Drink Me

Crickets sing a lonely ballad

I’m suffocating under cotton sheets

Going under for one last breath

Every time I inhale

 

Heavy is the heart who’s mother’s eyes are dilated

Weary is the soul who’s daughter has no home

 

For 44 years I’ve wandered this wasteland

Giving birth while husbands die

Breastfeeding monsters with angel eyes

and demon wings that rustle

 

I loved your tragic orphan story

I was falling in love FINALLY!

That is tragedy in itself

Yet

I am my own God

and I forgive my own wicked and silly deeds

Thus any tragedy incurred will not matter

When it’s all over

When my wanderings are laid to rest

And I can sleep the sleep of Magdaline

Of Eve…

 

Until then

The child in me takes joy in Fret

And the woman in me lusts after your English skin

And the fool in me waits for days

hour by torturous hour

for my phone to let me know

You’ve finally written.

To have you look at me with Damaged eyes

That know only love

For the woman that left.

 

The truth in that

Shatters against the wall of my heart

Slicing it to pieces.

I only half mind

For picking it all up

Will give me something to do

With all these unwanted days

That are so stale and tasteless since you vanished

 

Good God I’d love a swig of that “Drink Me” bottle right now

Shrink down into the size of an Atom

And build myself up again

Into an even stronger woman

Who never wanted nor needed

Anything from you

 

 

HERE’S ONE FOR THE NARCISSIST SPECIALISTS

Admittedly, I AM a Narcissistic little twit. It would be interesting to think that is all that is involved in my having to be exceedingly careful what I wish for.

In the past month I have been blogging in my fetish social media group how I love caretaking, how I miss it, and simply adore cooking for and feeding someone, cleaning them, etc. . I MEANT in  a romantic loving way! Because I was not specific enough mom falls from the sky and lands in my bedroom like the fucking witch in The Wizzard of Oz.

I’ve recently also spoken of my love of Asian men, I do have a bit of a fetish in my desire to recreate the intensity of my marriage with Ed where anything and everything was shared and nothing was taboo.

From the sky falls a black-eyed Asian, adorable lips, square chin, a bit shy and reserved and MARRIED.

AHEM

One would think when I went for my Master level in Reiki I’d be not only more prepared for the reality of be careful what you wish for….but I’d be more in tune with what it is I really need and want.

Ok God, send Mother back where she came from. I’ll take the married Asian If and only IF he suits my needs and purposes, makes me feel good and it’s a lovely mutual exchange that hurts NO one.

I believe in the power of marriage. It outlasts sexual deviancy if you allow it to. The whole monogamy thing is fairly new. I wont cast my pearls before swine, look it up yourself. Point being, there are reasons men have gone outside the marriage bed since the dawn of time and there are reasons why wifes are GLAD they do.

I happen to be one of the ones they run to. And I don’t want them for myself. I want my own husband. Not yours. Apparently I have to be VERY specific now being a Reiki Master EXACTLY what I want. I hate to do that though. Seems very much like cheating.

Here’s a rough draft

Of some sort of Asian descent so he’ll have those slanted black eyes that make me MELT

KInky, not more nor less than I. Is that even possible? I don’t want to know.

Someone who is able to come to me at least four times a month and one of those times needs to be at least 24 hours long.

Someone who is well read, intellectual, a deep thinker, but not in a Jeffrey Dahmer sort of way.

Someone who wants to be married for life, to share all of life’s freakery and not be afraid to really lay it out there with me. But it wont hurt anyone. See how I’m trying to add all the fine print?

Someone who is able to and wants to have traditional passionate sex with me to break up the monotony. Kissing is a must no matter what. He will brush his teeth and have a clean pleasant mouth. The teeth don’t have to be perfect. Mine are not. I just want to enjoy the kiss.

Someone who will not fall apart, attempt suicide or murder or leave me should I want to play outside the bedroom with someone else in a fetish way only. I could be vanilla sex faithful forever, but kink, I could not promise that.

NIce rough draft, I think.

Now that I’ve laid that out on the line, I conscience will my mother back to her side of Oz from whence she came!

JOHNNY CASH BROUGHT MOTHER’S JUST DESERTS

My 13 year old has been in residential treatment since July.

She has been labeled with a string of various acronyms. Three doctors have tested her and all results have come back with Sociopathic tendencies which refrain them from allowing her to return to me or society. Her being  separated from family only makes her more manic so she’s acting out there, which only perpetuates their decision.

My little girl  was the only one of my children that was completely discipline resistant. While a baby, if she wanted something and I would not let her have it, she would have violent fits, and although I still would NOT give in, she would keep it up for days, Unlike most babies that forget as soon as you offer a distraction, she would fixate on being told no. As she got older her hitting and shoving children resulted in being suspended various times and her tendency to get off the bus and run away trying to get back home resulted in her being placed in special ed. By the middle of first grade I started homeschooling her. Trying to do what’s right, I got her a therapist and she’s been in treatment her entire life.

Labeled as severe ADHD she was on adderall until she was about 10, then she was diagnosed as BPD. The bipolar drugs made her see and hear things that were not there and she start cutting. I took her to the psychiatric hospital three times in hopes they would keep her long enough to have medication regulated, but she would be sent home in a week or less with a new drug. Deciding her life was not worth the risk, I pulled her off the drugs and kept her regulated through an all natural diet in which she detested me for, but it kept life tolerable for months at a time. In 6th grade I put her in public school because I did not feel confidant progressing any further. She was able to control herself for longer periods by this age.  School was going so well, she was far above her level. I felt I would be robbing her if I tried teaching her high school lessons so the only thing to do was put her in public school and have her tested.  I let them know her issues but they did not take me seriously as she looks like such an angel. She met a bad boy and things went straight to hell. Within a few months events unfolded that landed her where she is today and there is nothing I can do.  I’ve had to swallow this pill of truth in the past months. The Grief has taken me though a hell I did not know existed outside loosing my husband, she is alive yet I grieve her childhood. I see children playing and laughing and it fills me with such a profound sense of loss.

My sister called me crying one day asking me to watch the video chandelier by Sia. She told me to wait until I was done working for the day, but I really needed to see it. She didn’t tell me why but I figured it was really important. I’d heard the song and didn’t see how it was relevent to me, but I watched anyway. Tears poured down my face. There was my child. In all her beautiful blonde rage, rampaging through the house trying to rid herself of something she can’t see. It was her, there on the screen, and for the first time I felt like I understood my baby. And I wanted to hold her, but I couldn’t and I wanted to talk to her, but I can’t. The pain was unbearable. I was suddenly so immensely lonely, the ghosts of my husband and my daughter’s voices and faces everywhere. I got on OK cupid, created a profile, and proceeded to fuck the pain away. It worked for about three months. Every stranger’s skin made for forget for a few hours who I was, where I’d been, what was happening. It became an addiction. I did not realize this was a form of self harm until the day I heard Johnny Cash on the radio.

My breakdown hit me quite unexpectedly. I’d been driving along happy as a clam after getting my booty call fix and Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” comes on the radio. The lyrics cut through my walls like hot steel. My vision was blurred by tears. I tried to choke it back because i was driving, but nothing I could do would stop the hysteria building inside me. I was passing by my sisters street. I call her screaming I need her she tells me come on, come now, hurry. I am pretty sure in all my sisters years, she has never seen me cry. I hide it well. Not that night. I pull in almost hitting her mailbox.  I fall out of the car into her arms and sob the tears of four decades.

Years in my sisters arms pass. She is silent as she has never ever seen the interior of the fortress walls. She does not know what to say. I said “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. This song came on and I just fell apart. They may take her for good. What am I going to do? What’s going to happen to her?” She tells me we can fight this. We will get lawyers. I say thank you thank you and I hug her.

I look up and my mother is on my sisters Porch. She is looking down on us with the most heartbroken look on her face.

And the crazy bitch says

“I just can’t believe Kimberly is who you’d call if you got upset. I guess this is what I get. My daughters don’t need me.”

Now folks, I may like Human Puppy Dogs, I might like dressing up in latex and tipping ashes in a willing subs mouth, I might like brushing a guys teeth and washing him in the tub. But if I were truly crazy, I would have acted upon my instinct to go up on that porch and punch my mother square in her 300,000 dollar face.

But instead I say, “Aw mom, Kims was the closest place to go”

How Porn Can Destroy Innocence

I imagine I’ll loose half my followers in this post. When I decided to write a blog it was to write my story. I will not sugar coat things and I will not do anything to make myself look like a saint because I’ve been the opposite. This subject is a focal point in my childhood and there may be people out there who had the same issues but are too scared to talk about it. It’s totally cool. I’ll be the scapegoat. These things need to be said because there are warning signs that just possibly could save your child from becoming a monster. Put the dirty books and DVD’s in a lockbox people. Your kids are finding them and looking!

In the 70’s children were to be seen but not heard. I was good with that. If I was very quiet in a corner somewhere the adults would forget I was in the room and they would go about their conversations and pot smoking and record playing as if I were not really there at all. This was a very powerful feeling. I could listen in to all of the grown up secrets right there in plain sight. I could hear who was screwing over who when my mother got on the phone as I hid behind the towering stereo speakers that were so popular then.  I knew way too much for a elementary aged child, but I didn’t understand what it was I was hearing. I knew things that got me into trouble when I would decide to join the world for playtime. I didn’t go seeking it though, it would come seeking me. And when it found me I blew that neighborhood out of the water.

Little girls would come to my house and ask if I could come play. I would hide so my mother would not make me go. She’d feel sorry for the kids and shove me out the door. While out there among them I was a stranger in a strange land. I had a difficult time playing childish games. I liked to ride bikes, to skate, to play basketball or jumprope, but I was never good at just sitting on the sidewalk with the gang and shooting the shit. I’d inevitably repeat something I’d heard my parents say and someone would go home and tell their mother. The neighborhood kids wouldn’t be allowed over to my house for a few days but by weeks end someone would wind up at my door again, crying because I would not go out to play. I would lie and say someone was already in my room and that my mom didnt want more than one child over at a time. My not wanting them made them so want me. Not much has changed.

I was a perverse little thing and there is no damn good excuse for it. I wish there were. I wish there was a big human drooly monster in my closet I could point a finger at and say it’s his fault. But I was not molested.  In the end it came down to the fact my grandmother taught me to read before I was 5 and by the time I was 8 I was reading hustler.

While my parents argued in the next room I decided to hide.  That day it was under their bed. Low and behold there was an awesome magazine with a bunny on it. But wait. How weird! The bunny is on a cross! I open it up and …nothing. There were naked women making stupid faces. I didnt feel bad looking at it. I didnt feel like I needed to hide the fact I was looking at it. I didn’t know it was supposedly wrong. I found out it was wrong when my mother walked in and caught me looking at it and beat me with the magazine, then went and screamed at my dad for not keeping his dirty books hid better.

The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross
The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross

If you are so much as two years younger than me you would not understand how it was to be 8 and that innocent. Television back then was so innocent. There were not even tampon commercials. When I would repeat things to neighborhood kids that got me in trouble my mom just whipped me, but she didnt tell me what exactly was wrong. The moment my mother freaked out on me for looking at that book a monster was born. All of a sudden the puzzle pieces came together and I realized THIS was screwing, THIS is what freaked the kids out. I was not sure what was happening here but I knew I’d NEVER gotten mom’s FULL attention in such a manner. I realized now EXACTLY what my words to those kids meant. My dad’s embarrassed reaction by barely being able to look me in the eye made me feel so powerful I knew I had to have more of what those dirty books contained. And thus my porn and sex addiction began.

Apparently my dad was a porn addict because there were Hustlers and Penthouse hidden all over the house. I was home alone all the time, dad worked all the time and mom was running the roads. The minute she walked out that door the search was on. I always found what I was looking for and there was always new material to look at. I felt no sexual thrill at all. Instead it felt as though I were gaining ammunition, or that I was gathering information that made me powerful.

At about 10 years old I started befriending some of the kids who would come over to ask me to play and I let them in on my little secret. I showed them the books. They were horrified, yet fascinated, and my possession of these adult things made me the holder of the golden goose. . They were putty in my hands. I decided it would be great fun if we took our clothes off and pose like the models in the magazines. We would do that, feeling very powerful and grown up. I was ALWAYS the man. Mom came home one day and caught us and beat me sensless, sending the little girl crying out of the house. I’d be furious during those beatings, but take them silently. I never felt shame nor did I feel guilt. Perhaps if I’d felt a sexual spark during these encounters I may have felt shame, but it was all a game. A game that made me feel like the ruler of the neighborhood. Everyone wanted to play with me but no one talked about what they’d do over there. The one who was allowed in my house that day was the winner, but what they thought they’d won I don’t understand because I would torment the shit out of them. The fact that they even came back for more disgusted me and made me determined to amp it up a notch each time.

I became more bold as months went by. I’d read so many of my dad’s penthouse forums apparently it had corrupted my young mind. I had a girl take her clothes off and tied her to my desk leg with a shoe string. Then I got dressed and just left her there and went to the kitchen. I could hear her screaming and crying and I was just laughing my ass off. I got ketchup and mustard and poured it all over her, I poked her with my baton saying something like “but you love to play with me and it’s my turn to decide what we play. You’re a dog and you made a mess on the floor and you have to be tied up” I remember telling her she was always crying at my door wanting in and this is what happens when you come in. I made her promise to leave me alone and never come back. She promised! I wanted to let her go but I’d tied the knots tight and her pulling made it worse so mom came home and found me there with a naked girl tied to my desk and ketchup and mustard all in the cream-colored carpet. I got beat with a vacuum cleaner so badly mom sent her best friend in to make sure I was still breathing. I could hear her screaming on the phone that she thought she’d killed me. I was not dead. I just layed there with my eyes closed and let her hit me with that vacuum vowing that no matter what she did, I was going to keep doing what I was doing. I did not care.

It had been about a year since I’d acted out because mom wouldnt allow kids over anymore. So instead I was over at someone’s house and they wanted to play house.  There were three of us and I was voted the baby, which I was mad about. I was always the daddy. Not fair! So when she went to change me “into my pajamas” for naptime, I peed all over her. The thrill at the horror across her face was classic. That thrill was soon replaced with shame and fear because she jumped up and ran to tell her teenage sister, who locked me in the bathroom to wait until the parents got home. I remember taking everything out from under the cabinet and putting it in the tub and hiding under the cabinet. But they found me, of course. I dont remember what happened after that. For some reason my memory of those insane times just vanishes after that moment.

My next memory involving sex or relationship is when I was 12. I played with the boy across the street because the girls were no longer allowed to play with me but none of the girls would tell the others what I’d done for their parents to have me off limits. Me and Jeremy (lots of jeremys in my life) were best friends. He was a year older than me and he just seemed to get me in a way the girls didnt. He didnt care that I didnt talk. He did all the talking. We biked, we went to the school playground, we went to the junkyard. And one day on his swingset he bent over and kissed me, and I punched him square in the face and knocked him off the swing. I was furious! But I didnt know why! I ran home crying my eyes out and refused to ever play with him again. I was so upset, because he’d taken my power away in that one kiss.  I liked him and was so mad that he’d ruined everything by liking me “like that”. After school I’d want to go over so bad but would not even look his way. He sent me letters through other kids telling me he wanted to go with me. I liked him and didn’t want to. I had weird butterflies down there when I thought about him kissing me and that made me want to punch him more. Boys ruin everything.

When I turned 13 my parents moved to another city and then the year after that they divorced and we moved to the country. I was a punk rock girl in a hick hillbilly school and got the hell beat out of me all the time for my smart ass remarks and anti social attitude. It was in high school that I met the love of my life. I was walking through the halls with my head down so as to not make eye contact with anyone and I heard from way up high “Hey blondie, nice leather” I looked up into the most beautiful slanted black eyes I’d ever seen. All my reserve went right out the window. He was the most amazing thing I’d ever laid eyes on, with a tall black mohawk and eyeliner on his already slanted eyes, piercings everywhere and the thickest juiciest lips. I’d never punch this one for kissing me, I knew that immediately. He said “What’s up, I’m Ed”  and just like that, I was his. Still, to this day, I am still his. He’s dead though, so there’s that.

Wrapping up I want to state that later in my 20’s I realized how horrible I was to those poor kids. Someone should have reported me. Maybe they did. Things like this just were not investigated back then. It was embarrassing so it was not talked about. And all the beatings my mom gave me just made the situation much worse and psychological than it needed to be because no one bothered to find out what was wrong with me.

Everyone will feel better knowing that in my years of Prison I received weekly psychotherapy and counseling. I revealed my childhood acts to my counselors who helped me realize why I did what I did, why it was wrong, and investigate things about myself that would make me act the way I did. It all revolved around power. The need for it, the addiction to it, and the desire to maintain it no matter the cost. It directly related to the violent fight my parents were in, and my mother walking in on me looking at a dirty magazine and the fight stopping immediately because I had done something so intense it trumped the fight.

I hope those girls can forgive me for being so cruel. I was the same age as them but I still was more mature and should not have done what I did. I would venture to suggest to them that they look into why they were willing to do whatever it took just to get me to play with them. What was going on with them at home or in their heads that they wanted so badly to be with someone who refused to open the door to them and once I did, allowed me to do whatever I wanted to do just so they could stay in my presence.

Despite all the years of therapy one thing has not changed, if you sit crying outside my proverbial door, and irritate me to the point that I open up and let you in, it’s my game, my rules, and you will be punished for being so weak as to need a monster like me.

Wanna Play?

DANCING NAKED WITH A RED BEAN BUN…AND WHY ILL PROBABLY ALWAYS BE SINGLE

This should have been broke down into like 3 blogs but it just flowed out so fast, so take it like it is. LOL

I love Red Bean Buns almost as much as I love living alone.

I had an epiphany this morning as I caught myself dancing naked in the kitchen at 5 am SINGING “I saw the sign” holding up a plate of three little red bean buns in my hand. I’d just crawled out of bed, the dogs woke me up to let them out to pee. Habitually when I wake up every day I drag naked ass to the kitchen to put on the tea kettle and the rice cooker.

I don’t let myself think about those buns in the freezer for the most part. They can be expensive to be so little. I reserve them for a day that I honestly know I wont eat enough rice to waste cooking it. I have myself on a budget of no more than 350 dollars TOTAL for all groceries a month. That includes feeding my son as often as he comes by with his to go bowl and making about 8lbs Kimchi a month. OMG I’m always digressing. Sorry…

I put on the kettle, ran and let the dogs out before their insanely annoying barking pisses the neighbor off and he starts playing that music that has Nigga literally every fourth word, and I bounced happily back to the kitchen to start my kitchen piddling. I don’t even own dogs, but I’m always keeping one or two here for someone. I’m usually paid for it but it doesn’t cover the pain in my ass. Who the fuck wants to be up at 5 am on a vacation day. Ugh! I am angry at the dogs for waking me up three hours after I had laid down, but I decide to give them crisp pork skin that had browned up on the side of the slow cooker. I give them the little treat and go back to the kitchen. Their waking me up has given me an excuse to make RED BEAN BUNS. Da Da DAAAAAA!  I don’t want to wash rice and cook too much food. It’s my last day to recover before having to go back to work tomorrow.

The way I live breaks my mother’s heart. No one but my sister would get the gravity of that statement. Not much penetrates through the fog of my mother’s conscienceless to attempt to bother her. My sister just doesn’t visit because there’s not enough room for all of her children to stand or sit. The few clients uppity enough to have the balls to say something asked “WHY on God’s earth are you living HERE?” In three years I went from having TWO homes, a commercial location for my business, 12 acres with a lake and a two-story 5 bedroom home with a finished basement, a library, a game room complete with pool table and foosball. Dirt Bike and Horseback Riding Trail. Shall I go on? I worked from 7 am to about 7pm 7 days a week grooming and doing occasional Domina work until I would have a nervous breakdown, cancel my entire week and take my daughter off and spend thousands of dollars on her trying to make up for the fact that I am never available to just sit and listen to her one on one. I raised my children well in the end. They’ve had everything and they’ve had nothing and they, like I, realized that material possessions can blind us. The boys live frugally like I do and use their money to have enriching experiences instead of buying happiness.

Through Reiki I learned that having everything I could ever want gave me nothing.

My Reiki Master actually taught me nothing about how to live or what to do. He taught me Reiki, no more no less. Once you are attuned to Reiki, what your higher self needs to experience existence at its fullest will manifest itself into your life and you can accept it or reject it. It depends on how brave you are to take on yourself and the worlds perception of you. My best friend’s son-in-law did a Reiki treatment on my daughter at a pool party. She’d fractured it at school and it was bothering her. I wont bother to go too deeply into Reiki  in this post. I rarely cast my pearls before swine. Those of you who feel a spark by reading the words” Reiki changed my life”  can Wikipedia it and follow the yellow brick road, because that’s exactly what I did.

My life changed the day I was first attuned but it took about a month for the shit to hit the fan in order for my life to change the way I needed it to. This is called “The Healing Crisis”. I woke up one day, looked at the man I’d lived with for 6 years but never slept with and didn’t love, and said “I”m leaving” There wasn’t much he could do. I’d told him from day one I couldn’t love him. He lost his job and just never bothered to get another one because I made so much money. I didn’t respect him, I didn’t need all this stuff anymore, so I drove away in a small uhaul and gave it all to him. My daughter missed her motorcycle but that’s it. She had me.  All of a sudden all this material stuff became visible to me for what it was. A distraction from living. I’d lived out of a locker with no possessions for 9 years in Prison. When I got out I was hell-bent to buy happiness. If I wanted something by God I worked and bought it. That’s how it should be. I just wanted stuff more than I wanted self. My kids experienced an obsessively clean mother who came home from work and yelled a lot because I was trying to pack parenting into 3 hours before bed. I am so thankful they forgive me. We have the best relationship now, all three of us, in very unique ways. They are all so spiritual and intelligent. Now this is just me. I don’t care who you are or what you own or where you go and how you pad yourself from this existence to make it pleasurable. Do it dude. I like hanging out naked alone in a concrete block wall studio apartment burning incense and dancing naked in the kitchen because it’s red bean bun day.

It’s not all about being naked in the kitchen, I enjoy other things!

I love making Kimchi and cooking, writing, meditating, reading, drawing, walking around the streets with my boarding dogs, laughing at the looks on the people’s faces because I’m the only white woman in this neighborhood. I love grooming in whatever I feel like wearing that day because there’s no one to care, if I’m hot I’ll just groom with shorts and an apron and THATS ALL. My son keeps my car because unless I am driving to do the weekly mobile pet pick up or my once a month grocery shopping, I don’t go anywhere. Playing the occasional X box game with my kid, and being immediately available to them should they want to be here with me is important to me.  EXPERIENCING their energetic coming and going and LISTENING whenever they have anything to say is a gift. My youngest son and I watched the Spirit Science video series together and it was a beautiful experience. I literally only have $1,100. In living expenses before groceries, gas, cigarettes, sake, incense, and laundry. I easily spend under 1500 a month. Pure Bliss. I can fracture ribs and take a week off work and not worry about bills. I just ate leftover soup, rice, and Kimchi all week. How could I expect anyone to put up with that? People are such fucking cry babies. Last week a former submissive of mine was in town and wanted to visit with me. I warned her like 100 times that I am a different person from the one she last spent time with . She didn’t take me seriously I guess.  She literally ate NOTHING and drank only water the entire 24 hours she was here. She gagged every time I opened my Kimchi lock and lock container. She brought a bag for a week and left the next day starving to death and bored out of her mind. Bye Now! C U LTR. ROFLMAO People. I tell you. (Love you honey! We’ll work on that weak stomach of yours)

My three kids (25, 23, and 14) are my best friends.  My only real friends. The only ones I welcome wholeheartedly into my sacred space. My non blood related friends have slowly fallen by the wayside. When one no longer makes 400 dollars a day it is surprising how people suddenly have so much to do and are too busy to be bothered. I read who is dying and having a baby on Facebook. I couldn’t be happier for them. No, really. I don’t want anyone here anyway until I meet mister right, which is a long shot. I don’t like speaking that often. I find it difficult to take words from my mind and have them exit my mouth. I guess I’ve worked with dogs too much or I’ve meditated too much. My friends and sex partners when I have one get uncomfortable with my silences. When I am rambling like an idiot is one should worry. That means I am anxious around them, or I’ve crawled out of my hole and need to say everything very quickly because I want to get back home.

Sex and Marriage I have extremely strong sexual needs but can go months without it by meditating. When meditation isn’t working and I need a human, OK cupid and Fetlife did it for a while. I spent a little over a year with a very bad man trying to make it work because I needed so badly to have someone to take care of.  Turns out he was a drug addict so I, not liking to cast pearls before swine, up and left, leaving house and possessions behind. No regrets. After a few months of recovery I was so horny I resorted to online hookups.  I stopped all that serial dating back in September. I am so blissfully alone, and yet now I have had the desire to be married again. It is a shame I came to this realization at my age. I’m in no hurry to meet any particular person because it has to be the RIGHT one. I learned from the last relationship that just anyone who will have me is not deserving of me. The one I will into my existence will be recognized when I see him. .. or her.

I may be quite pretty for my age but I may be single forever. I just may never meet the right one because My standards are so hypocritically high in regards to education, intelligence, personal cleanliness, communication and vocabulary. He has to be a whiz AND put up with my weird sexual appetite AND give me Tantra AND accept that I sleep on the floor and eat fermented cabbage AND nothing I watch on television is in English. AND even though I’ve lost a ton of weight I have all this weird skin that doesn’t know where to go. I’m still one hot 43-year-old though, lol. Oh, and did I mention my colorful past? I bet he’d just love to introduce me to his family. Sigh. If I get caught up in something amazing like the book I’m into “The Subtle Body” I may go a week without cleaning or doing dishes or laundry. I would NEVER Do this if I had a husband to take care of, but I let things go when living alone.  Who would date me walking into this little messy cell of a house? When I was married and when my kids were home I kept a spotless house. Food was on the table like clockwork, clothes pressed, hung, bathrooms gleaming. I even did this for the man I did NOT love whom I lived with for 6 years. I’d work all day and still do laundry and clean. It’s in my nature. Who do I have to do that for now? I have better things to do since there is no one here but me to pamper. There are slaves lined up at the door wanting to clean for me. I once was totally willing but for some reason lately I am weird about letting people into my sacred space.

I expect an intelligent husband but am not secure in offering him the most intelligent wife. I have vast knowledge about concentrated subjects and zero knowledge about most things. LOL.  My once 140 IQ took a nosedive for some reason. The older I get the more I forget. I had quite a few head injuries in Prison, to put it mildly, so perhaps that’s it or perhaps it’s genetic. I quit school and ran away from home at 15 and started working at McDonald’s and got an apartment. I lived with Ed, my husband, there, until we got married and he went into the navy and I went home to moms. I was self-educated until I got locked up, where I got my GED and got into college when they still paid for that in GA. We actually were allowed to go to college provided we had proper security status. I majored in Physics in college and I’ve forgotten about 80% of it. So I have higher education and don’t even know much of the basics that Americans learn in high school. I learned what I needed to get by and studied what made me happy. I read a lot. I am an eternal scholar. I regret quitting school but I did what I had to do to survive childhood. So there’s that.

What do I have to offer someone? No one believes in or even desires traditional marriage with designated gender roles anymore. I may have a modern take on my sexuality but I am an old-fashioned traditionalist when it comes to marriage. To say all I have to offer a man is to be his housewife and sex slave (giggle, likely the other way around with the sex slave part)  is not offering much. But I have not given up hope. He will find me when the time is right. He will overlook the mess of this house and actually believe me when I tell him that I would never ever keep a marital home in this state of Candace Chaos. I will be God’s gift to him and he will know it. If it doesn’t happen, I’m actually cool with that…but I miss sex and hope he’s out there somewhere for God’s sake. LOL

Hookup sex just isn’t enough anymore. I used to pour through sex partners like tea in a Geisha house looking for someone on whom I can connect on a spiritual and energetic level while making love. I gave up, people. Fuck it. I just stopped dating. For some reason only guys in their 20’s ask me out. They only want one thing, and I wouldn’t marry a kid anyway. Xhamster and sites like that is probably why men don’t have it in them to desire to connect. I hope there is a man out there that is over 40, who meets all my requirements or at least most of them, and sees in me the diamond that I am. I was once coal, and now due to time and pressure I am a diamond. I will make an amazing wife if given someone deserving of my respect. I want to be married but when I do it this time it will be for life and I want and need someone whom I can respect enough to hand my life and body over to them with full trust. A dominatrix laying down her flogger for an apron is a powerful sacrifice, but one I am so willing and desire to take.

Until then, I have red bean buns, my computer, my kids, my wonderful messy little apartment, and grooming. I could have more. So much more. I could be financially where I was before in 6 months because I am good at grooming and I am a good actress and Domina work comes naturally to me. I don’t want all that. I choose to be here. I am happy, so in my 1,500 budget I can say I think I live larger than most because I am free.

TEACHING THIS OLD DOG NEW TRICKS

I’ve had this new Dell laptop since September. It’s got windows 8 on it, which I’ve never operated, and I couldnt find how to turn on my webcam. (Hangs head in shame.) I have Photoshop elements and have been just dying to try it out because even at my age, I am VERY photogenic. I can do all kinds of stuff with my pics. Anyway, the most thoughtful son in the world came over just to show his old mom how to get around in Windows 8 and now I LOVE my computer

And I love photoshop elements. I did 70 edits, which I wont try to post, but here are a few of my favorites, which should be looked at while listening to Skrillix and Rob Zombie…just because.

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One of my favorites, she (I) looks so romantic. I'm waiting on my vampire love. ROFL
One of my favorites, she (I) looks so romantic. I’m waiting on my vampire love. ROFL

They should make a silicone sex doll of me, with horns. Giggle. She will come with a cat o 9 tails and a vampire glove.

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Plenty of Fish is a joke but I have a profile anyway

I havn’t given up hope that there’s someone out there whom I can respect enough to give up my solitude. I adore being alone in my little house. I run around here naked or just with an apron on most of the time even when I’m cooking because I hate getting clothes dirty. I dont have laundry machines in my place. Then i realize I just like being naked. If someone came over I’d have to put clothes on because despite my incredible past, I am shy. Go figure.

I met an Indian man whom I thought to be very sincere in his attempts to get to know me. I don’t have many old pics of me on my POF profile, only current ones taken from this past summer till now. I messaged Mr. India for a while and finally we decided to meet for coffee. We agreed to exchange phone numbers so that we could be in contact on the day of meeting. When things went downhill due to work last week I let him know I needed to reschedule our coffee date.  He said he heard my message on voicemail giving my grooming website and asked me if the pictures on my website were of me. I was surprised at such a question. I did not bother to tell him I’d lost a ton of weight and look a bit younger now than I did years ago. I didn’t bother to tell him they were pics that were over 5 years old for the most part. I just told him that yes, it was me. And I never heard from him again. The pic I have displayed here is about a year old and is the one he asked me about. This situation has shown me that people are visual creatures and no matter what, appearance seems to be everything. I find myself to be the lucky one. I happen to look better at 43 then I did at 39 and 40. Eventually time will take its toll on me and I will look like the above pic again, and worse. Why get into a relationship with someone who has such a problem with something as simple as aging? In fact…why bother getting into a relationship at all?

Despite my adoring my solitude there is a stronger drive in my heart and that is the drive to take care of someone I adore. The majority of my friends in the BDSM scene would take this to mean I’m switching from Domme to Sub. I don’t think that is the case. I just think that for whatever reason the Domme was born in me, those reasons have passed and I don’t need it anymore. I don’t want to be someone’s submissive necessarily. Certainly not in a masochistic sense…EVER. But I’ve always had such a caretaking nature. I simply adore taking care of someone I respect and love. Finding THAT is the hard part. I lived with a man I did not love for many years. The former client who asked me to move in with him after I got busted for Pro Domme work. I was always distant with him at best. The closest I ever felt to him was following a surgery he had due to diabetes. He had half of his foot removed and I had to help him do pretty much everything once we got home as he was healing, including cleansing and packing his wound. (Shudders at the grotesque memory of weaving bleach solution soaked gauze through holes in flesh with hemostats) For a few months, that was the closest thing to love I ever felt for him. I digress…

I have had a plenty of fish profile for a while now. I used to have an ok cupid profile, which has been deleted. I have not met the one yet. I only get on there every 6 to 8 weeks to check it and never find any thing other than the lame ass messages “What’s Up” or “Hey beautiful.” Always short ignorant one liners that indicate they did not read my profile. I admit sometimes on rare occasions someone will write me with a beautiful introduction, but he will live over an hour away…or in the case of Mr. India, he cares so much about how I look that he can’t see past it.  Sigh. I put so much time into it and all they do is look at my picture. I guess I will stay naked in my kitchen forever.

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THE BEAUTY QUEEN WHO WAS BORN WITHOUT A FACE…and how a baby can become a drug addict

My mother was born with severe cleft palate and underwent 13 major surgeries in order to design her face. My grandmother said it was the worst case her doctor had ever seen, she had no nose, no upper palate at all. Just a gaping hole. She had to be fed with an eye dropper. My grandfather would not hold her or look at her. He blamed my grandmother for the travesty. Certainly nothing like THAT came from HIM. It was 1952 and you just didn’t see this type of thing often. He was an old-fashioned man who worked with his hands, his father an Irish immigrant who spoke very little English, he’d had no one to teach him to read and no time for school so he was illiterate and frankly pretty closed-minded. Surgery was out of the question because he couldn’t wrap his head around spending a life’s savings on something that would take a miracle. So grandma, in 1952, seduced a wealthy department store owner and black mailed him into sponsoring my mother’s surgeries…and the other two girls as well. From the way the family tells it, my grandfather knew full well what she was doing and would even send her to the man’s store to borrow money for bills. I guess that’s when she fell out of love with him, if she’d ever loved him at all. My mom and her sisters have more memories of their mother’s boyfriend than they did of their father. When I was growing up mother would take me to visit with him and I swear to God he is the ONLY man I ever laid witness to my mother actually respecting. When I tried to understand who he was she just called him Uncle Pete.

Grandmother never loved the man who gave her daughter a face. She told me she could never respect a man who would let his own wife live with the shame of her husband doing what he was doing. She told me he had odd tastes in the bedroom. This was drunk talk and I was a little girl lying there silently listening so I thought she meant that she didn’t like how he decorated his bedroom, rofllmfao. When I was 12 during one of my mother’s visits to him I found a stack of magazines in the bathroom where women on the covers were always damsels in distress TIED to something, a tree, railroad tracks, etc. Grandma said she hated her husband even more, who could go to work and face those men who knew his wife was the kept woman of another man. How could a man live with himself knowing his wife was seeing another man, she wanted to know. I never gave her answers. I was her confessional. She could tell me these things knowing I didn’t understand and even if I did I would not tell a soul.

Edna’s girls wore the best clothes, carried the best handbags, were entered into Piano, Ballet, Basketball and Beauty Pagents. And my mother was slowly over the course of 15 years given a steel palate with a gorgeous set of dentures and a face that would for the net 40 years be the downfall of countless men despite how hard she was on her body with drug use. Until 8 she was a monster whose dad wouldn’t look at her or touch her, who kids stared at and pointed at in school, who made mother’s cry to look at her. She may have become a ribbon winning beauty queen, but inside she will always be that little monster with no face who became addicted to painkillers before the age of 10 because of countless surgeries. I don’t forgive her nor can I overlook the way she raised us…all I can say is I understand HOW she became an addict so young.

Edna Jackson with her three girls.
Edna Jackson with her three girls.

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Grandmother’s behaviour taught the girls that if they want something, they must work hard to find a man to buy it for them. Mother was a master at her craft, one sideways look from her crystal green eyes as her platinum hair swayed with the swing of her hips would make a man drive into a phone pole. She acquired her first husband at 15, promptly left him in the first 3 months of marriage and he died on the way to her sister’s house to beg her to come home. After that it was one victim after another. My blood father is not the man she was married to but a married man 30 years her senior she met at the VFW while her husband was away in the Navy.  My mom slept with so many men that I can’t keep count. They sniffed her out like bloodhound chasing a fo. I remember being woken up one night by her yanking me in the floor and putting her hand over my mouth and saying “Ssshhhh” as we hid behind the bed…and I hear my father’s boss at the window tapping “Pat, I know you’re in there. I know you have another man in there” While my father was away on a hunting trip she is cheating on his boss whom she is sleeping with, with yet ANOTHER man she has in the house. This is how I was raised. If I looked the slightest bit lonely or sad her answer was to take me shopping. We would get in the car and drive to the workplace of any number of sponsors she had and she would say “Be right back” and then come out with a big smile on her face about an hour later and take me to Davidson’s department store or Lionel Playworld.  Men were playthings, yet dangerous. I blessedly have forgotten the faces of the men who would beat her in front of me for toying with them. She would drive each and EVERY single man she EVER slept with to hit her. My father must have had something pretty special because he held on to her longer than anyone else did, finding her and dragging her home countless times. But finally, when I was 13 years old, she found the one who made her leave my dad and stay gone. My stepfather Robbie.  She wanted a house in the country, so he bought her one. He worked night and day to support this beautiful blonde queen he’d managed to acquire. He was a loving gentle man, a bit of an alcoholic, but even when shit faced drunk he was sweet to me…which is what made mom start hating me. When I was little I was just a nuisance but at least a cute one. When or how I’d grown up she wasnt sure but she didn’t like her admirers looking at anyone but her. And even though I have some pretty horrible memories and even scars from the days I went from moms baby girl to her rival and enemy, I understand the how and why she never had any girlfriends. Everyone was competition. Inside she was not the beauty queen but the girl without a face. She could not let any other female anywhere in her vicinity or her man may realize she is no beauty queen at all but a Black Widow spinning him in her cocoon.

I did, admittedly acquire some bad traits from the women in my family. After all, what is the first thing I thought of when I couldn’t get a job? Using men’s weaknesses to my benefit. What it does to you was whispered into my little ears from a tender age before I knew what they meant by the drunken ramblings of a woman trying to drown her shame. But how it is done was learned by watching my mother. I knew we were about to go somewhere before she even said a word. How? Baby Powder. Yes, Baby Powder. It was the 70’s and long hair was in. My moms platinum blonde hair was made even whiter by baby powder. She would come get me from playing and ask me to hold the blow dryer as she bent over and shook her head back and forth as it dried. And after, she would dust baby powder in it to whiten the roots and around her temples. She smelled like baby powder and suntan oil. She BAKED herself in the sun so the contrast of white hair against shining tanned skin and light green eyes was striking. And when she smelled like baby powder and had black mascara on her white eyelashes, I knew we were about to go shopping. We just had to stop to visit one of moms friends first. Luckily listening to my grandmother’s guilt and shame made more of an impact. Just because I know HOW to get money out of men doesn’t mean it’s the preferred method. It was an emergency go to. My dad taught me three very important lessons that influenced my life more than anyone.

  1. Education is the single most important thing a woman can do for herself. He would drill me on my spelling words and test questions Thursday nights before Friday tests. A’s on my report card got me $10 each (A whopping amount in the 70’s) He didn’t get past the third grade, being one of 10 children, he left home before he was even a teenager to become a Golf Caddie in Atlanta. There he met the owner of a large landscaping company  who took my dad under his wing. Eventually he bought my father a bulldozer and helped him start his own company. (He also was the man outside my bedroom window when mom had me in the floor trying to hush me. Bless his heart.) I learned by watching him that working for yourself means freedom.
  2. No matter how strong a man is, his mind and heart are weak, and he will punish a woman for exposing that weakness if he has pride. So it is our choice, we can cater to their pride or we can challenge it. And only if we challenge it and get to their mind and fuck with it will we acquire their heart. If we cater to it we may be able to hold on to him as the motherly home maker, but he will go after the woman who can fuck with his mind no matter how hard he tries not to.
  3. No matter how much a man worships the ground a woman walks on, once he has lost it to the point of hitting her he will always hit her.

Now we come to the part where I’m glad I don’t have an editor to bitch at me. This is why I can’t write a novel. I’ve got to go get ready to visit my daughter today. She lives in a residential facility in Atlanta, if I have not mentioned it already, and remembering it’s time to visit her made my other thoughts go right out the window. So I’ll just abruptly end this here. No witty ending or nothing. Plus I totally got off subject. Luckily I can cut out what I need and make another post some other time when I feel like editing this, or I may just leave it.
Sorry! LOL

My Normal, A short film about the life of a young ProDomme

Mostly I found the leading actress to be stunning, so I’m not sure if the film was as good as I thought it would be. I was hoping she would develop a relationship with the male supporting actor she was hanging with. Seemed pointless part of the script since it never went anywhere, but anyway, English speaking movies rarely hold me in one spot and this one did so it’s worth noting. Not to mention it’s one of the rare movies that actually show some of the offhand fetishes Vanilla people never hear about, like human furniture, Human Ashtray, And Blackmail.

There’s no hardcore action in this movie, just a sampling of the fetishes, how hard it is for a Domme to have a normal relationship, some of the head games that she plays, why it’s hard to go back to a Vanilla job, etc. I didnt find it very romantic, but it’s still worth a watch if nothing more than the leading ladies are so freaking hot lol.

There’s a link to the trailor above but you’ll have to google the movie because I cant remember what website I watched it on. It’s possible it was Hulu, or dramafever.