Example

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

First year redux

A reader commented a while ago on my first year post:

"...it's a shame that a potential lifetime of right is being lost because
of a little wrong. If he's not shaming you, then don't shame yourself. When
you're in love, you fuck up. That's the nature of the thing. You open your
heart, and you're vulnerable, and it's scary, and you do things you later
regret. But you learn from it, and you stick with it, because what else can
you do? Nothing that's worth having is easy.Right now, you don't have what
you had. If you continue hiding, you may never have it again. Can you live
with that?"

After writing that post, I decided to contact the person in question. Yes, he's wonderful, and I probably have some lingering feelings for him, but I remembered all over again why we broke up. There WERE reasons; it wasn't a random, flighty thing as I probably implied in my first post. They were not things I could live with.

My memories tend to cloud after a very short time. I conveniently forget all the lousy stuff and remember only the good things. I remember sensations, feelings, smells, but rarely the way we used to argue about inane things or his occasional immaturity or his possessiveness. I guess this is a good thing in the grand scheme, but it means I'm prone to occasional bouts of intense nostalgia. Y'all were witness to one of those the other day.

I'm a bit of a transient, in more ways that one. At this point in time, I'm on my fourth city and my sixth boyfriend since I started university three years ago. I feel rootless sometimes, and alone, regardless of who's surrounding me. I wander partly out of necessity and partly out of a search for something better. Something that will hold me. Something to give me roots.

Because of this wandering, my relationships can sometimes feel truncated. Unfinished. I sometimes feel a need to revist them, to get closure so I can continue unfettered.

I'm feeling the need for a little closure right now. I am currently in contact with several old boyfriends, and it's starting to mess with my head. I need to clear the air with all of them and start over again.

What a jungle your heart becomes after a few years of dating. I'm dreading what I'll be like when I'm 35.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

A Murder of One

Blue morning, blue morning
Wrapped in strands of fist and bone
Curiosity, kitten
Doesn't have to mean you're on your own

You can look outside your window
He doesn't have to know
We can talk a while, baby
We can take it nice and slow

All your life is such a shame, shame, shame
All your love is just a dream, dream, dream

Are you happy where you're sleeping?
Does he keep you safe and warm?
Does he tell you when you're sorry?
Does he tell you when you're wrong?

I've been watching you for hours
It's been years since we were born
We were perfect when we started
I've been wondering where we've gone

All your life is such a shame, shame shame
All your love is just a dream, dream, dream

I dreamt I saw you walking
Up a hillside in the snow
Casting shadows on the winter sky
As you stood there, counting crows

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for girls
Four for boys
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

There's a bird that nests inside you
Sleeping underneath your skin
When you open up your wings to speak
I wish you'd let me in

All your life is such a shame, shame, shame
All your love is just a dream, dream, dream
Open up your eyes, you can see the flames, flames, flames
Of your wasted life
You should be ashamed

You don't wanna waste your life baby

I walk along these hillsides
In the summer 'neath the sunshine
I am feathered by the moonlight
Falling down on me

Change, change, change

- Counting Crows

Sunday, May 28, 2006

I did it...

I finally plucked up the courage to get my VCH. I'd walked past the studio (Next! in Vancouver, if anyone's interested) three times over the past week before I forced myself to go in today. I am such a chickenshit some days. It's a cool place though. They have fantastic decor; the room I got pierced in has this chair that lookes like something Elvira would sit in, sort of spiderwebby with candle holders.

I'm not going to lie, it hurt like a motherfucker for about a half-a-second. But then it was all over. And my piercer was very cute, so that eased some of the pain.

I just washed it before sitting down to write this, and though it didn't hurt on the way home, it stings a bit now from the prodding. But it looks so pretty! I keep pulling down my pants to look at it. Is that weird?

So now I just have to keep it clean and keep my hands off it for the next 2 weeks or so. That is going to be incredibly hard, but it's worth it to have such a decorative cunt!

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Part 2 of why Adora is very, very lucky

(The following is probably not too appealing to heterosexual males and/or lesbians, but everyone else, enjoy!)

Click here for more!

From last night's webcam festivities:




That's my M: all 7.5 inches of him. Seriously, we measured.

What a fox.

I'm salivating on my keyboard.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

HNT #7

This picture is the last of that series, I think. I have more, but they all show my face. Next week: a fresh series, possibly featuring a shiny new bauble!

HNT_1

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Benefits

One of the best parts of telling M about this blog is that I get to post pictures of him! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:


my boyfriend's killer six-pack abs! I am one lucky girl. *squeal* Too bad they're across the country from me right now.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Getting pierced

So I'm thinking I might get pierced. Either an industrial, nipples, or clit hood. I've wanted to for quite a while, and now that I've moved out of my parents' house again, I can heal the secret ones in peace. There's also no boyfriend around to mess with them before they're healed, eliminating at least one temptation (masturbation, of course, will still be a problem.)

I love the look of a vertical clit hood piercing. It fits in so nicely with the anatomy, and I hear it feels great. Plus, it's secret, easy and quick to heal, and of the more risque piercings has the least chance of leaving permanent scars. I love the nipple piercings too (with barbells) but I'm a little worried about healing and scarring. I LOVE my nipples and I'm not sure I want to risk messing them up. If the clit piercing goes well, I might do those after. And the industrial, I think, just looks cool. It's not secret though, so my parents might have a fit when they see it, and I think cartilage is the most painful and toughest to heal place for a piercing.

Anyone have any suggestions for me? Any experiences you want to share?

UPDATE: Here's some info and pictures for the curious among you (some of the pics are a bit extreme in my mind but to each his own).

Industrial
VCH
Nipples

Saturday, May 20, 2006

First year

I met him at the lowest point in my life. If I hadn't been so vulnerable I probably wouldn't have let him in. But I was, and I did, and he offered a little bit of solace. I treated him so shabbily, so often, that it's a wonder he stuck by me. But he did.

My god, but we had some amazing times. We'd get higher than weather balloons and then lie in bed and giggle, make love, giggle some more, drift off, then wake up in the morning, a bit fuzzy-headed, and make love again. We fucked like bunnies, the two of us, but that's not what I remember about him the most. What I remember is sleeping with him. We lived in the same building, so it was a simple thing to wander down to his floor at 3 am after a long night of studying or drinking or smoking and crawl into bed next to him. He was always so warm, his bed toasty with his body heat, and he always smelled unique and so damn good. It wasn't cologne or deodorant, it's just how he smelled naturally, and I loved it. He smelled sweet and exotic, like he'd just been in a spice shop or burned incense. I loved walking through the chilly halls, then sliding across the sheets to his warm little pocket, smelling his scent, gathering him to me, spoon-fashion, resting my cheek on his back between his shoulderblades. He wasn't good looking, he wasn't particularily tall or athletic, but he was smart and loyal and honest with a barely corrupted innocence that I adored. I grew to love him, something that surprised me then. He was not the sort of person I expected to fall in love with. He was a boy struggling to become a man, and I had until then only known men. I had thought I only wanted men. But he charmed me, and refreshed me, and went a long way towards healing some of my wounds. He was there for me in a way no one had been before.

I hurt him badly, more than once. I hid things from him, I abused his loyalty. He always took me back. I can remember so vividly one night after we fought, I was so stubborn and so was he, and I was sure it was over. Unable to sleep, very late at night, I wrote him an email, apologizing, explaining. Unable to sleep, he got it and answered. Apologized. Begged me to come down and see him. I did so, and will never forget the feeling of relief that washed over me when I held him in my arms and told him I loved him for the first time. We lay together on his bed, his head on my chest, crying softly with relief, my hand stroking his glossy black hair over and over, finally knowing what it was to give yourself to another. To surrender. He taught me that.

The day came when we parted ways, and I saw someone else for a while, someone I should have loved but didn't care a fig for. We broke up, this throwaway boy and I, and I visited my ex. When I saw him I couldn't resist it. It was uncontrollable, such that when we were alone together I had to touch him. It was like magnets snapping together. I kissed his warm neck and inhaled his scent and I was a goner all over again.

Fickle me, a few months later I was restless and moving again. I've barely spoken to him since.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Complete and unexpurgated

And he realized as he went into her that this was the thing he had to do, to come into tender touch, without losing his pride or his dignity or his integrity as a man. After all, if she had money and means, and he had none, he should be too proud and honorable to hold back his tenderness from her on that account. 'I stand for the touch of bodily awareness between human beings,' he said to himself, 'and the touch of tenderness. And she is my mate. And it is a battle against the money, and the machine, and the insentient ideal monkeyishness of the world. And she will stand behind me there. Thank God I've got a woman! Thank God I've got a woman who is with me, and tender and aware of me. Thank God she's not a bully, nor a fool. Thank God she's a tender, aware woman.' And as his seed sprang into her, his soul sprang towards her too, in the creative act that is far more than procreative.

(D.H. Lawrence - Lady Chatterley's Lover)

So I finally told him. Here's how I did it. Before I left for BC, I gave him a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover, which is one of my favourite books of all time, with the url written on the inside margin of a strategic page. My reasoning was this: if, on my advice, he takes the time to read this, a book that is not, at first glance, his style, then I know I can trust him. If he doesn't bother to read it, then I know it's not worth telling him.

He had it read in a little over a week. Hurrah.

I love this book for a multitude of reasons. The clandestine nature of Connie and Mellors' meetings resonates with me because too often I have also conducted clandestine meetings. I've often had to leave before I was ready, had to steal kisses under stairwells, in cars, in music practice rooms to avoid disapproving authority figures. I've felt like I was under siege sometimes, lovers in a dangerous time and all that. Like my love was a crime. Like I was supposed to be asexual, a good little girl with my books and my schoolwork. Living a mental life, like Clifford expects of Connie.

But it's so empty, that life. So dry and boring. Lacking real passion, real beauty, a real connection with another human being.

I love sex not just because it feels good, but because it can touch something primal, something immune to the bullshit that's rampant. If you're doing it right, it's impossible to hold back in those final, ecstatic moments. You're allowed to let go, to drop the last of your masks and reveal yourself in a way that can't be convincingly faked. It can be a way to rebel against those authority figures, those proponents of the machine, as well as the most powerful way to connect with someone else. Someone to stand with you against the "insentient ideal monkeyishness of the world." Sex can still be authentic, in a world where very few things are.

I love Lady Chatterley's Lover because it leaves the bullshit behind. It's the story of two people who let passion guide them, and the rest of the world can go hang. I'd like to follow their lead.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Computer woes

I've been gone longer than I meant to be. I arrived on the West Coast safe and sound, but unfortunately, my computer did not. Here's a helpful hint: never ship your desktop by Greyhound without its factory packaging or a hell of a lot of bubble wrap. It'll be ok, sure, but only after a lengthy stay at the doctor's (aka Future Shop). I'll be posting from internet cafes until then.

Oh boy, have things ever progressed around here though! I'm in my new digs, in a large Canadian city that starts with the letter V (and isn't Victoria). It's pretty fucking awesome here, albeit a tad lonely since I know practically no one. I'm missing M acutely; it would be a lot more awesome if he were here. Plus, I'm horny as all fuck and it's only been a little over a week since I left. This is going to be a long summer.

Some news: I gave M the url to this blog and I'm assuming by now he's read it in its entirety. It feels a bit weird to be this naked, but I think it worked out all right. More on this later, when I'm not paying $6 an hour for the 'net and have composed something in advance.

Also, something was revealed to me: something so shocking I can scarcely believe it, even now.

I was the first girl M ever had sex with.

Yeah. That's right. He just told me. To get the full effect of the no-fucking-way factor, I refer you to this post. And this one. He's just so damn good. He calls it beginner's luck. I think it's my luck, to have landed someone this naturally amazing. Also probably more to come on this topic.

I can't wait 'til my computer's fixed and I can catch up with everyone in blogland. I miss it like crazy.