and  “I want this”, no negotiations.  LoveLatte-in-post-half-width

So far it has earned me a few excellent new friends (it’s not all about the naughty stuff), good conversations and some excellent ROI on a few precious  extra-curricular hours.

I have gotten various reactions, most of which have been both positive and eye-opening. Yes this experiment has been about dating and sex but more so, I am finding it is about a desperate need to connect with another person in a real and genuine way.  Is this about aging?  A larger commentary on the culture as a whole? I don’t know but I have some theories…







Part One, Step Two: Making a List and Checking it Twice

One year ago I signed a new lease. Yeah this was a literal lease for a new apartment but also the more obnoxious and harder to articulate, new lease on …my life.

How trite does that sound? Quite enough I think, lets move on.


My keys are defiant.

I was looking for a new place in winter, with no time, few options and a decent list of requirements. Like anyone else looking for a new place to live, I had a list of needs I couldn’t compromise on; distance from my daughter’s school, rent,  number of bedrooms (2), decent neighborhood, something that didn’t make her feel like she was seeing the utter wreckage of her mother’s life in the form of an unacceptable living space. Normal stuff.

It occurred to me while I was checking online, making calls and visiting the few acceptable options in the area, that I put more conviction and sense into finding an apartment than choosing a partner. Sad but very, very true.

Why didn’t I have the same list regarding my own requirements and needs? Options that had to be met before I was willing to do a walk-through or waste the gas? I wasn’t going to look at an apartment I couldn’t afford or fit into, that required too much travel or was in the ghetto. Why was I willing to accept the equivalent of unacceptable lodging, in a human being?

Why don’t we have the same kind of list for relationships? Each of us should have a list of nonnegotiable needs that stop us from getting in the car, driving over and “accidentally” forgetting our underwear…I mean, never mind about that, you know what I mean. You and I know better, we need to stop looking where the rent is too high,  where there isn’t enough room for us and the locale doesn’t reflect where we are or where we want to go.


I decided to make a list because 1) I love lists and 2) I realized I had never articulated my concrete needs to anyone, myself included.

I was surprised at both how hard and how easy this task was. On one hand I knew what I needed. I am old enough to understand what I can and can not accept. On the other hand, paring it down to absolutes seems like cutting my nose, to spite my face. I mean..I/they might change, love is all we need, RIGHT?

This is the short version of my list. I recommend the exercise, if only to see yourself a little bit clearer.

Work It

Yes have a job, absolutely, but this is about more than that. This is about having a work ethic and needing to take part in the world. Give a shit about what you do, have a purpose; please be a contributing adult that is self-reliant and independent.

Be Honorable

I want to believe in you, be honorable. Say what you mean, mean what you say. Whether this is taking out the trash, keeping a date or doing that really important yet difficult task you said you’d take care of, it’s all about trust and belief. Don’t make me have to ask if it got done, I want to believe your word no matter how small the task you have committed to. I’m not your mother and I have no desire to fill that role. If you cannot follow through, take ownership of your actions and deal with the consequences, this isn’t going to work. We’re all going to fail but it’s not the failures that define you, it’s how you deal with those failures.

Get a Hobby

keep-calm-and-get-a-hobby-4Have something you love, that you have a passion for. This keeps you interesting, and growing. This also means you love something other than me and my attention.  I have things to do, and you should too. The time we spend together should be important, not all-consuming. This eventually gets boring. Leave the house, go do something, bring it back and tell me about it.  I want to learn from people who are passionate about things, so please be one of the people I learn from and I will try my best to do the same.

Have a Village

If you are 20, you should have non-family members that have been around for at least 5 years, by your 30’s a decade, so on and so forth. It’s a giant red flag when someone doesn’t have long-term friendships in their lives, it means they can’t maintain them. Friends are the people who hold your story inside of them, they are your living history. They remember you at your worst, best and most silly and they still want to stick around and learn the rest. I should not come before them, if I do I will have less respect for you. I don’t understand discarding people, I see it as dishonorable. Who abandons the people who support them for a new thing, just because the sex if fucking amazing? I mean I get it, but we’re getting sidetracked here. The friends you have are the people who were there before and they will be there after, they are your support team and you need them. They deserve your loyalty. I cannot fulfill every role nor should I be expected to.  I don’t want to be your reason for living, or to be needed at all. I want to be appreciated and wanted, loved even, but not your everything. I want someone stronger than that.

Bring the Sexy Back

Sex is about intimacy, touch, caring, joy and exploration. I need all of these things. I have seen so many relationships die in this arena. We all need intimacy, but being clear about the form and function of my needs is often where I compromise and therefore make my biggest mistakes. I don’t believe in monogamy. I need someone who understands what the term “consensual non-monogamy” means. I need someone who is kink aware and can teach me a thing or two. Be open-minded, curious, self-assured and allergic to jealousy.  Sex is  (very) important but, the best quality version of it, is found along clear communication and trust.

12240888_10154469558055752_8896729158956311971_oThis is my list and I think you should make your own. Your needs are, and should be different. Keep in mind that there are “extras” we would all like. In an apartment it may be hardwood floors, an extra bathroom or a larger backyard. In a person it may be physical traits, or a love of cooking. These things would be great, but aren’t necessary.

What are the things you need? The things you think you can compromise on, but can’t?

When are you going to stop yelling at the 1 bedroom for not being the 2 bedroom you knew you needed in the first place? I mean, really that’s rather silly isn’t it? Yet that’s what we do and maybe this exercise can be the first step towards being responsible for our own bad choices and starting from a better home base.

Location, location, location. Now take out your pens, find a mirror and get to work.