i hate being sick. i've been sick since i got off the plane at reagan. as if being back in this area alone is what did it. really, everyone else . . . a cold here, a day of distress there, everyone else is doing great. me, i've been yucky sick. not sick as in stay-away-this-is-contagious. sick as in nothin-solider-than-jello. and my lover has been doing such an admirable job taking care of me. in the midst of all this, he has not forgotten that tuesday is my birthday and is at this minute trying to secure a hardcover set of shakespearean writings. he's trying so hard. he says all that he wishes he could do, but it really is the thought that counts. know how many lovers have ever tried to give me shakespeare? zip, zilch, zero. that's not a value judgement. that's just the way it is. my lover seems to know just how to get to my heart, and silly as shakespeare might sound, that touches me more than i can say.

i told him the other day that i love being faithful to him. can't wait til i can show him just how much.

and he's the best damned jello maker ever. lol

it's so good to be home

especially with my love who loves me

my beloved has been taking such good care of me these past few days. i somehow contracted a stomach ailment, probably from the mango i ate just prior to leaving dominica, and the distress has been exhausting. my beloved has made me soup and jello and tonight he made me magic risotto, a girlmoreism that really seems to be helping lots. whodathunk risotto could really do something?

well, alls i can say is that when this bug is over, my love will find quite a reward waiting . . .

i never knew . . .

i never knew that standing on an endless shore watching seas full of multi-hued chocolate children playing freely and surrounded only by love would affect me the way it has. golden and copper children who are so full of joy . . . well, but not always. the ones i spent this past week with were full of joy most of the time. in their families, going to school was a priviledge because your younger brother might be the little one whose mother bathes him outdoors, just beneath your schoolroom or your wish list might include toys, books, and . . . medicine -- even though you do not appear to be ill, or food. i'd thought, in my often broken spanish, that cosina meant clothes. it does not. it means cuisine or more simply, food. i wish there were words for the kick that i felt when i realized that the children used the unlit, unventilated toilet-with-no-plumbing bathroom downstairs -- the one where the door didn't close all the way (but what six-year-old wants to be in a completely dark bathroom anyway, right?). teachers use the ones upstairs (there are two) with at least a toilet that flushes and a partly-effective window for light and slight cross-breeze. i loved those babies, but i still used the one upstairs. i'm hoping that's offset by the fact that i didn't bitch or balk about using theirs when i first got there.

the kids, though, are superamazing! i'm in absolute love with every single one of them.

who wouldn't be? these were the sweet faces that greeted us every morning. i can't wait to go back.

standing there on the beach, i truly felt as if i were in the presence of God. i saw God's face. i saw this endless shore filled with golden and copper children unencumbered by fear running to and fro through water so clear i could see the white sands beneath my feet. i waded through waters that barely grazed my shoulder as far out as I could walk. i walked almost to the reef that day. my friend and i were both tenderfoots, but i was the far worse of us both. next time, though . . . next time.

we met some incredible people too. my yeis, my favorite y mi amigo por vida. those last couple of days were incredible with him. we got to be so awesomely open about our mutual admiration society. i laugh my ass off when i think of some of the thoughts and wonderings of some of my compatriots, and his, and of his absolute enjoyment of those last goodbye moments. he laughed and laughed until i thought he'd turn blue! i laugh when i think about all that odd energy that would suddenly permeate the room when we were noticed huddled somewhere laughing our asses off together. ohmygosh . . . he did the same thing i did -- he started explaining the reasons to his friends the same way i did to mine. oh . . . my . . . gosh! oh i hope i hope i hope he works with us in february. even if he doesn't, though, i'm gonna see him when i'm there. i've gotta see his new baby . . . the way he giggles, he's gonna make a great papi. oh i shouldn't say that too loud . . . the others might hear. oh, and he's so cute . . .

i never knew that there could be a bioguy who could still put a hoohah in my yingyang after the last one. the last one was awesome and i never thought any other bioguy could compare. they all just kinda made me giggle after him. but not yeis. uh! drop-dead gorgeous with a smile that made you absolutely just have to smile right back. looked good in a pair of trunks, too -- just enough pudge to be soft, but strong as an oxe in heat. yup, if i was gonna, it woulda been with him. no shittin. i dunno what he thought about me, but when i crinkled my finger at the empty seat next to me in the van on the way from the airport to the hotel, he sat right next to me and watched out for me from then on. boy, that was nice to do again! lol

my time in dominica allowed me to fully explore the fluidity of my sexuality, without actually having to have sex. that makes me laugh my ass off because it wasn't that long ago that examining my sexual fluidity had an entirely different meaning to me, in my world. it was fun. i went to a bar that became filled to overflowing with some of the world's most beautiful women. i wasn't really attracted to many of them -- although it was shorts night, so i did stand at attention quite a bit. of the guys, it was only yeis, which was probably a really good thing. though i dunno . . . the rest of our guides were cute in their own ways, but he was different. he's such a good guy, too, married and faithful, with a kid on the way. that's what made it fun with him -- we're both avid flirts but enjoy like hell being faithful. that's nice to do, too. lol whodathunk?

i never knew that being mistaken for taimo would be so powerful an experience for me. where my darkness is exotica but not foreign, except to stupid foreigners who deserved to be parted from their big fat wallets anway. lol a place where saying the name atawallpa opened doors so delightful that words can't contain what lies therein. powerful trip was dominca and i can't wait to reach her shores again.

solo Dios puedes un mundo gusto Dominica cos El Tamarindo, El Punto, y Santo Domingo en uno region.

my spanish is improving.

dominica es muy bueno

y yaison, mi llamo tener su nino.

that's all broken up but what the hell, it's cool.

my kids are GREAT and i taught them a new song in like twenty minutes. i'm going to prolly post pics tomorrow. we've got twenty of them, ages six to twelve, and they are just the sweetest little people in the world. they are a joy to teach, even though we are not staying with the topic we were supposed to. lol but what the hell, who's gonna bitch. i do know that come nov or feb, i will be back. with my passport and a few bucks, i can visit often and that's worth squirrlin away some dough for.

and i've met some really sweet people here too. ooh, fp, too bad we're talkin about a road trip. this would be an AWESOME thing to do for a week! lol

need to jet! dominica awaits!

well

enough of that

i want another child. not ready to have it yet, but i think i definitely do. after law school, i think. there's a glitch. lover and i are deadlocked on the issue of seedling. we have not spoken of it for several weeks, maybe even over a month or two, and we never fight about it. but for some reason it is in my conscious space at this hour of the evening. the debate goes something like this:

for so long and for twice too many times, i have not always enjoyed the priviledge of being able to control what enters my body. that has changed. so much so that lover and i have almost settled on adoption. for my part in it, there is only one, if any at all. no argument. non-negotiable. my lover sees me as irrationally stubborn and absolutely bull-headed on this matter. i'm good with that.

i don't believe in shoulds.

everybody should have a line in the sand.

gimme one reason to stay heah
and i'll turn right back around
gimme one reason to stay here
and i'll turn right back around
said i don't wanna leave you lonely
you've gotta make me change my mind . . .

i wish i could describe in words how our recent show went. it was magnificent. my love and i wrapped the audience round our baby fingers and made them spiritually cum all over the sanctuary. hell, i think we may have even caused a few physical gasms as well. if there were any questions . . .

there were, i know. i've seen them in their eyes. it's always so interesting to look in their eyes. i hardly ever let them look into mine.

so

i sang to him that song first. i didn't know i had a nice ass til a buncha christians started hootin'n'hollerin when i turned my back on'em. that was sweet. my beloved followed with a rendition of essence that had them turnin and twistin in a completely different direction. it was a good thing we were in a church that doesn't do orgies; we'da had to leave at once.

anyway, here i am at the end of this, my first week at the column and i've received over fifty fan emails from everywhere. it's good, too, cuz i've got a lot to say and with moms, wives, sigos, and other people at the backbones of their families readin and respondin, i could set the world on fire, one family at a time. they're gonna archive this one, too, like they do all the rest, prolly sometime tomorrow night. immortality. most amazing thing i've ever known. it's a great day to be the me that you helped create. eye radiate.

i gotta go read my legal terminology book now.

Interlude #3

or #4

i recently had the pleasure of meeting a most interesting young lady. she's a sweet girl, really, and as fierce as one can get and still be all that is good and right in the world. the lascivian in me says 'damned if i were but ten years younger'. who would not? she is intelligent and so independent, but when she gets angry, she is a most beautiful sight. she's like watching the fourth of july unrestrained. captivating.

have you ever met someone who, when you touch them, you are instantly aware of how dirty your hands are? unsure whether you should hug her goodbye or tell her she's beautiful because when you do, you suddenly feel like a dirty old man. one who simply radiates. she is such.

she is an absolute kick to be around because she holds nothing back. you know instantly where you stand with her and you simply must allow her to show you what she wants or needs of you. she will have it no other way. and i'm inclined to respect that. i made certain that my own child met her. if ever, heaven forbid, he is ever in trouble near her world, or she in his (stspreservus), i would wish that they would be one in the other's corner for all posterity. i hope to see more of her when i return from dominca; time with her reminds me of all that is really important besides my own bellybutton lint.

frogspond, and my love and i are making her special tshirts to take back to school with her. our favorite says 'the red tip on this cane is NOT paint. feelin' lucky?'. in lettered script and in braille. she is most delighted at the prospect. we must take pictures of her in that one, at least, before we fare her well. stspreservher

bellybutton lint

what sex is not, cont

i've read and been told that a woman reaches her sexual peak at thirty and that perimenopause starts in about five years later. sometimes i think of my younger years and the sweet memories of youthfully indulgent sex and it fills me with such awe that i feel the urge to become youthfully indulgent with my lover. i like feeling youthfully indulgent. and youthfully indulged.

when i was a youth, my first lover, outside of my five-year spiral into the twistedness of incest, was a boy a year older than me. he'd been dating my next door neighbor, and then i moved in. not sure how long they lasted, but i remember that a boy much older than us both moved in across the street and instantly became the big brother i should've had. he indulged my every whim, as often as he could. he watched out for me, played bored games with me, and always had time for me whenever he could. i remember wishing he could've been my big brother instead of the twisted little fuck i got. but he warned my would-be first lover off for about a year, until big brother moved away. a year later, i would enjoy a different kind of indulgence. i was fourteen, and we almost got caught by my daddy coming up the walkway that sunny afternoon. in the space of about two minutes, loverboy was up, dressed, out the back door, through the back yard, and over the back fence. gee-oh-en-ee gone. it was around that time, too, that my dad forbid me to see him, and his grandparents had forbidden him me, also. he started showing up some mornings, waiting for me across the street from my house before school. he was not a stupid boy. i started visiting him in his bedroom, on other mornings, much to the consternation of his grandparents. by the end of the year, he'd been sent to michigan to live with his parents. i somehow turned back up at my mother's front door.

it was very good that i had my first time the way i did. the incest had finally stopped about two and a half years earlier. i didn't think about it much but it played out later and when it did, that one lovesex moment would remind me what sex could be like, if only it wasn't what it was. i had a lot of sex during my teens and twenties. it was my weapon of choice. i could get most anything i wanted from most anyone i wanted it from with just the promise or denial of sexual favor. a blow job here, a twenty minute fuck there, and the world was my playground. i was date raped twice, and the second cut was the deepest. leaving college after that second time was the most therapeutic thing i did for myself. i still used sex as a weapon, though, but i found it worked better in monogamous relationships. serial monogamy was the natural next step in my sexio-social evolution.


love and marriage

i guess some part of me always wanted to be married. i never was real specific on whom and i had no idea of what a healthy marriage looked like. to me, marriage was an institution like all other institutions: fun to imagine, but hell to get out of. such was the ten-year stint my parents did, then another decade-long stretch between both my mother and stepfather and my father and stepmother. my lessons in the manipulatory arts had begun in earnest around the age of ten; once consensual sex was involved, the end of whatever delusion of innocence anyone had for me was gone like a summer breeze at the threshhold of a blizzard. it was with this mighty combination of power and prowess that i began my journey into adult relationships.

bellybutton lint

happy fourth

i hate 'eating with toes'. it was a send-up of 'running with scissors', which i read recently thanks to my good friend frogspond -- which, by the way, i highly recommend. the book's great; my send-up . . . not so much.

my dad loved the month of july, first day to the last. i dunno how he felt about it before i came along, but i was his twenty-third birthday present, born just four days shy of his. in a weird sort of ironic way, the man who would become my stepfather without the benefit of being married to my mother was also born in that month; his birthday was two days after mine. you can imagine what july was like in my house, regardless of where i was. i don't remember much for presents since we were poor even by yesterday's standards. but from about ten on, i felt pretty special in the middle of every year.

my dad liked fireworks. i don't know whether my mom did, but she didn't seem to not like'm. i liked'em too. they still mesmerize me. for just a few brief moments the nighttime sky is lit from below in a technicolor splendor replete with reds and blues and whites and greens. it's the only day that i consciously make the effort to love my country.

i don't hate my country. i can't hate that which i don't consciously love on a regular basis. what i hate is being discriminated against and being told that my spouse has to be their definition of a certain or other gender. funny, though. they think that because they can legislate where my money gets to go, they can control who i fuck and who i let fuck me. i am very married, if in no one else's eyes but the deity i can not slay and so, worship. his is the only one that counts, to me anyway.

i think sometimes about gathering all my friends, and all their friends, and all their friends and staging a mass resignation and application to freebie social services that drain the government dry. and telling my rich friends to import everything, to buy nothing american, not even green pea soup. to pay their bills but not the taxes added on. to set up offshore accounts and stop paying the irs. no taxation without representation, isn't that what boston was about? if this the best they can do with the shit they stole from the native clans, maybe it's time to stop payin'em to do it.

i don't wanna burn flags, bomb buildings, or even write vicious hate mail to that ape living in the house that will always be white regardless of who sits in the oral orifice. none of that stuff would get me what i want, which is for them to stop sayin niggerqueerredneckdyke like it's a bad thing. so i eat pussy; what's it to him? i'm not askin him to eat mine. if he doesn't like what goes on in my bedroom -- and in that veep's kid's room too, no doubt -- then he oughta quit thinkin about it. i most assuredly don't think about what goes on in his, though at his age, i doubt that there's much goin on besides the snooze button and the geritol'n'vodka shakes. i mean, look at'im. look at'em both. it's a cryin shame.

what if we boycotted the federal government en masse, started importing our foods, medicines, . . . just everything, and signed up for food stamps and medicaid cards? course, each person would have to pick one: welfare or importing goods. but just withdraw every cent we make out of the federal government's hands.

i sometimes think of a mass exodus to canada where universal healthcare is a reality and nobody cares what gender your spouse is, as long as you pay your taxes on time and are a productive citizen while you live there. i think his cronies would burn him at the stake til he was crisper than an alleged witch in the middle of a Salem town square.

i think that the trouble that would follow would be worth it, just so i could watch it all go down from up north.

eating with toes

what sex is not

i walk around naked indoors cuz when i was a kid, naked wasn't safe. so now i do it in abundance.

my mother's first child was four when my mom and dad had me. i think my dad knew from the start that this kid was fucked up. somehow, someway, somewhere in his first three point five years of life, somebody did something and turned this kid into a whack job at the ripe old age of four. my dad didn't help either, especially after i was born cuz i turned out to be the only daughter of my grandmother's only son, and as far as i know, as kids, it was just my grandma and her sister. matriarchal doesn't begin to describe my father's family. my dad grew up with all women and went the other extreme -- not gay, not supermacho, just very appreciative of the feminine way of authority in heading his households. as macho as you can get and still love fucking strong women. my mom was a single parent; she must've turned him into jelly the first time he spent the night with her and her kid. my dad was a chef in the navy with one tour in vietnam under his belt and another yet to come. his stability and kitchen ability prolly put a hoohah in her yingyang the first time he made her breakfast. or dinner, as the case may be. i can see the attraction. but he was four years younger and probably about twelve years less mature; for them to get married, he must've hidden that well.

i came along and i know that i sucked all the attention away from everybody. my grandmother instantly became my godmother, complete with the godfatherist 'naming of the child after the godfather' -- godmother, in this case. til just recently, i ran away from that name like piss runnin down a leg but i think i'm finally starting to grow into it. i know all too well the plight of kids who have to grow into overlarge ears and face-effacing noses. shit sucks and no matter how you try to hide it -- or what your parents do to hide it for you -- the pre-college years are your labelling rites of passage cuz every teacher, substitute, and principle is gonna say your whole fuckin name on the first fuckin day of every fuckin school year and by the time you live it down, it's summer when it don't matter anyway and you gotta start all over in sepfuckintember. that shit fuckin sucks. but i still wouldn'ta wanted the ears or the nose thing. you can single-initial-dot a name; nose jobs and ear tucks cost half an arm and two kneecaps and who the fuck has that kinda money when they first turn legal enough to get it.

my dad still got to share in the spotlight, him bein the only son and all, but when we visited cincinnati, it was all about me. the way they tell it, i would fall asleep on my grandmother's bosom and awaken screaming holy murder if anyone so much as lifted my thimble-sized thumb off my grandma's chest. i was that spoiled. i slept in my grandma's bed with her on every visit, from the time i was born up through my sixteenth year. i could stay up til fourfiftyeight in the morning and still go crawl into her bed and she never once complained. she even knew how much space to leave me, next to the wall of course, as i grew and got older. that spoiled.

my parents shoulda never had my younger two brothers. they got . . . minimal attention, mostly from people who'd already seen me, and leftover attention really sucks. especially for the oldest, who isn't even a real family member and my dad made that real clear the minute we hit the road leadin to ohio. six years later, my mother's first child would begin making me pay for being me cuz somebody forgot to teach the little sonofabitch to share in the first place; being kicked back to past third place musta really sucked for those four years he waited for the opportunity to get back at me and my younger siblings. he started with me, but got right on into my two younger brothers as soon as soon as they reached my 'age of ascension'. by the time he hit the ripe old age of fourteen, that twisted little fucker was a sexual predator who already had three preyed-upon victims that he fucked regularly and beat the shit out of often. i got most of the beatings and most of the fucking, but he was ruthless and relentless with one and all.

by the time i hit ten, hypervigilance was my toy and my playground and i played the boyscout-like sentry with relish and ease. it became a game of know-where-everyone-is-at-all-times and i routinely quizzed myself in my head to keep track of everything breathin at all times. if i lost somebody, i would make a visual and/or physical trip around whereever i was and made careful word-association mental notes as i returned to my post on the front porch.

i was also regularly getting my ass kicked by gangs of kids at school because the fuckin principal somehow got the bright idea that tellin the whole school that my test scores indicated that i was the most intelligent student there. i was in the fifth fuckin grade. do you know what it's like to have the whole fuckin school know that you're the one throwin off the curve on everyfuckinstandardizedtest? and that you get special priviledges because your teachers run out of stuff to give you to do cuz you finish everyfuckinthing they give you? i was also the new kid, transferred in after the divorce. it was fun, bein smart and all, but only til the bell rang. i lived two and a half blocks from school. the music teacher started driving me home from school regularly before that first christmas. when she wasn't there, and she did try to let me know ahead of time when she wouldn't be but it didn't always work out that she could, i had to run like hell and not make a single mistake. i think i maybe only made one. it kinda slacked off, though, after i broke some kid's arm one day.

there was this kid who issued nonverbal threats to me daily. i never quite figured out why, but it could only have been his thing, not something i did or didn't do or said or didn't say. he started the first day i got there.

one afternoon, i was waiting for the music teacher outside a kindergarten classroom, where she was talking to two of the k-teachers. up he comes with a friend of his. the friend was neither my friend nor my enemy. he was smart too. kid number one sees the opportunity to kick my ass backed up into a corner, and he proceeds to do so. having been trained to know that silence is my only friend when i'm getting my ass kicked, i scream not once. the friend runs away. good thing cuz after he got done and went inside to hold his own little nonchalant conversation with the three teachers, i looked at my hands. i'd put my hands up to protect my face cuz i still had to be careful of nosebleeds, and i see blood. all i remember was the hellforgod yell that i let out and the next thing i know, two teachers are pulling me off him while the third teacher tries to extricate him from the visegrip grasp my thighs have him clinched in and the volley of shots his face is receiving courtesy of my bloody hands.

i saw him again, a few days later. i'd broken his arm.

his parents transferred him a week later.

sex was rage and pain and everyone who was not a friend sat squarely with my enemies. a lover once told me that it was amazing that i could like sex at all. i'm inclined to agree with him.

eating with toes

love and marriage

i was born in cincinnati to two people who never shoulda existed anywhere on the same planet, much less gotten married to each other. my dad never shoulda married anyfuckinbody. ever. as for my mom, it's prolly a good thing she married my dad cuz i don't think i would've liked having the same genes as her oldest fuck-up. brothers i got; sisters, debatable. i heard about a girl, born to my father and slightly older than i, whose mother was so pissed that my dad was already married with me on the way that she sent spirits to torment my dad til the day he died. it's good he died. he needed the rest.

way the story goes, they were strong enough that my mom saw my dad picked up and tossed across a room like a ragdoll livin in a movie. she, my dad's other woman, also tried to switch my soul with that of the other child because she was sickly and i was not. dunno how that went for her, but then she tried to switch my mom's soul with my stepmom's, just to fuck with him. my stepmom's a crazy bitch. if they thought that my dad would just roll over for that one, they had another think comin. 'course she wasn't a crazy bitch while he was alive. that happened shortly after she got remarried and started makin grabs for the land my dad left me in myrtle beach. phuc dat bich. but she doesn't really come into the story at all, in fact, until i accidentally manipulated my dad into having some doctor accuse my mom of child abuse for tryin to beat the shit outta me and one of my brothers for hangin with my dad when it wasn't his turn. phuc dat bich.

yea, i was growing into quite the little manipulator, but that's what happens when two natural born peopleipulators torment each other in a steadily more frequent manner for the first ten years of their first child's life. by the time i was ten, i was probably about fifteen and not lovin even any minute of it. not to say i did not have good times. i loved it when my nose bled and my ma would meet me at the hospital, take me home, and lay my head in her lap while we finished off our mcdonald's before the boys got home and watched soap operas all afternoon. oh . . . so that's where i got indoctrinated into that happily-ever-after bullshit . . .

well, at least she didn't read me fairy tales. i think i woulda cut my own jugular if i'd had to grow up and find out that prince charming was a lie. it's not so bad with real people cuz at least there's a chance that it might happen like that--i mean, somebody has to write that shit, right? but to find out that not only was it not true, but that people like that didn't even exist anymore . . . if ever . . .
oh, somebody's bed woulda burned whitehot.

i never had tantrums, though. for one thing, i somehow genetically knew to not pull shit like that. not with my parents, boyo. my dad woulda smacked my ass clear across somebody's cheerios aisle if i'd've pulled that shit. instant death if ya want it. each of my parents only hit me once, and my stepmother, never. i was around elevenish when my mom hit me; that was what prompted the aforementioned child abuse claim. i was sixteen when my dad did, and neighbors had to call the cops cuz after i smacked him back, it was on. when they got there, he had me down across the arm of the couch, probably trying to fend off the kicking and biting that led to my teethmarks on his right forearm. my incisers cut through his thick winter coatsleeve; some fuckin dentist filed'em down shortly thereafter when my wisdom tooth had to be cut in. that was my first exposure to codeine. i still love narcotics. not with a passion . . . with a . . . nice, easy lust like the one i felt at the age of seven when my upstairs seven-year-old neighbor girl became my first crush affair. i loved to just sit and watch her play. she liked dolls, i think. i didn't care; she was my doll. she was outrageously beautiful with this long, soft black hair that reached down to her midback and these exotic eyes that made her look afriasian, sorta like my mom's when she first wakes up in the mornin or from a nap. she was narcotic. my mom's narcotic. my dad liked narcotics too. isn't that interesting.

i'm fallin half asleep.

it's been real.

i'm IN!

http://www.soapcentral.com/oltl/scoop.php?section=twoscoops

do they know

do they know that sometimes
when i'm all alone
i dream up ways to peel his skin off his body
half inch by half inch
to chain him to a wall
with a switch
and a lever
to make him eat his own shit
and drink from his own fountain

could you tell if you were looking at me
walking down the street toward you
would you read it in my eyes
would you see it
would you recognize

do they know that i can hear his screams from the fire upon witch he stands
and i delight in it, with every fiber of my being
that i long for a place, deep within the earth
where no one hears and no one sees
that i want it to be dark, with the only light the candle i bring with me, and take as i leave
do they know the conversations i have with him, each morning before it begins
all over again

sometimes i wonder if it shows
in the way i walk
in the way i talk
is there some red dot or whitehot blindness that people can see, or some sweetsmelling somethingorother lingering as i pass by
does it show
or is that just wishful thinking

i'm so shallow sometimes
i want to be king of the world and queen for a day and it is only the thundering and the gunshots that remind me of the ice that runs sometimes through my veins
sometimes
when i'm all alone

funny shit sometimes just happens

mama's lil baby just tried to attack my towel

no shit, i'm not makin this up

i'd been cleanin and doin laundry, so i took another bath cuz nothin's worse than stinkin all to high heaven when your lover is on the way home. so i hop in the shower and . . . i hate to towel de-wet my face and try to dry this wild mane--which i'm really lovin cuz my stylist is doin some great shit with it--and so i grab my towel from this chair here. well, apparently my lil knifeypoo thought my towel was a great danger to me cuz somehow she got her left main blade underneath the corner of the towel and wasn't about to let go til i detangled them. i didn't leave them like that. but well, least i know she likes me.

speakin of blades, the stab wound is just about all healed up, though the top layer of skin refuses to reconnect across the point of entry. still a little tender when i bang it on shit, so i've gotta stop doin that, but otherwise, good as new.

ah well . . . another day, another dinner

interestingly, i've been thinking quite a bit about the differences--and similarities--between my lover present and the last bio-born man i let touch me. well, 'let' isn't quite right. 'loved to have', 'wanted to all the time' . . . those are a bit more accurate. but i digress . . .

it's not so different, really. sex is sex is sex unless it's lovesex, which is the main similarity between these two relationships. some of the mechanics are different--praise the LORD in HEAVEN for THAT! vive la difference--not because one is better than the other, but more because variety is the spice of life, and nowhere has this been more apparent than is so in my own sex life. but i've discovered that who i'm attracted to is as fluid as the number of times i cum during a given sexcapade. if it's right, it's right. to be clear, i have no desire to go out and fuck half the world's population just to see if i like biogirls, bioboys, transboys, or transgirls best.

ok, really, that last one an be scratched. of all the mtfs i've known, only one has captured my curiosity, and at that, it was short-lived. when i see her now, it's nice to see her, but . . . well, not.

it'd be hard, too, to even try to rank the good lovers in order of preference because really, there's no such thing as bad sex. sex is just sex is just sex. it's just what you use it for that makes it beneficial or not so much. besides that, i've only had one really good bioboy lover, compared with maybe two or three biogirls who excelled, and my current transboy lover, who can't really be compared since of all of those, only his love has stuck around close enough for me to touch it when i wanna. damn i love that buzzcut. have i said that fifty times enough already? lol fuck you. so there.

anyway, i've got a writing gig and schoolwork to work on.

peace out

dominica

fifteen days away . . .

interesting mix of stuff goin on . . . but just the thought of getting outside this borders patrolled by lawyers, guns, and money, . . . well, that's enough to put a lot of yinyang in my hoohah. a lot, but well, still not more than baby with the buzz cut.

i need to get laid again

whurzat buzz cut?

stspreservus and bless all the little pygmy chillin livin in the tundra
ay mayun

the cut

so, lover comes home saturday afternoon with a buzz cut. and i'm thinkin', hmm . . .

yanno, this isn't so bad. i kinda like it like this. tellya what, runnin my fingers through his buzz puts a hoohah in my yingyang, the likes of which i'd never known could exist for me, ms. longhairistheonlysexyhair-ness. oh, i have threatened with death some of my lovers, for even the though of cutting off those long and wavy dark locks that rev my yingyang into overdrive. gone for weeks without speaking to them and cut off sex entirely for any infraction on that particular rule. maybe i was just waiting for . . . the right buzz.

it's been several years since the last bioborn man touched me. fortunately, i still like the last one cuz if i hated him, we'd all be in trouble. so it's been with this trepidation that i've even considered letting any lover since him resemble the male species in any way. i like'm to look real tough and act real tough, but don't cut the hair. maybe cuz then they'd look like all the ones i can't stand, the ones i hate the most. but um . . . my lover and his buzz . . .


not yet.

bein the queergirl part of a transcouple is its own kind of reality. add to that my being a tomboy, and it's not so strange that i am as i am as unbalanced as i am. especially in this relationship because it challenges every premature conclusion i had ever reached with respect to gender, identity, roles, and mechanics. i've got most of the skeleton right, but the internal organs, nerves, tendons, and all that shit are another matter entirely. didn't even know i had premature conclusions til they started bein challenged. aint that a bitch

well, no not really, but that's for later.

my lover and his buzz . . .

let's just say that my 'hair' thing is one premature conclusion that is proving to be most . . . delightning . . . delightfully enlightening, that is . . . to dismantle and discard.

i hate my neighbor

damn
i almost typed the n word. iggeriggerigger. so there.

is hate too strong a word? let's try hat, then. i . . . hat my n . . . e . . . i damn that g . . . hbore. yea, he looks like somethin birthed by somethin that says neigh, but then, that's insulting to all my horse relations. sorry, guys.

anyway, this fucker insists on parking one of his lookie-lookie-i-got-three cars in front of our house every fuckin night. i get the feelin he does it cuz it look like nothin but women live in that house and what duhell she got that i don't got. a fucking brain, dickwad. also, the common courtesy to not park in front of other peoples' houses.

shitcha not, he's got a driveway. hell, everyfuckinhouse on this block has its own driveway. so in his driveway he keeps his buttugly whatthefuckizzat underneath a cover--which, hell, if that thing was the only thing givin it up to me, i might be inclined to cover that shit up, too--but then he parks his other two cars so that one is ending just uphill from his stairs and the other one starts down the hill from his stairs, with a gap in between so he can walk through the two of them, and pimpmobillie takes up the space directly in front of half of my front yard. which i guess is better since he used to park that oil drinkin shitmobile of his directly in front of our front stairs.

well, there's one of two ways around this--and don't go givin me any of that shit about right and wrong. he knows he's wrong. just hates it that i don't speak to him unless my lover is present when i do so. gets visibly pissed everytime it happens. guess i should pity him.

fuck pity. that shit's funny. he needs a lesson in manners.

stspreservus and bless all the little pygmy children livin in the tundra. ay mayun.

i love bein married. you can get laid anytime you want to. theoretically.

oh, speaking of which . . .

it's been said, mostly by me, that i could teach a course on how to be a good wife/spouse/sigo/whatever. and though that may or may not be true, i do have a few pointers for the newbies:

1. DO make your self as trustworthy as possible.
2. DON'T, however, let your lover punish you for the shit all their exes did.

3. DO acknowledge honestly that you have baggage attached.
4. DON'T, however, get so sucked into your lover's shit that you forget that your ass needs wiped too.

5. DO acknowledge honestly when you have a crush on someone, or if you know someone has one one you, or even that you would love to know what s/he fucks like.
6. DON'T, however, ask your lover what s/he would do if you fucked your fantasy object without permission.

7. DO strive to be honest, forthright, and impeccable in your word.
8. DON'T, however, operate under the misconception that your lover wants to hear everysinglefuckinpieceofbellybuttonlint you have, at the PRECISE moment you have it. You just ain't that fuckin important, I don't care WHO you are.

9. DO make every effort to show interest in your lover's life outside of your relationship. This assuming, of course, that if you're married, you're smart enough to not insist that you be the center of your lover's world. You are that smart, right?
10. DON'T, however, poke and prod your lover with pointed questions that begin in that Im-just-asking voice that is never, ever 'just' anything. Nothing justs anything. There is almost always cause, and where there is not lies chaos. If you can't ask like a grownup, shut up til you can.

Time for lovin. See ya soon.

musical interlude #2

OZZFEST!!

where the hell is bristow va? do they like choclit chillun down there? how farzat from lynchburg, cuz i ain't goin no where where the word 'lynch' is the first part of the town name.

well, fuck, it's ozzfest. everybody else can kiss my ass! we're goin!!!!!

xoxoxoxoxofp!!!!!!

kismet

my favorite song of late has been aerosmith's 'deuces are wild'

today i discovered that aero and the crue are touring in the fall

i feel a road trip . . .