REAL LIVE LESBIAN posted this meme: You Know I Don't Do This.
Rules to Isabella'sNaughty Meme of Firsts:
1. Post these at the beginning of your meme.
2. Include a link to Sex Talk.
3. Include as many sordid details in your answers as possible
**First French kiss?
Chuck Bishop. It was the summer before 10th grade. He was enrolling in 9th. I was literally 4 days older than he was, but I had skipped partial years in elementary school, so I was the youngest person in my class. He moved in across the street from our farm. Until that point I was the only kid on our street, for miles. We became friends during band camp (Yes, band camp. Now shut up!) after finding out we lived across from eachother. Before too long we started the experimentation. He KNEW far more than I did about sex, he'd just never done any of it. I wanted to know about it AND try it. That whole year we'd hang out, make out, explore each other. I had such a crush on him back then. After loosing my virginity to someone else, we had sex every chance we got. It was hot sneeking around behind our parents backs and not getting caught.
**First boyfriend/girlfriend.
Well I guess you could say that my first girlfried was Machelle. We were best friends all through elementary school, and spent every weekend together at my house. In 6th grade we kissed for the first time, after watching a campy 80's sex charged movie (Porky's) and spent the evening exploring eachother. That changed everything. She told another friend, innocently enough, not thinking anything about it. That was the first time anyone ever called me a Lesbian. I was so hurt because I thought that being a "lesbian" was gross and wrong.
My first boyfriend was Jonathan. It was innocent enough. It's what you did in junior high and high school. Girls dated boys. Jonathan was shy, mostly introverted, and kept his nose stuck into the latest copies of Scientific America. We would go skating on Saturday nights, and spend Sunday afternoons together all through junior high school.
**First type.
Femme: Jennifer, an Ivory skinned red-head with deep blue eyes. She had the most perfect breasts, full hips, and legs to die for... dangerous curves in all the right places. She brought me out of the closet kicking and screaming. She was my first lesbian love. We were together off and on for a few years, between boyfriends. I still find myself compairing other femmes to her.
Butch: I have to be honest. Jordan was the first butch I fell for. But when I met her she was serious jailbait. The rest is history. Candice. Jordan (once she was older). Lenya. She unlocked the door to my lust for butches and boi's. Yummy.
** First time you had sex.
It was the weekend after my junior prom. Prom was a bust. It really sucked. The guy I was dating decided at the last minute to go with someone else, so I went alone and hung out with my friends. There was a guy who was a few years older who promised to make it up to me and take me out the following Saturday. His idea of taking me out was hanging out at the mall for a couple of hours, hitting the liquor store, and taking me back to his parent's house to get me boozed up to screw. Looking back on it now, much older and wiser, it was date rape. Not really the way I wanted it to happen at all. The first time I had SOBER and FULLY CONSENTUAL sex was with Chuck. In my heart I consider him my first.
**First celebrity crush.
Phoebe Cates. The first time I remember seeing her nude in the movie Paradise on HBO in the early 80's. That scene got me hot... even if I was only 8 or 9.
**First sexual fantasy.
It was the first time I had phone sex in highschool. I remember being so nervous having to verbalize a full sexual fantasy, over the phone. I was scared that I'd sound like a raving idiot.
But it involved barns and stables, and being tied up with various leather straps from the tack room. Now that I think about it... that's STILL hot!
**First person you fell in love with.
Male: Chuck. Just having those highschool years to freely explore sex and intimacy. Besides keeping our relationship / affair on the down low so our parents NEVER found out by accident (friends can talk some shit and get it back to your folks) it was actually one of the most emotionally fullfilling relationships I'd ever had.
Female: Jennifer. But she broke my heart. She was definately try-sexual. And wanted to screw around with everyone. I just wanted monogamy, which she wasn't willing or able to commit to.
**First proper sex toy.
The original Rabbit. Until this pricy purchase ($120 back then!) I'd only thought sex was good. Although I'd had some minor orgasms... this wonderful creation showed me what a real orgasm was all about!
**First porn video.
Suprisingly, I've never really been into porn. I can appreciate nude photography and take it from there... but the videos just take it all away from the imagination for me. I did yield a few years ago and go porn shopping with Candice. For several weekends we rented some stuff from Heaven (Now Inserection's, on Piedmont), and found a few that I actually could tolerate. We ended up purchasing them. Frankly I have no idea where they went to. Oh wait... I gave them to Jarod.
**First sexy lingerie item/sexy briefs owned.
I've always loved buying lingerie. I can't remember the "first" sexy thingie I bought. But I always try to keep a lil something sexy in the top drawer.
**First time giving oral.
Chuck had told me he wanted a head job. LOL! I'd never heard it called that. So he had to explain what it was. I was like... OK. Jennifer was the first girl I ever tasted. The thought makes my eye lids flutter even now. That's when I knew. Feeling her body pressed against my jaw, rocking in extasy. Yeah.
**First time getting oral.
I don't count just "getting oral". I've gotten sub-par oral a hundred times, never even getting close to getting off. It's the oral that makes you nearly pass out that counts, for me. As for naming names... not so much. There are a few folks out there who think they are perfection in this arena. I don't want to hurt any feelings. Let's just say that I was well into my adulthood before anyone really got it right.
**First orgasm given by someone else.
There are a few folks out there who think they are perfection in this arena. I don't want to hurt any feelings. Let's just say that I was well into my adulthood before anyone really got it right.
**First one night stand.
**First dirty book/dirty mag read.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Shaken - An unexpected past life regression...
I was sitting here texting you on the phone about your care package.
But at the same time I was writing you a little note card to put in your care package. The flash was instant and clear as day. I have never "seen"/experienced this scenario before, and maybe it's because I have really never sent you a care pkg before. If you think about it, we almost instantly lived together, and when we broke up - neither one of us really gave a shit to send something nice and thoughtful to the other.
So maybe it took me doing what I was doing to put me in the right place and mindset to open the psychic link...???
************
But I was sitting here at my desk, pen to card, writing you a heartfelt message, in kindness... and there I was! I am doing the very same thing, but in another time...
I am sitting at a worn out kitchen table, writing to you, lit by an oil lamp. And I'm **THERE**, not picturing this scene in my mind, but I'm seeing this through my own eyes. I can see my ragged dress, my worn and calloused hands, the old farm house I am in, the paper and ink that I have taken great lengths to save for special occasions and hard times, and the tear stained letter I am writing to you.
I closed my eyes to see your face so I can have the strength to continue writing to you. And when I pictured you, I saw you on your belly in a confederate uniform, firing your rifle across a field, and then I pictured you laying on the ground wounded and waiting to see doctors. I don't know what happened to you after that. I think the way I pictured you was my own "thoughts" at that time, my fears of what you were enduring in the war. I don't think it was what you were actually doing (if that makes sense). But I knew that I had to keep writing my letters to you because they kept you going so that I knew in my heart I would see you come back home.It was just an emotional flood for me. I never thought of us being connected in that kind of past life. We always talked about something maybe in a seaside Tuscan village... but THAT just floored me.
I'm still shaking...
and trying to keep from crying...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
100 Yard Dash... sort of
I am determined to make my own happiness. Like busting Hell wide open determined. I have a few hurtles to clear, but I can see the finish line down the track... if I can just sprint it.
Deep in my heart I know that if I can get past the pain of sorting all my material memories collected from the last 10+ years, and cram all my shit into my new living space, that I will have cleared the first leap. It's hard though. Every thing I have to go through holds a sad or happy memory from the last decade of my life. Happy or sad... they all still hurt right now. Every photo, or CD, or trinket, or ticket stub stimulates a memory and it cuts deep to have to decide if it's rich enough of a memory to keep each item.
The second barricade to leap is unpacking all that shit and creating a new home for myself. To be successful and move forward and eventually find my "I won" attitude, I have to clear all the negativity and pain. There is no room for that, especially now. I have to let go of the "should have's" and "what if's" and "could have's". I have a ton of those still floating around from years past and from recent months as well.
The final barricade will be to keep my focus on the goal ahead. I find myself easily distracted by the wants and needs of others. Others that might be better left out of my life right now. Plenty of fair-weather friends top that list. Ex's who have recently tried to slide themselves out of the "Ex" title and into a friend title, far too soon, before the trauma of the break-up has healed.
I am no longer in a position to woo potential friends or mates with impressive dinners, lavish them with gifts and tokens of my affection, or help them out with money or a place to live. It's all on me to show my true self - wit, intellect, humor, and charm. Maybe that's for the best anyhow.
My Ex has her new life now. There was a time when, despite our flaws, we were perfect for each other. Now I am worthless to her... because I am not perfect. I am like every other breathing human on this planet. I am flawed. And now I am *too* flawed to have the value I once did.
I should deserve better than that. But why do I keep feeling like I would be ok if things could just go back to the way they were when we first met, before we found eachother's flaws, when we were still PERFECT for eachother.
Deep in my heart I know that if I can get past the pain of sorting all my material memories collected from the last 10+ years, and cram all my shit into my new living space, that I will have cleared the first leap. It's hard though. Every thing I have to go through holds a sad or happy memory from the last decade of my life. Happy or sad... they all still hurt right now. Every photo, or CD, or trinket, or ticket stub stimulates a memory and it cuts deep to have to decide if it's rich enough of a memory to keep each item.
The second barricade to leap is unpacking all that shit and creating a new home for myself. To be successful and move forward and eventually find my "I won" attitude, I have to clear all the negativity and pain. There is no room for that, especially now. I have to let go of the "should have's" and "what if's" and "could have's". I have a ton of those still floating around from years past and from recent months as well.
The final barricade will be to keep my focus on the goal ahead. I find myself easily distracted by the wants and needs of others. Others that might be better left out of my life right now. Plenty of fair-weather friends top that list. Ex's who have recently tried to slide themselves out of the "Ex" title and into a friend title, far too soon, before the trauma of the break-up has healed.
I am no longer in a position to woo potential friends or mates with impressive dinners, lavish them with gifts and tokens of my affection, or help them out with money or a place to live. It's all on me to show my true self - wit, intellect, humor, and charm. Maybe that's for the best anyhow.
My Ex has her new life now. There was a time when, despite our flaws, we were perfect for each other. Now I am worthless to her... because I am not perfect. I am like every other breathing human on this planet. I am flawed. And now I am *too* flawed to have the value I once did.
I should deserve better than that. But why do I keep feeling like I would be ok if things could just go back to the way they were when we first met, before we found eachother's flaws, when we were still PERFECT for eachother.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Who dares... wins!
Inspirational Blog (link): Who dares... wins.
By: Tony Trimble via Myspace Blog
One of my favorite expressions happens to be the motto of the British Special Air Service, "Who dares…Wins". A simple statement of belief which embodies a reminder to each of us; taking great chances within your daily life can reap the greatest of rewards. As we grow and move forward, we find that our personal relationships deepen and our understanding of humanity compels us to develop a sense of compassion.
Therein lay an important question to be asked, "How do we continue the process of personal growth?"
I advocate taking a chance each day. It may be something as simple as sharing a thought or concern with your mate or as dramatic as challenging yourself to step beyond a personal fear to try something new in your life. You may find yourself faced with an "all or none" gamble to accomplish a personal dream. What the Hell… Roll the dice!
Nothing great is ever accomplished without some form of risk to an area of your life; be it physical, emotional, or financial. Yet, somehow it seems that we abjure (avoid with a fevered passion) risking the status-quo of our lives while spending our time of dreaming about something better. Let me remind you of a time long ago, when as a child you feared riding a bicycle because falling off was painful. We all sustained our share of bumps and scrapes… and eventually rode the damned bicycle just to prove to ourselves that we could. Life isn't that different now.
When you have the chance, take it. Accept that a bump and scrape' will happen. Focus on the dream and work toward accomplishing it. In the end, you'll taste the victory that you've earned through giving your own sweat and blood to accomplish.
***** MY OWN THOUGHTS *****
I have been afforded a new opportunity in life. It came at a most appropriate time. As I concluded that Lenya may have began to plan a life without me a few months ago, I convinced myself that I was in a position to handle a life alone, one that was that was fast approaching. Despite the debt that had mounted since this summer, despite starting over yet again, I knew I would survive somehow.
All I need is the encouragement and inner strength to keep daring... so I can win.
By: Tony Trimble via Myspace Blog
One of my favorite expressions happens to be the motto of the British Special Air Service, "Who dares…Wins". A simple statement of belief which embodies a reminder to each of us; taking great chances within your daily life can reap the greatest of rewards. As we grow and move forward, we find that our personal relationships deepen and our understanding of humanity compels us to develop a sense of compassion.
Therein lay an important question to be asked, "How do we continue the process of personal growth?"
I advocate taking a chance each day. It may be something as simple as sharing a thought or concern with your mate or as dramatic as challenging yourself to step beyond a personal fear to try something new in your life. You may find yourself faced with an "all or none" gamble to accomplish a personal dream. What the Hell… Roll the dice!
Nothing great is ever accomplished without some form of risk to an area of your life; be it physical, emotional, or financial. Yet, somehow it seems that we abjure (avoid with a fevered passion) risking the status-quo of our lives while spending our time of dreaming about something better. Let me remind you of a time long ago, when as a child you feared riding a bicycle because falling off was painful. We all sustained our share of bumps and scrapes… and eventually rode the damned bicycle just to prove to ourselves that we could. Life isn't that different now.
When you have the chance, take it. Accept that a bump and scrape' will happen. Focus on the dream and work toward accomplishing it. In the end, you'll taste the victory that you've earned through giving your own sweat and blood to accomplish.
***** MY OWN THOUGHTS *****
I have been afforded a new opportunity in life. It came at a most appropriate time. As I concluded that Lenya may have began to plan a life without me a few months ago, I convinced myself that I was in a position to handle a life alone, one that was that was fast approaching. Despite the debt that had mounted since this summer, despite starting over yet again, I knew I would survive somehow.
All I need is the encouragement and inner strength to keep daring... so I can win.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A cool drink of water...
So I am sitting at work tonight bored off my ass. Bored enough to pick up a Reader's Digest at the corner store. As I am thumbing through I read an article on how to say "I Love You" in six words. There were a couple dozen examples. So I text up this idea to all my Forward happy friends: Valentine's Day is soon. Challenge: Describe a love or relationship in 6 words. Forward to friends.
I didn't get back a lot of interesting stuff. For one, the ex sends "Her confident voice, I took note". Now I don't know if that was about me, or some other piece of ass. Frankly I don't care today. Why I'm even bothering to text or forward shit to the ex escapes me. As I am sure that feeling is mutual at this point.
What came next was a shock, and true indication that my Gay-Dar is in need of re-calibration:
"Her sweet words made me fall" Muah :X (blush)
followed by: "I am your student. Teach me."
followed by: "OMG... I really have a serious crush" Wait that's technically more than 6 words! LOL
When I say Hottie, no shit. She is smokin' H.O.T.
I have known Hottie for just over a year. Never once did my Gy-Dar ping. She has always been friendly and smiling, a hugger. She has listened to my rants about my (then) loud mouthed - know it all - got tits and no brain - gossipy EMT partner. So through a couple of text exchanges she tells me she has always had a crush on me. She always liked any chance to give me hugs at work. She loves the way I can be such a bitch when I'm trying to get the job done, and recoup back to a sweet laid back girl.
Wha, wha, Whut? (I'M STUNNED AND SPEECHLESS!!!)
We continued the text exchange, and I'm nearly peeing my pants with school girl giggles. I think my partner got nauseated, cuz he went inside the fire station to hang out with the firemen.
So she wants to take me to Le Buzz on Thursday. Then she asks if I have plans after work. As if! She invites me out for an after work beer.
We sat and talked shit about my former EMT partner. She tells me how she always thought my girlfriend was stuck-up when she would see her bringing me to work or picking me up. We drank beer and had a few shots. I sang Karaoke and she pole danced for me while I sang. Then she get up from her side of the booth and comes and sits beside me, close beside me. We snuggle up close and talk some more. She nuzzles in close. Oh Goddess, she smelled so great. It was amazing to have a soft, delicate, girlie girl all snuggled up beside me.
She has paramedic class early in the morning, so we couldn't make a late night of it. I walked her to her car. She leaned in and kissed me for what seemed like forever. Cliche, I know. But her lips were so soft, and full, and luscious. Kissing her was delicious.
I can't wait until Thursday. Envious eyes will be on me when I walk in with this amazingly beautiful girl on my arm. I totally understand why Butches are so territorial!
I'm sitting here at my computer with a serious case of blue-balls. Hey, I can have blue-balls. My girl-cock is already purple. LOL.
I need a cool drink of...
I didn't get back a lot of interesting stuff. For one, the ex sends "Her confident voice, I took note". Now I don't know if that was about me, or some other piece of ass. Frankly I don't care today. Why I'm even bothering to text or forward shit to the ex escapes me. As I am sure that feeling is mutual at this point.
What came next was a shock, and true indication that my Gay-Dar is in need of re-calibration:
"Her sweet words made me fall" Muah :X (blush)
followed by: "I am your student. Teach me."
followed by: "OMG... I really have a serious crush" Wait that's technically more than 6 words! LOL
When I say Hottie, no shit. She is smokin' H.O.T.
I have known Hottie for just over a year. Never once did my Gy-Dar ping. She has always been friendly and smiling, a hugger. She has listened to my rants about my (then) loud mouthed - know it all - got tits and no brain - gossipy EMT partner. So through a couple of text exchanges she tells me she has always had a crush on me. She always liked any chance to give me hugs at work. She loves the way I can be such a bitch when I'm trying to get the job done, and recoup back to a sweet laid back girl.
Wha, wha, Whut? (I'M STUNNED AND SPEECHLESS!!!)
We continued the text exchange, and I'm nearly peeing my pants with school girl giggles. I think my partner got nauseated, cuz he went inside the fire station to hang out with the firemen.
So she wants to take me to Le Buzz on Thursday. Then she asks if I have plans after work. As if! She invites me out for an after work beer.
We sat and talked shit about my former EMT partner. She tells me how she always thought my girlfriend was stuck-up when she would see her bringing me to work or picking me up. We drank beer and had a few shots. I sang Karaoke and she pole danced for me while I sang. Then she get up from her side of the booth and comes and sits beside me, close beside me. We snuggle up close and talk some more. She nuzzles in close. Oh Goddess, she smelled so great. It was amazing to have a soft, delicate, girlie girl all snuggled up beside me.
She has paramedic class early in the morning, so we couldn't make a late night of it. I walked her to her car. She leaned in and kissed me for what seemed like forever. Cliche, I know. But her lips were so soft, and full, and luscious. Kissing her was delicious.
I can't wait until Thursday. Envious eyes will be on me when I walk in with this amazingly beautiful girl on my arm. I totally understand why Butches are so territorial!
I'm sitting here at my computer with a serious case of blue-balls. Hey, I can have blue-balls. My girl-cock is already purple. LOL.
I need a cool drink of...
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I was reminded.....
Out of sheer boredom on the slow nights... that it can be really fun to fuck with dispatch. Most of them don't even realize it either. That's even funnier.
Ambulance Driver had such an exchange last night apparently:
Ambulance Driver: Radio Traffic From Last Night
Dispatcher: "Borg Unit Four, you have an assault/rape at Masquerade, 1384 Waterfront. 23-year-old male at the rear entrance."
Temporary Partner: "What's Masquerade?"
Ambulance Driver: "Local gay bar. They have an awesome drag show on Wednesday nights."
Temporary Partner [on radio]: "Dispatch, where did you say the patient was again?"
Dispatcher: "Unit Four, your injury is going to be at the rear entrance."
TP: "Ummmm, okay."
Back in the old days, when Fulton County Communications handled Grady EMS's dispatching, one of our primary posts was in Buckhead. On Friday and Saturday nights we would move from our usual post at AFD Sta 21 over to the middle of the old bar district.
Much better eye candy!!!
One bar even had a huge clear glass picture window with scantily clad "window girls" who would take turns sitting precariously in a sex-swing and swinging all night, much to the delight of passers by, the foot-patrol cops, and us pervy EMS folk.
Every weekend there were the typical bar brawls. APD would respond, and request EMS to patch up the arrested party's boo-boos before hauling them to jail. Our favorite was Club Uranus!! Our self-claimed Friday and Saturday night post was in eye-shot of Uranus, and the "window girls". It made working the night shift every weekend so worth it. But nothing beat asking Fulton County Dispatch repeatedly for the name of the bar:
Fulton Co: 7916 prepare to copy. You're responding to a 23 yo male, assaulted in Uranus, APD on scene.
Grady 196: Sorry radio, can you re advise your traffic, we have a lot of crowd noise here at post...
Fulton Co: 196, you are responding to an assault in Uranus.
Grady 196: Are you advising there's an assault in Uranus?
Fulton Co: 10-4, male assaulted in Uranus. APD is on scene. Your clear to enter.
Grady 196: Clear, APD has ok'd entry to Uranus. Show us at scene... In Uranus.
That exchange could have gone on all night and never lost a single ounce of funny!!!
Ambulance Driver had such an exchange last night apparently:
Ambulance Driver: Radio Traffic From Last Night
Dispatcher: "Borg Unit Four, you have an assault/rape at Masquerade, 1384 Waterfront. 23-year-old male at the rear entrance."
Temporary Partner: "What's Masquerade?"
Ambulance Driver: "Local gay bar. They have an awesome drag show on Wednesday nights."
Temporary Partner [on radio]: "Dispatch, where did you say the patient was again?"
Dispatcher: "Unit Four, your injury is going to be at the rear entrance."
TP: "Ummmm, okay."
Back in the old days, when Fulton County Communications handled Grady EMS's dispatching, one of our primary posts was in Buckhead. On Friday and Saturday nights we would move from our usual post at AFD Sta 21 over to the middle of the old bar district.
Much better eye candy!!!
One bar even had a huge clear glass picture window with scantily clad "window girls" who would take turns sitting precariously in a sex-swing and swinging all night, much to the delight of passers by, the foot-patrol cops, and us pervy EMS folk.
Every weekend there were the typical bar brawls. APD would respond, and request EMS to patch up the arrested party's boo-boos before hauling them to jail. Our favorite was Club Uranus!! Our self-claimed Friday and Saturday night post was in eye-shot of Uranus, and the "window girls". It made working the night shift every weekend so worth it. But nothing beat asking Fulton County Dispatch repeatedly for the name of the bar:
Fulton Co: 7916 prepare to copy. You're responding to a 23 yo male, assaulted in Uranus, APD on scene.
Grady 196: Sorry radio, can you re advise your traffic, we have a lot of crowd noise here at post...
Fulton Co: 196, you are responding to an assault in Uranus.
Grady 196: Are you advising there's an assault in Uranus?
Fulton Co: 10-4, male assaulted in Uranus. APD is on scene. Your clear to enter.
Grady 196: Clear, APD has ok'd entry to Uranus. Show us at scene... In Uranus.
That exchange could have gone on all night and never lost a single ounce of funny!!!
I can Butch for that...
So lately I have been reassessing a lot of things in life. Most especially when it comes to relationships, sexuality labels, and gender expectations. Reading "The Leather Daddy and The Femme" (by Carol Queen) on Friday certainly didn't help. I have discovered that, for being typically labeled a "Femme", I'm an aggressive top... with a voracious sexual appetite. Actually, my friend Suzette told me one day that she has always just thought of me as androgynous, a happy blend of both butch and femme qualities, never having totally dressed outwardly as either, and having the equal attitude of both sides. Yet, Nat disagrees, not seeing past the french manicured nails and quasi femme hairstyle. I like to say that I can change a flat tire in high heels. I love muscle cars and Mac cosmetics. I rode my tough ass motorcycle with a Barbie-pink turtle shell helmet and matching backpack.That's what I hate about labels. As a somewhat outwardly femme according to my nail salon and hair stylist, I'm not supposed to want to strap-up and fuck a luscious lipstick, tough butch, or cute boi into a quivering corporal orgasm. Why? Because that's not what most other femme's want to do? Femmes are supposed to be the pillow queens? Well, not this "femme".
Now that I think about it, with the exception of Jordan, all of my long term relationships have been with totally bottom "Butches" and "Boi's"... but not so bottom that they are willing to yield themselves to "the hardware" on a regular basis. Jordan was a wonderful blend of half top and half bottom, so that we both gave and received equally. Actually only one time for each of the others did any of them ever flatback it for the serious girl-cock. But in all other aspects they would all but wear a t-shirt that read "pillow queen" in big girly pink letters, taking everything I offered and begging for more. But that is the secret life of a bottom butch. An outwardly "top" in the streets, ferrally territorial over their girl, a purring submissive bottom in the sheets.
I have an undeniable attraction to Boi's and Butches. They make my blood boil with steamy lustiness. I can also appreciate the totally sexy femininity of a lipstick, as well as all girls in between. I love women. But I have an unquenched desire to do a lot more experimentation with the hardware, and it looks like I am going to have to shed my lust for Boi's and Butches and find a femme who's willing to play.
I recently met an undeniable femme who might just be the one. However, this one does not come without clauses and exceptions. She talks freely about her attraction to -and brief experiences with- women, but she is still hung up on men. Cops, firemen, and paramedics to be precise. She's a "Badge Bunny". I got the badge and paramedic part covered. Hell, honestly I even have the cock part covered... if she can get into girl-cock that is. Every bit of my GayDar pings her as queer. As for my assessment of her just not knowing the totality of her queerness yet, that may just be wishful thinking. She may very well be just another part-time bisexual that will only ever let go of those inhibitions when she knocks back a few. She is certainly not relationship material. And, I'm quiet ok with that. There is a streak of man-whore to my streak of butchness that just wants to be friends-with-benefits.
Last night, I met Nat for shop talk over dinner and desert. We discussed the nuances of harnesses and girl-cocks, techniques, and smut. While that was certainly the inspiration I needed to finally invest in a good leather harness to accessorize the girl-cock sleeping in the drawer by my bed, it left me with a serious case of unquenched desire to put it right to use.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Doormat's Test of Strength and Willpower...
So the girlfriend left for the holidays to visit her family in West Virginia on Dec 22. Original plan was for Dec 20, but her weekly worker's comp check didn't arrive until Monday. Also, the original plan was to return on Dec 28, because I had borrowed my mom's SUV for the week while she was gone so I could have a way to the new job. On the 26th she informs me that she will be staying until the 31st. Screw my mom needing her vehicle back for doctors appointments on the 29th. Screw me for needing a reliable way to work. Cuz it's all about her.
Well, she stayed until the 31st. Mom cancelled her appointments so I could keep her vehicle and get to work. On Jan 1st mom is expecting to get her car back, and girlfriend wants to show her ass about having to drive the hour up and the hour back. So off I go, begging a ride home from a friend who lives an hour away in the other direction. Confused yet?
So friend brings me home that night, and I have to work 24hr shifts for the next two days. During my 24's, girlfriend informs me that she has realized that she has been so homesick that she is seriously considering moving back home to be closer to her parents. Yeah, so screw our relationship too I guess. Not to mention the ass load of debt we have accrued since she and I were both out of work at the same time. $1200 behind on the rent. MY credit cards are maxed out for new tires and new brakes on HER jeep. Utilities are due. I took out a $3000 high interest loan anticipating her worker's comp settlement, to carry us over until I got back to work. All very convenient to just want OUT - since her worker's comp settlement will be here any day. $37,500. But guess who will be stuck with the debt.
When I get home at noon on the 4th, after a late call at work and girlfriend's unexpected errands, I'm supposed to see a client in my home office at 2:00, which is a DISASTER. And mentally I am in no shape to provide counsel to anyone else, cuz MY head isn't screwed on straight after the bomb she just dropped about moving out and moving back home. So, I get my ass chewed when I cancel my client. I might see one client every month or two. At $75 bucks... that isn't going to pay the bills. I have to sacrifice my slow starting holistics business for a job that will actually pay the bills. But what do I get for my responsible decision...? An ass chewing about how I never put my heart into shit, and that I give up too easily. This all and all brawl of an argument results in drama drama drama. And I've about had all I can take.
So I kindly show girlfriend the door. She was so dead set on going home to mom and dad, and leaving me here to pick up the pieces (emotionally and financially) anyway.
The crazy bitch she cheated on me with got me fired from my last Paramedic job by taking personal pics off girlfriends phone and e-mailing them anonymously to my boss for the sole malicious purpose of getting me fired. What kinda pics you might ask? Cleavage shots in my uniform while getting dressed for work, taken in a gas station bathroom.
Oh and lets mention that from psycho bitch's blog (my former stylist that she was screwing during the summer) that she didn't get the engine warm before she called that crazy bitch and started spilling her guts about how terrible of a person I am and how this manipulative bitch who tried to wreck our relationship was sooo right about me. Yeah whatever.
I had to go to the sheriff's office and file a stalking and harassment report on Crazy Bitch, so they can investigate all the shit from this summer. There is no way I can afford to loose my job again when the whim strikes her to send this shit to my new job. Now the ex doesn't want to talk to the detective... after ADMITTING that Crazy Bitch was the one who did this shit!!!
All her nasty posts and comments on my blog is why I had to start over here at the new site, and take all my personal life off the old blog. That's a damn shame. I don't want her to have any ammo to fuck with my life. She's done it before. I have no doubt that soon she will try again.
The true test of my strength and will power will arrive sometime late Wednesday or early Thursday. She has to come from mommy & daddy's to Georgia for her final doctor's appointment before her worker's comp settlement cashes out. I refuse to bend. I refuse to be the fucking doormat any longer.
My outlook has changed.
I am tired of sacrificing.
I am tired of arguing over stupid shit.
IF SHE WANTS ME IN HER LIFE...
THEN SHE WILL FIND A WAY TO
PUT ME THERE!!!
I'm tired of chasing her.
And frankly, I'm not so sure I want her
brand of bullshit anymore, anyway.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
It’s Time... (DRAFT)
I have linked around to other bloggers via Ambulance Driver Files, visiting here and there. A couple of days ago I stumbled into Real Live Lesbian's Blog. And while snooping around there, I read one of her featured past blogs Suicide - Full Story.... and so I write:
It was New Year's Eve. Y2K. Either the whole world would end at midnight tonight, or we would wake up in the morning just as poor and miserable as we were this morning. I had just graduated EMT school and was about to take all my licensing exams. While waiting for all this to come about, I was working this ridiculous minimum wage job at the neighborhood pizza spot, delivering pizzas to rednecks who have no concept of tipping the delivery girl. I was barely breaking even, but the lights were still on and we were eating. Michael had gotten a job here too, which helped. Our other friend, Eric, stayed at home because he was emotionally recovering from yet another traumatic explosion in his 6 year on again, off again, relationship. The three of us had been tight friends since 1995. They were my gay boys, and I was their lesbian fag-hag. We had our ups and downs, but we made it work.
Like I said, it was New Year's Eve. I was running my ass off, delivering pizzas to drunken rednecks and big parties. Dick Clark could not count fast enough for me. We were open late that night to catch up with the damage done during this 4-5 hours of pure hell. And wouldn't 'cha know it, when I thought I would get back to the restaurant to help clean and close and do all my end of shift duties, a late order comes in.
So, off I go. Some late night partiers just had to order a couple of pizza's and a pasta dish, with a side salad. I'm driving up and down this section of Warren Road looking for for the address on the order. Of course it's dark. Of course there are no street lights here. Of course it's poorly numbered. Actually, it's NOT even really numbered at all. I only found a cluster of mailboxes beside one driveway where this address should be... and all three have the same family name on them as the order. Damn.
I turn cautiously down the driveway. It's important to drive slowly. Out here, if you pull up into the wrong yard or knock on the wrong door you can get your ass shot. There a lot of old skool country folks here still. Sometimes what they do, they don't want strangers knowing. Even as our little community grows, folks even on the skirts of being in "neighborhoods" still make home-brew and moonshine. Some grow weed. These days some of them cook meth. The last thing you want to do is be mistaken for police, DEA, or a snooping neighbor. As I creep along, I am relieved that the porch light on the middle shack begins to flash on and off. Yes, shack. Thankfully they have been watching for my arrival.
The yard is dotted with a few junk cars and trucks, rusted farm equipment, old crates, and piles of beer cans hopefully, to be recycled, but probably not. There is a barking dog somewhere in the distance. Great. There were chickens on the loose. Even better. This "house" if you will, has obviously been added to several times over its life, each section made of different materials. Reluctantly, I pull closer to the house and park my truck. Gathering the items in the order, I know there is no tip waiting for me here.
As I get out of my truck, I reach back in to pick up the order. My back is to the house. That probably wasn't a good idea. Suddenly I hear, "I'm glad you got here. Thought I was gonna have to skin one of these chickens. I got the munchies like a mo-fo." I wasn't sure what caught my attention first, the fact that she obviously smokes weed, or that her voice was sexy as hell.
Dare I glimpse?
My gawd! This was the hawtest baby dyke I've ever seen! Right away she noticed the rainbow sticker on the dark tinted back window of my Dakota. She didn't hesitate to tell me how happy she was to know she wasn't the only lesbian out here in the sticks. She explains how she is staying here with her dad for a while because she just broke up with her "ole lady". We chat like old friends for probably 15 minutes until the conversation is broken by my cell phone ringing. It was my boss wanting to know where the hell I was, screaming with his ill-contained Napoleon Syndrome that this was my only order and the address less than two miles away. I explained how I had a hard time finding the place, blah blah blah, but I was with the customer and I would be on my way back to clean the restaurant in a minute. I got a rush of courage and gave her my cell phone number and roughly told her where I lived, and said we should hang out sometime. I didn't even get her name.
Although she was constantly on my mind (and in my dreams), I didn't hear from her. I wished I had thought to get her number. I was smart enough not to ever go back to her dad's. He probably would shoot me, not knowing me. At least two weeks had passed. Eric had moved on to his next short lived relationship with some guy he met on the internet. I had dropped Michael off at work and had been out and about, running errands, doing laundry over in the bustling crossroads of Shannon. I returned home to find a strange car in my yard. A beat up early 80's Cutlass, shit brown and rusted the same color in a few places. Much to my delight, she got out. My heart fluttered.
She had paid attention when I told her where I lived. Apparently she had paid close attention, because she found me. She had actually called my job and found out when I was off, and decided to drop by... and had been waiting a couple of hours for my return. That's patience. Or persistence. Or stalking?
She chuckled when she properly introduced herself as Jordan. Much to my delight, she came bearing gifts of weed, and wanted to hang out for rest of the day. We smoked, talked, laughed, and got to know each other. Oh my gawd, I was sooo in love with this girl. I was blown away by the fact that although she had bounced back and forth between living with her mother and father, for most of her life she had only lived a mile or so from the farm I grew up on.
Until recently, we had never met. Then I discovered the reason why. I had just celebrated my 25th birthday. She was 17. She could not get into any of the local bars or pubs I went to. She certainly couldn't get into any gay bars. Most importantly... she was jail-bait. Serious jail-bait at 17 in Georgia. Not only was gay and lesbian sex still on the on the law books as "sodomy", but to partake in same-sex relations with anyone under the age of 18 was felonious child molestation - although age of consent was 16 for heterosexual activity.
She was flirting with me, hard core flirting. At times the conversation was undeniably sexual. What my ears heard, my appetite ate and stored for future dreams. She was no first-timer. She was experienced. Very experienced. At 17, she spoke of things I'd never even dreamt of, but at 25, I now really wanted to try... with her! And when she leaned in to kiss me, hard reality set in. I couldn't. I wanted to. But the last thing I wanted was her old man beating down my door, raising hell about how I took advantage of his daughter, and being carried away by the police. And I explained this to her. She looked confused. Apparently she'd never been turned down before, especially by older women. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
She would call now and then, or drop by to burn one. We ran into each other now and then over the next year. Eventually, she met someone and moved away to Smyrna. I married my new job in Atlanta. Around that time I also met Candice, who I would end up spending the next 5 years with. Candice and I broke up for a few weeks during the summer of 2002. And with her amazing intuition, Jordan found me online one night and sent me an instant message. Within an hour or so I had managed to be dressed and driving toward Atlanta. She wanted to spend the evening hanging out together.
I remember this night clearly. Candice and I were "taking time off", and I had just caught her talking to some other chick online. I knew that Jordan was still interested, and now she was legal. I followed the directions she gave as I kept her on the phone, and arrived at her quasi-ghetto apartment just outside of Atlanta. She came outside to meet me. Dear Lord, she was hawt.
She needed to ride into Atlanta to pick up a special package for tonight. By this time I was intimately familiar with all corners of Atlanta, all the shady neighborhoods, after working for Grady. We headed off to a part of Atlanta known as the West End. More specifically Ashby Street. I waited nervously in the truck while she went it to make her purchase. I was the only white girl for miles (who wasn't working the streets). Being on duty in the ambulance is completely different. That ambulance, and the uniform, gives you automatic street cred with the dealers and thugs. We've saved many of them. But in my own truck, in street clothes, off duty... I was a sitting duck.
Apparently she knew these folks well, because her transaction didn't require call-ahead reservations. Within a couple of minutes we were on our way back to her apartment on the north side of town. Along the way I saw a broke down car full of teenage girls. Stranded after going to a concert in Atlanta, they had a flat. Although they were in the stretch between Atlanta's ghetto and Cobb County's suburbia, they were still too close to be left out here to wait for Triple A. I turned back around and stopped to see if we could help. It was a just flat tire, which I could easily solve. I told the driver to call triple A and cancel her request.
As I began changing the tire, in my heels and finery, I realized that this baby-butch had absolutely NO IDEA about how to change tires, much less where to find the jack and spare. I gave an silent internal chuckle and chalked it up to her relatively young age. God knows, I'd had plenty of junker cars over the years, and out of necessity had become quiet the shade-tree mechanic. Surely she's have plenty of time to learn how to fix her own cars.
It was New Year's Eve. Y2K. Either the whole world would end at midnight tonight, or we would wake up in the morning just as poor and miserable as we were this morning. I had just graduated EMT school and was about to take all my licensing exams. While waiting for all this to come about, I was working this ridiculous minimum wage job at the neighborhood pizza spot, delivering pizzas to rednecks who have no concept of tipping the delivery girl. I was barely breaking even, but the lights were still on and we were eating. Michael had gotten a job here too, which helped. Our other friend, Eric, stayed at home because he was emotionally recovering from yet another traumatic explosion in his 6 year on again, off again, relationship. The three of us had been tight friends since 1995. They were my gay boys, and I was their lesbian fag-hag. We had our ups and downs, but we made it work.
Like I said, it was New Year's Eve. I was running my ass off, delivering pizzas to drunken rednecks and big parties. Dick Clark could not count fast enough for me. We were open late that night to catch up with the damage done during this 4-5 hours of pure hell. And wouldn't 'cha know it, when I thought I would get back to the restaurant to help clean and close and do all my end of shift duties, a late order comes in.
So, off I go. Some late night partiers just had to order a couple of pizza's and a pasta dish, with a side salad. I'm driving up and down this section of Warren Road looking for for the address on the order. Of course it's dark. Of course there are no street lights here. Of course it's poorly numbered. Actually, it's NOT even really numbered at all. I only found a cluster of mailboxes beside one driveway where this address should be... and all three have the same family name on them as the order. Damn.
I turn cautiously down the driveway. It's important to drive slowly. Out here, if you pull up into the wrong yard or knock on the wrong door you can get your ass shot. There a lot of old skool country folks here still. Sometimes what they do, they don't want strangers knowing. Even as our little community grows, folks even on the skirts of being in "neighborhoods" still make home-brew and moonshine. Some grow weed. These days some of them cook meth. The last thing you want to do is be mistaken for police, DEA, or a snooping neighbor. As I creep along, I am relieved that the porch light on the middle shack begins to flash on and off. Yes, shack. Thankfully they have been watching for my arrival.
The yard is dotted with a few junk cars and trucks, rusted farm equipment, old crates, and piles of beer cans hopefully, to be recycled, but probably not. There is a barking dog somewhere in the distance. Great. There were chickens on the loose. Even better. This "house" if you will, has obviously been added to several times over its life, each section made of different materials. Reluctantly, I pull closer to the house and park my truck. Gathering the items in the order, I know there is no tip waiting for me here.
As I get out of my truck, I reach back in to pick up the order. My back is to the house. That probably wasn't a good idea. Suddenly I hear, "I'm glad you got here. Thought I was gonna have to skin one of these chickens. I got the munchies like a mo-fo." I wasn't sure what caught my attention first, the fact that she obviously smokes weed, or that her voice was sexy as hell.
Dare I glimpse?
My gawd! This was the hawtest baby dyke I've ever seen! Right away she noticed the rainbow sticker on the dark tinted back window of my Dakota. She didn't hesitate to tell me how happy she was to know she wasn't the only lesbian out here in the sticks. She explains how she is staying here with her dad for a while because she just broke up with her "ole lady". We chat like old friends for probably 15 minutes until the conversation is broken by my cell phone ringing. It was my boss wanting to know where the hell I was, screaming with his ill-contained Napoleon Syndrome that this was my only order and the address less than two miles away. I explained how I had a hard time finding the place, blah blah blah, but I was with the customer and I would be on my way back to clean the restaurant in a minute. I got a rush of courage and gave her my cell phone number and roughly told her where I lived, and said we should hang out sometime. I didn't even get her name.
Although she was constantly on my mind (and in my dreams), I didn't hear from her. I wished I had thought to get her number. I was smart enough not to ever go back to her dad's. He probably would shoot me, not knowing me. At least two weeks had passed. Eric had moved on to his next short lived relationship with some guy he met on the internet. I had dropped Michael off at work and had been out and about, running errands, doing laundry over in the bustling crossroads of Shannon. I returned home to find a strange car in my yard. A beat up early 80's Cutlass, shit brown and rusted the same color in a few places. Much to my delight, she got out. My heart fluttered.
She had paid attention when I told her where I lived. Apparently she had paid close attention, because she found me. She had actually called my job and found out when I was off, and decided to drop by... and had been waiting a couple of hours for my return. That's patience. Or persistence. Or stalking?
She chuckled when she properly introduced herself as Jordan. Much to my delight, she came bearing gifts of weed, and wanted to hang out for rest of the day. We smoked, talked, laughed, and got to know each other. Oh my gawd, I was sooo in love with this girl. I was blown away by the fact that although she had bounced back and forth between living with her mother and father, for most of her life she had only lived a mile or so from the farm I grew up on.
Until recently, we had never met. Then I discovered the reason why. I had just celebrated my 25th birthday. She was 17. She could not get into any of the local bars or pubs I went to. She certainly couldn't get into any gay bars. Most importantly... she was jail-bait. Serious jail-bait at 17 in Georgia. Not only was gay and lesbian sex still on the on the law books as "sodomy", but to partake in same-sex relations with anyone under the age of 18 was felonious child molestation - although age of consent was 16 for heterosexual activity.
She was flirting with me, hard core flirting. At times the conversation was undeniably sexual. What my ears heard, my appetite ate and stored for future dreams. She was no first-timer. She was experienced. Very experienced. At 17, she spoke of things I'd never even dreamt of, but at 25, I now really wanted to try... with her! And when she leaned in to kiss me, hard reality set in. I couldn't. I wanted to. But the last thing I wanted was her old man beating down my door, raising hell about how I took advantage of his daughter, and being carried away by the police. And I explained this to her. She looked confused. Apparently she'd never been turned down before, especially by older women. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
She would call now and then, or drop by to burn one. We ran into each other now and then over the next year. Eventually, she met someone and moved away to Smyrna. I married my new job in Atlanta. Around that time I also met Candice, who I would end up spending the next 5 years with. Candice and I broke up for a few weeks during the summer of 2002. And with her amazing intuition, Jordan found me online one night and sent me an instant message. Within an hour or so I had managed to be dressed and driving toward Atlanta. She wanted to spend the evening hanging out together.
I remember this night clearly. Candice and I were "taking time off", and I had just caught her talking to some other chick online. I knew that Jordan was still interested, and now she was legal. I followed the directions she gave as I kept her on the phone, and arrived at her quasi-ghetto apartment just outside of Atlanta. She came outside to meet me. Dear Lord, she was hawt.
She needed to ride into Atlanta to pick up a special package for tonight. By this time I was intimately familiar with all corners of Atlanta, all the shady neighborhoods, after working for Grady. We headed off to a part of Atlanta known as the West End. More specifically Ashby Street. I waited nervously in the truck while she went it to make her purchase. I was the only white girl for miles (who wasn't working the streets). Being on duty in the ambulance is completely different. That ambulance, and the uniform, gives you automatic street cred with the dealers and thugs. We've saved many of them. But in my own truck, in street clothes, off duty... I was a sitting duck.
Apparently she knew these folks well, because her transaction didn't require call-ahead reservations. Within a couple of minutes we were on our way back to her apartment on the north side of town. Along the way I saw a broke down car full of teenage girls. Stranded after going to a concert in Atlanta, they had a flat. Although they were in the stretch between Atlanta's ghetto and Cobb County's suburbia, they were still too close to be left out here to wait for Triple A. I turned back around and stopped to see if we could help. It was a just flat tire, which I could easily solve. I told the driver to call triple A and cancel her request.
As I began changing the tire, in my heels and finery, I realized that this baby-butch had absolutely NO IDEA about how to change tires, much less where to find the jack and spare. I gave an silent internal chuckle and chalked it up to her relatively young age. God knows, I'd had plenty of junker cars over the years, and out of necessity had become quiet the shade-tree mechanic. Surely she's have plenty of time to learn how to fix her own cars.
(SCREAM)
Originally Posted on 1/6/08
There are probably about 100 individual things I really want to scream and rant and vent and punch holes in walls about right now. But none of those actions will solve a damn thing. The only resolution is to take the reins of my life and drive forward -- madly forward, even though I have no idea where I am going.
I am taking a blogging hiatus. If I get on here too soon, I will just be too tempted to spill out the shit that is on my mind.
There are probably about 100 individual things I really want to scream and rant and vent and punch holes in walls about right now. But none of those actions will solve a damn thing. The only resolution is to take the reins of my life and drive forward -- madly forward, even though I have no idea where I am going.
I am taking a blogging hiatus. If I get on here too soon, I will just be too tempted to spill out the shit that is on my mind.
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