Usual Reasons Why I Don’t Write Back to Friends

  • What you’ve written provokes such a complicated response within me that I feel if I write right away, I’ll misrepresent myself because I don’t quite understand it yet. This could be for emotional or intellectual reasons. I need time to reflect in order to convey these thoughts and feelings accurately.
  • What you’ve written requires a lengthy reply,
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Who Started It?

The other morning, I woke to the feel of Skyspook’s arms, my own voice murmuring I loved him, his happy sighs, nuzzling each other, kissing. Our bodies were intertwined, a single flat sheet wrapped around us.

Neither of us knows who started it, who woke the other up. Whoever initiated the affection was surely asleep when it happened.  » Read more

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Doing My Best?

Soon, I’m going back to school. Skyspook’s work life and career are absolutely crazy these days. I’m going to have new responsibilities as a full-time student, and with Skyspook so busy, my domestic duties will be even more crucial. As we’re shifting into a new phase as a couple, it’s tough to know precisely what is expected of me.  » Read more

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I’ve realized my major problem as a writer, what holds me back more than anything.

Self-consciousness, that pesky inner critic who will not shut the fuck up.

I find I do best when I can really just focus on the task in hand and not generate a band of hecklers in my head.   » Read more

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There’s the Door

There is no such thing as a lover’s oath.



I’ve written a bit about my dating patterns in past relationships:

I limited my sights to those who approached me, no matter how underwhelmed I was by their character, their accomplishments, their insights. I  based  my level of interest on their level of interest and once in a relationship would work desperately to foster reciprocal emotions.  » Read more

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On Gender Supremacy

I keep running into one disturbing trend as I explore the Master/slave community and Skyspook and I experiment with the dynamic: Male supremacy.

I know, I know. I am a female-bodied person kneeling before a male-bodied person. I call him “Sir,” follow orders, consent as he beats me, degrades me, uses me for his own sexual pleasure.  » Read more

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The first time I got off on being used as furniture, I was 17 years old.

It was at my best friend N’s 18th birthday party. Her parents had converted their basement into an awesome entertaining room – complete with a full bar and bear skin rug. On other occasions, N and I would sneak down there,  » Read more

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