tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-200527362024-03-07T00:47:15.894-08:00Beautiful, depravedIntimacy. Debauchery. Irreverence.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-64805176666336169542011-01-10T21:06:00.000-08:002011-01-11T09:14:57.236-08:00the year of living almost celibately<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB07BIsWehlTe5YGD_A11jhmWLoKNX91Cytg2Q3ca_epXVW9TuVN9soI7HkMCy7XwfJS5eM7MKdTCuT6DkkUNNKvVedQx6CGxnPsONhFEhEseCBbcliSheAvPi88hzGFc8YoE-/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB07BIsWehlTe5YGD_A11jhmWLoKNX91Cytg2Q3ca_epXVW9TuVN9soI7HkMCy7XwfJS5eM7MKdTCuT6DkkUNNKvVedQx6CGxnPsONhFEhEseCBbcliSheAvPi88hzGFc8YoE-/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560801991514680722" /></a><br />it's been a strange year. <br /><br />for someone who advises people to have plenty of sex and plenty of wild sex, i've had little of late. I'm like a reverse-christian. they tell people not to have sex, but have it. i tell people to have sex, but don't. <br /><br />i've made lots of new friends this year. i think all of them are in open relationships. i didn't set out to meet them. it's not like i went to swingers' clubs and could say, "oh, how strange, all my friends are into group sex." it just happened. well, it happens when i'm open about loving sex (the sex i'm not having). when i open up about that, other people open up and suddenly it's a room full of people who are open and everything is on the table. <br /><br />i like the freedom in these people. they're open and they don't have judgment. the lack of judgment carries over into other parts of their lives. not all of them, i guess. i'm making a blanket statement here. but the ones i'm close to. <br /><br />there have been some interesting men. men i did have sex with. but none of them were at the orgies. i was a voyeur at the orgies when i'm usually the exhibitionist.<br /><br />one was a retired psychiatrist. jewish, brilliant and funny. <br /><br />but i think my favorite was the filmmaker. this is how it went. <br /><br />he didn't say much at first. there were a few questions back and forth and short, halted answers. i didn't get him, didn't recognize him until he asked me about the modigliani. i have a modigliani print on the wall. it's a nude; modigliani does the best nudes. they're tasteful and erotic. <br /><br />he asked "is that you in the modigliani?" <br /><br />I smiled because he asked the question with my answer already in it. people often don't know who modigliani was/is. and, if you aren't into art, you may not either. modigliani lived at the turn of the century. he painted sensual and beautiful nudes. in those days, you could paint a woman full frontal naked so long as you didn't paint her pubic hair. that was considered obscene. he painted women's pubic hair. he went to jail for obscenity. <br /><br />the pathway to me is guarded by intricate tests like this one and i watch in amusement as people mostly stumble over them. <br /><br />the answer i usually give people when they ask if it's me in the painting, is that it was me one-hundred years ago. they look puzzled and i leave it at that. <br /><br />what a beautiful question he asked. <br /><br />it was that question and the fact that his fingers lingered around my outer labia. a woman's outer labia are so much ignored that i had almost forgotten mine existed. but his fingers spoke to them and it was because of these two significant gestures that i decided to let my guard down. <br /><br />i kissed him right away. i was in the middle of my period. i think i've had some of the best sex of my life when i've been bleeding. it's the man's acceptance of me--for all of me--and the animalistic feeling of blood everywhere. <br /><br />i came violently with him, sobbing all over his shoulders. i explained, like i've gotten used to doing, that the crying is good. but he knew. "i've dated a cryer before," he said, smiling. i must have known intuitively that he could take it because i let it all go. <br /><br />he was relentless. i'm very rarely matched, in fact, i don't know if i ever have been matched in bed. how does that not sound egotistical? it means that i want depth and authenticity and sexual skill and intelligence and an interest in spirit and the heart of an artist. altogether in one man. if you say that sex is just sex and all these other things don't matter in bed, oh, but you're wrong. give me the man in bed and i'll tell you all about the man in his life. it's all there. <br /><br />so there he was, with his wide swathe of references, his relentless, thick cock that had no need for ejaculation. and his voice. he called me an elegant woman with a hot cunt. i liked that he could appreciate the dichotomy. <br /><br />i just found this that modigliani wrote to a friend: "(hold sacred all) which can exalt and excite your intelligence... (and) ... seek to provoke ... and to perpetuate ... these fertile stimuli, because they can push the intelligence to its maximum creative power." <br /><br />(it was on wikipedia. i wanted to make sure i got the obscenity story right. i don't think i did. an exhibit was closed, but i can't find mention of him being arrested. correct me if i'm wrong). <br /><br />i guess that's what i'm trying to say in this post: "hold sacred all which can exalt and excite our intelligence... because they can push the intelligence to its maximum creative power." <br /><br />oh, and i later found out he was/is an award-winning filmmaker and he's worked with some of my heroes. of which there are only a handful--okay, maybe two handfuls--on the planet. i rest my case--read the sexuality and you read the person.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-67437936035749540932009-08-07T18:46:00.000-07:002009-08-07T19:29:42.131-07:00Release<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0EUm-54GQTDb_tNyEh_304rpK_ISU28ThQefDSCuv4GCDUJ-5I-yJkPtndPJH8EnOPbUnm0qeMWU8hb2E_akizlBSbLLB2q4ob8pGwzPMcTrV-7kDzkSU3GjaESe27qrIXeH/s1600-h/eva+1+by+dal+carso.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0EUm-54GQTDb_tNyEh_304rpK_ISU28ThQefDSCuv4GCDUJ-5I-yJkPtndPJH8EnOPbUnm0qeMWU8hb2E_akizlBSbLLB2q4ob8pGwzPMcTrV-7kDzkSU3GjaESe27qrIXeH/s400/eva+1+by+dal+carso.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367412040675183362" border="0" /></a><br />The latest issue of F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs, which is <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/contents">Release</a>, went live on Saturday (August 1st). With it, we have a new subscription model at $9.95-/month and the option to purchase individual articles and photo sets through a credit system.<br /><br />I write a weekly column - <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/sacred-profane-kasia">Sacred, Profane</a> - where I've so far put together a series on Tantra and am now working on a serial that tells the story, essentially, of my sexual awakening in Nymphology. I'd say that my life has been a flow of events that have helped open me, but there was definitely a particular time period where that growth was accelerated.<br /><br />In the Release issue, I've also written about cervical orgasms in <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/orgasmapedia">Orgasmapedia</a>. An excerpt:<br /><br />"I tend to access them through deep love and openness, or through really intense, pounding fucking. The latter are therapeutic in that I feel like something is locked up inside me and I can't reach it through words, or by a name, but if I'm fucked long enough and hard enough then it just tumbles out of me. In grunts, tears and unwinding. I get there through endurance and persistence. I need to have deep, cervical stimulation, usually when I’m being taken from behind, and I’m on my knees."<br /><br />And I have a piece on the delightfulness of all the fluids we find in the sexual experience: Juice. Of course, I write about my love of come. I'm also fond of sweat and tears, in one big drippy, beautiful, excretory mess.<br /><br />Needless to say, I'm doing most of my writing over at FGT these days. You'll find me there, and many others, including <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/lust-debauchette">debauchette</a>, who also has a column. I'll probably still post short notes here occasionally. We always leave a couple of pieces open to the public in each issue, and in this one it's my Juice piece and an interview with <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/interview-erika-lust">Erika Lust</a>. There's a film clip of a very hot film she produced.<br /><br />Hope to see you there!<br /><br />Photo: Pierre dal Carso (full set at <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/release/afterglow">F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs</a>)kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-82045942211578842922009-06-02T11:33:00.000-07:002009-06-02T11:49:32.460-07:00Modern Love and Legendary CocksMany thanks to Madeline for <a href="http://fleshbot.com/5272631/sex-blog-roundup-the-rough-stuff">Fleshbotting</a> my <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2009/05/cock-love-ii-tales-of-legendary-cocks.html">Legendary Cocks</a> post (written in a trembling, post-fucked frenzy) and making said cock even more legendary. It deserves it.<br /><br />We've published our second issue over at <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/">F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs, </a>called Modern Love. There are fantastic written pieces on love/lust in the modern age, including a <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/post-porn-manifesto">Post-Porn Manifesto</a>, debauchette's <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/slut-part-one">stories of epic sluttery</a> and the men who love them, as well as pieces by me on <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/webcam-love"></a><a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/webcam-love">Webcam Love</a>, <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/intimacy-in-numbers">Intimacy in Numbers</a> and <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/modern-love/sacred-profane-kasia/composite-loving">Composite Loving</a>. There you go; if I'm not writing about cocks I love, I'm writing about exhibitionism, marathon sex and group sex.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><br />K<br />xxkasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-37345024811199695632009-05-28T17:05:00.000-07:002009-05-28T17:27:42.477-07:00Cock Love ii. Tales of Legendary Cocks.I just had sex with the most phenomenal cock I've ever met.<br /><br />I say 'cock' rather than 'person' because I'm going to venture that the cock is an extension of the man, and this man is a king among men. Alpha male to blast all alpha males. To fuck the source of all that energy - I'm still trembling, stars in my eyes and all a glow. I melt with this man, melt all over his cock. And let his cock melt inside me.<br /><br />It also happens to be the biggest, most beautifully formed cock I've ever met. I've bragged about this cock - its breadth and responsiveness and how he has to carry it across the room. He never wears underwear. He just lets that magnificent thing swing loose, and able to be plucked freely out of his pants at any time by my mouth.<br /><br />I'm totally in love.<br /><br />It's the kind of cock I'd cross continents for. I can barely type, I'm jittery still.<br /><br />I'd post an image of an almost similar cock, but it just wouldn't do it justice.<br /><br />*sigh.*kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-77481472089195514002009-04-26T18:49:00.000-07:002009-04-27T12:00:08.723-07:00F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_PRU2fk6bD6whCcB1HgbttdINGoQqObdzpBvSTYv4jcv69TGIwB3E1rKwK-ugEhebtlSh153LjYNOfSYZIKf9PuCRUV1TjXBFg75HYk-nP87VRPPpA98RoxNNzLWZ-ZIJ5AR/s1600-h/the+mofo+exhibitionist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_PRU2fk6bD6whCcB1HgbttdINGoQqObdzpBvSTYv4jcv69TGIwB3E1rKwK-ugEhebtlSh153LjYNOfSYZIKf9PuCRUV1TjXBFg75HYk-nP87VRPPpA98RoxNNzLWZ-ZIJ5AR/s400/the+mofo+exhibitionist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329190989461094226" border="0" /></a><br />Without further ado, allow me to introduce:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/">filthygorgeousthings.com</a><br /><br />If you are just tuning in, F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs, or ‘fgt’ is the creation of debauchette, myself, and a few others. It’s been borne out of a shared love of sex, art and transgression and is a home for intelligent and visceral sexual content in various forms: writing, photography, video and audio in the form of an online magazine. I’ve written about the site before in my <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2008/07/post-modern-pornography.html">Postmodern Pornography</a> post and debauchette describes her take on ‘<a href="http://debauchette.com/2008/07/art-porn">art porn</a>’. In a sentence: it’s haute porn with a heart. Our ethos is to offer finely edited, quality content rather than ‘something for everyone.’<br /><br />We publish a feature issue monthly and have regular columns that update from daily to biweekly. I write a column called ‘<a href="http://www.filthygorgeousthings.com/voyeur/sacred-profane-kasia">Sacred, Profane</a>’. Initially, the site will be available gratis and we’ll be adding a subscription model in the coming weeks for our next issue. We also operate with a patron system, much like the art museum model. With it, we offer devoted connoisseurs the opportunity to commission original work and help fund more ambitious projects for the magazine. Future additions to the site include a retail boutique and a member’s area which will allow like-minded hedonists to connect. The <a href="http://www.filthygorgeousfix.com/">Daily Fix</a>, our fgt tumblr, will always be free.<br /><br />If you are looking for a home for your risque work, please get in touch. We'd love to hear your feedback and suggestions on the site in general.<br /><br />Excelsior!<br /><br />Kasia<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQ1oIhC2CfGaCYyLj44Kfw7HxnSsUzKGIF8HogulGuixjz2ccIf-XKGIBmoOzgS_5paq3zVR_eE0zSxpCdCN5_hhFF7sB6CB_jP_1BigP9Ptyu5d2x6JdJ9RZB65sPgKeiXTS/s1600-h/first_time_sinner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQ1oIhC2CfGaCYyLj44Kfw7HxnSsUzKGIF8HogulGuixjz2ccIf-XKGIBmoOzgS_5paq3zVR_eE0zSxpCdCN5_hhFF7sB6CB_jP_1BigP9Ptyu5d2x6JdJ9RZB65sPgKeiXTS/s400/first_time_sinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329191334432422930" border="0" /></a><br />Images: <a href="http://www.the%20mofo-co.uk/">the mofo</a> and 'first time sinner' by art collective <a href="http://www.cuminthestreets.com/">cuminthestreets</a>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-75750261874009738212009-04-01T09:26:00.001-07:002009-04-01T13:43:19.754-07:00Open letter to photographersI just received an email yesterday from a photographer, the likes of which were as follows:<br /><br />"You have a photo on your web site that you do not have permission to use. Take it down! Where did you get this photo? It's a photo of a girl on a bed with her but (sic) exposed."<br /><br />At first, I was thinking that someone was impersonating said photographer: the language, the tone - it was so juvenile that I had a hard time believing this was written by any sort of professional. I double-checked and yes, definitely written by the photographer.<br /><br />My response:<br /><br />"Happily.<br /><br />However, since I have about 175 pages on both of my sites, perhaps you could be a little more clear - such as sending me a link - as to where you saw this photo. "a girl on a bed with her but exposed" isn't quite enough to help me find it.<br /><br />As to where I found your photo? I have no idea, at least not until I see it. I probably found it on another non-commercial site that posts pictures from photographers whose works they love. That's actually how I learn about photographers I like so I can pay them to do photo sets for me in the future. I believe you've already been in contact with debauchette, who is my partner in an upcoming online magazine, to do a paid photo set with her. I'll let her know you probably aren't suitable for us."<br /><br />I will absolutely remove anyone's photographic work from my tumblr or blog - both non-commercial, not for profit sites - though I'd prefer that someone ask in a polite and dignified manner. Given the current climate of viral marketing and publicity, my posting a credited image (well, I think it was, I still don't know what image this person was referring to - oh wait, of course, it's the one of a girl's 'but') on a non-commercial site doesn't seem like it warrants an obnoxious request. However, in the end, the work belongs to that person and if they feel their rights are being encroached upon, it's their call to make.<br /><br />What I'd like to say is this: before I started posting on my tumblr last year and by so doing, viewing many other people's tumblrs and resultant links in the process, I didn't know who 80% of the photographers were whose work I post. I learned about it through tumblrs I like - meaning we have similar taste and I look forward to their choices in content. A major impetus for even starting the tumblr, and restarting my blog for that matter, was to extend out into the vast web of like-minded people and find others like me. To connect.<br /><br />When someone reprints blog pieces or excerpts of mine elsewhere online my first response is that I'm flattered. My second is that I am grateful for the additional influx of new traffic that I <span style="font-style: italic;">otherwise would not have had</span>. Occasionally, people write to me for permission to repost my (written) work, which is a lovely and respectful gesture, but for me also not necessary. Apart from the strange aggregate mirrors of content I find once in a while that seem to duplicate my blog in its entirety, I'm absolutely fine with it.<br /><br />There's a <a href="http://archive.salon.com/tech/feature/2000/06/14/love/">fantastic piece</a> written by Courtney Love for Salon.com quite some time ago where she goes into her thoughts on music 'piracy.' I'm extending that to cover 'piracy' in general. The reality as I see it is that anything that's already online is both copyright and in a sense free for distribution with proper attribution. It's an unwritten code and sometimes <a href="http://creativecommons.org/">written</a> because in this online era, that's how news travels - everything is viral.<br /><br />As debauchette and I step into launching fgt, we're faced with real questions such as: What value can we offer in original content (that we pay for) if it can just get lifted and reposted elsewhere? Do we pay for photographs that are already widely distributed online? Why would we?<br /><br />Our intention is to create a venue that houses almost entirely original content. We'll pay for that. If we run something that is already out there, we'll gain permission to run it and not pay for it. In our minds, people are benefiting from their work being distributed to a wider audience. And we enjoy being able to introduce people we love to other people we love.<br /><br />The thing I dislike about tumblrs is when people deliberately remove the name of the author/photographer. That's errant. An argument I've heard is: "It's my own personal scrapbook; I don't want all those messy names cluttering up my page." Em, right. I sometimes reblog/post images that are not credited, (only after searching through link after link in hopes of finding the artist). Reluctantly. I get the idea of wanting to collect something even when I can't attribute it to its rightful author, but I would never deliberately remove a credit.<br /><br />My suggestion? Lighten up. Stop biting the hands that will feed you. Republishing your already published work seems like more of a compliment and a way of extending your reach. For free. Eventually, in gaining more fans and prospective clients, it will bring you money. I'll pay you. But I can't pay you if I never discover you.<br /><br />I'm very curious to hear points of view from all parties involved in these situations.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-80238432698061037252009-03-17T22:45:00.000-07:002009-03-17T22:46:24.618-07:00Savage lust please<a href="http://debauchette.com/">debauchette</a> and I are looking for reader submissions for a couple of areas on our new site. Hot, steamy, sweaty, lust and love filled somethings are what we're after. They can be pithy one-liners or paragraphs of seduction, confession or wanting. Perhaps a post (or during) coital snapshot. Be honest and raw. Heartfelt. Or loinfelt as the case may be. Think: a sexual Post Secret.<br /><br />If you've seen both of our blogs and tumblrs (<a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.tumblr.com/">mine</a>, <a href="http://debauchette.tumblr.com/">hers</a>), you have a sense of our aesthetic.<br /><br />Your submission may be text, video, audio or photographic in format or some combination thereof. Please email to: editor@fgtmedia.com All personal information will remain in confidence and you may of course submit anonymously, with a pseudonym or receive credit for your entry. Sending us your secret grants us permission to edit, own and use it in the future.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-56841301503677551522009-03-01T21:46:00.000-08:002009-04-17T22:17:21.451-07:00Getting back in touchHello there.<br /><br />I've been awfully remiss in writing lately. <a href="http://www.debauchette.com/">debauchette</a> and I have been focused on getting things together to launch fgt, which is set to go live mid-March (insert breath holding here). She refers to this project as our "webby love child," which seems perfectly apropos. Here's a little preview:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjlb_7sNvYoOdJZ2wp_gBO8g7bGkpMh8_31UaZKf2e85G85ALo6NJAXA-L7yUhqgl0ZwLWgpo03fw3Zw9dgyI0DAKP9Ajsp1sXLC_ydPxhx9kEo7iz3RF9IEHRdrZ0O6qOh4L/s1600-h/fgt1.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjlb_7sNvYoOdJZ2wp_gBO8g7bGkpMh8_31UaZKf2e85G85ALo6NJAXA-L7yUhqgl0ZwLWgpo03fw3Zw9dgyI0DAKP9Ajsp1sXLC_ydPxhx9kEo7iz3RF9IEHRdrZ0O6qOh4L/s400/fgt1.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308503390579406466" border="0" /></a><br />I also took a break from chronicling my post break up process because I needed to gain some distance from it all. I seem to have that now and feel like I can start gearing up in my life again. For a person who is decidedly sexual, I can go for periods where I'm rather asexual. But I think I just end up imploding on myself. It's not me in my most natural or exuberant state. It's me in suppression. When my libido is screeching, I'm usually in top form all around.<br /><br />I'm going to attempt a friendship with my ex. I oscillate about it constantly but I'm going to see how we go. When I really accept that there are pieces of us that just aren't compatible, I can move beyond and accept the parts that are. No guy has ever been friends with me and tried not to fuck me though. I wish him luck.<br /><br />I realized today that the most significant love relationships I've had have been with men who are outsiders. They do their own thing, they exist on the fringes of the cultural flow and in their self-made realities. It made me think about how I see myself that way. I've spent a long time shunning crowds and the all too human activity of um, socializing. I chipped away at a very large piece of armor today that I've worn for many years. It has prevented me from opening to life and people in ways that make everything more meaningful. I was keeping myself protected but cutting myself off at the same time. It was cathartic and a long time coming. I felt so sure about it today as I spoke to someone - sure about cleaning up the messes and hurts of the past and creating something instead which is about love and support. I let myself be vulnerable and expose what is probably my deepest wound thus far in this lifetime. Because when that wound happened, my whole world changed. And now, 13 years later, I'm changing it back.<br /><br />It's funny. You know, there's a tempo you hit with people when you're both open. Something in the voice changes. It gets richer - it's infused with love. And when that's there, it's the only thing to hold onto. That tone, that depth and hearing it, whatever it takes to get there is the only journey worth taking.<br /><br />Oh, and I have a <a href="http://twitter.com/KasiaX">twitter</a> now. I thought it would be an interesting challenge to write these short 140 character sentences to bookmark parts of one's life. Like a haiku on the run. It's that, and it's a way to shout out to all sorts of people in abbreviated poetry - somewhat less intimidating than having entire conversations. I think the British take to it better though. They're all about the witty endnote, which I love.<br /><br />I'm shy about these things so please introduce yourself there.<br /><br />Much love,<br /><br />K<br />xx<br /><br />Photo: from our very cool fucking magazine about fucking.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-34462960092200692362009-02-18T08:33:00.001-08:002009-02-18T08:37:22.275-08:00Saddlebacking definedThe verdict is in. <a href="http://saddlebacking.com/">Saddlebacking</a> sad•dle•back•ing \ˈsa-dəl-ˈba-kiŋ\ vb [fr. Saddleback Church] is officially the term for: "the phenomenon of Christian teens engaging in unprotected anal sex in order to preserve their virginities."<br /><br />Anything that further promotes anal sex is a good thing.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-44547231564274699262009-02-01T07:44:00.000-08:002009-04-17T22:18:31.367-07:00To fuckbuddy or not fuckbuddy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxt4QR3mR376xbvlfs01QCd4OIicx2jaRqkFcv7KXTqXKqcRhmURfPW_KLxtFoxWRw3Li_lXtcsu2GemPpeE7OPTc2FrOa-3arWoR2aPDa0G8DrU4Le5xMoFqioE-c1kqxSrNx/s1600-h/via+bendmeover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxt4QR3mR376xbvlfs01QCd4OIicx2jaRqkFcv7KXTqXKqcRhmURfPW_KLxtFoxWRw3Li_lXtcsu2GemPpeE7OPTc2FrOa-3arWoR2aPDa0G8DrU4Le5xMoFqioE-c1kqxSrNx/s400/via+bendmeover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297869571286559218" border="0" /></a><br />I'm torn on this issue.<br /><br />I prefer to: 1) fall in love or 2) have flings (contained arrangements, often induced by travel) or 3) spend my time creatively.<br /><br />Overall, I prefer depth and purpose in my fucking. The sex is better and it's harnessed toward something. Empty sex bores me. Each person ought to be seduced to some degree, seduced enough to succumb.<br /><br />I tend to be more of a one-time-only fuckbuddyist, since I find that while the thrill may be there for me once, it rarely lives on. I tend to pick men up and drop them quickly. Or I have flings I suppose, inspired by frequent travel. It's easy to encapsulate the best of the person for a short time and ignore their coke habit, lack of money, drive or intelligence. I like to fall in love for a few days or a week and then exit. It could be argued that I'm not really in love, but I'll argue back that at its essence, love is opening myself to someone.<br /><br />Unless the person is exceedingly beautiful.<br /><br />I like pretty things. I like them around me and I like them in me. The only <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2006/08/ever-so-kinky.html">fuckbuddy</a> I've ever kept around for any length of time was: 1) Adonis-like in beauty, 2) could fuck me very, very hard, 3) had marathon regeneration power. Clearly, a keeper. At least for his physical offerings.<br /><br />Said fuckbuddy has been calling and texting relentlessly for the past 18 months - since I told him I was involved with someone and wouldn't be participating in our sporadic rendezvous. He didn't believe me; I've never really said no to him. I've flown into town at 3am and met him at my place at 4. We simply had to collide bodies.<br /><br />For months I've ignored his pleas. Until now. I felt excited to hear his voice, a slight leap in my chest and my groin. The thing I would struggle with is the urge to let myself fall and resisting it. Wanting to kiss him but denying myself. Knowing how nourished I want to be mind, emotions and body and feeling very little of that be acknowledged.<br /><br />I've been imagining him on top of me, tasting his skin, his sweat, and the feel of his cock in my throat. I've been craving throatfucking lately even more than fucking fucking. It's the intensity I think. The eye-watering, suffocating, obliterating intensity of it.<br /><br />I read somewhere that a fuckbuddy is just a really shitty relationship. Maybe. At least if it's honest, it has more on a lot of relationships I've seen. However, if it's something else I really am craving, then to be discriminating would say that I'm wasting my time. I told him this. He offered to be friends. I'm pretty sure his hope is that at some point during our 'friendship' my guard will be lowered and I'll be face down on the bed with my panties lowered as well. And I might enjoy playing with that tension for a while.<br /><br />I think I will see him when he next comes into town.<br /><br />** After writing this post I realized that <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2009/01/saddlebacking.html">'fucking with a purpose'</a> has been done before, albeit with a different perspective. See? We are all one.<br /><br /><br />Photo: unknown (<a href="http://www.bendmeover.tumblr.com">via</a>)kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-48973638730512201322009-01-18T21:20:00.000-08:002009-02-01T08:07:17.854-08:00SaddlebackingI've been a fairly regular reader of sex advice columnist, Dan Savage of Savage Love, for several years now. I have to admit, I visit less for the advice (which happens to be excellent) and more for his witty and often merciless repartee.<br /><br />I also became endeared to him several years back (in 2003) when he started the Smearing Santorum campaign. At the time, American Senator Rick Santorum, in an interview with AP, "grouped gay sex together with incest, polygamy and zoophilia as deviant sexual behavior threatening society and the family. He further stated that he believed consenting adults do not have a constitutional right to privacy with respect to sexual acts." (wiki)<br /><br />Savage held a contest amongst readers to find a new definition for the word 'santorum', preferably something with disgusting connotations, that could rival and replace Santorum in popular consciousness and language. Someone came up with the definition: "that frothy mixture of lube a<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>nd fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex." Fantastic. With diligence and love, legions of internet users clicking on the site Savage created, <a href="http://www.spreadingsantorum.com/">spreadingsantorum.com</a>, edged the actual Rick Santorum site out of its first place sitting on google.<br /><br />Today, Savage has a new crusade: a definition for the term 'saddlebacking;' something befitting for Rick Warren, pastor of the Saddleback Church. Since Warren shares many of the same views as Santorum, it's apropos that he also be immortalized. You can read Savage's column on the subject <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=969486">here</a>.<br /><br />You can make a difference! Your vote counts!<br /><br />Below is the reader submitted shortlist for the soon to be anointed 'saddlebacking' term. Take your pick and email your favorite to: saddleback@savagelove.net<br /><br />(1) "Logically, if 'barebacking' means having butt sex with no condom, then 'saddlebacking' should mean having butt sex with a condom." <p class="savage_response">(2) "Saddleback (verb): to submit someone to any kind of humiliating, unreciprocal sex act, either literally or metaphorically, consented to by passive partner due to submissive/masochistic tendencies, desire for approval, or other darker motive. E.g., 'I don't know why Obama is letting Rick Warren <i>saddleback</i> him into presiding over his inauguration.'"</p> <p class="savage_response">(3) "The saddleback position involves placing your lubed dick between the butt cheeks of your partner. This position can be performed on your sides or on top of a facedown partner (maybe with a pillow under his or her hips). My favorite way of finishing up the saddlebacking is to lift up and come on my wife's sweaty back. The saddleback is a nice compromise position when your partner won't allow anal entry."</p> <p class="savage_response">(4) "To saddleback is to rail against gay sex in public while secretly indulging in the same in private. Ted Haggard? Total saddlebacker. Larry Craig? Saddlebacker. Rick Warren? Probably a saddlebacker."</p> <p class="savage_response">(5) "'Saddlebacking' should be the term for the phenomenon of Christian teens engaging in unprotected anal sex in order to preserve their virginities. 'After attending the Purity Ball, Heather and Bill saddlebacked all night because she's saving herself for marriage.' Please, please adopt this definition!"</p> <p class="savage_response">(6) "Saddleback (verb): to ejaculate on the back of a partner at the culmination of doggy-style anal sex."</p> <p class="savage_response">(7) <i>"</i>Before being invited to give the invocation, Mr. Warren was most noted for his book <i>The Purpose Driven Life</i>. Therefore, 'to saddleback' is to fuck with a purpose, i.e., to procreate. A heterosexual couple asked if they're trying to have children could reply, 'No, we're not ready for kids yet, but we'll probably start saddlebacking next year.'"</p><p class="savage_response">Hmm. Some tough choices. I think I'll go for #5. Number six is good as a sex term, but I'd really hate to do anything that denigrates the beauty and form of doggy-style pounding. Santorum (the substance) was unique in that it was gross and in need of labeling at the same time.<br /></p><p class="savage_response">Ahh, I love the internet. Goes to show you what the will of a number of disgruntled individuals can achieve. Absolute pandemonium.<br /></p>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-29713831857485721822009-01-11T14:40:00.000-08:002009-01-11T15:11:20.863-08:00The inaugural cock suck<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizM1afHamsP1eyuHffC0XWPF7ZVI1phZhSyE20hHBfWJHZd9lmSsMKC_HxVnaPqy6ziyUmc8VDLpYmENMsGRP1nonKm1hDzEK5qepbj6HCIPT0O9nClzpvrFlSidmXWdSaOc2w/s1600-h/natacha+merritt+via+lemateurdart.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290169439921946130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 311px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizM1afHamsP1eyuHffC0XWPF7ZVI1phZhSyE20hHBfWJHZd9lmSsMKC_HxVnaPqy6ziyUmc8VDLpYmENMsGRP1nonKm1hDzEK5qepbj6HCIPT0O9nClzpvrFlSidmXWdSaOc2w/s400/natacha+merritt+via+lemateurdart.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I told myself I'd wait until the new year to recommence any sexual escapading. I wanted to be sure I wasn't running from anything and give myself time to clear my system.<br /><br />But a girl's gotta eat.<br /><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline"><br /></span><a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/search?q=tantra+lament">Come</a>, that is.<br /><br />As a good omen bestowed by the gods of fuck, the lovely Madeline at <a href="http://fleshbot.com/5127637/sex-blog-roundup-hot-rods">Fleshbot</a> included my <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2009/01/sexual-endurance.html">'Sexual endurance' </a>piece in the best of the sex blogs round-up. Many thanks Madeline. Of course, many thanks to the cock of inspiration.<br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div>Photo: Natacha Merritt</div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-53556738885321686722009-01-08T22:33:00.002-08:002009-01-08T23:55:01.077-08:00Sexual enduranceHis cock is in my throat. I've slid underneath him so that he's straddling my face. I'm looking up at him, his sleek, flat stomach, his heavy eyes. He is panting. I focus on wrapping my throat around him like a hand or a pussy, feeling all the angles of my mouth massaging him. I experiment until I relax into a position I can hold for a long time. That's when I realize that one of my favorite things about any sexual encounter is the plateau. The zone.<br /><br />Orgasms, while they can be powerful, are for amateurs. Anyone too intensely focused on their orgasm or too vulnerable to having one feels like an unworthy opponent. I've discarded lovers ruthlessly if I've ever ended up with one who didn't value extended pleasure.<br /><br />David Deida has a theory that women need to be fucked for at least 45 minutes before they'll even have a decent cervical orgasm. (He divides female orgasms into three types: the clitoral, g-spot and cervical, and ranks them in the same order for level of profundity. Deida is the one person I've come across who does this and I agree with his assessment. More on this in another post.)<br /><br />The only men I've ever taken seriously are those who can control their orgasms and who value fucking for a very long time. When I find a man who keeps me up all or most of the night, I hold on to him. He clearly values sex as much as I do and has put in the time to become an excellent lover.<br /><br />On another level, I draw a correlation between his sexual fortitude and his intestinal one. Flimsy fuckers are flimsy men and vice versa. I've never met a fearless fucker who also wasn't a fearless man.<br /><br />The only thing that can assuage my disappointment at a man's orgasm is his ever-ready cock responding again in a few minutes. Then all is right in the world again.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-12188077241375856982009-01-01T16:49:00.000-08:002009-01-08T20:15:47.475-08:00New beginnings"Anything or anyone that doesn't bring you alive - is too small for you."<br /><br />–David Whyte<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3wDekBWb5tarOh4E27D3BKPrKWxJRsAuKNz4oV0BNoPloT2v-g7-BSbGL2-7HO10mYzcmXtifj3_Gur6AF8bYspEbOCNOc1NwYiv6RnhJHwoe0oX_LkfwaO62T5lZ_j40mED/s1600-h/roesje.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286495742874892898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3wDekBWb5tarOh4E27D3BKPrKWxJRsAuKNz4oV0BNoPloT2v-g7-BSbGL2-7HO10mYzcmXtifj3_Gur6AF8bYspEbOCNOc1NwYiv6RnhJHwoe0oX_LkfwaO62T5lZ_j40mED/s400/roesje.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />While I'm not much of a new year partier (I tend to stay indoors and do my best to avoid drunk people), I do like the symbolism of a fresh start. I also believe in having the discipline to make changes throughout the year, but to cast a line now seems fitting.<br /><br />I've been settling into my 'single-ness' and my emotional parts are settling into their own resting places. I feel optimistic and excited about the future. I'd have to say that I feel even more myself, a new blossoming or uncovering of self than I've felt in the past eight or so months in the relationship I was in. I'm feeling light and effervescent.<br /><br />I was watching Belle de Jour - The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl. In the second season, Belle falls in love. She agonizes about if and when to tell her lover about her day/night job. Eventually he finds out and she ends up changing herself in different ways to become someone he'd feel comfortable with and wouldn't be threatened by. She starts shrinking. Even he notices that she's no longer the woman with the spark in her eye he first met.<br /><br />The proclamation I'm making is to live bigger and spend time with people who appreciate and support my outrageousness. I've had the most fun in my life when I've been able to openly be who I am. I realize as I get older, that discretion keeps doors open, but really, I think it's important to find ways to be all of who we are and still make that work for us in our lives. Too much compartmentalization is fragmenting internally. It's a hard life to sustain and frankly it's also boring.<br /><br />I've been appreciating the gifts and synchronicities of timing in life. It's an acceptance that although events in the moment can seem crushing and senseless, with time, I can see deeper meanings behind all of it.<br /><br />In the process of me sharing more in this space, I've come to know some amazing people. I appreciate the words and thoughts of everyone who has taken the time to write. Your encouragement and support mean a lot. Thank you.<br /><br />Image: source unknown.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-77383241349226310662008-12-23T14:24:00.000-08:002008-12-23T17:58:00.248-08:00Hello libido.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0N94RyjJd0hQX5YSUBP5FG8JJ3EOrTms2IDpyKHeR1gMtUN_2bwlhbnOqmqNBiikCB9sOdtB3fl_CTFb75Kyd7uhdYCMoacBmpQmYurfFrzO7kwx7FIr4HBa0puzMwZGnLJw/s1600-h/ikandi+%28via%29.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0N94RyjJd0hQX5YSUBP5FG8JJ3EOrTms2IDpyKHeR1gMtUN_2bwlhbnOqmqNBiikCB9sOdtB3fl_CTFb75Kyd7uhdYCMoacBmpQmYurfFrzO7kwx7FIr4HBa0puzMwZGnLJw/s400/ikandi+%28via%29.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283123160273251794" border="0" /></a><br />Oh, how I've missed you.<br /><br />I know I've shunned you for the past month. It's not that I don't care for you deeply. The truth is, I've been afraid of you. I know you have a mind of your own and you can be relentless and unstoppable. So I've done a little dance, played a little hustle to distract you.<br /><br />But you're back.<br /><br />I was on a very long fucking bus ride, made excruciatingly longer by the snow. Long drives always give way to sexual fantasies for me. And I was in a hotel room alone for three days. Maybe it was the illicitness of hotels - transactions and secret fucking. I'd write and then masturbate, bringing myself to the point just before orgasm. Then I'd stop, write some more and masturbate again, keeping myself perpetually wanton.<br /><br />On the bus, I'd undress every man, press myself into him and feel how he'd fuck me. And how I'd fuck him. Then I'd comb through my infinite library of group fucking scenes: me and oh so many men. I was wet and frenzied.<br /><br />In the middle of my reverie I receive a text from an old lover:<br /><br />"Tell me about Agent Provocateur." I want new lingerie. I think he should buy it for me.<br />"You'd come with me and I'd model pieces for you, straddling your lap as I come out of the fitting room. The shop girls in their tight pink mini dresses fondle me as they adjust my straps. I'd meet you back at my place, wearing my new ensemble. You'd come in and I'd pin you against the wall, then down on the floor, grinding against your cock, my very wet pussy staining your pants."<br />"Come on, I don't believe the girls fondling you part." He's not much of a sport here.<br />"They do 'private fittings'. Then I'd climb onto the table, spreading my legs and masturbate for you. "<br />"What's gotten into you?"<br /><br />It's what's come back into me.<br /><br /><br />Image: source unknownkasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-39241163983860364932008-12-18T07:45:00.000-08:002008-12-18T07:59:23.244-08:00Timing is everythingKnowing when to leap. Knowing when to leave.<br /><br />There's always a moment, in the beginning of getting to know someone, when I'm faced with diving in. I can feel myself perched, hesitating, knowing that I either have to take the risk and jump, or I stay back. It's not a moment that offers itself again, so it's foolish to think my decision in that moment doesn't matter. It matters a lot. In that moment, everything can change.<br /><br />I seem to stay in relationships longer than when I know it's time to go. Not because I'm in love with the person anymore - I usually know I'm not. I am in love with the idea of joining my life with someone and creating something together. It's sad to think of letting go of all the effort that brought us that far and starting again. So I end up working toward an ideal, an illusion really.<br /><br />I've seen it a few times now. There's always a huge cost on both ends for not taking advantage of the portal that presents itself and using its momentum to fly off into another world.<br /><br />It's all about trust. Trusting that I can leap when it feels right and my intuition tells me to. That something, somewhere, will catch me.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-88035847972296327262008-12-13T08:45:00.000-08:002008-12-13T08:49:30.521-08:00StagesI remember a friend whose Dad's passed away when she was in her early twenties. She'd done a lot of work around grief and she'd told me about Elizabeth Kubler Ross, and her ideas on the stages of grieving. Anger was one of them.<br /><br />I felt angry the past couple of days. Fuck you kind of angry. I wanted the rest of my stuff back and was determined to get it. I didn't want to see him even - I was going to suggest he leave it on his porch. He was becoming an asshole in my head. I was thinking of some of the things he said to me in the last, painful moments of our demise and I felt wrongly accused and unseen.<br /><br />From what I know about anger, it can be productive in that it can let us know when a boundary has been stepped over. It can be motivating - when I played soccer and I'd be tripped or body-checked, that would be the incentive I'd need to score a goal. When used in a healthy way, it can be fuel.<br /><br />Or it can create false justification. It can be toxic. I could feel myself slipping into that place and that was the cue I needed to step out of it again. My anger shifted into action. And empowerment. And with that, back came my sex drive. Suddenly, in the knowing that I was going over there to pick up my stuff, I was imagining his cock, how wet my pussy would be the moment I saw him. I could feel his thighs with my hands and my mouth. Feel him on top of me. It was huge and overwhelming.<br /><br />*sigh* I'm side-stepping that. I'm glad to see my sex drive is connected to this feeling of pushing forward, movement and growth. I'll be directing it elsewhere.<br /><br />I went back to check out the other stages of grieving. According to Kubler Ross, they can happen in any order, and people don't necessarily experience all of them:<br /><br />Denial: feeling in shock, unconscious refusal to accept the facts<br />Anger: why is this happening to me? Another shroud to deflect pain.<br />Bargaining: I promise I'll be a better person if...<br />Depression: withdrawal from life. I don't care anymore.<br />Acceptance: I can't fight it, I might as well prepare for it.<br /><br />I haven't studied her work enough to know where sobbing uncontrollably fits into that. Maybe it's in acceptance. All the other stages feel like delaying the inevitable. Really crying it out seems to me the most truthful acknowledgment of what's happening.<br /><br />(I'm summarizing from my experience and a few sources: <a href="http://www.businessballs.com/elisabeth_kubler_ross_five_stages_of_grief.htm">this</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%BCbler-Ross_model">this</a> and <a href="http://www.cancersurvivors.org/Coping/end%20term/stages.htm">this</a>)<br /><br />I also found this from Dr. Roberta Temes in the book, "Living With An Empty Chair - a guide through grief." Three types of behaviour seen in the grief-stricken:<br /><br />Numbness (mechanical functioning and social insulation)<br />Disorganization (intensely painful feelings of loss)<br />Reorganization (re-entry into a more 'normal' social life.)<br /><br />She speaks to the pain as a form of dismantling - pulling everything apart so that it can be put back together again. I think I'm actually pulling together well. I'm productive, energized, and still somewhat heavy. I have some restless anxiety that I think is more about me needing to channel myself elsewhere. What I'm missing right now are social outlets. So much of my time was spent with him, so much of my inner life I shared with him that I'm feeling like a tap that's been stopped up and needs to be released. The pressure is building up. Creating social situations has typically not been my forte. I'm not much of a small talker, but sometimes I surprise myself and I can jump right in and really enjoy myself. Or, I just direct the conversation toward sex and suddenly I have a lot to say.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-26576736030396846272008-12-08T23:15:00.001-08:002008-12-13T08:56:14.398-08:00Spoon me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyl1vsMHnQdm9n2T6pLr7-3GZFvCWw1GiiYnSjM33goU7o5YM19Qj06LAjJVHyCcEyQr9gjHfZnl8m0SHKjnb7wzt2lmQJp5GW-9S0ceOzRL-wnElihRJgm8WEV9hj0Y1BL42/s1600-h/spoon+me+via+thingsthatexcite.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279319406388063042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyl1vsMHnQdm9n2T6pLr7-3GZFvCWw1GiiYnSjM33goU7o5YM19Qj06LAjJVHyCcEyQr9gjHfZnl8m0SHKjnb7wzt2lmQJp5GW-9S0ceOzRL-wnElihRJgm8WEV9hj0Y1BL42/s400/spoon+me+via+thingsthatexcite.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I was thinking about what I wrote in my last post, about me knowing I ought to leave and not leaving. There's something crazymaking about woulda/coulda/shoulda and I don't think it's healthy for me to dwell there. I had an insight, I overrode it. I am where I am. It's best if I just step forward from here.<br /><br />I'm craving touch. I want to be held, spooned, encased in tenderness and warmth. I want the comfort of someone's breath next to me, inhaling his scent, the reassuring rise and fall of another body. Waking up in the night entwined. I'm slowly accepting this empty bed, but I'm still a bit shocked.<br /><br />I miss having something/someone immediate to love. I guess this is where people get dogs.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Image source: unknown</div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-45341082684139126822008-12-05T17:53:00.001-08:002008-12-06T23:15:12.742-08:00Written on the bodyThe past few days I've been feeling more emotionally settled. I question that a bit though. I don't want to numb myself and push forward too quickly. I believe in the power and importance of healing and going through whatever I need to to get there.<br /><br />He (Mark) called me the other night. I've been starting to feel hopeful about the future, feeling myself disentangle and accept the idea of a life without him. I was getting ready for bed, lying with my laptop and writing. My oh-so-pretty new iphone tinkled and I saw his number. I wasn't expecting to hear from him, not for a while. He was in an anxious place. I think he could sense me moving away from him, and cutting the threads that bind us. I'm not in a place yet where I can be a support for him so I felt myself barricading against, feeling the need to quickly patch together my undone-ness while we spoke. The conversation was hollow. I got off the phone, noticing the anxiety simmering in me from hearing his voice, seeing his number come up on my phone. I spent the night a bit restless, wondering if he was going to show up. I think he would respect my space enough not to, but he still has my keys. I once welcomed him crawling into bed with me at 2am because he just couldn't sleep without me. Now I want my keys back. And my pounds of organic frozen strawberries I have stored in his freezer. I'd really love it if he tossed in his chili recipe too. But I don't want to ask for too much.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Yesterday I saw someone who does neural therapy. It's a type of injection that is performed at certain nerve junctures and into scar tissue. The concept behind it is fascinating: that a scar carries an electric charge five times that of normal skin and can create an area of 'interference'. Nerve and muscle function can be compromised and random pains can pop up in the body. By temporarily numbing the area with an anaesthetic and a mix of homeopathics, the nerve resets itself back to its original state. Scar tissue is also encouraged to resolve. Rather, dissolve. Any emotional trauma that's since ossified in the scar will be released.<br /><br />I've had an issue with sciatica for months now. An issue which started when I first knew this relationship wouldn't carry on, but I buried that information. My body hadn't.<br /><br />Six months ago I was at a workshop. I was sharing with someone about my relationship and she asked me a question that totally caught me off guard. It was about Mark and in that instant I knew we didn't have a future together. I broke down and couldn't stop crying (the workshop was nearly over). I knew it was the truth but I so didn't want it to be. I stayed, redoubling my efforts to revive things. There were moments when we'd surge and then we'd fall flat again. Our flat was never awful, but I was still tolerating.<br /><br />I could feel when the needle went in, and it's definitely uncomfortable in a dull sort of way. Then I felt a rush of emotion come up in me. I cried, and since it's expected, the woman who injected me just stroked my forehead and encouraged me to stay with it. I did, letting myself breathe and sob and eventually it dissipated.<br /><br />The site she injected me at is also where I miscarried. I was pregnant seven months ago. Although in all practical terms, it was not the time for me to be having a baby, it felt really right to be pregnant. Maybe all women's bodies feel that way as some kind of biological predisposition. I felt alive, electric, radiant and beautifully feminine. In a world where all things are possible, and all paths are just parallel universes, I could envision it happening.<br /><br />He couldn't.<br /><br />After an agonizing weekend that highlighted other issues, we came to the place of agreeing we wouldn't have a baby. In the next few days I could no longer feel the buzzing in my abdomen or the slight cramping that indicates the uterus is growing larger. The tenderness in my breasts was less acute. I felt vacated.<br /><br />A few days later I bled. The pain and cramping were excruciating. I went out to the forest to bury the embryo. I carried it with me for a few days until I could make it out to the woods. I would palpate it, this partially formed, almost-thing, trying to feel where it would have taken shape.<br /><br />Since then, I've had a dull ache in my abdomen that's slowly spread into my leg and been bothering me ever since. The epicenter of that pain is wrapped up in those nerves and ganglion, tight and twisted and sad and disappointed. When the naturopath injected me there I burst into tears for a life that could have been. For the possibility of someone's hand on my stomach, curious and excited. And for me not leaving when I knew I ought to have.<br /><br />When I look at the sign I hadn't heeded about a life that wasn't meant to be, and its subsequent albatross in my abdomen, I'm sad. For not listening to myself and honoring my wisdom. I also see how it's an art to heal a wound gracefully. To not keep picking at it (by being in touch with Mark) and succumbing to the urge to itch. The urge subsides and if I nurture the wound, it leaves its mark, but doesn't get in the way of things to come.kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-40769102654603293712008-12-03T19:52:00.001-08:002008-12-03T20:20:31.609-08:00Internal feng shuiNicolaa Tamindzic posted this image and quote on his <a href="http://homeofthevain.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> the other day:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtuhoIYbbIC6j6TV_avq_TrG2aAnjTEtzIvXLhI4drKVV11tVrJbB74rdW83iAUmRCs3u5CoOs8IIaLGRID-xEV9IyHxyVjvblbc4AW_JPfMLr37Vc1-oPvCpmn7oEYz1vilj/s1600-h/home+of+the+vain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275778226370353362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 305px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtuhoIYbbIC6j6TV_avq_TrG2aAnjTEtzIvXLhI4drKVV11tVrJbB74rdW83iAUmRCs3u5CoOs8IIaLGRID-xEV9IyHxyVjvblbc4AW_JPfMLr37Vc1-oPvCpmn7oEYz1vilj/s400/home+of+the+vain.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>“Your soul is as disheveled as <a href="http://homeofthevain.com/index.php?showimage=50" target="_blank">your apartment</a>, and until you can clean it up a little you don’t want to invite anyone else inside.”— Jay McInerney, Bright Lights, Big City (quote via <a href="http://villagevegan.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">villagevegan</a>)<br /><br />I like this because one of the things that's given me forward momentum over the past week, is examining the state of my "home" and wondering where there's room for beautification. There's lots of room, of course. I'm scrubbing and mending and washing the debris I've let float in the ethers. It's uncomfortable to take honest stock, but I'd rather be growing than decaying. </div><div><br />And this:<br /><br />"When love isn't in our lives, it's on its way; that is the nature of the universe. If you know that a special guest is coming at five o'clock, do you spend the day messing up the house? Of course not. You prepare. And that is what we should do for love." -- Marianne Williamson, Enchanted Love</div><div></div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-91324191653167396002008-12-01T07:20:00.000-08:002008-12-01T22:44:13.916-08:00The anxiety of falling out of love could only find repose... in love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6DxyEbEDOkCp-sKmJn_3RCkPiw52ZDL0K0VlZ4ucEjY5XPekzYqAL3_PbIzxyo0OHsd9UbiphNK6T3-tw8TGz8LKsIdb-xXzEipqsB-RRTL5w_eIPTwArxs1VE-QB2874f_d/s1600-h/arms+around+via+bendmeover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275071694855683410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6DxyEbEDOkCp-sKmJn_3RCkPiw52ZDL0K0VlZ4ucEjY5XPekzYqAL3_PbIzxyo0OHsd9UbiphNK6T3-tw8TGz8LKsIdb-xXzEipqsB-RRTL5w_eIPTwArxs1VE-QB2874f_d/s400/arms+around+via+bendmeover.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The sadness I can deal with - I know if I let it run its course it will eventually dissipate and transform into something like joy. It's the anxiety that debilitates me. I've been wondering what's causing it and it seems to kick in when I question the rightness of splitting up. Thinking I could be making a mistake. It's not logical, given the overview of everything, but it's there. A mild panic that if I'm going through all this, there'd better be a good reason for it. There is.<br /><br /><div>The thing that's enabled me to rise above that is to focus on releasing him, with love. Knowing that he has something he needs to do. And I have things I need to do and it seems better if we do them on our own. If I try to block the love, I feel stuck. When I open to it, even though that love will slowly transform into divine love or detached love rather than loverly love, everything feels much better and my anxiety dissolves. It's basically letting go.<br /><br />I can feel myself recasting my dreams in other directions. I'm lightening, though still easily triggered. I went for a hike today somewhere we used to go and came to a spot we stopped at once when we were first seeing each other. He put his arms around me; he had this incredible way of holding me gentle but firm. His limbs always wound around me, like twining vines. It made me feel safe. Encapsulated.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD8W6RVesQlefoI7RCUH9UfJV0PfMt8gRh8dkkTEa_LE3K4bFy-yuC-gT7ULARWGXT6Ts-juApKxMwFNScG7e4cst5IzLqDLLSBjq7p6ygJweNFyPmCmz2FQsPanORsv-YNz2/s1600-h/arms+again.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275078466727468754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD8W6RVesQlefoI7RCUH9UfJV0PfMt8gRh8dkkTEa_LE3K4bFy-yuC-gT7ULARWGXT6Ts-juApKxMwFNScG7e4cst5IzLqDLLSBjq7p6ygJweNFyPmCmz2FQsPanORsv-YNz2/s400/arms+again.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />When I got to that spot, I cried. I cry when I see someone's words about love. Or when I see a photo with a man's hands on a woman's body - even the image of skin touching skin moves me. I've been hunched over in bathroom stalls between meetings, and alone in the forest in tears. Someone (thank you) wrote to me today: "the pain is intrinsic to healing." I agree. </div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Hy33k3ZVP3qX4e-0WRpLwnnJoB9JjNZie-c_904jsocZAEkkGzekFNSLMG7WKXSZDLjmwO9gAuGtj4Rs6wXdXfYnBJMbC053f9bGlO_vCxnqNXCvTL4W8P17t0Rszn4nllTo/s1600-h/su+blackwell.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275071882863002674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 291px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Hy33k3ZVP3qX4e-0WRpLwnnJoB9JjNZie-c_904jsocZAEkkGzekFNSLMG7WKXSZDLjmwO9gAuGtj4Rs6wXdXfYnBJMbC053f9bGlO_vCxnqNXCvTL4W8P17t0Rszn4nllTo/s400/su+blackwell.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div>*</div><div><br />On another note, I'm ovulating. I'm a jittery, sensitized huntress. I see myself scanning rooms, scanning men, looking for a match. My sexual compatibility locator is fairly accurate and I can feel it activating. I'm going to sit on this for now though. (I guess we'll see how long). The Taoists say that we can convert our sexual energy into creative energy, so that's what I'm focusing on. Looking at art porn all day, however, does nothing to diminish my urges. </div><br /><br /><div>Photos: unknown and Su Blackwell (book-cut sculpture)</div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-24408524224001303492008-11-28T21:35:00.000-08:002008-11-29T11:46:43.166-08:00Freedom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzhSShEPXQgfHkD9iQTQPz4IoGYJipid6mLVuUHucuSWYWwBSwJlkR7ZOyjz1v2rciy9ivPRv-_1w6Q8rHnxOu0fJAurHLphZ_0kFzmgLio1nCtGDbx1vFc5pFjuBWaFrEWod/s1600-h/addsubtract+nov+6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273953873208497970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 362px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzhSShEPXQgfHkD9iQTQPz4IoGYJipid6mLVuUHucuSWYWwBSwJlkR7ZOyjz1v2rciy9ivPRv-_1w6Q8rHnxOu0fJAurHLphZ_0kFzmgLio1nCtGDbx1vFc5pFjuBWaFrEWod/s400/addsubtract+nov+6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>There's an axiom in the spiritual path I follow: freedom, or God-realization must be won anew every day. Unlike the Buddhists, who see enlightenment as a static, permanent destination, I (and obviously a few others) view it as something we have to struggle toward constantly . We can have it today and tomorrow we have to find it again. It's an equilibrium with an ever changing formula. </div><br /><div></div><div>I slept about three hours last night. I was talking with (I'll call him) Mark (my ex-lover) and the conversation made me increasingly anxious. My body and mind were pulsing all night. And through the day. I had a big project I needed to finish so I just kept plugging away at it, intermittently sobbing at the computer, in my car and in-between conversations with my designer. </div><br /><div></div><div>I spoke to a friend and she was talking about break-ups. Either I've deliberately chosen relationships where I'll feel less (which I have at times), or I've already been finished, or the reach of the person into my life was not so pervasive. In those cases, I seem to move on fairly quickly. My friend talked about how absolutely shitty break-ups are, how everyone avoids them because they're just so awful, often staying in relationships past their prime. </div><br /><div></div><div>We talked about the trajectory of grief and the intense sobbing where I'm keeled over from the hurting. How I've been confusing the sense of loss with a desire to go back. She thinks like I do - it's worth inviting grief and letting it overtake her because generally it's a finite thing. There's only so much of it and the faster you get through, the faster you can move onto something else. Like joy. </div><br /><div></div><div>I actually feel peaceful now. I've earned it though. It's been a hard day. I'm reaching out more to people, forcing myself to, because it's not something that comes naturally. I read something today about creating community in your life that witnesses and shares with you. I want more of that. </div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-14452251262463781882008-11-26T19:11:00.000-08:002008-11-28T02:28:02.299-08:00Self-portrait<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIitlN5QLYRXZ07w3xdpmUoioQtIyFA7sHGdb7D0xElGtV_LE2SA2U6fdWCboooHkxou1xKCJBjPSOoSyBrasPRF6p51WnIVlDfirCdNjSAmYLUYTugyix0HX8zHGnIAHQpLZ4/s1600-h/sam+taylor+wood+self+portrait+as+a+tree.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273187738068964130" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 324px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIitlN5QLYRXZ07w3xdpmUoioQtIyFA7sHGdb7D0xElGtV_LE2SA2U6fdWCboooHkxou1xKCJBjPSOoSyBrasPRF6p51WnIVlDfirCdNjSAmYLUYTugyix0HX8zHGnIAHQpLZ4/s400/sam+taylor+wood+self+portrait+as+a+tree.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I write personally in this blog in the sense that I share intimate, sexual details about myself. I offer up my views and feelings on things. Mostly sexual things. But I deliberately keep big chunks of my life off the screen. </div><br /><div>The biggest chunk has been the relationship I've been involved in over the past year. I've had urges to share, and parts of that life and that love spill over here in wafts, but I've never outlined them clearly. The reason I'm about to is that it's over. Just writing that word sends up another wave of grief. I'm hoping the writing will help me push past - push through - these feelings into something else because right now they feel crushing and huge. I feel like I have a fairly well developed ability to allow myself to feel things, with the faith that beyond the pain lies something else. In the past few days, there have been moments where that's very hard to imagine. </div><br /><div>I'm disoriented. I have anxiety and when I cry, my tears run faster down my face than I've ever felt them. I go to bed feeling disoriented, without him there, and I wake up feeling the same. I lie there for a few moments to make sure I'm not wrong, that he's not in the bathroom or the kitchen or somewhere near but he's not. I think I hear his truck coming down the street but it isn't. I sleep with my arms around a pillow and my face tucked into it. I walked into my acupuncturist's office today with tears running down my face. I walked out calmer, but still with tears. </div><br /><div>I haven't shared, not because there weren't moments I wanted to capture and describe and remember. I've kept silent because I think precious things have to be treated delicately. He didn't want to be written about, so I respected that. Mainly though, I think the things we cherish and value have to be honored. We might describe them to people, but I think opening that up for the world to watch is asking for trouble. Our relationship was ours, it wasn't public domain. </div><br /><div>I'm confused sexually. I've always employed the "amnesia fuck" after a break up to help wash away the imprints of that person. Now I'm not so sure. I'm a girl who's done a lot of fucking for various reasons, but what's been so different for me this year is the relationship between my heart and my pussy. I met a man I could expose myself to more than I ever have. I could share everything - all the details of my compartmentalized life and still feel loved. I miss the companionship and the way that things come out of me with him that don't seem to come out with anyone else. </div><br /><div>Sexually, I went deeper with him than anyone. I went deep with <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2008/01/6-on-availability.html">Andre</a>, and I've been deep with a few other people but this had more permanence to it. I felt and hoped we'd be in it for the long haul. He was open, curious, accepting. He matched me sexually. He had a strong sex drive and could fuck with his heart and his cock. He had an amazing, conscious touch like no one else I've ever met. I felt held in all the vulnerable places I went to. And there were a lot. </div><br /><div>I think I have my answer though. Yesterday, I thought I was feeling wanton, sexual, open, some embodiment of cunt, of femaleness. Craving a man, wanting to feel male energy. I rubbed up against (um, made out with) two different men. I had three orgasms but there was no kissing. And no actual fucking. I kinda felt better. But in the morning I felt numb. </div><br /><div>Today, after crying, today after acknowledging how much I love this person and writing instead, I feel better. More in tune with myself. And more honest. It's him I miss, his brand of masculinity, his love, his touch, his cock. His. Smell. Hair. Arms around me. I'm sad, so so sad but at least it feels real. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div>Photo: Sam Taylor Wood, Self-Portrait as Tree</div><br /><div></div><div>I posted this photo on my <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> a few days ago, with a sad and pretty <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.tumblr.com/post/60920185/goldfrapp-eat-yourself">Goldfrapp song</a>. I remember reading an interview with Sam Taylor Wood and she talked about taking this photograph. She'd been diagnosed with an awful disease and was staying out in the country. The light was hitting the tree in that surreal way it does at dusk. The other day when I posted it I was thinking of the solitariness. Now I think of that twilight - the hour when the door between worlds opens. It's the in-between hour, the time for portals. When things feel magical. </div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-56068065759829018432008-10-27T10:17:00.000-07:002008-10-27T10:19:39.773-07:00The oblique gaze and something real<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGMBCoeoOiPV9PwbOeo0SvRW_Hd_IyKSFeVMPj-kQRhMaLo4HeGoTvqLMs-F0wSyg0MF1VxKJA4qDqgad9REddIU1DRDMCKkfCEDm3DHGoR3dqSZrfcoJ4P-wUGHQbkjkmC7m/s1600-h/watermelon++araki.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260425616212881522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGMBCoeoOiPV9PwbOeo0SvRW_Hd_IyKSFeVMPj-kQRhMaLo4HeGoTvqLMs-F0wSyg0MF1VxKJA4qDqgad9REddIU1DRDMCKkfCEDm3DHGoR3dqSZrfcoJ4P-wUGHQbkjkmC7m/s400/watermelon++araki.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>These two photographs by Araki are the most erotic pussy shots I've seen in a long time. It didn't sink in, at first glance, that I was looking at pussy, but a little tremor went through me and then I smiled.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.debauchette.wordpress.com/">Debauchette</a> and I spend a lot of time talking about what makes compelling visual sexual content - in photography and film. When I think of films I've seen that I was really aroused by, I think back to Belle de Jour, Story of O. I like art. I like sex. I like depth. I like the combination of it all. Those viewing experiences are memorable and convey a richness that few others do. </div><br /><div>The obvious thread in the films I've mentioned is that they actually tell a story. In the way that one dimensional sex is typically less satisfying than something richer and multi-layered (with many levels of connection), it's the same with films. The porn plots of: "Barbie came over to borrow a cup of sugar. Boy, did Candy give her some sugar!" are the Dick and Jane of porn. We can all predict the poses and shots from there. The former movies I mentioned are largely about sex, but it takes a role amongst other stories. In so doing, it's more palatable, much deeper and far more erotic.<br /><br />I remember going to see a live sex show in Amsterdam. I was so excited. I'd met a local guy who volunteered to take me. We sat in a small movie theater showing porn before we could actually go inside. Though I'm disparaging simple plots, the film we watched ran perfectly along the lines of most of my masturbation fantasies: woman needs something, must fuck to get it. The woman in question had an unfortunate vehicle break down on a deserted road. Two men come along and offer to help, but not before she fucks them both. I liked it. I was getting aroused.<br /><br />We went inside a small bar and there were some random acts of weirdness before the main show on the stage - a woman and a banana that a man eats out of her pussy, another unusual object that I can't remember. Finally we came to the main act. A motorcycle descended from the sky in a cloud of smoke. A man and woman came out, naked, vaguely attractive. And, well, they just start fucking on and off the motorcycle. It was literally 15 thrusts in missionary, 15 thrusts with him on top, another 15 with her ass in the air. They were absolutely expressionless.<br /><br />I was so disappointed. What would have been the pinnacle of my visit to Amsterdam (I was 20), amounted to so little. Which pretty much summarizes my experiences of mainstream porn: empty, mechanical and mostly boring. Given the impending launch of our <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2008/07/post-modern-pornography">haute porn magazine</a>, I also spend a lot of time asking other people what they like in porn. I find a surprising number of people telling me they don't actually like porn because it tends to turn them off rather than turn them on. Generally, I have to agree.<br /><br />I think it has a lot to do with the oblique gaze - or the act of looking indirectly at something in order to see it better. To me, sex responds in the same way. As does love. To analyze it too much or speak of it too overtly diminishes it so that it eventually fades. The intricacy and delicacy of it doesn't survive a harsh spotlight. </div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIABn7-3wY_KxkXobYK0SgEv-aEAE89yldYnGWOThyphenhyphentynIEpfyk1UrQvI6WrjE4NDHJamt4wiXdGOlBWBkeYwy3HbxD4GXTl89KfmPAzZYzr7jqdRKaQxSUjylz40XHdShgJG/s1600-h/araki+1993+via+sleepless.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260363768262345730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIABn7-3wY_KxkXobYK0SgEv-aEAE89yldYnGWOThyphenhyphentynIEpfyk1UrQvI6WrjE4NDHJamt4wiXdGOlBWBkeYwy3HbxD4GXTl89KfmPAzZYzr7jqdRKaQxSUjylz40XHdShgJG/s400/araki+1993+via+sleepless.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div>Photos: Nobuyoshi Araki</div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20052736.post-84559277973605267152008-10-18T23:27:00.000-07:002008-10-18T23:27:00.391-07:00Erections<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_e7ORu-ZRm4RRGHMbnReW3uvSxqGU0GCs7lnrIFgwDTxyOnztlflqktJUSRYbmnkEOt5-mbzmNmFoJC_mlR94EWLiiLKEWlzgXCAFvM3g-pCqnMXKcwXO9BZoy8RCYCKUQRw/s1600-h/more+cock.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258743952812426162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_e7ORu-ZRm4RRGHMbnReW3uvSxqGU0GCs7lnrIFgwDTxyOnztlflqktJUSRYbmnkEOt5-mbzmNmFoJC_mlR94EWLiiLKEWlzgXCAFvM3g-pCqnMXKcwXO9BZoy8RCYCKUQRw/s400/more+cock.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing is more revealing of the state of a man's vitality, drive and masculinity than his erection. It's the divining rod of his power; the barometer of all that is strong and assertive in his psyche. It's the palpable backbone of his existence. When it's pulsing, firm and ever-ready, the man's ability to perform and penetrate the world is at its peak.<br /><br /><div>I've written about how I <a href="http://beautifulanddepraved.blogspot.com/2008/03/for-love-of-cock.html">fall in love with cocks </a>. A layer of that love is wound up in the admiration of firmness. A cock is nothing if not firm. In the same way, a pussy is nothing if not gushing. In a healthy, virile male, an erection is a thing of wonder - it's solid and available upon demand.<br /><br />Know the cock and you know the man. </div><br /><div>Even a man who needs to combat a tendency to be quick to the draw has more to offer than a man who can't achieve erection easily. It's a natural tendency in the polarity of the sexes, say the Taoists, for men to need to cultivate their staying power. Men are like fire: quick to ignite and quick to extinguish, whereas women are like water: slow to boil, but they keep on boiling. The aim is for both sexes to meet somewhere in the middle - for men to prolong the state of arousal and for women to access it more quickly.<br /><br />These days, I prefer my lovers to come <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Readymades_of_Marcel_Duchamp">readymade</a>. By the time a man is at least in his mid-twenties, he ought to have conquered the urge to release quickly. I've also found the occasional man with the wonderful ability to regenerate in minutes. Multiple times. It seems to be a quality they have been born with. On a sexual level at least, this is a keeper.<br /><br />With men having the opposite problem - the inability to obtain erections or obtain them easily - I find that something deeper is usually at play. It's sometimes a physical issue, but more often it's a dissociation from their sexual energy. They no longer inhabit it and can't activate it; they are sexually dormant. Not only are they withdrawn sexually, but also withdrawn from life on some level. They've lost the urge to bend the world over and fuck it senseless. And in a man, this is a quality I cannot be without. </div><br /><div>I tend to have excellent fuck radar (enough trial and error I suppose) and so the men I fall into bed with are generally keepers - so long as I have fallen into bed through a visceral, pussy-driven response. One that (it's cliche, I know, but it actually happens with me) makes me weak in the knees, a bit dizzy and very, very, nervous. Dry mouth, moist pussy, and sweat dripping down my armpits. Those would be the signs of well-matched libidos. </div><br /><div>On a tangential note, I just looked up libido (wikipedia) because in words I like, I'm curious to see how many multi-dimensional meanings they have. In this entry, they say that libido is narrowly defined as the individual's urge to engage in sexual activity. Apparently though, Freud talked about the libido as the "instinct energy force" and in Jung's words: "the free creative—or psychic—energy an individual has to put toward personal development or individuation." I like the correlation.<br /><br />Photo <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/sexonlegs/">via</a> </div>kasiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11997924251739842807noreply@blogger.com