Maybe I'm tired

Maybe I'm tired of watching life from my window.

Maybe I get tired of being a good girl.

Maybe I get tired of doing the right thing all the time.

Maybe I get tired of being strong and smart.

Maybe I'm tired of being in control all the time.

Maybe I'm tired of doing exactly what is expected of me.

Maybe I get tired of being Little Miss Independent...Little Miss I - Don't - Need - Anything.

Maybe I'm tired of accepting the status quo.

Maybe I'm tired of being tired of all of this stuff.

Maybe I get tired of being the person who props everyone else up. Maybe I need to be propped up.

Maybe I'm tired of being the one who blends in; doesn't cause trouble; doesn't stir things up too much. Maybe for once I want to be the center of attention; the one who gets fallen for; the one someone pines for, misses, wants more than 'just until something better comes along'.

Maybe.

The question is, then.... am I prepared to do something about it. Some of these, I can change. Some of them are so deeply ingrained in me, I'm not sure they can change. And some of them, frankly, I have no control over. I'll get into those later.

September is .....

September is Be Kind to Editors and Writers Month.

Keep that in mind *smirk*

The Talking and the Fucking

In the flashback episode (you know almost every series has to have one of these. I think they are required by law or some shit.) in Californication, Hank (the lead) and his ex Karen and breaking up. She's telling him about some guy she's designing a house for, and she's said she's been talking to the guy. Hank asks if she's fucked him, and she says:

"You know me. The talking and the fucking go hand in hand."

I wrote that one down too.

It occurred to me awhile back that most of the men that have found their way into my bed since 1994 have done so via me having met them online in one way or another. BDSM Chat rooms, back on good ol' AOL 1.0, IRC Chat, Message boards, EverQuest... I can think of only one exception to this rule, and I knew him previous to the time I discovered personal computers at home.

The good thing here was that if you're meeting someone in a specific chat room -- or on a game -- you start out ahead of the curve. You have at least one interest in common. Even without a venture into the whole cyber-sex arena, you start to get to know someone, and you have an opportunity to add more common interests to the list. And I need that, if I'm going to relate to someone on a sexual level. I don't have to love him, but I certainly have to *like him. Respect him. Want to get to know him better. Look forward to seeing him online.

I was never very good at the whole one night stand thing. Oh, I had them. Some I remember vividly, others I think I've mentally blocked out *chuckle*, but that's all they were and in the grand scheme of things in my life, they don't mean much. The sex was probably good, all things considered, but there is *good sex and then there is *Good sex, with a captial G. I am going to have *Good sex with someone I like, respect, and enjoy outside of the bedroom.

And contrary to popular belief, not *all sex is *good sex.

So I guess, for me, the talking and the fucking go hand in hand, too. And frankly, I'm glad for that.

I've had some nights here in Wisconsin that I'd longed to be one of those people who can just go to a bar, pick up some unsuspecting man, fuck him stupid and send him home. But that's not really me. Could I? Yes. Should I? No.

This is not to say that every relationship (sexual or otherwise) I've had that started on line turned out well. No, there are as many freaks and liars online as you're going to meet in a club. I've gotten better at being able to spot that shit a mile off though. Or at least, I think I have.

Problem is, I don't do much gaming anymore, nor do I hang out in chat rooms. I don't even check my personal ad much. So my opportunities to meet someone in this way has been strongly curtailed, too, but I'm all right with that for now. I need for someone to get into my head, and let me get into his, and right now, I'm not sure it's possible for someone to break into mine. At least, not until I sort it out a little. I'm doing some 'spring cleaning' on that this weekend.

*achoo*

Getting all these words out onto the screen certainly helps.

Two Sides

So, there is the Jill you know here.

And that's most of me. The geek, the writer, the sex-ophile.

But most people who know me only know one and a half of those things.

I was lamenting that the other night when I realized that I can't post my blog updates on Facebook.

I have gaming friends who would be probably be shocked out of their skin to know that I published a book of erotic poetry. That I write about sex on a semi-regular basis. That I study sex. Hell, even that I have sex. These people know me as the good girl; the no-drama girl; the good friend. They know nothing of Kanthra Adaire or Screamer.

I've done that on purpose, really. For so long I was out and proud of my proclivities to everyone in my life except my family and the people I worked with. Everyone else I knew, knew that I wrote erotica and published it, that I was a submissive, that I was Screamer.

But now I tend to keep those two worlds separate, beyond a few people who I've been intimate with and a few more that I've shared my book with. To everyone else, I am just this normal, every day girl trying to get divorced so that I can move on with my life, meet a nice man, settle down.

I was trying to come up with some reasoning for that recently. Out of my gaming friends that are not acquainted with "the dark side" of Jill, I can only think of one or two who might be repelled by the thought that my mind is so often occupied by thoughts of fucking and other illicit activities. I can't imagine that I would lose a lot of friendships over it.

But I also don't necessarily think it's necessary for them to know. It's not me hiding it, exactly, but it's not me wanting to flaunt it, either. I guess it's like this: if one of them ran across this blog accidentally, I wouldn't be worried about them reading it, but I'm not going to exactly leave them a trail to it, either. It's not shame. No, I gave up being ashamed of my open views on sexuality a long time ago. Everyone has to have a hobby, right? *smirk

And everyone needs a dirty little secret. As long as it's not hurting anyone.

And I won't hurt you.
Much.

So I'll be yours if you'll be mine *grin

Mythical or Magical?

(If your cable company has Music Choice available, and you're like me and like 80's metal, check out "Retro Rock". Since I'm not at my desk, this is my only option for music, and it rocks.)

I mentioned awhile back that I bought a new vibrator -- a rabbit. I've had a lot of toys over the years, and enjoyed them all in one way or another, but this one is different.

As I've said, I've read a lot of sex books. Some good, some not so good, some just downright hilarious. When I re-read "Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex" again recently, I had to laugh when the author was still doubting the existence of the g-spot.

Trust me, it's there.

And the rabbit is built to make the most of it.

There are two basic ways that women orgasm: Clitoral stimulation or g-spot stimulation. (*note* Yes, there are a few other ways, like nipple play or mind-play but at least for me, these orgasms are different than what I consider a good solid orgasm. Not better or worse, but definitely different.) When I orgasm from penetration, if there is not a lot of grinding involved, typically it's because my g-spot is getting some serious attention. In missionary, or me on top, the clitoral contact makes it happen for the most part. From behind? That's almost all g-spot, baby (there is some clit hitting going on, from the lips sliding back and forth, don't get me wrong. But it's not a heavy amount). There isn't enough clitoral contact for me to cum that way, but if the man is built right, and he has at least some clue on how to move, he's hitting my g-spot every time his cock slides past it.

I'm not sure that 5 years ago I would have said that. As a matter of fact, I know I wouldn't have. I could probably, if I were so inclined to do so, count the number of orgasms I'd had from doggy-style sex on one hand before then. But that's not my partner's fault entirely. It's mine, too. Because I didn't understand how to interpret those signals from my brain at the time. You know the ones. They say "Man, that feels good but why?"

See, the thing is, that much like love, you can't fucking logic everything (yes, I used logic as a verb, sue me.). Over the last ten years, I would say, I started to learn how to stop interpreting signals and just let them wash over me. I wish that was something that came naturally to everyone, but it doesn't. People would get so much more out of sex if they could shut their brains off during it. I still don't always do that. But I certainly do *more* of it.

Just don't doubt the existence of that little pleasure palace called the g-spot. Dr. Reuben may disagree, but he's wrong. He's obviously never been in the room when I came from being fucked from behind. Poor guy. *smirk*

The Sex

I have this little notebook that I keep next to the recliner. When something on TV strikes me as something I might want to write about, I write it in this book. I also jot down things that occur to me during the day and email them home, to be put into this notebook.

The title of this post comes from my most recent series I watched (see previous post). The lead keeps referring to sex he had with his ex as "the sex". It funny, and sounds like something I would do. It stuck in my head.

As I'm working my way through the notebook tonight, I came across a notation from an episode of "Cathouse" that I watched. It was about a particular act that made me sit up and literally take serious notice. Enough so, that I felt I needed to write about it in some way.

Since my last couple of posts have been all heavy and emotional and blah blah blah I think it's time to get back to writing about what makes most of us happy: sex.

I'm a fan of being fucked from behind. While missionary remains my favorite position, this runs probably a close second. I especially enjoy this when there is a lot of contact between him and I, as in leaning up or him leaning down over me. I like that contact. Even if I can't see him, I can feel him...more than just his cock and his hands.

I'm also a fan of being held down. I don't think that's a secret at this point in the blog.

In that particular episode of Cathouse, there was a setup, where the girl was getting fucked from behind, and at one particular point, the man reached down and drew her arms back, holding her hands at about the level of her hips, right next to her on the sides. He then proceeded to pound into her, using her hands as leverage.

Can you say...wow... yes, please?

Yea, that gave me some masturbatory fodder for a couple of days. The idea of it just ramped me up for many reasons. It incorporates two things that I like: fucking from behind and being held in place. It's something I've yet to try, but it certainly looks fun and she seemed to really enjoy it, and said so afterward. It had been new for her, too. The guy just had a big grin on his face.

Who could blame him?

New and different can be very fun. And I've had some new and different experiences of my own in the last few years as far as sex is concerned. I'm pretty sure that even with the vast real life and reading experience that I have had, there will always be new and different things to try with 'the sex'. 'The Sex' only gets stale and boring if you allow your imagination to wither and die.

And why the hell would you do that? There's just too much fun to be had to let that happen.

Where does your widsom come from?

Apparently, mine these days comes from series on HBO and Showtime.

I started Californication Season 1 last night. I've been getting all of the series from those two channels and trying them on for size this year from Netflix. I wasn't sure I was going to like this one, but as it turns out, I really really do. First off, the main character is a writer (instant hit) that can't write (two points). He ends up blogging, instead of working on a new novel (score).

The writing is crisp and clear and I find myself laughing and smiling a lot through the episodes. I watched the entire first disk (of two) for season one last night, and after I was little Miss Productive around here today, I fired up disk 2.

The guy -- Hank -- really wants his ex back (I cannot relate to this lol. There isn't one of my ex's I'd take back. But I can relate to how he feels about her), and during a conversation with his precocious 12 year old daughter Becca, he tells her "No, we don't have to be realistic when it comes to love"

I wrote that down.

I am one of the most logical people I know. That's why I'm good at my job. I can talk myself in or out of almost anything (this comes in handy for those "knowing it's not good for you" moments) using reason and logic and making little pro-con lists in my head. Yes, it's a little (ok a lot) Type A, but it works for me, and in most areas of my life, it's proven itself repeatedly.

The one area of my life that this does Not work in is my love life (or lack thereof, as further proof of this). I can strangle my emotions in almost every area of my life but that one, though I have tried to repeatedly for the last many years. Even when I try and succeed in this, I end up feeling worse than if I had failed. I'm not someone who can rationalize their way out of those kinds of emotions and I find myself envious of people who can.

But should I be?

I'm not convinced that love should be treated in a logical fashion. Well, let's not even say love. Let's say dating, or intimate relationships. Now, while I realize that there are certain inherent truths to each person, and what they will and will not be able to get past in these relationships (for instance, I know for certain that I could not be comfortable or see a long term happy ending with someone who was deeply religious.), but I also realize that "sweating the small stuff" when you're dealing with the emotions associated with this stuff makes for long lonely nights and empty bed syndrome.

Case in point: I have an ad on OKCupid. I don't check it very often, and I don't run the searches but I do go look at my inbox occasionally and see if there's anything of interest in there. I get maybe 10-15 emails a month, mostly from people I could not possibly see myself dating. Our interests are too different or our ages are too different or he's shorter than I am or considerably less stable than I want to deal with or ... or ...

I have a lengthy list. Let's just say that clearly. And logically, I understand that I have a right to that list. I've earned it. In the past, I have fallen into relationships that clearly I shouldn't have fallen into and I have paid the price for that. My 'pickyness' now is born from the ashes of a pile of broken hearts set afire by the last match of a pack still damp with tears. And much (here comes another quote) as Hank's ex said in a later episode of this show, "I question everything; it's very healthy".

But maybe we're not supposed to do that. I mean, obviously, not questioning and falling in without care or forethought has not served me well in the past, but maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. And the harder we fight -- emotion vs. logic -- the more mired into angst we become.

Clearly, love is not an emotion you can completely explain with logic. But just as clearly, it can't be completely absent from our choices, either.

I finished Californication tonight. I hadn't expected to, but once the 2nd disk was in, I just couldn't stop. The series so far is full of pithy quotes and bits of humor-filled wisdom. I went immediately to Netflix and tossed the next 2 seasons into my queue.

If, as the series says, "Everyone is the star of their own romantic comedy", undoubtedly, mine need a re-write. And maybe a spell-check.

Clutter

I wish, sometimes, that I were more the kind of person who didn't think all the time. Frankly, I would give good money for a couple hours/days/weeks of pure brain-dead time so that I didn't have to.

If I weren't thinking all the time, and could clear my mind like a normal person, I'd be able to write more. And I'd be able to take a chainsaw to the trees so I could see this fucking forest everyone is always yammering on about.

But I do think a lot.

And tonight, I was lambasting myself for two typical Jillisms:

• Knowing what I want is bad for me, but wanting it anyway.
• Not being able to ask for help.

These are two very distinct things, but as it happens often around here, they cross paths occasionally.

I have grown so independent over the last five years (Can you believe it's been five years since I left whats-his-name and moved to Wisconsin? Yea, me either, but it has. When it comes to something I need help or advice or guidance on, I struggle. Oh...not at work. If I have a work issue that I've spent a considerable amount of time on and still can't figure out, I will take it directly to my boss. No problem there. But anything outside of work, I can't seem to do that with. Take gaming, for example. There are things I'd like to do in game that require assistance from other people. Will I ask for it? Very rarely. Most of the time, I'll either try and do it myself or I'll wait until someone else needs the same thing.

I honestly can't remember if I have always been this way or not. I've tried to remember, and for some reason, I just can't place an example. I'm guessing I have been, to some extent, because for me, being a submissive worked well in that because asking for help was almost a requirement of that -- voicing needs, asking for what I wanted...these things were mandatory in my d/s relationships.

(On a side note, it just started storming like the devil here and my power blipped, so I went and grabbed a candle to light it, just in case. I don't know why I'm always saving candles instead of burning them all the time. Not only do them smell fantastic, but the lighting is wonderful)

I wish I were better at it. Honestly, I have some wonderful friends and I know that anything I needed or wanted from most of them I would get just for asking. But I have to be pretty damn desperate to even hint at asking. I don't like that about myself. I don't see that as independent. I see that as stubborn and proud and ... yes, probably scared. That's right. Scared. If you don't ask for something, you can't hear "No". I'm a risk taker in many parts of my life. But for some reason, that's a leap that's very hard to take for me.

And as for knowing what I want and knowing it's bad for me, but still wanting it? To some extent, that's human nature, but to blatantly ignore that gut reaction -- to perhaps not act but to definitely still desire something strongly enough to have the urge to go after it -- is irritating to me. I'm a smart girl. I know better. And yet, I still want it. Smoking is but one example of that. I could list several.

You could say, at this point in my life, that I spend far too much time analyzing my particular quirks and not nearly enough time just being who I am and reveling in that. You could say it, and you'd be 100% accurate in saying it. Again, I know it. But I still do it anyway...

It's funny how much space frees up in your head for bullshit like this when you don't have other things cluttering it up. I'm happy the clutter is gone, but this needs to hit the dust pan too.

This should have been margarita night. Maybe it still will be :)

When I think about how much of a happier person I am now than I was 5 years ago, none of this really seems to matter all that much.

Maybe Banky was right. Maybe all I really need is some serious deep dickin'. (Chasing Amy

, people. If you aren't familiar, see it. Awesome flick.)

Running Backwards in Heels

I have a whole list of topics for this blog. I have time in the evenings most nights to write in it. I am often inspired throughout the day, and send emails home to add new things to the ever-growing list.

Do I write? No.

I have a block, no question. Between internal dialogue so loud the TV can't even drown it out, and work, and my newly found soon-to-be-ex deadbeat, I can't seem to focus on writing.

I want to.
I need to.
I have things to say! I have erotica to write! I have topics to discuss and titillation to pen, and yet I sit here and ... well, I sit here and NOT write.

A friend of mine said tonight that it's not good to force myself to write, and I used to believe that whole-heartedly, but right now...I'm wondering if maybe force isn't what I need to power myself through this.

(By the way, I want the shoes above, but more than wanting them, I want to get fucked silly while wearing them.)

Hm. Well, that thought is a little inspiring.....