“I wanted to tell you something,” my spouse said. We were in the car, and he was driving me somewhere. “Ok,” I said. “What’s up?” “The other day when you told me you were writing, and you asked if that was ok,” he sad. “I wanted to tell you–it’s always ok that you’re writing.” “Aw!”
I saw this cute meme about respecting all kinds of work boots in this house, and I was happy. Have I told you lately that I love you, sex workers? It’s true. I love you. Thank you for doing the hard work while being mostly misunderstood and villainized by many. Sex work is work! You
I wish to go with you to a nature place–the beach, a forest, the desert here. I’d pray to Mother Earth silently, or out loud if you didn’t mind, and say thank you. I’d thank her for nourishing you to life and helping you be a person all these years. Gladly, I’d thank Mother Earth
There’s “slut” in the current one-phrase description of this blog. I’m a shimmering disabled oxytocin slut, luminous and kind. Lately I’ve been thinking about what a slut is. When the man I loved came here to visit me, he used me, and I’m still recovering. He had sexual contact with me, gave me zero aftercare,
I like being vulnerable. It’s my favorite thing to do. Being vulnerable to people who don’t want that is no good. But being vulnerable with people who want that from me and will be vulnerable in response–that’s what I live for. It’s why I write, why I love, and my whole deal. Activism, ritual, support
This meme is playful, the reasons to be poly, and this brain ranking. It’s not to be taken seriously–the point is the D&D joke at the end. But I saw my reasons are not on there. My main reason to have open relationship is resilience through diversity. It’s a permaculture concept. I wish for a
Briefly over zoom, I saw a friend’s sticker about consent, saying it’s like fries. I was really confused. What? Weird comparison. what it is Consent to me is clear, comforting, sometimes formal, and crucial. Sacred, even! A standard yet tender way to show love, and give respect and care to other people. Consent is how
My spouse and I went away on a trip. When we came home, I realized that the power dynamic here is so messed up, in a way I had never articulated to myself. It has to do with respect of sexual needs. It hurts the men who live here, when I wear tank tops. Hurts
respect me: do you respect me? him: I love you. me: but do you respect me? always? him: yes. me: is love a type of respect? or are they separate? worship me: I want you to worship me. him: I do. me: no, I mean formally. worship the hell outta me, then fuck the shit