(as we know it)
Even aesthetic, your aesthetic is a particular product of a worldview, therefore also, your aesthetic synthesis of a person: your preference for round hips, or fat lips, or thin thighs (to which we will return later), or lack of. Brown skin fetish (you play the Oriental card), white skin fetish (“Aryan” superiority, they say). Fetishizing the veil, “loose women”, women who smoke, women who earn more than you. That’s your aesthetic. And that is political. Perhaps you think you are saving her. Perhaps you call that love.
I got stood up today
By this chill dude I met at the state library
And it felt like crap
But then I came home
And my baby was there :)
and he smiled at me and cuddled me
and we played Halo 4 all afternoon
then we went out and got indian food :D
then before this other guy facebooks me
“I’m so sorry about today”
So I said
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t text me before I wasted my time going into the city to meet you.”
“yeah thats true, I was busy though.” He replied.
…… sorry bro. My boyfriend would never treat me like that. Have a nice life.
I guess its just nice that no matter what I have with other people
I always have to come home to
to lavish me with affection and xbox <3
and vice versa too!
The Official Giant List of Poly Blogs
In response to the “WHERE ARE ALL THE POLY BLOGS WAHHH.” Here are 35 of them. These are all blogs that have been updated within the last 4-6 weeks, I don’t think any of them are defunct.
I have personal favorites, but it’s not fair for me to say that here, this is a choose your own adventure kind of post.
If you’re not on this list, it’s because I don’t know about you, which is sad! So reblog and add yourself, ok? We are resources for each other. Don’t hide!
(In no particular order at all)
Something I’ve gotten away from
I’m not sure why or when, but I used to post about personal stuff in addition to my sex photos. I’ve never wanted to be just a fuck blog or portray myself as one dimensional. After talking with my Husband about it I’ve decided to start doing that again. Obviously sex is a huge part of my life and I am an exhibitionist, so I’m still going to post photos, but I’ll also be posting about the rest of me. For those that don’t like my personal posts, then ignore them.
There are a lot of things I could post about, but something inside me says I should start with my relationship with my husband. That’s right I used a lowercase h instead of the upper like I usually do. My Husband is the man I’m exploring aspects of power play with in a BDSM context. My husband is the man I fell in love with, married, had children with, and bare my soul to. Same man, different things.
First, I am lucky beyond belief. Not because he’s the greatest man on earth (he isn’t, but I love him anyway). I am lucky because I am in love with someone that loves me back. Because my needs are met and my misfortunes are mostly petty, upper middle class gripes that are insulting to those with real misfortune. Because I have the luxury of not having to work when so many others worry if they can afford rent and decide what bills they can’t pay this month.
And yet I have the same emotions as everyone else. I have insecurities and feel emotional pain. Sometimes I get angry and yell. I can act stupidly and feel embarrassed. What I want my blog to show is that I am human. A woman that is sexual, strong, frail, confused, confident, and flawed like everyone else and not because I do porn or fuck a lot. My husband told me that to do all that I need to share more than I am comfortable with. He’s right.
Monday afternoon my husband and I were making love. At least I thought it was making love, with tender touches and kisses. As my husband came he said I was a wonderful whore. I laid their with him between my legs feeling so hurt. When we fuck I tell him how much I love being his whore and get wet hearing him tell me I’m only a fuck toy for his cock. That’s the beauty of sex. It’s a sport, a way of saying hello, a welcome home, a get better soon card, and an expression of love. I wanted the expression of love and instead I was a whore for his sport.
That night and all the next day I withdrew emotionally and avoided my husband. I found errands to do away from home and away from him. When I got home I had more errands to do instead of saying hello. He started asking if anything was wrong. I smiled, said no, and started another errand away from him. We didn’t have sex that entire day (we usually have sex 2 - 3 times a day). By night time he began pressing me to tell him what was wrong. I wanted to scream at him that I was more than just a whore to stick his dick in. Instead I said nothing.
Things escalated quickly and he left our bed with the words “Fuck you and your not talking about how you feel.” Or something to that effect. I felt panic and anger. I want his approval badly. I want his love and respect and I felt hurt. I made myself go after him. At first I sat there and wouldn’t speak, which made him angrier. When I did start to speak, I realize in hindsight, that I wasn’t listening.
At first I avoided the real reason I had been distant and told him I felt confused and maybe it was the progesterone I had recently started taking. He was still angry and kept saying “Bullshit!”, which started making me angry. Finally I snapped and told him it was because I wanted to be more than just his “whore” and how much it hurt when he called me that when we were making love.
He had no idea what I was talking about. We had fucked the day before, but didn’t remember making love. His position was that he didn’t know I wanted to make love instead of fuck and that if he had known he would never had said those words. My position was that I had caressed him and kissed him and he had returned those caresses and kisses - we were making love. Finally he began to calm down and I began to listen.
The tender kisses we exchanged while making love was passionate fucking to him. I assumed he could see what I wanted, but never told him I wanted to make love. In my hurt I lashed out and tried to hurt him back by emotionally withdrawing. In response he lashed out with angry, hurtful words. But now we were talking and listening. I asked him to come back to bed with me and he took my hand. I laid him on the bed and told him what a dirty little whore I had been and asked if he wanted to stick his dick in me. He laughed and kissed me hard and then we fucked. And the next morning we made love.
I’m 42 and married for 19 years. I have a hard time talking about my emotions or dealing with another person’s anger. I get defensive and stop listening. But we work hard at being a better couple. We want to stay in love and married. I want him to be so in love with me that I don’t have to tell him when I want to make love, but that’s not how relationships work. Only I know how I really feel and I have to communicate if I want others to know. I know this. I just wish I did it more often. Especially with the man I love so much.
I really don’t like “making love *TO* someone”
I’m not “doing” someone. I’m not doing someone a favor by sexing them. If I’m ever caught up in one person then that’s going to be myself and not them. …and usually that ends up in being some really shitty sex, not coincidentally.
Sure, when I was fucking for the first time or before I got sober, it was all pretty much “fucking someone” and pretty much defined in my mind by how much fun I had. So, that was more like collecting masturbation helpers. I’m sure that it was whatever for them and clearly they didn’t stick around so, that “whatever” was probably pretty unrewarding.
Making love with someone is something that happens when I turn my focus from myself to what we can be together. It can be romantic or not, but the dance between my touch and theirs, my joy and theirs, our experience of each other back and forth and being present to both of us - that is not something that I do “to” someone at all. It is who I am “with” someone where those exchanges of touch, experience and communication occur.
There is a place for fucking and a place for loving and a place for making love. I couldn’t begin to pretend to know what anyone else in the world wants or how they express themselves in sex or love. But, when I am sharing my body with someone else - I am exploring all those senses to see another human or humans and to be likewise seen. I mean, there’s no guarantee we will communicate or love or make anything, but that is what “making love with someone” means to me.