My Friend Died Today

My friend died today. I feel terrible about this. I hate that she died at only 29. I hate that she was sick and in pain for two years before it happened. I have tried to be supportive for the other friends she left behind, but right now, in this space, I am going to be selfish. I am going to indulge in thoughts of how this makes ME feel.
She was in my class. She was my age. She was reaching for the same career I am. I often think about how I’m putting my life on hold for my career goals. I hate that feeling, and things like this remind me why I hate it so much. My life is happening now and I’m missing it and it could end at any minute and what will I have accomplished? There are so many things that I want to do that I don’t because I’m so focused on this goal to the exclusion of all else. There are myriad silly things that I choose not to do. There are larger things…relationships and life experiences…that I say, “that’ll just have to wait.” Now my friend is dead and there are so many things she didn’t do. She was going to travel the world and bring healthcare to the people who need it most. She was going to get married and have a family. Lot’s of other things, but those are some I remember her talking about. She didn’t get to do those things and I’m not doing my “things” either. She also never had sex. She was waiting until marriage because that’s what her church and her family taught her to do. I am angry at her church for causing her to miss that experience. It’s only one small thing in a lifetime of experiences that she didn’t get to do, but it’s one that bugs me a lot because I feel like it’s one that she actually COULD have had if religion hadn’t gotten in her way. Sexual pleasure of any kind is off limits until you are ready to procreate. That’s such bullshit.
I hate religion for countless reasons, not the least of which is the fact that my friend never got the chance to explore her own sexuality, but here’s the thing…her faith was so strong that she didn’t fear death. She was comforted and serene in the knowledge that she would go to heaven. I’m grateful that she had that. I’m grateful that her family has the comfort of “knowing” they’ll see their child again. Now, back to the selfish stuff…
I am grieving, not for the loss of my friend, but for the loss of my own faith. When she died I got a message saying, “she’s in heaven now.” I stared at those words for a long time and all I kept thinking was, “I don’t believe that’s true.” I stopped believing in God a long time ago, I think, but I still have a really hard time acknowledging that fact. Look, I can’t even type the word with a lower case “g.” God…God…god…there. I did it.
There’s a child inside me who is really terrified right now. That child spent years learning that to not believe in god meant that she would go to hell. That’s a scary place, and it’s forever. That child is still inside me. She still knows all the prayers. She still feels guilty when she sins. She knows what sins are, she learned them by heart. That child is frightened and angry at the loss of her safety net. Faith is so comforting, and I’ve taken it away from the little girl inside me. I lost my faith a long time ago, but today I said it out loud, and the little girl inside heard me. I said the rosary today. The words came to my lips without thought. You don’t lose some things, even if you don’t realize they’re still there, and the words spilled out. I said the rosary for my friend who is dead and for the child inside me who lost her faith. I said it as a farewell.

Not Lonely feels nice

I am not a city child. I was reminded of this just a little while ago. I am visiting my Mom but arrived before she got home, so I took a walk in the woods with the pup. It didn’t take long before we couldn’t see anything but trees. Even bare of leaves they are thick enough that you can only see 20 feet or so in any direction. Pup and I made all kinds of noise sloshing through the mud and rustling dead leaves, so we scared any wildlife away. Consequently, when we both stood still the silence was intense. So, there I stood in the beautiful silence, totally unconcerned with the mud up to my knees and the burrs stuck to my coat. I felt peaceful and comfortable and home. I am not a city child. A city child may enjoy the peace and solitude of a place like this on occasion, but probably wouldn’t feel “home” so acutely. I was alone (except for the pup, of course) and suddenly I was not lonely. It’s been a while since I have been “not lonely,” and it’s ironic that I had to travel to the middle of the woods to find it. We didn’t stay for long. The sun was all but gone and after a few minutes we could hear coyotes in the distance. I may be comfortable with the peace and solitude of the middle of nowhere, but not so much that I don’t appreciate the warmth and safety of in doors after dark.

A letter to someone who will never see it.

Self gratifying post not really meant for a wider audience, but it makes me feel better to write it.

The reason I cannot be the partner you want is because you have no idea who I am. This is not your fault. I am guarded, that has been true for as long as I can remember.

You don’t see the world the way I see it. You don’t see why things upset me. When I lament injustices you tell me I’m too uptight and overreacting. The truth is, I want to rage and scream. What you are seeing is an under-reaction.

You tell me how impressive it is that I can talk to anyone like they are my best friend. I can do that because I give everyone what they want. I only show them the parts of me they want to see. A good friend once told me that I am whoever I am with. That has always made me sad because I realize that it’s true, but I see it as the only way to get where I want to go with my life. That is partly justification for the fact that I don’t really know how to change. Regardless, you don’t see me either. You only see what I have shown you and that has only ever been exactly what you wanted. If you ever looked deeper I would be yours in a heartbeat, but you don’t.

I know I am hurting you by telling you no. I am hurting myself, too, but you cannot understand that. I love you. I always have. I just can’t be the partner you want.

On some level I feel good because this is the first time I can think of that I chose not to compromise myself for the sake of a relationship. The problem is that now I’m desperately lonely.

Dear Significant Other,

I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what your sex or your gender or your age or what nationality you might be. I don’t know if you identify as dom or sub or kinky or none of the above. I tend to imagine you as a submissive boy, around my age, who has some ideals and interests that are similar to, or compatible with, my own. It’s to that boy that I’m writing.
Please try to get to know me. That’s how I’ll recognise you. You’ll be the guy who shows an interest. You’re interest will not wax and wane based on weather you’re horny. You’ll want to know about my kinky interests, but a list won’t be enough for you. You’ll want to uncover wishes and desires I don’t even know about yet. You’ll want to know about my non-kinky interests. You’ll want to know what kinds of food I eat and what I think about religion and politics and technology and gardening and society and sex and everything else imaginable. You’ll want to know what I hate and what I love and what I fear and the kind of person I want to be. You’ll want to know about my past and my future and about my dreams and goals and insecurities and quirks. You’ll want to know what sounds I make when I’m having an orgasm and what face I make when I am scared of something but don’t want anyone to know. You’ll want to know where my birthmark is. You’ll want to kiss it when you find it. You won’t be content with asking one time, “so what do you do for fun?” Whatever short answer I give you in return will stimulate further questions and conversation. You’ll want conversation. Lots of it. About ideas and opinions and beliefs and people and things. You’ll want to educate yourself about the things that interest me and teach me about the things that interest you. You’ll want to know about the mundane activities in my day and what’s been on my mind lately. When I am not sharing with you, for whatever reason, you’ll want to push and challenge me. Encourage me to acknowledge superficiality and dig deeper. Doing so will not make me think you are not submissive. Don’t worry about that. You’ll recognise the fact that you’re never going to be done knowing me because there will always be more to learn. I will always be growing and changing and having new experiences and ideas.
And so will you.
You’ll want to know all of that and more and you’ll want to share all of those things with me. You’ll want to open yourself to me, even if that makes you feel vulnerable. Especially if that makes you feel vulnerable.
This is how I’ll recognise you. I’ll recognise the questions you ask and the answers you give. I’m looking forward to meeting you. I’m looking forward to knowing you. I hope it happens soon.
Sincerely,
Me

Read This

I suddenly wish I had a million readers so I could share this with the world.

I found myself irritated by this article which seems to indicate that women should not wear revealing costumes on Halloween because they might attract men, and then people will think they are sluts! Of course, being called a slut is obviously the worst possible thing that can happen to your reputation ever.

Lest it go unnoticed, my tone on that last line was scathingly sarcastic. Can’t we reclaim the pejorative “slut” like we reclaimed cunt? Can’t women be aware of and even (heaven forbid) celebrate their sexuality?

It was also commented upon here.

As it turns out, I was not able to get dressed up to go out this year. I had my alien/slut costume all ready, though. I would have worn shiny silver corset, black shorts and my shiny black fuck me boots. My hair was to be in a fabulous glittery silver mo-hawk. Martian hooker, that's me! All I would have needed would have been a silver dildo for my strap-on, that way I could provide the obligatory anal probe. Bend over, earth men, who's first?