While I was in treatment I was given Recovery Workbook by my one on one therapist. There were many sheets on which to detail the progression of my disease. When I was in active addiction I would try to write, … Continue reading
“I don’t get along with women typically.” -Duchess Bella Lynn De’Lioncourt
Baroness Jade Mira
House of Vega
Last Monday night I sat at a table at Dan’s Tavern with my BFF of 30 years. There were three other women sitting with us. The one seated to my right and I were jabbering away and having a great time. We laughed a lot even though we weren’t particularly close in high school. My BFF was seated to my left. She shook her head at me from time to time while listening in on the conversation that I was having with my new but old friend to my right.
I looked at my BFF of 30 years and stated, ‘I’m a lot like you ya know. Quiet, reserved. A wallflower.’
Her reply, ‘Renee, you’re about as much of a wallflower as an earthquake.’
My BFF of 30 years, new but old friend, the two other women at the table and I laughed until we were nearly in hysterics. BFF was right, I am about as subtle as an earthquake. When I’m in my element. On Monday night, I was not. I still harbor resentment for my hometown and the people I went to high school with. I didn’t fit in then. Don’t now, but that’s okay. It was fun to sit and chat anyway. To get to know someone that I kind of knew. To have them get to know me.
As we were talking I shared a story about an old boyfriend of mine named Brian H. He was the only ‘jock’ I ever went out with in high school. I was a ‘stoner’, ‘drama’, ‘singer’, ‘actor’ girl. The girl who sang in choir, talked too loud, and read books. I didn’t go out with jocks. But Brian, he was nice. And he liked me. He asked me out and I said yes. We dated off and on. Eventually we started ‘going together’. He gave me his baseball shirt to wear. I was a curvy girl, but he was a big guy, so I kinda swam in it. It was the 80’s, I put a belt around my waist and cinched that sucker as tight as I could. I was so proud to be his girl.
One night he took me to a party to meet his friends. I was scared to death. Me, the force of nature that fears nothing was afraid! I was out of my element and I didn’t have my BFF with me. The only girl I’ve ever trusted with my life. I had Brian though, so I hoped I’d be okay. It was so long ago, I don’t even remember where the party was. As we walked to the front door, the hairs prickled on my neck. Brian slipped his hand into mine and gripped it firmly. When we walked in, I smiled at the girls as they looked at me with disdain. We said our hellos and walked to the part of the house where Brian’s friends were. With the boys I felt at ease. Not because of my boobs, ass or what I had between my legs. But because I could drink, cuss, and shoot the shit with them. It was Brian’s turn to be proud of me. He loved the fact that I was not a girly girl.
New but old friend said, ‘you were the fun girl that’s why Brian loved you, and that’s why the guys got along with you.
Yes, but I’ve always gotten along better with men than I have women’, I replied. ‘I could also drink them under the table too.’
BFF and new but old friend laughed. I teared up a little and began to speak as I pointed to my left, ‘My closest friends have always been men, but that woman right there has been my best friend for 30 years. I would trust her with my life and with every secret that I have to tell. She has never judged me and I’ve never judged her. When life falls apart and turns to shit for either one of us, we turn to each other. I love her beyond measure.’
BFF’s eyes misted over and the rest of us at the table were silent.
‘Now it’s time to let all that old stuff go’, my BFF said.
The unshed tears in my eyes dried and I gave a radiant smile. I realized that she was right, it was time to let it go.
BFF and I know we’ll love each other till we’re dead. Seeing as we both believe in the hereafter, we’ll love each other there too. I don’t know if I’m good enough to get into Heaven, but she is. The woman should be sainted.
As for Brian and me, we broke up. I was the one that broke his heart. I don’t even know where he is.
Even at the age of 45, I find that most of my friends are men. There’s Roger Darling, Harry, Rory, Biker Dude, My Little Work Brothers, my nephews, and even a few from Across The Pond.
Laura calls me an earthquake but she is a volcano. And when the two of us combine, we are a force to be reckoned with.
It is not sex that gives pleasure, but the lover.-Marge Piercy
Looking into her eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”
She shyly replies, “Of course I am. Sometimes, I just lose myself though. It’s as if there’s some sort of “soul” to my orgasms, some other power besides mere pleasure.”
Holding her close, he breathes in the scent of her hair. She’s familiar. Warm. She cares. They have an undiscovered history. He wants her, and she, him. Why this insatiable desire? He’s not sure.
Sitting up, she grabs the discarded sheet, while making sure to put the comforter around him so that he isn’t chilled. “It is winter after all,” she thinks to herself as she wraps the sheet around herself and gets out of bed saying, “I’ve got to pee and grab something from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
He smiles contentedly at her when responding, “I’m not going anywhere love,, take your time.”
Smiling, she stumbles back to the bed to give him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. He hears the rush of water as she turns on the faucet to wash her hands. He laughs to himself because he can hear her humming. Then she starts outright singing. Hearing his laughter, she yells “Hey, don’t make fun of my singing! I used to be good, once upon a time,” as she grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge.
He responds with, “you still are good.”
Uncorking the bottle, she walks back to the bedroom and stands in the doorway for a moment. With the light hitting her just right, he suddenly sees her as she used to be when first they met. With his realization, she blushes.
“Come back to bed love,” he whispers.
“I would like nothing better than to do just that,” she responds urgently.
She slides in next to him, and hands him the bottle, a sweet red wine. Perfect. He drinks greedily and then holds the bottle to her mouth while carelessly wiping his chin. She swallows the nectar and swears she can feel the warmth of its buzz spread throughout her body almost instantly. He drinks again before she takes the bottle and places it on the nightstand, after another long pull herself.
Smiling at each other, they kiss and taste the wine on each other’s tongues. She feels his cock harden against her thigh. the kisses become deeper, longer. He places his hand on her left breast and dips his head to taste her erect nipple. She arches her back as her pussy begins to swell and dampen with desire.
Placing her mouth up against his ear, she whispers, “Fuck me.”
He places his mouth on hers and asks, “Why do you want me?”
In response she reaches down between his legs and roughly grabs his hardened organ while saying, “Because I can make you feel like this.”
Sitting up, he leans his back against the headboard as he replies, “You make me feel so much more than just that. You make me feel like I am more, can be more.”
She smiles as she places her legs on either side of his hips and hovers over him momentarily, slowly brushing her clit against his tip in invitation. She kisses him passionately as he enters her.
“I’m going to fuck you slow,” She grunts.
“I’ll let you, for now”, He moans in response.
Moving slowly back and forth, she places her right hand under his chin while almost jamming her tongue into his mouth. He sucks it, while trying to make her move faster. She resists and changes rhythm, starts sliding up and down on his cock.
“Fuck, you’re good,” he says.
“So are you,” she coyly says in rhythm to her motions.
Feeling her pulsing tightness slide up and down his shaft, he can’t stand it anymore, and flips her back onto the bed. He waits a moment before mounting her, thrusting hard, because he knows that’s this is the only way she can truly cum.
“I remember you now,” he pants, “Do you remember me?”
“Yes, I remember,” She says in between breaths, her breasts swaying with each hit, “I always loved fucking you.”
Feeling her orgasm crest, he slams into her with each word said, before leaning over and kissing her neck, just before she pulls his hair and screams his name. Her pussy clamps down and holds his cock inside of her as she writhes through another orgasm. He keeps up the constant stroking. In, out. In, out, as she makes sure to move her hips in time with his.
He implores, “Baby, slow down. You’ll make me cum.”
But she only responds with “I can’t help it. You feel so fucking good. I’m going to cum again.”
“Then cum for me love.”
And she does, while being paralyzed by the force of it. Tears leak from her eyes. Showing concern, he slows his movements.
“Don’t you dare stop, I’m not done yet,” she replies.
Her body relaxes as he keeps moving in and out of her. Pinching his nipples, she smiles as he lets out a gasp.
“Do you want to cum inside of me? Is that what you want?” She asks.
He can barely utter the word, “yes.”
“Then do it.”
Grabbing him, she lays him down and climbs back on top of him. She starts to move slowly again, placing her hands in her hair and leaning back while she grinds. He pushes her hips down as far he can, make her move faster. She reaches behind and begins to caress his balls, feeling that they are drawing up. Getting tighter. She smiles because she knows he is so damn close.
“Cum for me baby, cum for me,” She murmurs.
He lets out an intense sound of pleasure, like she has never heard before. It is like music and primal all at the same time. He shudders and releases his essence into her. Laying her body against his, he lazily wraps his arms around her, while caressing the length of her back. She rolls to one side and gently places her hand over his heart. She feels it begin to slow. Though it is warm, he picks up the bottle of wine, leans up and takes a drink. He holds it for her as she takes a sip as well. After he places it back on the nightstand, she leans up on one elbow. Looking him in the eyes, she smiles, while kissing his lips, cheek and forehead and touching his face.
“Can we do it again?” she asks.
He grins and tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear before saying, “again and again. For as long as you’d like, love.”
Why, why can’t we stop talking, loving, dreaming after 27 years like it was yesterday and I was 17?
Those are her words. Not mine. My sweet friend sent me an email a few days ago asking me so many questions. But this one stuck out the most. Why? Why do we fight the love we’ve been dreaming of? Sometimes for 27 years. Why?
She met him in a parking structure when she was 17 years old. A baby, but she knew what love was. She felt a connection with him immediately. She saw her future in him. He was a beautiful young man. She, a beautiful young woman. Their lives full of promise. They were young. He was a rebel, and so was she. He was in a band and she, well she gave the ultimate fuck off to the high school she graduated from. She smoked in the girl’s bathroom after she got her diploma. Ha! Okay so that wasn’t that rebellious, but she’s from Saline. We did what we could to rebel!
Her life turned away from her rebel boy. She moved away. He followed. She pushed him away. She married a man that she though she should be with. Who should have been the father of her children. This “Christian” man turned out to be the devil. He pretended to be a fine upstanding person, but was evil. He was a bully and he hurt her and their two children. She got away. Took care of her babies, and herself. Her rebel boy supported her through all of this. And yet, they still weren’t together. She needed stability and she was afraid he couldn’t give it to her. We women, we are always looking to be taken care of.
She met another man, and he was good to her. Her children. But he wasn’t her rebel boy, who was by now a full grown man. When she thought of him though, she still thought of 17 and the promise of that age. 17. I don’t think there’s an age we women remember more. 17.
She broke off her engagement to the good man. She finally decided to think with her heart instead of her head. After seven years she will reunite with her rebel boy. Who is now a man. Who should be the father of her children. Who should be her partner. Who should be her whole world. And now he will be. They will be together. Come hell or high water they will be, together.
When she wrote me, she asked my advice. I told her, Baby, RUN! Get on a plane, drive, take a bus or a train and get to him. NOW! Don’t wait anymore. 27 years is a long time to love someone from afar. Think with your heart. Go to him. Love him. With everything that you have. Don’t EVER live with regret. Know for sure that he is the one. I get the joy of seeing them reunite. Of her finally finding her way down an endless, broken road that will lead her back to him.
“BATTLING CANCER MAY HAVE WEAKENED MY BODY BUT IT EMPOWERED MY SOUL.”
Denise Osborn, Survivor 1998
She looks at her breast in the mirror of the tattoo shop. Behind her there is the sound of the needle biting the skin of another willing participant enduring pain for beauty. For art. There are people milling about too. Talking. There’s music. Steady, with a heavy base. She hears and sees none of it. She just looks at the beauty of her body and her reflection. She realizes that her breasts do not signify her womanhood. They are merely flesh, fat, blood, milk ducts, and nerve endings. They’ve been used for nourishment and for pleasure. They have experienced pain, need and want. Recently the left one has experienced pain. From mammogram, biopsy, diagnosis, chemotherapy, radiation and surgery. It is now battle scarred.
It will never work the same way again. The nipple is there, but it is merely a prop. The breast has been reconstructed, but it will never feel the nuzzling closeness of a little one’s mouth when it’s time to eat. It will feel the hands, lips and tongue of a lover but it will never respond the same way. The nipple will never rise again. It merely exists. But it is there all the same. She is there all the same. She and her breasts are still viable. Still beautiful. Still her.
The artist decorated her breast with an array of pink petaled flowers and green leaves. Not to hide the scars, but to commemorate them. To honor her struggle. Her survival. She knows now after this journey, that her womanhood is not tied to her body parts. But to her spirit. Her battle scars are her womanhood now.
I’ve had a little No Doubt on the brain this weekend. Just a Girl is one of my favorite songs. Meggie and I have sang it together on more than one occasion. It’s fun to sing and scream and all that good stuff. It’s a girlie anthem, but so much more. We want to be girlie, but we want to be tough too. This song explain that to a T.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been a bit of a cranky cunt this week. Ah well, this feeling will pass. Usually happens once a month. Ha! The tears, the crankiness, the I don’t give a fucks and the absentmindedness. Damn hormones. Sometimes I wish I was a dude.I swear Roger had to tell me 14 times to bring my phone when we were leaving to go to a party yesterday. Of course, we got in the car and I couldn’t find it, because it was in the damn trunk! I swear to you he was going to shoot me. It took us 27 minutes just to get out of Tecumseh. I had to stop to pee too. Hahahahha!
I’m thankful that I have so many women in my life that are more than just girls. We don’t take shit from anyone. We love with everything we have, but we’re tough too. I don’t know many men that would tell us no. That we couldn’t do something. Okay if it was dangerous, maybe they would. I like to think that the men in our lives give us the freedom to be ourselves because they want to see what we’re going to do next. God, I hope that’s true. Maybe they’re just scared. Hell, I don’t know.
I know that’s why Roger Darling let’s me be free. His smile, his encouragement for letting me be me, is really something. I can’t even put it into words what it means to me. I wake every morning knowing that I’m a lucky girl. That I’m more than, just a girl. Hey, maybe I’ll start wearing a bindi. Let’s see if we can bring the style back. Scratch that, I’ll just wear my tiara!
Yes today’s word is VAGINA. Seems you can now get banned for saying the word in the Michigan House of Representatives. I was flabbergasted. Appalled. Fucking pissed. All of that and more, as I watched The Ed Show and Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. I was screaming fuck you at my television several times during the segments featuring a courageous female lawmaker from Michigan. She did not mince words. She was strong in her conviction. She spoke up. And for it she was shushed. Like it was 100 years ago. Like her opinion didn’t matter. She used the word vagina. A technical, scientific term, during her speech. She was fighting for our rights as women to safe and legal abortion. Especially if the woman’s health is in jeopardy. She was NOT allowed to participate in the debate, because she used the word vagina. She is now banned indefinitely from speaking on the floor of the House. It’s bullshit!
Would they have preferred Lisa Brown use the word cunt? Maybe the speaker would have preferred she use the word Hoo Hoo. Maybe if the speaker would pay attention to the vagina he had at home, he would leave ours alone. I really don’t think, no I know, it is not for a man to decide when and if I get an abortion. What I do with my vagina. I’m so proud of Lisa Brown. I’m proud of her for speaking up. No, means no. I’m glad this has caused controversy. I’m proud that there are women like her, that will speak up. I want to contribute to her re-election campaign. I want the Republicans to fall. To get out of my cunt. And every single other one in this state!