You may not want to read further. That’s what this line really means. LOL
I was watching some transgender 3D porn (as in cartoons lol) the other night and it got me remembering the dude I dated for a hot minute in SAN FRANCISCO. He told me he would go to parties and have sex with trans women. I just Googled that term to be sure I got it right. Back then oh jeez it was definitely a BRAND NEW concept to me. He had photos with himself and people he was hanging out with – naked photos. Men with boobs! I’d never seen it, hadn’t really heard of it. Yes. Naïve and stupid all at once. Ahhaahha SF really opened my eyes to a lot of things. Sexual things. I have so many crazy stories. Not all involve me having sex, but they are definitely sexual in nature and WACKO. Lmao like-SF really delivered for me. So I was dating this dude and he obviously liked men and women. And then I remember he started asking me more and more for anal play …. on him. And that was new to me also; anal was NOT new to ME but reverse anal was new to me. For some damn reason I could NOT go there with HIM. Neither way-him anal or me anal. It was the weirdest thing-I would just say no, and secretly think-ewwwww. The relationship was doomed right then. But I did what every damn human in the US and beyond does-like most females would do-I ignored and ignored. Obviously, he did too. Until it all exploded into a very dramatic ending. I had already moved back to MT and he was supposed to follow me!! He gave notice at his job and was finalizing some details. I don’t remember what. But it was going to take long enough that he flew up to MT for a weekend visit. And I STUPIDLY told him-as any 20-year-old might do who hasn’t ended many relationships-that it was over AT THE BEGINNING OF THE WEEKEND. If I can save ANYONE the agony, unless you plan to kick that person out of your home and to a hotel, don’t do what I did. Wait until the END of the weekend as you drop them off at the airport when you can say, “oh, btw, SORRY BUT IT’S OVER. Buh bye.” And SCRAM. Never to be seen again. Noooooope that’s not what I did and trust me-he made my life a living HELL the entire weekend as I tried to be NICE to him since I just shattered his world. And, well, he was reveling in making my life a living hell. So, ya. That happened. Btw-he was able to get both his job and apartment back AND he quickly started dating a woman he had fucked while we were together or had wanted to. I seriously can’t remember anymore but they got together and the last I heard she was pregnant. Better her than me!! Seems no harm no foul.
I broke up with him because I was in love with someone else but I’m not ready to tell that story.
I feel about as significant to him as a piece of toilet paper.
Not the one you wipe your ass with.
Not the one you wipe your pussy with.
The piece that ends up on the floor, somehow discarded, soaked in the remnants of someone’s missed aim. Muddied and stuck to the bottom of my shoe as I exit the bathroom. Only to realize it several minutes later, feeling embarrassed.
Why do we feel embarrassed by that is my side note question? Like what’s the big fuckin deal, right? Happens to all of us. But that’s how insignificant I feel. The piece of toilet paper he was embarrassed to find stuck to his shoe. Discarded.
Do any of you think he is reading this blog? I mean he did tell me over and over he wouldn’t read it. And then he would. And I would get a text or an email about it. But good God haven’t I whipped him enough by this point that maybe he actually has quit reading? Because I am insignificant anyway? Do you think he is starting to justify in his mind that maybe at this point HE has a reason to be angry-getting roasted and roasted over again?
Nah. He’s probably still reading. And I will continue roasting for as long as it takes to get all the pain OUT. Omg the memories are haunting me. One after another. Old ones. Arising. Resurrected and brought to life by my tears.
SWEET DREAMS
Speaking of memories…..
I recall vividly the moment he walked through the doors of the clinic. It was almost as if there was a bright light behind him lighting him up. He was so handsome and fresh. Dressed casually well.
I was his first point of contact being the receptionist at the clinic. He checked in. Nate, the medical intern from TX.
Fine fine fine man. So kind. When I found out he was staying at the Hostel in town-which was actually a pretty cool one-but not very private-I politely invited him to stay with me!!! I mean-the generous soul that I am. I had a 2-bedroom cabin, PLENTY OF ROOM. He took me up on my offer. I was ELATED.
We had sooooo much fun together. We visited local sights, he played guitar at night, I cooked. Bonfires. Backdrop: the beautiful Mission Mountains. Nate was an integral part of my life even tho I don’t think he was in the State more than 4-6 weeks. But we went DEEP. Teehee. We did end up having sex one night. It was shortly before he would be leaving-his internship complete. Maybe even the next day he was leaving. Some details are hazy. Looooong time ago, faraway land. We only had sex that one time, but we got close.
It was sweet sex, nothing epic (for me anyway). He said to me as we were lying in bed afterwards-you remind me of a Sade song. Now back then especially but even now of course, as you already know she’s my all-time fav singer, that was a HUGE compliment. He even went on further to say the song was “The Sweetest Taboo”. I think he sang the chorus. I melted. All time fav song by my all-time fav singer. The sexiest woman on the planet. I invoked her in his mind.
Right around then another dude likened me to Sade. At this point I don’t recall which compliment came first. But several of us were watching a Sade concert at my dad’s house on his big screen TV and my friend…. a guy…. and when I say friend – we truly were and ARE friends – turned to me and said she reminds me of you. The way she’s dressed and the way she moves.
Mic drop.
Like – really. Again, HUGE compliment. Granted-I was a belly dancer back then. I mean-I still am but I don’t dance anymore, certainly NOT in public anyway. But back in those days I was dancing for birthday parties, bachelorette parties, and at Farmer’s Markets downtown (remind me to tell you some time about the actor I met once at a Farmer’s Market and took home on the back of my scooter). LOL
Usually, GIRLFRIENDS were hiring me for the bachelorette parties. Why?? Because a belly dancer is safer than a stripper, right??? Plus, it’s pretty easy for most people to love and appreciate belly dancing. Even some prude uptight religious types can appreciate belly dancing.
I resurrected the belly dance goddess within and performed for my guests at my 40th birthday party. I practiced and got tuned-up. It was super magical. But those days for me are LOOOOOOOONNNG gone.
Now I’m a 52-year-old post traumatic 2020 PANDEMIC survivor barely keeping it together woman – looking like a gorilla. For real. I’m as hairy as one, that’s for sure. I even grew out the hair in my underarms. Like – I moved into a new house with two bathrooms and the shower is downstairs where I put the razor but the clawfoot bathtub is upstairs in the master bath where I’ve been spending all my time submersing in evening HOT epsom salt baths to relax and unwind. Dilemma-razor downstairs. And that happened day after day until I finally was like-fuck it. Who gives an actual fuck?? Certainly not I. I give no fucks. So the hair grew in all the places.
Furthermore, being now in my 50s, I’m accosting kids (a young dude in his early 20s) who I overhear saying to the woman working in customer service at Costco that he wanted to apply for a job. I was in line behind him to return something. I’m so nosey. Always. And fairly bold (haha fairly) so as he left the line I said to him, “I happen to know that the Railroad is hiring if you are maybe interested in that.” Meanwhile, I was struggling to move the giant box I was returning to Costco (everything at Costco is giant, right?) up the line since I was next and he offered to help me with it, I declined, but got my phone out and asked him for his number so I could text him the job info. It ended up being a bit comical because first of all he told me his number was 403-406-xxxx. But that wasn’t going through, so I questioned-is it 403-406 or???? Because our zip code here is 406 and he confirmed 406-403. He gave it to me backwards. (oohh that sounds FUN). Then we departed ways because I was up in line and told him in a rushed manor-I will re-text you later. Later when I texted him – but because I can’t see shit anymore without glasses – I fucking got the number wrong and so I see late at night I have a text that says-you’ve got the wrong number. And when I compare numbers-sure enough I put in the wrong number so the next morning I text what I’m hoping at this point is actually this kid’s number. Don’t even know his name. Lmao don’t need to. He responds and it’s him! So, I connect him with my buddy who works at the Railroad who had told me about the job. He’s an engineer but has been putting out the word because it pays excellent. So that’s that and who knows maybe I just changed the trajectory of that young man’s life. Or not. Whatevs I just followed my nosey instincts. It was a comedy of errors making it happen.
Back in the day-maybe even five years ago-I would follow up those RR texts with: do you want to come over and fuck??? (wink wink). To see where that went. I bet he has a nice cock. I am a pretty good judge in that department. Certainly, no harm if I get no response. That sort of rejection is really no big deal to me. I’m more like a man, in society’s terms, when it comes to fucking. It’s not always emotional. Sometimes it’s just straight-up fucking.
Huh. Speaking of being more like a man, a friend was telling me on the phone not long ago that when she first met me she thought I had “manly energy.” Lmfao. But her and I also happened to be reminiscing about the days we spent together living on Maui and going out dancing in the clubs. She said the first time we went dancing together (at fucking Casanova’s in Makawao for those of you familiar with Maui; it’s STILL open today) and she saw me dance-she was just like WOW a goddess. So I’m not all that manly. Thankfully that other part shines through as well!
Standing in my closet this morning and struggling to pull the dress over my head-dealing with some joint pain issues-I was like-no one’s gonna be comparing me to Sade now!!! LOL
I do not write that for pity. I feel very good about myself. Better than ever. Ownership of SELF and BODY in THIS moment. Loving many things about life. Grieving some things too. But reality is when we are 50 it’s nothing like late 20s or early 30s. N.O.T.H.IN.G. That is reality and nothing to scoff at but nothing to be ashamed of. My friend said she would give anything to go back. I don’t feel that way. Would I change some things? Maybe. I mean-YES-I bet what most of us would wish for if given the opportunity is to go back and just LOVE and ACCEPT ourselves more. But I have achieved that now. And it makes me think I needed to go thru the insecurities to get to this place.
But I don’t believe that BAD things have to happen in order for us to rise up. No. I let that notion go a number of years ago and I’m eternally grateful for Jeff Brown as he has validated that bad things happen to good people for no reason at all sometimes and it SUCKS. Like a parent who loses a child. Who says to them-there must be a reason. An asshole says that. FUCK NO. Not everything happens for a reason and not everything is meant to be spun into the JOY of learning a damn lesson. There are some things that are painful and awful and NO there’s nothing to fucking learn there.
Similarly, last night a friend was over for drinks and we were talking about a book she read about soulmates and soul families. “Journey of Souls” written by Michael Newton, PhD. She asked me, “Doesn’t it make it hurt a little less knowing “that” person is in your soul group and you will see them next life?”
The hard answer is no-it doesn’t make it hurt less. It hurts really badly to NOT be with a soulmate. Yes, I mentally understand it and maybe that brings some relief but the physical pain of a broken heart over and over – well, that pain never fully subsides.
I’ve been broken hearted a handful of times in this life. I have often thought in the past: oh, it’s my patterns, or my daddy issues, or my mommy issues, or I’m living out my “pain body” or whatever the fuck that even means. The next level concepts that are presenting for me are along the lines of: spirituality is a white privilege thing and further, no, we don’t DESERVE PAINFUL RELATIONSHIPS IN ORDER TO MAKE US LEARN. God. Jeff Brown is annihilating some old-school enlightenment teachers who write some pretty crappy shit about how everything happens for a reason because there are lessons to be learned. Jeff refers to it as the The New Cage Movement instead of new age. Lmao so true.
All we really need to be doing is loving and being kind to ourselves. Would I maybe change some things in my past? Ya there’s a few guys I fucked that I’d like to have a redo and say “no thank you” and skedaddle away from but…. otherwise it’s all in the mix of what made me who I am today and I actually like that person. Sure, five ago I would’ve followed up with that text and asked do you want to come over and get fucked? Now I just can’t be bothered. For one thing-I’m too tired to shave my damn legs and pussy.
I get a quarterly shipment of razors from Harry’s. I love this regular shipment most of all. Best decision ever. Great razors, cheaper, better for the environment (less plastic) and so convenient I never have to be concerned about remembering to purchase them. I added a 2nd razor to the shipment I was going to be receiving to alleviate the razor shortage issue I discussed earlier. That was in January and now I am back to shaving under the arms. Old habits die hard. I am now responsibly shaving once again. The underarms.
I hadn’t been shaving the legs or the puss with the razor. I was leaving town for the weekend and would be wearing a bathing suit so I it was time to pull back the curtain… or tear out the carpet so to speak. My bush had grown so bushy it had formed a shag-rug carpet over my vagina. This is a significantly accurate description of my sex life right now. Like-it’s been carpeted over. LOL but that carpet is also getting in the way of masturbating. Even my own turn-off has been the thought of getting through that carpet bush. And that’s also a final straw. It took me 45 minutes the shave my legs; 45 min and 3 razors. YEP I thought about a photo – but who wants to see that?!? Not even I want that memorialized.
It was also during my days working as a receptionist at that clinic where I met Nate that I started dating one of the men I would deem a “relationship* and not just a fling. We lasted quite a loooong time. Somehow. I’m somewhat hesitant writing about him because most of my friends know him and he would be piiiiiiiiised if he ever knew I was writing about him. Lol I think he’s too terrified to read my blog. He’s a bit of a prude. And that’s the fucking truth. He wouldn’t even try to deny that. But there is at least ONE story I know he wouldn’t mind me sharing because he felt victimized and oh boy does he love playing victim (he would NOT agree with that). He and I even reminisced and laughed about this story together the other night. We are friends still today.
One night he decided to bring me flowers at 2am. I wasn’t expecting him, so I was in bed, sound asleep, only to be awoken by pebbles being thrown at my window. I mean-you know-pebbles so the glass wouldn’t break. During this time of my life I had moved out of that beautiful cabin (that I invited the Nate to join me at) and into the upstairs apartment of a medical clinic. It was the same owner as my boss at the other medical clinic I worked at. She gave me a great rent deal to live in this apartment. There was the apartment upstairs and – no joke a medical clinic downstairs that I had fricken 24/7 access to. So I was living in the 2nd story – hence the pebbles being thrown at my window to wake me up. The front door was a long way from my back bedroom. This is also pre-cell phones people. Imagine such an ancient world!! I didn’t even have a landline at the time!!! *audience gasp* A true nomad’s life.
I wake up and I’m groggily realizing someone is outside my bedroom window. Now, let me give you some backstory here. Up to this point – basically there was ALOT of drama swirling around me. And one thing was some dude was obsessed. Jeez and somehow that fucking dude seriously ended up stealing my car and even had it overnight or two nights. Anywho-so ya that dude was a thorn in my side. Now back to my story and someone is throwing rocks at my window. I glance out the window and NO FUCKING JOKE I see a DUDE dangling from the gutter, just below my bedroom window. At this particular moment-I mean right now in real time-that thought makes me laugh out loud. That memory. Because the fucking ridiculousness and stupidity, really. But being on high alert at that time already-I about had a fucking heart attack. I thought I was going to be attacked and who knows what the fuck?!??!!?! Remember-I don’t have a phone so-ta da!!!! Having access directly to the CLINIC-I ran downstairs, grabbed the phone, and we were really progressive, so it was a cordless phone, and I had to grab it from the front office reception area which was right where this guy was STILL DANGLING FROM the gutters and thankfully distracted with the dangling-and I ran back to the back office corner, cowered down, and dialed 911.
Not the first time the police have been called to this location because of ME. There are several stories, including the stolen car I already mentioned. Can I just say this is all on Reservation Land so these are reservation police officers…. and they are finding the white girl quite comical at this point-if not just downright entertaining. And probably annoying as hell as well.
Small town-they arrive quickly. Thank God. GUNS DRAWN.
This is where my now-ex gets all bent out of shape. Not because they point guns and spot lights at him but because when they bring him to my front door and ask me, do you know this guy-he says he’s bringing you a bouquet of flowers (huge bouquet, very romantic), I say-omg YES I KNOW HIM then slam the door shut. I seriously think because I was so relieved it wasn’t a rapist-I just wanted to go die of embarrassment at this point having called the police yet again.
Meanwhile the ex is outside by himself, stranded still trying to explain who he is. LOL
That’s all I remember. We probably had sex or something after all that trauma. After I calmed him down because he had just had guns drawn on him. I mean – the moral of the story is – don’t frighten a girl!
And I hope I haven’t frightened you – away. Please stay forever 😊
Xoxo
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