Category Archives: sex

Ready, set . . .

I am sitting in my bed trying to wrap my mind around what I’m going to do in the next few hours. Little by little, I’ve been preparing my bedroom to serve as a set for the disabled erotic modeling I will do. It’s taken a lot because my bedroom has been a real mess for years because I’ve been so physically limited for so long. In addition, psychologically, part of me has learned to be wary. I am normally a very sexual person in appropriate circumstances. Indeed, I revel in my sexuality! I’ve even envisioned photographs taken of me and one of my “types” of lovers as we lay in bed semi-nude. It would be gorgeous and I’d be very proud to be a part of it. The thing that concerns me here is that, once I deliver the product, I have no control over what happens. I know what’s supposed to happen and I know that the site will do all that it can to protect me and the art if for no other reason than they lose both money and the trust of their models when photos end up where they were not intended. Be that as it may, all it takes is one person to buy the set and then put the photos on one of the many bulletin boards that cater to different fetishes. I know what happened to a couple of short stories I wrote ten to 15 years ago. They went what we’d now call “viral.” I’m still finding them and sending cease and desist letters! A friend asked if he could publish one of them on his website and I agreed. That was a very long time ago, the story is still there and I have no idea how to reach my friend.

The other issue that gives me pause is that I am about to launch a brand new business. In one sense, the photos could help publicize the new business. In another sense, the business could, at some point, not only publicize the photos, but spin off a site specifically for women of a particular type. I’ve always been a believer in the aphorism that less is more. In this case, the less skin shown, the more the viewers’ imagination can fill in the blanks. In this way, no one is in any way put in a position where they must engage in more explicit activity to receive higher payment. The site where I will put my photos does not pressure models to engage in explicit activity as I understand it. Until I experience otherwise, I’ll take the owner’s word for it. However, I do know that the more explicit material does sell better than less explicit. I can understand that and I do believe the models deserve more for their material.

I wonder, however, how many women are like me. I am doing this not because I seek to create art for art’s sake. I am doing this because I have no where else to turn financially. I am doing what women have done since time began: I am trying to save my family. My family consists of me and my three four-legged “daughters.” The primary issue is keeping a roof over our heads, especially since I need surgery and am in no way strong enough to undertake a major move, particularly since that move would involve packing my belongings, probably leaving many here, and leaving the state. Right now, I’m facing a citation from the city because my lawn needs to be mowed and the weeds our former lawn person brought in when he dumped infected fill dirt in our beautiful back yard (without permission, I might add) absolutely must be eliminated. I also owe my attorneys thousands of dollars and will have to break a promise I made to myself to never, ever give the bank that made a very predatory loan to my mother, KeyBank National, a dime. In short, my back is against the wall. I would be so proud to create true art with semi-nudes or even full nudes. My skin color lends itself well to black and white photography. I would not be ashamed or hesitant to engage in a photo shoot like that. Hell, I’ve done it before and was very pleased with the results. But I hate this. I hate this because I cannot be my full, wonderful, sensual, sexy self. I will do my best, but I don’t know if I can make it seem as though I’m not doing this under duress. The duress is that I absolutely must have the money that will come from these photos. Even a little bit every week would be immensely helpful.

There is so much to say and no time to fully explore the ramifications at this moment. I have to dust, make my bed, hang lights and get myself ready. I still don’t know exactly what outfit I’m going to wear. Oy! I’m also going to put on my smile, hold my head high and represent the very real sexuality of black, disabled, Rubenesque women. We ROCK!

Ouch!

There are so many things I want to write about, but my mind and body are exhausted. I’ve been setting the scene for my photo shoot that should have taken place weeks ago. Thank you, TEWSNBN! Fuck it. Thank you GLENN!! I spent so much time scanning pages from journals I haven’t read in ten years and re-living the horror of that period because he swore up and down that he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, when I tell him several days and about $50 later that he needs to choose whether he wants me to put the scans on a cloud server or risk the package arriving on the weekend when it was likely to be seen by nosey eyes, the little shit basically declares war. God, he has become the man I dreaded!

I think I may have mentioned this before, but a former mutual friend said that he is often overwhelmed and confused. Yep! And despite growing up in the NYC area and traveling all over the world, he is rather plebeian in his acceptance of people and his view of the world as it is. In fact, very plebeian. I honestly never thought I’d say this, but my worldview and acceptance of different peoples and lifestyles is FAR more broad-minded than his. If readers had known Glenn when we were attending the same college, I think there would be a lot of surprise. Then, he came off as worldly and sophisticated. At 16 years old, of course I ate it up. Then, after spending 17 years more together than not, he married and my life had to go on. I found the leather/kink community online and immersed myself in it both in the virtual world and the real world. I also began trying my hand at writing fiction. It seems I have a gift for writing little scenes that say a great deal. I also wrote my first full-fledged short story with something like six chapters about a bi-lesbian couple that became very well-known around the net because it has a killer BDSM scene in it that took me two days to write, all while listening to Pink Floyd over and over again. I really would love to continue writing stories about their relationship. I need a muse. Then, I had one in the form of this gorgeous blonde chica with lovely pierced nipples I could nestle in and suckle all day long. I have tried to find her, but no luck.

I know that the whole BDSM thing scared him because he had no clue. I used to think that he’d be good at it, but I don’t now. A Master must be empathetic, giving and willing to communicate. That’s not him, I’m sorry to say. I think that most men are very intimidated when I tell them that I still consider myself a leatherwoman even though I haven’t practiced in a long time. They are afraid that whatever they may bring to the bedroom won’t be able to compete with my BDSM experiences. Frankly, they may be right. Eventually, I’m going to get bored. Right now, any man who gets hold of me had better be ready for the fuck of his life. Yes, fuck first, then make love. I’d really like to get to know the guy I met at the gym last week, but my idea of “late” and his idea of “late” are two different things. I’ll pop in earlier tomorrow to see if he’s around.

What I wanted to write about in this post is a happy thing. My excursions to the gym are paying off. My body feels better once it stops hurting; my fat is firmer, if you know what I mean; I sleep better, and; I am physically stronger. Oh, I should also mention that I’ve lost four pounds. Granted, that’s not a lot, but I’ve only been at this about six weeks. Nearly two weeks out of six were spent at home, as I said, scanning my ass off and re-living unimaginable pain for someone who didn’t deserve it. You’d think I’d know better by now. Any act of kindness I’ve ever shown him has been met with a kick in the teeth. He is his own worst enemy and his account will come due. No more GLENN! (I hope you see your name in caps, m’dear.)

As I said, the gym is paying off. However, at this moment I hurt like a son-of-a-gun. I have placed lidocaine patches any place on my body they’ll stick. I need a script filled, but money is extremely tight until the first of the month. I haven’t been this broke since I was in undergrad. Still, overall, I’m quite pleased with myself. I realized that there was no iPhone app that met all of my needs, so I decided to just keep records using Notes. I’m trying to remember whether or not I have a spreadsheet app somewhere around. If so, I’d like to use it to track my progress. Right now, though, I’d like to share.

April 23, 2013

Cycling
Distance: 2.09 miles
Calories burned: 41
HR: 144
Time: 17 min.
Resistance: 6

Rowing machine
Strokes/min: 25
Calories burned: 107
Cal/hr: 308
Time: 17:00 min.
Resistance: 5

Pull down
36 reps @ 40 lbs.

Chest press
50 reps @ 40 lbs.

Shoulder press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Leg press
50 reps @ 40 lbs.
40 reps @ 55 lbs.

April 25, 2013

Cycling
Distance: 3.74 miles
Calories burned: 78.3
HR: 140-144
Time: 31:33 min
Resistance: 6

Rowing machine
Strokes/min.: 28
Calories burned: 94 (This is an inaccurate measure due to problems with the computer on-board.)
Cal/hr: N/A
Time: 21 min.
Resistance: 5

Pull down
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Chest press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Shoulder press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Leg press
100 reps @ 55 lbs.

I haven’t measured the body metrics yet. It seems that I never have time when I’m close to the tape measure and I do have time when I’m not close to the tape measure. I’ll do it eventually.

The reason I’m so proud of myself is that I’ve heard a litany of “Don’t do that!” and “No, you need to not risk your quality of life.” Basically, if I do hurt myself on the leg with the birth defect, no one has any idea how to put me back together. I can think of ONE surgeon in the entire country who would have more than a clue. The hospital that stole him from Johns Hopkins built an entire new wing just for him. The bad part is that he’s a pediatric ortho and they do NOT like to work on adults.

That’s not to say that my current ortho would be totally clueless because that’s not the case at all. In fact, his primary interest is in bioengineering. That gives him a solid background in the mechanics of my body. In addition, this hospital’s doctors actually listen to me when I tell them I am not just another amputee. That wasn’t happening at the hospital where the first spinal surgery and knee replacement were done. In fact, I kept telling the ortho that I was sick after my first knee replacement surgery. He blew me off by saying that people often feel that way after joint replacements. He didn’t listen until I spiked a fever and my pulse-ox was in the high 80s. Lo and behold, I had pneumonia and a partially collapsed lung. He was frustrated because medicine wouldn’t release me to rehab, thereby screwing up his schedule and stats. Fucking narcissists. If the nurses hadn’t called in medicine, my lung would have completely collapsed. Ever since, there have been times when I feel as though I couldn’t breathe and had pain in my back right over my lungs. That’s when I say a little prayer for myself because I really cannot deal with being in the hospital right now. I’m hoping that my breathing is better now that I’ve spent six hours cleaning off my dresser. Yes, you’ve read that correctly. SIX hours. I didn’t even dawdle in the process! I found all sorts of things I’ve been looking for for years. I have to clean off the dust, (this house collects it like a magnet collects iron shavings), but a little Pledge goes a long way.

It’s time for me to turn out the lights, continue listening to some music and close my eyes again. I came in from an appointment with my pain doctor and immediately went to bed after feeding the girls. The pain doctor was concerned that I was unhappy because my body is not cooperating. He asked me if the medication was working. That’s a loaded question when asked by a pain specialist because if you say no, they may think you’re drug seeking. If you say yes, even though the meds aren’t working, you’ve conceivably missed an opportunity to get the medication adjusted so that the whole cocktail works better. He told me not to be depressed because there are so many things going on with my body and my life that I have to be realistic about my goals. Thank you, God! He understands! I didn’t even have to prod him. Even if I weren’t at the gym at least twice a week where I theoretically risk injury, I have a specialist for just about every system in my body. That’s a lot of doctors, but there is a lot to be examined. I’m getting a cortisone shot next week if I can get my cousin to take me to the appointment. I have to be sedated because that damn needle HURTS.

At any rate, Bruce is singing Badlands and it’s time for me to magically envision the place about which he’s singing. Every time I hear his music now, I think of The Big Man, Clarence Clemons. I miss him a lot. His nephew is good, but he doesn’t have the experience his uncle had and won’t until he’s been through the trials and tribulations his uncle had. Oh well, Better Days came up next. I think some spirit knew that I needed to hear that song. I wish you all better days ahead. Remember, “Strength above all!”

The eternal quandary

I qualify everything I’m about to type with the fact that I am sick. Therefore, if a sentence doesn’t make sense or there’s an obviously misspelled word, please forgive me. I’ll probably catch it later, but it has flown through the holes in my brain for the moment.

What to do? What to do? I am so confused. I think I’m in a phase where I actually have an attraction to men. I don’t mean a specific man, but men in general. That scares the daylights out of me! I have no idea what to do. I am not straight. I haven’t been straight since I was about four years old. I admit that most of my intimate emotional and physical relationships have been with males, but that general attraction pretty much stopped in my late 20s. It was then that I came out as bisexual, but I wasn’t a “true” bisexual. I didn’t like men and women equally. I definitely preferred women even though I was involved with a man at the time who was the lover of the woman who became my first female lover. If there was a box I could check that said “It’s complicated,” that would be the one I’d mark.

I think there are two factors at work. The first is that Prof. B brought up the issue of me sleeping with men and having to become monogamous AND completely lesbian. I can understand both desires. If there were a woman who connected with me intellectually, emotionally, socially and sexually, and I with her, and; who didn’t think that developmentally disabled children were things, not people and certainly not “its,” I would be happily monogamous in a lesbian relationship for as long as we both shall live, as it were. I so want that! It physically hurts at times that I don’t have a mate. The yearning is so strong that it threatens to tear me in two. I’ve been alone most of my life. Yet, I am not someone who is emotionally equipped to be alone. I need that person I can trust to have my back. I need that person I can turn to when there is no one else who will listen, even if that person doesn’t have answers for me. I need someone who values me as a person and as a bright, loving person who has a great deal to give to someone else and to the world. I need to know that I really do matter to another person. If I could build that person, she would be a woman with a penis. Really! Thank the good Lord that penises can be ordered online!

The second factor is that I’ve been spending time at the gym, although I haven’t been in over a week because my body feels like crap due to a fibro flare I thought I could exercise through, but couldn’t. While I haven’t really spoken to a lot of men, I do have an opportunity to see more of them up close and personal. They don’t stink the way they used to. Did my sense of smell change? I also saw a couple who fit my two, very different, physical profiles of attractive men. The first profile is what gay boyz call a “bear.” That means big, probably bearded, strong, very masculine. The second is one I didn’t realize I had until men kept physically reminding me of the-ex-who-shall-not-be-named (TEWSNBN, maybe I’ll pronounce that “twos’ nibin”). That type would be a bit on the short side, no taller than about 5’9″; canine teeth that are noticeably sharper, and; arms that are slightly long for his height. As TEWSNBN once said, he looks a bit simian. At the time, I tried to deny it, but he was right. Like it or not, black men with that look immediately grab my attention.

There are a couple of each kind at the gym. I’ve said a few words to one of each type. Nothing I actually thought about, but things that came out of my mouth organically. For instance, there was this machine where I couldn’t lock in the weight and I asked this big, handsome bear of a man if he could help. He was a doll, as “bears” frequently are. He not only showed me how to do it, but explained a couple of the other machines too. The more “simian” guy just happened to catch my eye in the mirror as I saw him leg press an incredible amount of weight and I said, “Wow!” as my eyes grew big. He smiled back and I asked him how long it took him to be able to do that. He said that he’d been at it for years. I couldn’t help but notice how cute he was. Eh, I’m human.

I know that sexuality can go back and forth like a pendulum with some people, me included (I suppose). It’s as though there’s this smorgasbord out there and I want to taste it all. In many respects, I’ve had the sexual adventures of two or three people’s lifetimes. I just haven’t found the right person for me and s/he has yet to find me either. I’m not the kind of person who likes sitting around and waiting for things to happen to her. I like going out there and making things happen for myself. However, I think this is the most difficult task I’ve ever faced. I don’t know how to find the right person or how to be found by the right person. I feel as though I’m alone in a fatally opaque bubble where I shall remain until my dying day. I, like the rest of humanity, do not want to die alone. I have too much love to give and I know that I’ve got one hell of a hot-danged love affair in me full of intense passion, great sex, opening of windows to allow fresh air in and peace. I need to share it with someone who will appreciate it. I think my problem now is accepting that it is possible that person could be male. I’d have to do a huge mental make-over, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.

It has occurred to me that maybe my mate could be a male amputee. We could understand each other on a level no one else can. The idea only came to me a few hours ago as I was watching Thursday’s network evening news about vets coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan missing limbs. That led me to think about the photos I should have already taken and have been stressing about because I have zero energy, but they must be done because I’m utterly broke. I don’t do “poor” well because, frankly, I’ve only been poor once in my life and I could have hauled my butt back home, which is what I subsequently did. At any rate, it is my hope that my very tastefully suggestive photos reach a good man among some of the . . . shall we say . . . less than desirables. I know that I have to treat each with respect and I will. However, that doesn’t mean some won’t earn a greater respect than others. There are days and nights when it sucks to be me. I am, however, trying to make the best of it.

Lonely on the Great Lakes

This is all Glenn’s fault!!

The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
I can’t help feeling
We could have had it all

That’s me speaking to Glenn. OK, forget about the rest of Rolling In The Deep for the moment and just focus on those words taken somewhat out of context–but just a little. That was definitely Glenn and me. If nothing else I ever write or have written thus far is worth believing, believe me when I write this: The memories of him do leave me absolutely breathless. For the longest time, I thought that he would be the only person I’d ever feel that way about. I was with someone else for three years during the first years of his marriage. After all, he’d chosen and there was nothing I could do about it as much as it damn near killed me to continue to draw each breath afterwards. That man, I’ll call him “Gregory,” was my first Master and I loved him in ways Glenn didn’t need and kept closed to me. The difference is that I knew that I’d never spend the rest of my life with Gregory. So, although I had feelings that were nearly equal to those I had for Glenn, they fell short. Still, Gregory was probably the person in the number two spot on my list of “Loves of My Life.”

Now, there’s someone else I’ll call “Professor B.” I am head over heels in love with her mind and her heart. I don’t give a damn about her body, but her body is a real factor. It’s a miracle that we found each other to begin with. It’s an even greater miracle that she, a woman who takes love and all forms of sex far more seriously than I do, is willing to wait for me to figure out: 1) If I can promise to never sleep with another person, especially another man, and; 2) Out and out told me to go to a woman with whom I was very much in love once, and talk to her about why and how lesbians of their age tend to turn off their sexuality or take sex very seriously. That takes guts! I should say that she, feels about me the way I feel about her. There is so much to say that I should start from the beginning.

First, know that I’m typing this through curtains of intermittent tears. I’ve been confused about relationships before. This is not new. What is new is that I’ve been caught in this fucking lesbian disdain for women who sleep with men! It’s not like I sleep with men in general. I don’t. There is only one that I know of at this moment I would even consider sleeping with and he’d have to work like a motherfucker to get me to let him back into my pants and actively into my heart. We all know who that man is so I won’t bother with naming him . . . again. I can wrap my mind around making that commitment if it weren’t for Prof. B’s disabilities. Neither of us is sure she can have sex now. I am going to GUESS that if her doctors say that she can, they will also say that she will have to take it easy. That is going to be a problem.

You see, for me at least, there are different kinds of sex. Each kind has its own rewards. I have made love so achingly slow and carefully that, for me, orgasm was not going to happen and I was perfectly fine with that. The only thing I cared about was that my partner reach a pinnacle he’d never forget–or, that she would never forget. I have had sex to satisfy a craving and that meant absolutely nothing afterwards. I have been fucked royally to the point I can’t forget it if for no other reason than its raw physicality and I don’t want to. Furthermore, I want to have that experience several dozen more times in my life. Fucking can happen with a stranger or it can happen with someone you’d die for. I’m coming to realize in this moment that I would probably die for Glenn, even now. Then, there is this great woman I’m falling for and who is falling for me that I’m going to have to promise to give away part of who I am if I expect to keep her. I am so absolutely torn I’m almost incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

There are some people who’d say that I was very lucky to have loved two very different men and one woman, going on two. This is true. However, it should be noted that I am not with them now, except for the one that is current. Of the three people, only two were viable in the sense that a very long-term relationship was possible. Gregory was, I do believe, a love/sex addict. In the end, we wore each other out emotionally. Anytime ALL of a Master’s slaves get together and say that he’s in trouble, he’s in trouble. He wasn’t happy with any of us afterwards, but that’s neither here nor there. I know that I stayed with him and tried to help him, terrified half the time that I would lose him. He kept the woman I loved dearly (I’ll call her “Khat”) and, although he consistently failed to acknowledge it, was really his primary partner. There is so much pain there still that I’m going to move off of him as a subject. Suffice it to say that Glenn and Khat were the only viable relationships. Although memories of Glenn turn up in odd places, he is effectively gone from my life and has been for many years. The same is true of Khat.

The title of this post was half in jest. The other, non-humorous part, is true. I don’t think I’d use the word “fault,” but he showed me how all forms of sex, but especially the combination of fucking and making love, can have a power that is absolutely indescribably, utterly, wonderful. I want that again and Prof. B cannot give it to me. I’m not sure it’s even in her to give it to me regardless of her disability. She’s more of the slow, aching kind of sex. That is going to leave me very frustrated and ultimately unhappy. I know that I absolutely must have the raw, physical kind of sex from time to time to keep me happy. She’s said that if I or anyone she’s with has an itch that just has to be scratched, she didn’t want to know about it. I can deal with that. However, when I pushed the issue tonight, she told me that she wants total monogamy even if I end up moving out of the state. I don’t think I can promise that to anyone. That’s not to say that I’d fall in love with someone else because I am damn hard to satisfy intellectually and keen intellect is a deal breaker. Therefore, I’d say that falling in love with someone else is remote. That notwithstanding, wanting to jump someone else’s bones, or vice versa, is inevitable in that circumstance. For that matter, it’s inevitable in the circumstance I’m trying so hard to get my mind around.

It has occurred to me that maybe I’m just not ready to give Glenn up. That is to say, to put him in the proper perspective of someone I loved more than I loved life itself and would have laid my life down for if need be. Notice how that’s all in the past tense. I think there’s some small part of me that knows he did what he did to me for a real reason and has a damn good idea of what that reason is. Yes, what he did was unforgivable. However, I just know/knew him too well to accept that he’d be vindictively cruel to someone who’d been his lover for 17 years. Add to that the knowledge that he knew I’d tried quite hard to kill myself due to his words and actions and I still can’t see it. I know that he’s a coward in some respects and to be pitied in others. He’s both in this one, for sure. I deserved better and I deserve better. I deserve, if anything from him, that he be a grown ass MAN and not some cowering manchild afraid of wifey and me! I don’t know if or when he will do it. I do know that I can’t put my life on hold waiting. Nevertheless, can I promise someone else that I will forsake all others, blah, blah, blah when I’m pretty sure that she cannot give me what I need sexually? We won’t even talk about our different needs where people are concerned! And, she says there’s a large class difference that I don’t see. I just see two people with different, though not incompatible, life experiences. I don’t care that she’s the first in her family to go to college or be ABD. Why should I? Yeah, there would be some things that she couldn’t relate to in my long-ago past, but I don’t even relate to them now!

Prof. B and I talked off and on all day today from the time I woke up this afternoon until I went to bed very early. I was busy going about my errands and so forth, but she was on the other end of the line. It’s a good thing she’s on leave or I can imagine a whole lot of things wouldn’t have gotten done on her end. It took a very long time for me to know through experience that I belonged with women. Glenn had gone and Gregory and I were temporarily off for the zillionth time. I was actually with someone else who I inadvertently pissed off that weekend, but he should have said something. *sigh* My point is that I’d known since I was four years old that I liked females be they girls, young women or women. That didn’t necessarily mean that I didn’t like men. Glenn was my first whole-hearted love and that’s something he can’t take from me, nor can anyone else. He married his first whole-hearted love. I should be happy for him and, on some level I am. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know I had a right to expect more from him, especially since we both knew that he wasn’t wild about the idea of giving me up completely. Had he been honest with himself, with me, with his wife, we’d have had different lives. Mine, for sure, would have been better. Then again, he would have done what Prof. B is doing: He could not deal with me being with another woman and loving it.

Whatever I do, I can’t win unless I choose. I can’t choose. Not now.

What now?

I don’t need to see Glenn again. I don’t want him in my life. I don’t want anyone who can do what he did and won’t accept any responsibility for his own actions. I am the one who swallowed a handful or two of benzos to end my life. What he did to drive me to do so is on him. No, I do not need to see him again. On the other hand, *evil grin* I want him to see me.

The thing about Glenn and I was that neither of us were sitting around waiting for the other to call. Well, I should qualify that. I did sit around waiting for him to call when I was in undergrad. I was young. However, after I crossed the threshold of 30 years old–actually before that–I was off doing my own thing. I had other relationships and, as he learned, I chose to actually do something about my attraction to women. That was our Waterloo. That’s what he couldn’t handle. He really couldn’t deal with me now. I am no longer willing to put up with a manchild. Heck, I don’t even know that I’ll ever want a man as a lover again. Part of that is thanks to him, but it’s mostly because I have a very hard time trusting men. OK, so more of that is due to Glenn than I’m admitting. *shrug* It is what it is. The only one who can make it go away is me. I have some idea of how, but I’m just not willing. It would mean becoming involved with a man for a while and gradually learning to trust again. It’s not an easy or quick road. I do think that I might be willing to get royally fucked off the edge of my bed by some hot young thing with an appropriately-sized penis, but that would be a quicky and meaningless. A little meaningless sex has it’s place, though.

In the last couple of weeks, almost as if I knew Valentine’s Day would come and I’d finally be more or less free of Glenn, I’ve done a couple of things to move my life along. The first was to re-join a dating site I’d left sometime last year. It was annoying to me that their clientele wasn’t as educated as I’d like. So, I took my money elsewhere. The “elsewhere” was Match.com. Oy! That place is infested with con artists! I encountered two in the first week. I would definitely suggest staying away from them. I won’t divulge which one I’ve joined, but I will say that it’s gotten better. There still aren’t the number of educated women I’d like to see, but there are those who can manage to put together a profile that’s worth a second look. There’s one woman in particular that’s piqued my interest. She’s pretty, tall, into the arts and, as I wrote tonight, gutsy. She’s been through things to which I can relate even though I haven’t been through the same things. We share some interests as well. We’ll chat and see if there’s anything that is worth a third look and, perhaps, a fourth. It’s fun discovering new people even if I don’t find The One.

The second thing I did was join a gym. I’ve never done so before, but I am so very ready to get in there and make my body into the weapon of mass destruction I want it to be. NO ONE will ever laugh at me or play cruel games because of my body–any portion of it–again. Glenn was the first time and he will be the very LAST. In addition, as much as I don’t feel my age intellectually, my body does. Things are going south when they used to be perkier. It’s time to do something about it. I was supposed to meet with a trainer today, but she had to cancel and I’d overslept anyway. I can’t be upset about oversleeping because stress has kept me awake for two nights. Actually, so has chatting with a fellow fibro patient feeling very depressed, poor dear. I know what that’s like and I wasn’t going to leave her alone in her depression. Therefore, I believe that I lost sleep for good reasons. However, I can’t lose any more. It’s too easy for me to get back into a habit of insomnia cured only through medication. The exercise will help, so I’m told. Personally, I just want to: 1) tone, firm, reduce; 2) repeat an infinite number of times until complete. Since I have a tendency toward anorexia, I have to be very, very careful about eating at all, eating properly and not over-exercising. Nevertheless, my body will become a W.M.D. Boom!!

Getting real about BDSM and me

I don’t feel like going into my history with BDSM. It’s too long and too long ago to write about when I’m tired, sick and the tiniest bit wobbly from a smidge of bourbon in my hot toddy. Suffice it to say that I was a submissive to a few and a bottom to a few more. I loved it. The only reason I’m out of the scene now is that I had medical problems that sidelined my entire life beginning in the early 2000s. I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since I’ve had sex with anyone. I don’t mean sex during a scene or within the context of BDSM. I mean that I haven’t had sex at all for years. I’ve learned to bury that part of myself, so I don’t miss it . . . most of the time.

Tonight I felt a yearning I haven’t had for years. I want to be owned. Actually, I wish that I’d been owned a year or so ago so that the relationship would be on solid ground by now and I could have a safe place with a safe person to let my guard down. Needless to say, that isn’t the reality of my current life. The reality is that I’m a submissive/bottom without a Master/Mistresss or Top. I’m not sure anyone who hasn’t been in the scene at one time or another can grasp it, however, I feel as though half of me isn’t here. It’s supposed to be here, but it isn’t.

Looking for a Dominant/Top online is one of the trickiest, most dangerous things I can think of doing now. I don’t mean tricky and dangerous only for me, but for anyone. That being said, I found my first Master online many years ago. That relationship ended after three years and I found a couple more as well as my first Mistress afterwards. However, this was well before the entire world knew and used the Internet. There weren’t too many degrees of separation between regular users of the chat program IRC, the mechanism I used to gain access to the online kink community, or; those who posted on Usenet, a group of bulletin boards with different topics. Now, there are so many wannabes who have no fucking clue about what it takes to be either a sub or a Dom. They read things that are meant to be fiction and would be horrendous practice in real life and think that’s what BDSM is all about. It isn’t. Not by a long-shot. I should say that I have yet to read the Grey trilogy, but have plans to do just that. I’m curious about how realistic the characters and scenarios are.

I am a great believer in “Safe, Sane and Consensual” play as opposed to RACK (Rick-Aware Consensual Kink). The two are not necessarily in opposition at all. However, from my experience, those who follow RACK tend to be more hard-core and not respectful of people with limits reasonable to them. In writing this post, I happened across an essay that explains the two themes quite well. In essence, the author boiled the them down to the notion that SSC people bury their heads in the sand about any risks they may encounter in their play. In contrast, people who practice RACK go out and do the research to discover the risks and what to do should they encounter them even if that means asking someone who is more familiar with a particular way of playing than they are.

I do not believe in the dichotomy. At least, I don’t believe in that dichotomy. It has been my experience that a good Top or Dom will in fact research a type of play along with their partner so that both can find out if they are comfortable trying something new. Remember: A good Dom always has his/her sub’s well-being at heart. If they don’t, they don’t need to play with ANYONE. If the Dom is part of a community, then peer pressure can be a wonderful thing to keep potentially errant Doms/Tops on the straight and narrow. For that matter, community can keep unsafe subs/bottoms out of the scene as well. It’s a whole lot easier to teach a sub/bottom about what is expected than it is to teach a Dom/Top even though they are the ones who need to know most. I realize that will be an unpopular statement, but that’s been my experience. Some Tops just do not, and will not, listen to either their bottom or other Tops who may pull their coat and try to teach them the right way of doing things. I believe that their egos get in the way. Some, although I don’t know what percentage, are probably just narcissists who are emotionally abusive and call it BDSM.

Losing my mother and having to deal with her very complex and totally FUBAR’d estate has been a lonely experience. That’s partially my doing because I feel I have to keep myself together. That means there are times I have to withdraw to keep from falling apart. I realized Friday night that I need someone to lovingly take care of me. I need the safety, compassion and strength of a good Dom so that I can let go in a safe environment with someone who knows me well. That’s one of the things fiction, at least that found on bookshelves, doesn’t teach. A Dom/sub team is the most intimate kind of relationship two people can have. A Dom knows his/her sub inside and out; what makes the sub tick; where his/her vulnerable spots are; what buttons to push when, if ever; how to calm the sub and provide an anchor when things get really tough and the sub is in danger of falling over a figurative cliff. I need and want that kind of intimacy now. However, I should have been moving in that direction with someone a year or more ago if they are to help me now. I’m wishing for something that should have happened already. Talk about impossible!

There are some Doms who specialize in taking subs who are broken and damaged in some way and helping them help themselves. When/if their time comes to an end, both are better for having been together. Both can be proud of the progress the sub has made because s/he couldn’t have made it without the Dom’s influence. That’s the kind of Dom I need right now. I need someone who specializes in the damaged and broken. The thing is, I’m not so damaged and broken that I can’t fend for myself. In fact, I’m likely to resist submission. It’s not that my conscious mind doesn’t want it. My subconscious mind may not allow me to do it. I can see that happening very easily. That would be the part of me that has to learn how to trust again. That’s one of the primary reasons I got into BDSM in the first place. It was the only kind of relationship I felt would force me to trust another human being. Well, at present, there aren’t too many humans I trust. In fact, I can’t think of anyone I trust completely. There used to be people, but they are no longer in my life. I’ve also had the whole Glenn mess. That, alone, is reason to never trust someone with my heart and emotions. The irony is that, but for our first sexual encounter, I probably wouldn’t have discovered I was turned on by BDSM.

I must admit that I’ve been thinking about Glenn because of Notre Dame’s Manti Te’o scandal. It’s too close to the crap I went through with Glenn. At least Glenn and I had 17 years of some form of real world togetherness before the break, me calling him and him tricking me into believing we could rekindle our relationship. I wish with all my heart that the news media would leave this kid alone. What they are doing is, perhaps, driving a young man to do something for which everyone will be sorry–too late. Think about Te’o as a person first and a news story last.

Anyway, although Glenn shattered me into so many pieces years ago, I have managed to mostly put myself back together. I finally have no interest in him except that I hope this Notre Dame thing reminds him of what he did and he’ll have the decency to hang his head in shame. Am I together? This is the first time I’ve ever asked this question of myself. I’m functionally. I can feel joy even though I’m covering up a mess of sadness. I can still write, but I have yet to write something that is instrumental to my future plans. I am honestly not sure that I’m bad enough to seek a Dom who specializes in putting the broken bits back together. Then again, I can see myself as the primary partner of such a Dom and helping him/her in helping others. For some reason I don’t understand, I would feel more comfortable doing that with a male partner than another woman. I have absolutely NO reason why.

I’ll end this post by saying that I need to really think about what I want. I believe I want a Dom. In researching this piece, I learned that the group that originally took me into the fold still exists, but my ISP doesn’t have Usenet access. I may end up paying for the service. But do I really need anything else to take me off task? My life has become one of questioning what I want against what I need. I both want and need someone who can chip away at the walls to get to my core being because I don’t think I can do it myself. That person needs to be around while I heal. From what I’ve been told, I may never heal, but I will learn to live with the pain. I just don’t know if that’s true–the part about learning to live with it. I live with it now by barely acknowledging it’s there. What happens when it is exposed to the light? I need someone to catch me when I tumble, because I most definitely will tumble. For now, all I can do is write, keep both my eyes and my mind open and hope like hell that someone crosses my path. I’m not sure I need a specialist, but I do know that I need someone who has truly lived in the scene for a long time and has the other, emotional characteristics I need. A dilettante, Dom-wannabe can’t deal and I deserve better. *sigh*

For a great FAQ about BDSM please see this site.

Help with a decision

There is a poll at the end and I need COMMENTS, damnit!!

I was on my way here to post when I saw that the last time I’d posted was way back in August. It’s not like things haven’t been happening, they have. I just haven’t had the energy to write about them.

The first thing that’s happened is that I’ve hired a team of sharks to keep this house out of the bank’s hot, greedy hands long enough for me to repair my credit. They are good guys, too. I paid their retainer out of the largest and last of the small insurance checks. Mother, for reasons I will never fathom, was woefully underinsured. Maybe it’s because she absolutely, positively refused to accept that I will never again work whatever hours most people work these days. I can do about 10 days of a 40-hour week and then I’m in bed, tired and in pain. Maybe it was because she was sick both emotionally and with some form of dementia. I have known that she was mentally ill for many, many years. Given the things she’d been through in her life and at such a young age, I realized that, although I could be angry with her, what she was doing wasn’t necessarily her fault.

I’d also known that Mom had some form of dementia for at least three years and probably more. I think, but am not sure, that it was three years ago that I tried to force her to see a doctor to get an evaluation. To my absolute and utter frustration, the only thing they evaluated was her memory. Her memory was fine. It was her ability to make decisions that was fucked to hell and back. She actually sicced her eldest two brothers on me in an attempt to intimidate me. That only goes to prove my point. The old Mom would have known that would do no good. However, given that the doctors’ only interest was in her memory, and my only option was to petition the probate court to order a FULL mental examination and risk whatever relationship we’d managed to cobble together, I chickened out. There would have been no “winning” either way around. If I was right, I wouldn’t “win” because I’d know the mother I had wasn’t the mother she was during my childhood and earlier adulthood. She would know the same and I’d watch the light go out in her eyes when she learned that to be the case. I just couldn’t do it. I loved her too much. Frankly, in some ways, I still see her as having hung the moon along with my father. God, how I miss them both! I did have a short chat with Daddy before bed, though. Things around the room kept falling down, so I knew someone was here. Specifically, some things I had nestled quite stably on his urn fell off twice. That’s when I knew I needed to talk to him and explain myself. I also know that it made him cry and feel helpless. I’ve only seen him that way once when he was alive and yet, I knew that’s how he feels now.

Well, now the lawyers have gone through my retainer and need several thousand more. I asked a cousin who could have easily helped, but thought my business idea was going to tank even though I didn’t tell him anything about it. I don’t tell anyone exactly what it is because I’ve had too many ideas stolen and used by others as their own, including ideas that he balked at first and then stolen himself. There’s no way to copyright an idea, only the execution of an idea. He is of the opinion that I’m spoiled, a ne’er do well, a flake and a number of other things not remotely resembling who I am. He also likes to emotionally torture me for pure pleasure. I’d give the reason I know this, but it’s too long and I’m too tired. In essence, I’ve shown something he wrote about me around a decade ago to three different therapists/psychiatrists. Three terms come up either in concert or isolation: sadist; narcissist, and/or; cruel. I feared he was on the same track again and said I’ll get the money myself.

The reason I’m here tonight is because I do have a way of earning this money myself and it just so happens that it fits somewhat into the reason for this blog.

I was not aware of this until earlier this year, but there is a fetish population of men (and maybe women) who prefer women who are amputees. I wish I could remember exactly who told me about it, but I do remember it was someone in the sexual abuse community. At the time, I was completely creeped out. I shouldn’t be surprised or creeped out given the high percentage of disabled people (mostly girls and women, but also male children and adults) who are sexually assaulted because we can’t fight back and are perceived as easy targets. According to the National Center on Domestic and Sexual Violence, citing a study by the National Victim Center, 683,000 women over the age of 18 are raped each year. Only 16% are ever reported to the police. One in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually assaulted by the time they are 18 years old. Between 1/3 and 2/3 of victims, male and female, are younger than 15 years old. The book Violence and Abuse Within the Lives of People With Disabilities: The End of Silent Acceptance?, women with disabilities are sexually assaulted at twice the rate of non-disabled victims. I’ve known all of this to be true, but I did not know the exact numbers. I highly recommend both of these resources. They will obliterate any previous ideas readers may hold about rape and other forms of sexual assault.

By NO means am I saying that men (or women) who are amputee devotees are rapists or perpetrators of sexual assault. I simply mean that within any given population of people one will find those with a given fetish. Some smaller number of people who have that fetish will seek out the easiest targets and abuse them. That would be true if the fetish were pom-pom girls.

Difficult times have called for difficult decisions. After giving the idea a great deal of thought concerning how to hide my identity since I do have another life and getting down to the nitty-gritty of my comfort level regarding my own beauty and sexuality as a human being who happens to be a disabled woman–specifically an amputee–I have decided to move forward and serve as my own model for a site that publishes photos and movies of amputees. I hope to make the shoots fun for me and fun for the viewers who buy my sets. I began purchasing the masks I’d like to use and, at least until I get used to the idea, I have no plans to show more than a bikini model. Indeed, in some instances, probably less. I personally find a certain level of mystery to be highly erotic. My mother saw a set of photos I shot of myself for someone else about seven years ago. She actually couldn’t help but see them since they were mixed in with the other images on my laptop and had a bright red background. My avatar comes from that set. She didn’t disapprove. She actually kind of liked them because they were very suggestive while, in some cases, being very covered. Of the few that showed my breasts, I still had on a bodystocking. This time, it will be lingerie and erotic nighties. I understand the more explicit I get, the more money I can charge. Let’s just say that no one will be seeing my pussy for at least the next year unless their face is buried in it or there’s an “M.D.” after their name.

My question is whether or not I should keep this space and this nickname AWAY from those who purchase my photos or use it as a launch pad and area to correspond? I can think of several pros and cons for each. However, since it’s you all who have been with me throughout, I wanted to take your thoughts and feelings into consideration. In that vein, I have added an anonymous poll and opened comments. My primary concern is that those who do read this blog not get pushed aside by people panting after more photos. I know what my preference is, but it’s just barely a preference and I wouldn’t mind input that might change my mind and give me new information to consider. Indeed, that’s what I want.

So, without further ado:

I really do want and expect people to comment on this question because it affects how we relate to each other.