Sunday, January 30, 2005
Good, good, good, good vibrations!!!
Ooooooh... if those very angry, very grown up people with their very angry teenage death metal wouldn't have showed up on stage eventually tonight, I'd have stayed so much longer at the concert at the Westchester... listening to the basses and the bass drums with more dedication than ever... my legs crossed tightly, and feeling the vibrations of sound through my little piece of metal... oh, mamma. *delightful grin*
I really like you, little ring in my sore flesh. I have a feeling we're gonna be best friends soon...
I really like you, little ring in my sore flesh. I have a feeling we're gonna be best friends soon...
Saturday, January 29, 2005
PUTA MADRE!
"Are you ready?", he said, as I placed myself bare-assed on the big chair in front of him, one leg dangling off of each side of it, my shoes barely touching the floor. If the chair would have had elevated leg rests, I would have felt like I was in a doctor's office, for my harmless bi-annual pap. No leg rests here, though. Instead Mike: a heavily pierced and tattooed guy with a split tongue, sterile latex gloves, and a number of scary looking instruments on a small table beside him. I avoided looking at them. I looked at The Fiancé instead, who stood next to me, looking a little bit lost, and offering his hand for me to squeeze, which I could stand doing for the better part of maybe 2 seconds, before my attention focused back onto myself. I smiled insecurely into Mike's direction, and gave a little shrug.
"As ready as one can be, huh?", he smiled. "Yeah.", I said, sparkling with wit. I took a deep breath.
Latex-clad fingers examining my clit hood thoroughly, flipping it inside out and back, measuring it, making little blue felt-pen marks here and there. The flipping, oh the flipping... my heartbeat must have accelerated to 180 already then, and every muscle in my body tensed, only barely kept from squirming. There is nothing more uncomfortable to me than exposing my clit from under its secure fleshy roof, and by the time he touched it directly with a desinfecting q-tip I was ready to bolt out of there. A q-tip! What, then, would a needle do to me? I sucked my breath in hard and tried to relax. And sure enough, soon after I was explained on how the clamps that would soon be used on me to hold the skin in place would be the thing that would bother me most in the whole process - and on they went, and adjusted they were, and then readjusted. That's supposed to be bad? The worst? Okay... relief started to shyly approach my chaotic set of present emotions, and I looked up at The Fiancé again, smiling in a way that I hoped would look reassuring.
Reassuring whom, anyway? He, for his part, was busy focusing on Mike handling my most private parts, and... was there a slight grin on his face?
I didn't have time to find out, however, as I caught the first glimpse of the torture device: the 14 gauge needle, with some sort of clear jelly on it. My heart was about to burst in my chest, and I felt the onset of a slight tremor going through my body. Why was I doing this, again?
"Okay... when I tell you to, take a very deep breath and hold it until I tell you to let it go... ready?"
"Mmmhpmmpf." There, wit again.
"Okay... take a deep breath now."
I filled my lungs to the rim. Determined not to make one peep, to take it like a woman. Oh, I was so brave. I'll show them all! *thumps chest*
"Ok... let it out!"
And out it went. And in the needle went. And doomed to 6-8 weeks of total sexual abstinence I was. And away all thoughts of determination went. I yelped, jerked forward, decided on some subconscious level and within the same millisecond that out of all languages I know Spanish would probably be the best one to display my intense displeasure, and gave a heartfelt:
"PUTA MADRE!!!"*
Mike let go of me, The Fiancé stared at me... and then Mike inquired as to the nature of the language I just cursed in, in relation to the accent he previously heard me speak with.
"Spanish...", from a flabbergasted Fiancé.
Then the tension dropped off of me like a heavy weight, and hysterical giggling got the best of me, and I giggled something about how I don't even speak Spanish, but German, cut short by when I looked down on myself and saw that thick needle still wedged into my hood, decorated by a few drops of blood on the paper towel beneath it. And I didn't feel a thing! Of course that changed the second the needle went out, and the jewelry went in. You'd think it can't get any worse than getting a sharp needle stuck through your clit hood? Think again. Now the squirming and trembling really began, and when Mike asked me about what made me want to get an HCH done in the first place, I was so nervous and concentrating on not screaming, that all I could come up with in the spur of the moment was the lamest thing anyone could ever say when it comes to body modification and the reasons thereof:
"Because I think they are really pretty."
And while it is true, at the same time it couldn't be further from the truth. I did not get my HCH done simply because I think they are pretty. I have very specific reasons... and most of them are revolving around the fact that I can finally admit to and openly live out my bisexuality without trying to be what I am not, or fitting into a mold that wasn't made for me. I have redefined myself, and re-set my boundaries, and I am feeling very good about it. In fact, I am now feeling better about myself than I ever have in my life before, and what better way to celebrate this than to decorate the very part of me that this revolution of self revolves around, and therefore accentuating and showing off its importance to me?
But come on... this is a rather hard speech to give while someone is busy squeezing a piece of jewelry through a fresh puncture wound in your privates... lol.
After that we had a party to show up to. The adrenaline and the endorphines running rampant through my system put me into a weird state of mellow hyped-up-ness, which turned the drive from Hollywood to Glendale into a potential treacherous death trap, not unsimilar to driving under the influence of pot. Interestingly enough though I was in no pain whatsoever for the rest of the evening and night, and even today all I can feel is a slight soreness that is nowhere near "pain". I have been in much worse conditions after nights of relentless fucking, I can tell you that. Of course, cleaning it is an entire different story, and I am not looking forward to doing that again. :/
Needless to say, I can't walk by a mirror anymore without pulling my pants down and admiring myself (- much to The Fiancé's delight, of course). I am really proud of myself for having gone through with it and not having chickened out. And from now on, squeezing my thighs together and feeling the ring there between my legs shall always remind me of who I am, and why I took this step in the first place.
* "Motherfucker!!!"
"As ready as one can be, huh?", he smiled. "Yeah.", I said, sparkling with wit. I took a deep breath.
Latex-clad fingers examining my clit hood thoroughly, flipping it inside out and back, measuring it, making little blue felt-pen marks here and there. The flipping, oh the flipping... my heartbeat must have accelerated to 180 already then, and every muscle in my body tensed, only barely kept from squirming. There is nothing more uncomfortable to me than exposing my clit from under its secure fleshy roof, and by the time he touched it directly with a desinfecting q-tip I was ready to bolt out of there. A q-tip! What, then, would a needle do to me? I sucked my breath in hard and tried to relax. And sure enough, soon after I was explained on how the clamps that would soon be used on me to hold the skin in place would be the thing that would bother me most in the whole process - and on they went, and adjusted they were, and then readjusted. That's supposed to be bad? The worst? Okay... relief started to shyly approach my chaotic set of present emotions, and I looked up at The Fiancé again, smiling in a way that I hoped would look reassuring.
Reassuring whom, anyway? He, for his part, was busy focusing on Mike handling my most private parts, and... was there a slight grin on his face?
I didn't have time to find out, however, as I caught the first glimpse of the torture device: the 14 gauge needle, with some sort of clear jelly on it. My heart was about to burst in my chest, and I felt the onset of a slight tremor going through my body. Why was I doing this, again?
"Okay... when I tell you to, take a very deep breath and hold it until I tell you to let it go... ready?"
"Mmmhpmmpf." There, wit again.
"Okay... take a deep breath now."
I filled my lungs to the rim. Determined not to make one peep, to take it like a woman. Oh, I was so brave. I'll show them all! *thumps chest*
"Ok... let it out!"
And out it went. And in the needle went. And doomed to 6-8 weeks of total sexual abstinence I was. And away all thoughts of determination went. I yelped, jerked forward, decided on some subconscious level and within the same millisecond that out of all languages I know Spanish would probably be the best one to display my intense displeasure, and gave a heartfelt:
"PUTA MADRE!!!"*
Mike let go of me, The Fiancé stared at me... and then Mike inquired as to the nature of the language I just cursed in, in relation to the accent he previously heard me speak with.
"Spanish...", from a flabbergasted Fiancé.
Then the tension dropped off of me like a heavy weight, and hysterical giggling got the best of me, and I giggled something about how I don't even speak Spanish, but German, cut short by when I looked down on myself and saw that thick needle still wedged into my hood, decorated by a few drops of blood on the paper towel beneath it. And I didn't feel a thing! Of course that changed the second the needle went out, and the jewelry went in. You'd think it can't get any worse than getting a sharp needle stuck through your clit hood? Think again. Now the squirming and trembling really began, and when Mike asked me about what made me want to get an HCH done in the first place, I was so nervous and concentrating on not screaming, that all I could come up with in the spur of the moment was the lamest thing anyone could ever say when it comes to body modification and the reasons thereof:
"Because I think they are really pretty."
And while it is true, at the same time it couldn't be further from the truth. I did not get my HCH done simply because I think they are pretty. I have very specific reasons... and most of them are revolving around the fact that I can finally admit to and openly live out my bisexuality without trying to be what I am not, or fitting into a mold that wasn't made for me. I have redefined myself, and re-set my boundaries, and I am feeling very good about it. In fact, I am now feeling better about myself than I ever have in my life before, and what better way to celebrate this than to decorate the very part of me that this revolution of self revolves around, and therefore accentuating and showing off its importance to me?
But come on... this is a rather hard speech to give while someone is busy squeezing a piece of jewelry through a fresh puncture wound in your privates... lol.
After that we had a party to show up to. The adrenaline and the endorphines running rampant through my system put me into a weird state of mellow hyped-up-ness, which turned the drive from Hollywood to Glendale into a potential treacherous death trap, not unsimilar to driving under the influence of pot. Interestingly enough though I was in no pain whatsoever for the rest of the evening and night, and even today all I can feel is a slight soreness that is nowhere near "pain". I have been in much worse conditions after nights of relentless fucking, I can tell you that. Of course, cleaning it is an entire different story, and I am not looking forward to doing that again. :/
Needless to say, I can't walk by a mirror anymore without pulling my pants down and admiring myself (- much to The Fiancé's delight, of course). I am really proud of myself for having gone through with it and not having chickened out. And from now on, squeezing my thighs together and feeling the ring there between my legs shall always remind me of who I am, and why I took this step in the first place.
* "Motherfucker!!!"
Thursday, January 27, 2005
GIG TIME
Next weekend... in Hollywood. The Fiancé has already received his "instructions" on calling Jo and inviting her... could it happen? Could I see her again already next weekend...?
Stuff that irks me...
...yet amuses me, even though it doesn't even concern me.
It concerns an online pal of mine, who received the following jewel of thought via email in response to her profile on some online singles site:
"I cant believe that you want to go the other way. Your boyfriend is not doing something right. E-mail me while you still have time. You are beautiful attractive and you have a nice personality. Dont waist it, dont go to the other side . E-mail me back I want fail just give me a chance I will steer you back on course.
Vincent"
I had this whole rant in my head about this blantant show of idiocy, but I decided to just let it stand for what it is, for greater impact. You can read the full entry here.
It concerns an online pal of mine, who received the following jewel of thought via email in response to her profile on some online singles site:
"I cant believe that you want to go the other way. Your boyfriend is not doing something right. E-mail me while you still have time. You are beautiful attractive and you have a nice personality. Dont waist it, dont go to the other side . E-mail me back I want fail just give me a chance I will steer you back on course.
Vincent"
I had this whole rant in my head about this blantant show of idiocy, but I decided to just let it stand for what it is, for greater impact. You can read the full entry here.
Monday, January 24, 2005
About that phone call...
...it was basically just The Fiancé staying in touch with people (including her), and preparing them for our upcoming CD release party. And like I said before, she told him that she'd want to come, once we have a date set, and all.
Seems like my fantasies or me staring at her in the crowd, unable to play one straight tune will come true afterall... can it be? Can it really be?
One thing I was thinking, that whenever I get to see her again, I will have to make some sort of move. Whatever this will be. But I am determined NOT to spend another span of months and months just dreaming of her, and how big of a crush I have on her, knowing that she doesn't have the slightest idea. Is she into girls? I have not one damn clue. Am I going to tell her that Isomething that I will have to do, or say, in an attempt to keep her in my life, and not let her slip away again. I don't know what this will be yet, I will have to play it by ear once it happens. And keep a very close eye on her and her reactions to me, so that I don't miss out on important details anymore like "her staring at me". And take my being exposed on stage as an opportunity. There is a lot of eye contact that can be made and held from upstage, and us being the center of all attention by default can work in my advantage when it comes to getting hers.
Now I need to really work on my stage presence... which up until now is practically nil, despite my physical presence. I need to impress her enough to cause her to want to talk with me again the way she did the very first time we met. And I am going to make a point out of paying attention to her, no matter how many other people will be there, giving her the hint, and...
...*slaps self* Ok, wake up. Enough fantasizing. Take it for what it'll be, and that's it. Geez, woman. am into girls? Probably not. But there is
Seems like my fantasies or me staring at her in the crowd, unable to play one straight tune will come true afterall... can it be? Can it really be?
One thing I was thinking, that whenever I get to see her again, I will have to make some sort of move. Whatever this will be. But I am determined NOT to spend another span of months and months just dreaming of her, and how big of a crush I have on her, knowing that she doesn't have the slightest idea. Is she into girls? I have not one damn clue. Am I going to tell her that Isomething that I will have to do, or say, in an attempt to keep her in my life, and not let her slip away again. I don't know what this will be yet, I will have to play it by ear once it happens. And keep a very close eye on her and her reactions to me, so that I don't miss out on important details anymore like "her staring at me". And take my being exposed on stage as an opportunity. There is a lot of eye contact that can be made and held from upstage, and us being the center of all attention by default can work in my advantage when it comes to getting hers.
Now I need to really work on my stage presence... which up until now is practically nil, despite my physical presence. I need to impress her enough to cause her to want to talk with me again the way she did the very first time we met. And I am going to make a point out of paying attention to her, no matter how many other people will be there, giving her the hint, and...
...*slaps self* Ok, wake up. Enough fantasizing. Take it for what it'll be, and that's it. Geez, woman. am into girls? Probably not. But there is
The Art of finding a decent Piercer
I went to about 5 or 6 piercing studios yesterday in Hollywood. Asked about HCH, standard questions, really. Like: how much do they charge, can I see samples of their work (portfolio), how long does it take to heal, what do you suggest for after care?
The different kinds and amounts of answers I got from the different piercers was just maddening! The healing times ranged from 1 month to 6-8 month, prices from $75 to $100, aftercare from H2O spray to sea salt soaks to "nothing at all", and from complete sexual abstinence to "protected and clean sex is possible". Some had one or two genital piercings in their samples catalog, and some didn't even have a catalog at all!
One guy was just outright creepy... the one that told me an HCH takes up to 8 months to heal. I said "I am looking into getting a horizontal hood piercing." To which he said: "What hood?" D'uh... how many hoods on the female body do you know of, fuckwit? He also insisted that sea salt soaks beyond day 3 after getting a piercing of any kind is completely pointless and doesn't help the healing process along at all. Then he insisted that H2O spray does basically the same thing as a sea salt soak does, and that it is absolutely crucial for aftercare. Hello? Can we say contradiction here? He was perfectly unable to formulate one single sentence without the usage of at least three "likes" in there, like, you know, and stuff... and the mere thought of letting this joker anywhere near me or my privates with a sharp object of any sort just gave me the plain willies.
Another guy just kept on talking about how cool vibrating jewelry will be, once I'll have my piercing done, and that "one can't just simply abstain from sex for a while, which is why the healing process might take a bit longer".
WTF???
There was one guy... only one... who I felt comfortable enough to entrust with my girl bits. He was sensitive to what I was saying, gently informed me that a VCH would create more stimulation than an HCH, just in case I wanted to know (- which I already knew anyways - I've done my homework, but none of the other piercers made even the slightest mention of it), showed me his portfolio with all the work he's done (-including hanging people off ceilings from hooks in their backs, along with a detailed description of how much weight can be carried by one hook, and how exactly the hooks have to be distributed to carry one's entire body weight, scarification, self-amputation [*shudders*], all sorts and kinds of piercings, and various other body art involving a guy who had his eyes and mouth and nostrils sewn shut with regular thread). He showed me his APP certification, and advised me to not settle for him right away, but have a look around other piercing studios first, and get other piercers' input and advice, before deciding if or when to come back to him. He told me to watch out for some piercing studios that are just out there to draw money out of my pockets, and to be aware of non-APP-certified piercers. He gave me the URL to his website (unfortunately defunct) so I could check out more of his work, before deciding to come back or not.
I REALLY liked his attitude, and he sounds like the one who's going to get to do the job. But why is it that there are so many bullshit piercers out there, who give such drastically different information and pricing, and some that appear to be just plainly incompetent???
Exciting tidbit on the side: he has no eyebrows, a split tongue (- whose both ends can move independently... almost makes me curious as to what interesting sensation this thing could create...), holes in his earlobes so wide that I could stick an entire finger through, and various other pieces of metal in his face where I had no idea one can have pieces of metal in. He was most definitely the freakiest looking of all the piercers I went to see, and with all his knowledge of hanging people off butcher's hooks and sowing their faces shut and the likes, a simple HCH should be no challenge for a guy like that. Somehow it does sort of turn me on, even, to have a guy like that stick a needle through one of my most private parts...
The different kinds and amounts of answers I got from the different piercers was just maddening! The healing times ranged from 1 month to 6-8 month, prices from $75 to $100, aftercare from H2O spray to sea salt soaks to "nothing at all", and from complete sexual abstinence to "protected and clean sex is possible". Some had one or two genital piercings in their samples catalog, and some didn't even have a catalog at all!
One guy was just outright creepy... the one that told me an HCH takes up to 8 months to heal. I said "I am looking into getting a horizontal hood piercing." To which he said: "What hood?" D'uh... how many hoods on the female body do you know of, fuckwit? He also insisted that sea salt soaks beyond day 3 after getting a piercing of any kind is completely pointless and doesn't help the healing process along at all. Then he insisted that H2O spray does basically the same thing as a sea salt soak does, and that it is absolutely crucial for aftercare. Hello? Can we say contradiction here? He was perfectly unable to formulate one single sentence without the usage of at least three "likes" in there, like, you know, and stuff... and the mere thought of letting this joker anywhere near me or my privates with a sharp object of any sort just gave me the plain willies.
Another guy just kept on talking about how cool vibrating jewelry will be, once I'll have my piercing done, and that "one can't just simply abstain from sex for a while, which is why the healing process might take a bit longer".
WTF???
There was one guy... only one... who I felt comfortable enough to entrust with my girl bits. He was sensitive to what I was saying, gently informed me that a VCH would create more stimulation than an HCH, just in case I wanted to know (- which I already knew anyways - I've done my homework, but none of the other piercers made even the slightest mention of it), showed me his portfolio with all the work he's done (-including hanging people off ceilings from hooks in their backs, along with a detailed description of how much weight can be carried by one hook, and how exactly the hooks have to be distributed to carry one's entire body weight, scarification, self-amputation [*shudders*], all sorts and kinds of piercings, and various other body art involving a guy who had his eyes and mouth and nostrils sewn shut with regular thread). He showed me his APP certification, and advised me to not settle for him right away, but have a look around other piercing studios first, and get other piercers' input and advice, before deciding if or when to come back to him. He told me to watch out for some piercing studios that are just out there to draw money out of my pockets, and to be aware of non-APP-certified piercers. He gave me the URL to his website (unfortunately defunct) so I could check out more of his work, before deciding to come back or not.
I REALLY liked his attitude, and he sounds like the one who's going to get to do the job. But why is it that there are so many bullshit piercers out there, who give such drastically different information and pricing, and some that appear to be just plainly incompetent???
Exciting tidbit on the side: he has no eyebrows, a split tongue (- whose both ends can move independently... almost makes me curious as to what interesting sensation this thing could create...), holes in his earlobes so wide that I could stick an entire finger through, and various other pieces of metal in his face where I had no idea one can have pieces of metal in. He was most definitely the freakiest looking of all the piercers I went to see, and with all his knowledge of hanging people off butcher's hooks and sowing their faces shut and the likes, a simple HCH should be no challenge for a guy like that. Somehow it does sort of turn me on, even, to have a guy like that stick a needle through one of my most private parts...
Saturday, January 22, 2005
*swoons*
"Tell your girl hello from me."
Hello from me... that's what she said just before The Fiancé and she ended their convo on the phone, which I sort of made him have with her (- don't ask).
"Tell your girl hello from me."
She didn't have to say anything like that... she didn't have to make a point out of saying it, yet she did... and I heard it with my own ears, lurking as I did next to him and my cell phone, through which her lovely, sexy voice sounded...
She remembered me... she made a point out of saying hi to me... and she wants to come to our soon scheduled CD release party...
...which means I will get to see her soon, so soon! *melts*
To rape her on the spot, or not to rape her on the spot...?
...let me go ponder this question while I go build an altar around my cell phone, which held her lovely voice, and sacrifice a virgin on it...
Hello from me... that's what she said just before The Fiancé and she ended their convo on the phone, which I sort of made him have with her (- don't ask).
"Tell your girl hello from me."
She didn't have to say anything like that... she didn't have to make a point out of saying it, yet she did... and I heard it with my own ears, lurking as I did next to him and my cell phone, through which her lovely, sexy voice sounded...
She remembered me... she made a point out of saying hi to me... and she wants to come to our soon scheduled CD release party...
...which means I will get to see her soon, so soon! *melts*
To rape her on the spot, or not to rape her on the spot...?
...let me go ponder this question while I go build an altar around my cell phone, which held her lovely voice, and sacrifice a virgin on it...
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Kiss Me(me)
I got this from a friend's blog, and since I have nothing better to do than sit here and wait for The Fiancé to crawl out of bed so I can haul his yummies to work, here we go:
Age of first kiss: Like... real stick-my-tongue-down-your-throat-and-slobber-all-over-you type kiss? 13. And it was the then hottest guy of the inconceivably mature age of 17, who everybody had the hots for, and who told me the week after that he'd not kiss me anymore, cause his ex-girlfriend called him again. Oh, how my heart broke...
Number of people you've kissed: Umm... about... ummm... a dozen? I never kept a list.
French kissing is: Nice when the other person has brushed their teeth.
The worst kind of kiss is: The Kiss of Death.
The best kisser you know: The Fiancé, of course. :)
The worst kisser you know: Oh, there've been a bunch. The worst? Probally that guy that cornered me once in a club to randomly make out so he could make his girlfriend jealous. Oh, no, wait... it must have been the guy who I had a short and feeling-less affair with for mutual exchange of bodily fluids, who told me it was my own damn fault that I couldn't cum within five minutes, and who was self-conscious of kissing cause he never brushed his teeth. Ugh.
The celebrity you'd like to kiss: Kate Winslet and/or Angelina Jolie. And Nicole Kidman, though I'd probally just lie by her feet in the dirt in reverence and whimper for her gaze to turn upon my unworthiness for just a second...
Friend you would like to kiss: Mmmmmhm... Jo... wait, does she even count as a friend after seeing her twice and then never again? *wails*
Favorite movie kiss: The drunk Rhett Butler and the pissed off Scarlett O'Hara on the stairs of their mansion, the day after Scarlett had been seen hugging Ashley Wilkes and was forced to attend to Melanie Wilkes' party...
Do you kiss on the first date? I have been known to, sometimes. And sometimes I don't.
Eyes open or closed? Like, is there a rule?
Average number of kisses you get a day: Ummm... 167.3?
Ever kissed a friend's boyfriend or girlfriend? No.
The last person you kissed: The Fiancé.
Best placed to be kissed: Ooooooooh... yes... moooore... ;)
Have you kissed someone of the same sex? *wails*
What about the opposite sex? Why, of course.
Do you consider kissing cheating? Yes, unless it's The Fiancé kissing his two female best friends hello.
The longest you've gone without a kiss: From when I was born to when I was 13. :P
The kiss you regret most is: No regrets... it's all part of life and who I am.
Kissing in public is: Very nice, as long as it's civilized.
Tongue rings are: Very exciting, when rubbed over my clit. ;)
Two girls kissing is: My next big plan...
Two guys kissing is: A guarantee to soak my panties, and make me wanna hump both of them.
Let's see now if The Fiancé's "5 minutes" have passed already, so I can ask him when exactly he plans to kiss another guy in front of me...
Age of first kiss: Like... real stick-my-tongue-down-your-throat-and-slobber-all-over-you type kiss? 13. And it was the then hottest guy of the inconceivably mature age of 17, who everybody had the hots for, and who told me the week after that he'd not kiss me anymore, cause his ex-girlfriend called him again. Oh, how my heart broke...
Number of people you've kissed: Umm... about... ummm... a dozen? I never kept a list.
French kissing is: Nice when the other person has brushed their teeth.
The worst kind of kiss is: The Kiss of Death.
The best kisser you know: The Fiancé, of course. :)
The worst kisser you know: Oh, there've been a bunch. The worst? Probally that guy that cornered me once in a club to randomly make out so he could make his girlfriend jealous. Oh, no, wait... it must have been the guy who I had a short and feeling-less affair with for mutual exchange of bodily fluids, who told me it was my own damn fault that I couldn't cum within five minutes, and who was self-conscious of kissing cause he never brushed his teeth. Ugh.
The celebrity you'd like to kiss: Kate Winslet and/or Angelina Jolie. And Nicole Kidman, though I'd probally just lie by her feet in the dirt in reverence and whimper for her gaze to turn upon my unworthiness for just a second...
Friend you would like to kiss: Mmmmmhm... Jo... wait, does she even count as a friend after seeing her twice and then never again? *wails*
Favorite movie kiss: The drunk Rhett Butler and the pissed off Scarlett O'Hara on the stairs of their mansion, the day after Scarlett had been seen hugging Ashley Wilkes and was forced to attend to Melanie Wilkes' party...
Do you kiss on the first date? I have been known to, sometimes. And sometimes I don't.
Eyes open or closed? Like, is there a rule?
Average number of kisses you get a day: Ummm... 167.3?
Ever kissed a friend's boyfriend or girlfriend? No.
The last person you kissed: The Fiancé.
Best placed to be kissed: Ooooooooh... yes... moooore... ;)
Have you kissed someone of the same sex? *wails*
What about the opposite sex? Why, of course.
Do you consider kissing cheating? Yes, unless it's The Fiancé kissing his two female best friends hello.
The longest you've gone without a kiss: From when I was born to when I was 13. :P
The kiss you regret most is: No regrets... it's all part of life and who I am.
Kissing in public is: Very nice, as long as it's civilized.
Tongue rings are: Very exciting, when rubbed over my clit. ;)
Two girls kissing is: My next big plan...
Two guys kissing is: A guarantee to soak my panties, and make me wanna hump both of them.
Let's see now if The Fiancé's "5 minutes" have passed already, so I can ask him when exactly he plans to kiss another guy in front of me...
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
I was outed!
Ugh... that's another way of letting the world know: leave for a three week vacation, and leave your three male roommates (- one of which being your fiancé) alone at home. Of course, having a screen saver showing a half-naked Milla Jovovich helps things along, too.
What happened, in short, was apparently this: The Fiancé and roomie#R had some bonding time, and some topic came up that revolved around cheating, and whether or not they ever did or ever would. Either way, The Fiancé mentioned that him and I don't have to worry about cheating, since "the other person would always have to be there". From that, apparently, roomie#R concluded: "So, that means she likes women?" To which The Fiancé said: "I won't say anything to that..."
...which, combined with my screensaver, answered his question. Men. Pffft.
He took it well, though. Which man in their right mind wouldn't?
Only, I would have liked to know right away that he knows now, too. Not that it changes anything in our relationship, it's just good to know who knows what about oneself.
Oh, and that chica that emailed me? She's in Wisconsin. Bleh.
What happened, in short, was apparently this: The Fiancé and roomie#R had some bonding time, and some topic came up that revolved around cheating, and whether or not they ever did or ever would. Either way, The Fiancé mentioned that him and I don't have to worry about cheating, since "the other person would always have to be there". From that, apparently, roomie#R concluded: "So, that means she likes women?" To which The Fiancé said: "I won't say anything to that..."
...which, combined with my screensaver, answered his question. Men. Pffft.
He took it well, though. Which man in their right mind wouldn't?
Only, I would have liked to know right away that he knows now, too. Not that it changes anything in our relationship, it's just good to know who knows what about oneself.
Oh, and that chica that emailed me? She's in Wisconsin. Bleh.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Back from my vacation, and almost back with HIM...
Two good things happened while I was gone for my skiing vacation:
1- I didn't break any bones, and
2- I got mail from some chica who saw my profile on one of the bisexual sites I submitted my stats to, and wants to "correspond" with me. She's 27, and her name starts with a "J". Good omen?
Either way, I don't even know yet where she is from, but I wrote her back, despite the fact that her email reached my inbox about a week ago, and she now probally thinks I am some arrogant jerk who ignores nice mail. What a good first impression I am leaving... but I have to say that I rather enjoyed my week of no connectivity of any sort, so screw you all, you and your fast paced life in the cyber world. I took a well deserved time-out. Neener.
(Ok, that's a small lie... I had my cell phone with me to call the direly missed Fiancé just about every day, driving my phone bill into astronomical heights.)
Speaking of The Fiancé... tomorrow I shall board my plane that will take me back into his loving arms. Needless to say, I can't wait for what awaits me in the privacy of our bedroom... and no, it was not MY suggestion for him to cease all masturbatory activity for three weeks from the time I left until the time I come back. Still, I am pleased with his efforts. What a build-up this must be, and what a shower I shall receive tomorrow...
Of course I am not so pleased with him not wanting for me to finally get my obsessed over HCH during the upcoming weekend. Seeing as the wound would keep us from having sex for a little while, he ordered me to wait at least another two weeks, so he can "work it off"... ugh...
1- I didn't break any bones, and
2- I got mail from some chica who saw my profile on one of the bisexual sites I submitted my stats to, and wants to "correspond" with me. She's 27, and her name starts with a "J". Good omen?
Either way, I don't even know yet where she is from, but I wrote her back, despite the fact that her email reached my inbox about a week ago, and she now probally thinks I am some arrogant jerk who ignores nice mail. What a good first impression I am leaving... but I have to say that I rather enjoyed my week of no connectivity of any sort, so screw you all, you and your fast paced life in the cyber world. I took a well deserved time-out. Neener.
(Ok, that's a small lie... I had my cell phone with me to call the direly missed Fiancé just about every day, driving my phone bill into astronomical heights.)
Speaking of The Fiancé... tomorrow I shall board my plane that will take me back into his loving arms. Needless to say, I can't wait for what awaits me in the privacy of our bedroom... and no, it was not MY suggestion for him to cease all masturbatory activity for three weeks from the time I left until the time I come back. Still, I am pleased with his efforts. What a build-up this must be, and what a shower I shall receive tomorrow...
Of course I am not so pleased with him not wanting for me to finally get my obsessed over HCH during the upcoming weekend. Seeing as the wound would keep us from having sex for a little while, he ordered me to wait at least another two weeks, so he can "work it off"... ugh...
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Missing him...
While meeting one of my best friends yesterday, I managed to gain posession of a (- pirated! Call the cops!) CD featuring Latin American music. Listening to it intently on my long drive home I again came to the realization how erotic of a language Spanish is. Sung, spoken, whispered... it makes no difference. It's like French, only better.
And along with that epiphany (- which hits my quite regularly, actually), came this huge surge of missing The Fiancé even more than I already do. Listening to the language that he grew up with, there all by myself in the car, speeding through a darkness so much deeper than I am now used to when driving through the nightly Los Angeles, somehow brought me a bit closer to him in my mind... and that of course brought images and memories of him whispering Spanish into my ear while looking at me intently with passionate burning dark eyes, holding my gaze with his, holding me close in a way that is both tender but also leaving not the slightest doubt that resistance of any kind is pointless, letting his large hands wander across my body, melting my resistance away with every softly whispered Spanish word of love and passion, his hot breath brushing against my skin.
Not a good thing to think of while pushing my little old city car to its velocity limits of 150 kilometers per hour on the empty and pitch-dark freeway. Also not a good thing to think of when even the thought of the light physical activity of masturbation lets me cringe with pain, after two days of more sports and pushing my body than I usually do in a whole year. And especially not a good thing to think of sleeping on my parents' couch in their living room.
As you can tell... my deprivation is reaching its limits. I have never been away from him for longer than 2 weeks, and I am hitting the 2-week-mark as I am typing. In my current state of mind, I wonder why sometimes he even has to resort to whispering Spanish to me. His last straw, the last thing he can resort to when all else has failed to get what he wants. To get what I now want more than anything else.
Right now he wouldn't have to trick me into wanting sex by showing off the seductive clichée Latin Lover. Right now he'd just have to touch me anywhere on my body with nothing more than his fingertip for no longer than one second, and he'd have me ready and moaning with pleasure beneath him.
One week and three days to go...
And along with that epiphany (- which hits my quite regularly, actually), came this huge surge of missing The Fiancé even more than I already do. Listening to the language that he grew up with, there all by myself in the car, speeding through a darkness so much deeper than I am now used to when driving through the nightly Los Angeles, somehow brought me a bit closer to him in my mind... and that of course brought images and memories of him whispering Spanish into my ear while looking at me intently with passionate burning dark eyes, holding my gaze with his, holding me close in a way that is both tender but also leaving not the slightest doubt that resistance of any kind is pointless, letting his large hands wander across my body, melting my resistance away with every softly whispered Spanish word of love and passion, his hot breath brushing against my skin.
Not a good thing to think of while pushing my little old city car to its velocity limits of 150 kilometers per hour on the empty and pitch-dark freeway. Also not a good thing to think of when even the thought of the light physical activity of masturbation lets me cringe with pain, after two days of more sports and pushing my body than I usually do in a whole year. And especially not a good thing to think of sleeping on my parents' couch in their living room.
As you can tell... my deprivation is reaching its limits. I have never been away from him for longer than 2 weeks, and I am hitting the 2-week-mark as I am typing. In my current state of mind, I wonder why sometimes he even has to resort to whispering Spanish to me. His last straw, the last thing he can resort to when all else has failed to get what he wants. To get what I now want more than anything else.
Right now he wouldn't have to trick me into wanting sex by showing off the seductive clichée Latin Lover. Right now he'd just have to touch me anywhere on my body with nothing more than his fingertip for no longer than one second, and he'd have me ready and moaning with pleasure beneath him.
One week and three days to go...
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
VCH
Vertical Clitoral Hood Piercing, all spelled out.
I saw one today in the locker room of the indoors swimming pool I went to today to swim one whole kilometer of calories offa my voluptious thighs.
Lotsa naked women too, but most of them were aged between 50 and putrefaction with tits hanging down to their ankles and their fat tummies flapping around on them in the likeness of stuffed aprons.
One young and yummy chica though I caught a glimpse of while blow-drying my hair, and in the artificial light I saw something metallic flashing briefly into my direction right from between her legs, so I couldn't help but look closer... in the 2 more seconds I got before she had her panties pulled up, anyway.
I recognized the source of the flash for what it was immediately - and immediately got horny, too. I never saw one for real before, only on pictures, and that's already sizzling hot. Now imagine one moving and flashing right in my line of vision. Of course I didn't fall on my knees right in front of her and started to kiss and lick her well groomed privates the way I did during the ten seconds following that short glimpse in my mind, but it sure kindled my interest in getting a needle shoved through that same area myself even more. No VCH though, but an HCH (the horizontal alternative), seeing as my anatomy wouldn't allow for both a VCH and pleasing esthetics at the same time. I am built for an HCH, I think.
One peeping Tom I am...
I saw one today in the locker room of the indoors swimming pool I went to today to swim one whole kilometer of calories offa my voluptious thighs.
Lotsa naked women too, but most of them were aged between 50 and putrefaction with tits hanging down to their ankles and their fat tummies flapping around on them in the likeness of stuffed aprons.
One young and yummy chica though I caught a glimpse of while blow-drying my hair, and in the artificial light I saw something metallic flashing briefly into my direction right from between her legs, so I couldn't help but look closer... in the 2 more seconds I got before she had her panties pulled up, anyway.
I recognized the source of the flash for what it was immediately - and immediately got horny, too. I never saw one for real before, only on pictures, and that's already sizzling hot. Now imagine one moving and flashing right in my line of vision. Of course I didn't fall on my knees right in front of her and started to kiss and lick her well groomed privates the way I did during the ten seconds following that short glimpse in my mind, but it sure kindled my interest in getting a needle shoved through that same area myself even more. No VCH though, but an HCH (the horizontal alternative), seeing as my anatomy wouldn't allow for both a VCH and pleasing esthetics at the same time. I am built for an HCH, I think.
One peeping Tom I am...
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Noteworthy News Afterall...
Or: at least you gotta see it that way, you gotta look at everything as an opportunity, as a possibly chance for something good. Heck, I do that rarely enough, to look at things positively.
Thing is: The Fiancé in his function as the manager of our band (Latin Rock, hot stuff!) just told me that he's working on setting up what he calls an event together with three other bands for sometime in mid-February. So I ask him via chat all innocently, using the flashing-eyelids-smiley on Yahoo!: "So... are you going to invite... uh... EVERYBODY?"
Smart guy that he is, he immediately recognized the poorly concealed substitution for what it was, grinned, and told me that he would. In fact, he said that of course he would.
I wonder if I'd be able to play, if she were there in the audience. I wonder if I wouldn't just stand there, pick her out in the crowd, and then just stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. But then I also wonder if being on stage and her being in the audience could actually work in my favor, seeing as I am up there rather scarcely clad, and kind of hard to miss, performing and all. And since "flirting with the crowd" is sort of a prerequisite for stage success, I could inconspicuously turn "flirting with the crowd" into "flirting with Jo"?
*sighs*
And there I was thinking I don't care anymore, and I was over it. Shows me how "over it" I am, when one hundred little bells start ringing somewhere in my brain the second The Fiancé mentions the possibility of maybe seeing her again. I guess suppressed doesn't equal forgotten now afterall.
If I knew for sure she'd be coming, oh boy - I think I'd be dragging the guys to practice twice daily until the day, and just not shut up about it in a manner that would make them highly suspicious. I once already dropped a hint to one of them but I am sure he didn't get it... maybe it's the right time to out myself to my room/band mates...
Thing is: The Fiancé in his function as the manager of our band (Latin Rock, hot stuff!) just told me that he's working on setting up what he calls an event together with three other bands for sometime in mid-February. So I ask him via chat all innocently, using the flashing-eyelids-smiley on Yahoo!: "So... are you going to invite... uh... EVERYBODY?"
Smart guy that he is, he immediately recognized the poorly concealed substitution for what it was, grinned, and told me that he would. In fact, he said that of course he would.
I wonder if I'd be able to play, if she were there in the audience. I wonder if I wouldn't just stand there, pick her out in the crowd, and then just stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. But then I also wonder if being on stage and her being in the audience could actually work in my favor, seeing as I am up there rather scarcely clad, and kind of hard to miss, performing and all. And since "flirting with the crowd" is sort of a prerequisite for stage success, I could inconspicuously turn "flirting with the crowd" into "flirting with Jo"?
*sighs*
And there I was thinking I don't care anymore, and I was over it. Shows me how "over it" I am, when one hundred little bells start ringing somewhere in my brain the second The Fiancé mentions the possibility of maybe seeing her again. I guess suppressed doesn't equal forgotten now afterall.
If I knew for sure she'd be coming, oh boy - I think I'd be dragging the guys to practice twice daily until the day, and just not shut up about it in a manner that would make them highly suspicious. I once already dropped a hint to one of them but I am sure he didn't get it... maybe it's the right time to out myself to my room/band mates...
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Environmental influences
As predicted... nothing going on that's in any way mentionworthy on this blog here in my home town. Too busy spending time with my family and missing The Fiancé like crazy. Trying not to masturbate too much to thoughts of him... sleeping in my parents' living room on my parents' couch doesn't make for the most inviting and comfortable environment for things of that nature. It's a matter of psychology, really. So I am reduced to fulfilling only my most urgent needs. Yeah, feel sorry for me later.
Of course by now I am so bottled up, that I am having confused but highly sexually charged dreams of being invited to take a shower with Brad Pitt, sneaking past The Fiancé so he wouldn't get jealous, finding a naked, wet, and obviously excited-to-see-me Brad Pitt with open arms in a hot shower/steam-room type thing, and the second I move into the water and his receiving arms and he starts to passionately kiss and suck on my naked neck and shoulders I recognize his touch, look up, and realize it's been The Fiancé all along, the thought of which excites me doubly, and we engage in passionate lovemaking under steaming running water (- and let me tell you: my dreams are usually very realistic; in color, sensation, and sound)...
...until I hear my Dad's voice reminding me it's time to wake up and get dressed for last night's New Year's Eve event at a friend's house.
Uh-huh... that's how you imagine being woken up from a dream like that. Sure Dad, just gimme a second! Ugh.
The reality of suddenly being awake has never looked so harsh and unkind before.
On the bright side, however: I have enough Christmas money leftover for my big hole-punching-in-private-parts plans. That's going to be my personal Christmas/birthday gift from myself to myself. And furthermore certainly to The Fiancé, as I hope he'll get his own kick out of my new embellishment on one of his favorite parts of my body.
If it were up to me I'd already go now while I am still here in Europe and get it done. That way it'd be healed (or very close to being so) by the time I return into his arms, and we wouldn't be inhibited by various healing processes and physical sensitivities for a period of time. What keeps me from doing that is of course the fact that I rather have him with me by my side and holding my hand when I get it done, and for him to baby me a bit afterwards and tell me what a good little girl I was, and how brave I was. Maybe he'll even buy me ice cream afterwards. That, and of course my upcoming skiing vacation. I am sure that daily exercise of at least 6 hours stuffed into tight and warm multiple layers of clothing that leave me simmering in my own sweat by the end of the day, combined with the constant movement and rubbing of my thighs against each other wouldn't do the healing of such a thing any good.
So I'll wait a couple more weeks, which also gives me time enough to gather all the necessary courage, and then go with him. I'd pass out without him holding my hand anyways. I'm pretty sure of that.
I hope you had a great New Year's Eve, and I wish you all a Happy New Year. For myself, of course, I wish for my ambition to tell people about who I really am to remain strong... and of course I finally and desperately want to lose my homo-based virginity. *all thumbs up*
Of course by now I am so bottled up, that I am having confused but highly sexually charged dreams of being invited to take a shower with Brad Pitt, sneaking past The Fiancé so he wouldn't get jealous, finding a naked, wet, and obviously excited-to-see-me Brad Pitt with open arms in a hot shower/steam-room type thing, and the second I move into the water and his receiving arms and he starts to passionately kiss and suck on my naked neck and shoulders I recognize his touch, look up, and realize it's been The Fiancé all along, the thought of which excites me doubly, and we engage in passionate lovemaking under steaming running water (- and let me tell you: my dreams are usually very realistic; in color, sensation, and sound)...
...until I hear my Dad's voice reminding me it's time to wake up and get dressed for last night's New Year's Eve event at a friend's house.
Uh-huh... that's how you imagine being woken up from a dream like that. Sure Dad, just gimme a second! Ugh.
The reality of suddenly being awake has never looked so harsh and unkind before.
On the bright side, however: I have enough Christmas money leftover for my big hole-punching-in-private-parts plans. That's going to be my personal Christmas/birthday gift from myself to myself. And furthermore certainly to The Fiancé, as I hope he'll get his own kick out of my new embellishment on one of his favorite parts of my body.
If it were up to me I'd already go now while I am still here in Europe and get it done. That way it'd be healed (or very close to being so) by the time I return into his arms, and we wouldn't be inhibited by various healing processes and physical sensitivities for a period of time. What keeps me from doing that is of course the fact that I rather have him with me by my side and holding my hand when I get it done, and for him to baby me a bit afterwards and tell me what a good little girl I was, and how brave I was. Maybe he'll even buy me ice cream afterwards. That, and of course my upcoming skiing vacation. I am sure that daily exercise of at least 6 hours stuffed into tight and warm multiple layers of clothing that leave me simmering in my own sweat by the end of the day, combined with the constant movement and rubbing of my thighs against each other wouldn't do the healing of such a thing any good.
So I'll wait a couple more weeks, which also gives me time enough to gather all the necessary courage, and then go with him. I'd pass out without him holding my hand anyways. I'm pretty sure of that.
I hope you had a great New Year's Eve, and I wish you all a Happy New Year. For myself, of course, I wish for my ambition to tell people about who I really am to remain strong... and of course I finally and desperately want to lose my homo-based virginity. *all thumbs up*
