Well you tried it just for once found it all right for kicks

but now you found out that it's a habit that sticks/you get in a heat, you get in a sulk/but you still keep beating your meat to a pulp/and you're an orgasm addict.

Or: Part Two of How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Getting Off Online

For one reason or another (or a thousand), it’s really difficult to begin describing what’s happened on this portion of the journey to the center of my libido. Perhaps because it’s continuing and perhaps because this is where it gets trickier, stickier, weirder and, well, real-er. Now it involves other living, breathing human beings. Faceless [mostly] and nameless [mostly] human beings, but human beings nonetheless.

Well, I had to start somewhere. As I said, for days and days I had glanced at the chatroom link in my bookmark file, nervous and excited and afraid. Finally, on January 2 I got up the nerve to check out the site for real. I navigated around, finally getting to the list of “rooms”. Knowing absolutely nothing about this culture, I wasn’t sure if the room names were literal. I did know that I probably wasn’t interested in any room that implied barely legal or medical professional role play. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; just not my thing. Finally, I poked my head into a room, aided by a fairly generic screen name. (It wasn’t until later that I realized that some users get very creative with their online names.) In every room I was bombarded with “whispers” (private messages that the rest of the users in the room can’t see) asking for my age/sex/location or just lewdly propositioning me. There wasn’t a lot of public conversation with which to gauge the personality or character of anyone in the room.

Now here’s the embarrassing part – I can’t remember exactly how my first real experience began. I think I actually whispered to him, after he posted some vaguely snarky comment about being stoned and horny. Normally I wouldn’t necessarily respond to that but I think at this point I was getting antsy for some action. And I got some. Oh man, did I. Again, I’m hazy on the details, but I definitely had a happy ending and came away with his email address.

Yeah, his email address. OK, this was already getting less anonymous, one guy into it. Obviously I’d have to create some alternate email account to deal with this phenomenon. Add that to the list of things to do.

Apparently I had accumulated enough fuel during this encounter to, um, enjoy myself a couple more times without the benefit of the computer. If that wasn’t recommendation enough to go back to the chatrooms, I can’t think of anything that would have been. By the end of the next day, I had hooked up with three more individuals successfully and had had a longish, flirting conversation with another. All of the three were quite sweet experiences. Does it seem weird that I’m describing cybersex as sweet? It was unexpected, that’s for sure. They were hot, they were certainly descriptive and dirty (in the best possible way), but with these three each time was almost romantic. One of them incorporated a little workplace [mine] fantasy and the second was sort of like a first date that went really, really well. The third was very prolonged, maybe three hours or so, and established that I have some physical capabilities of which I wasn’t aware. (Hooray for me – I am multi-orgasmic!) This third one ended in a way a little less appealing to me, casting me in a more aggressive, dominant role than I generally enjoy, but hey, I couldn’t really complain about the results. Did I mention that two of these guys were Canadian? Is that relevant? I dunno, yet. And another Canadian loomed on the horizon, as it turned out.

At this point I feel I should mention a secondary thrill of this new game – the absolute power I felt (feel) when my cyber-partner achieves their own happy ending. Of course, I have to trust that they are telling me the truth, but I do ask because it gives me an extra little bit of pleasure to know I could make that happen. More on this later, though.

Upon checking my notes, I see that I squeezed in yet another encounter this day. I’m pretty certain I approached this guy, only because I liked his screen name. When he described himself as 6’2”, thin and red-haired, I was hooked. (I will get to the whole dichotomy of the physical description issue later.) He set up a rather elaborate beach party scene that eventually included several of the other partygoers and a good deal of bisexual activity. In fact, while it was yet another successful venture for me, it kind of felt like he was more excited to be describing his man on man stuff. Which was perfectly okay, but I felt a little left out with my anonymous female partner. However, by the time of our parting, I was feeling just a little suspicious that he may have indeed been a she. Not that it really mattered, but it gave me a little pause and made me wonder just how much I could trust anyone’s stated identity. And then further made me wonder if it even mattered.

Was everyone exactly who they said they were? Is anyone?

What's got into me? Can't believe myself...

Must be someone else. Must be someone else. Must be,/Any day now hows about getting out of this place? Anyways./Got a lot of spare time. Some of my youth and all of my senses on overdrive.

So now that my friends, acquaintances and strangers alike think I spend all of my spare time with one hand down my pants (or up my skirt, as it were), what the hell do I write about going forward? Part two of my self-healing odyssey has proven much more difficult to write for myriad reasons and, to be perfectly, shamefully honest, I haven't done much else in my down time other than hang out in the chatrooms; thus, not much other material to draw upon.

There's work, of course. Same shit, different day. Although after a rather unpleasant meeting, it turns out I give the constant impression of being angry and unhappy. Or at least that's what my focus-on-the-negative boss thinks. Maybe it's because when she's around I'm not trading stories with co-workers about our sexual adventures and exploits. Or laughing or having a good time or macking on cute customers. I'm way too old for this bullshit, but I'll play a little longer, at least. Who am I kidding? I'm way too lazy to do anything else right now. Sigh.

My creative energy is still flagging. I had a new idea, bought some supplies and tried it out with one somewhat satisfactory result. Then I put it all aside and haven't touched it since. Maybe today. I desperately need some inspiration and I have the day off. My fingers are crossed.

The best thing I cooked recently was Madhur Jaffrey's aloo gobi. A bit of a pain in the ass, but well worth the results. Apparently aloo gobi is the only Indian dish I can eat without becoming
nauseous, so good thing it's the one Indian dish I know how to make.

And now, back to work on the blog entry you really want to read.

There's nothing underhand, That she wouldn't understand. Pump it up until you can feel it. Pump it up when you don't really need it.

There's this cinematic cliche making the rounds of reality tv and other such places lately. Basically, someone says something that another person finds awkward or uncomfortable and the second party just remains silent. Sometimes with a close up of the uncomfortable person. The editors then add in the sound of crickets.

So...chirp, chirp, chirp.

I want to paint you with glitter and with dirt/Picture you with innocence and hurt/The shutter closes/Exposes the shot/

She says, "Are you looking up my skirt?"/When you say "No"/She says "Why not?"

Or: Part One of How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Getting Off Online

I think I've previously established that I have become, hmmmmm, preoccupied with sex lately. I've wondered if this is what it's like to be a teenaged boy -- they supposedly think of sex, what, every 20 seconds or something? I don't know that I'm there, but I'm close. Hell, during parts of the day that's all I'm thinking about. It's not an unpleasant turn of events, by any means, but it can get a little, um, frustrating. And a little mystifying.

Having exhausted my patience with one-handed reading with some, ahem, literature around the house, and having the luxury of my laptop I started thinking about the possibilities online. I’m not completely naïve about porn on the internet – I’ve seen a fair amount of stuff, so I did a little Googling and found some vaguely interesting photos. They worked. A couple of times. But it just felt…blah bleh and kind of icky and empty. Just not my thing.

Next on my quest: slash. A definition of slash, according to Wikipedia.org:

"Slash fiction is a genre of fan fiction. It focuses on the depiction of romantic, and sometimes sexual, relationships between two or more male characters, who are not necessarily engaged in relationships in the canon universe. While the term originally was restricted to fan fiction in which one or more male media characters were involved in an explicit adult relationship as a primary plot element, it is currently more generally used to refer to any pairing between male characters."

That definition aside, I was looking for the depiction of fairly graphic (who am I kidding – very graphic) sexual encounters between fictional characters I know and love. I mean, pictures of airbrushed porn stars meant absolutely nothing to me. Stories about favorite characters having beautifully explicit sex together? Now that I could consider. I went searching. It felt more than a little dirty to start my search with characters from Harry Potter, but alas, I’m weak and I love me some Weasley’s. I actually ended up settling on a story depicting a threesome between Harry, Ron and Draco that was surprisingly tender and, yes, hot. It worked. Twice. What can I say? Having only found that one satisfactory story in the Harry Potter genre, I needed to move on. Plus, it didn’t feel quite right to be getting off to stories of teenaged boys and I just couldn’t find anything decent involving Snape. Even a perv like me in search of fast kicks has some limits.

Then I had an a-ha moment: Battlestar Galatica! My favorite TV show in the world populated with characters I adore. I Googled, I found a site, I searched. There is indeed a lot of BSG slash fiction. Unfortunately, most of it was about character pairings I really didn’t find particularly arousing. Apparently very many people fantasize about Felix Gaeta and Gaius Baltar getting freaking. Sadly, I don’t. Let’s face it, I’m a Lee Adama gal all the way. Lee doesn’t see a lot of action in the slash world, but I finally found a story pairing Lee up with Rolo Lampkin, the lawyer who defended Baltar, with Lee’s assistance, at the big Season Three ending trial. The story took up mid-trial and was just okay. No go. I found another right away, hooking Lee up with Sam Anders, husband to Lee’s semi-secret love Kara Thrace (who was thought to be dead at this point). Now this was looking more hopeful. The story was quite sweet, with Lee and Anders commiserating over Kara’s death, culminating in them comforting each other in a very, very hot way. And oh, how that one worked. And worked. And then it didn’t anymore.

Let’s keep in mind that I’m talking about weeks passing with all this activity; not just a couple days or anything. Weeks and weeks previous I had happened across an adult chatroom website and had bookmarked it. Obviously I had an interest since I bothered to search for and find it, but I had not dared do anything else. I knew next to nothing about chatrooms, adult or otherwise, except that they tend to have fairly established cultures and newbies tend to stand out like sore thumbs. But still, every day I saw that bookmark on my list, taunting me and daring me to click on it.

In the meantime, I was exhausting Steve, making demands that he wasn’t always interested in meeting. I believe he actually said to me once, while I was crawling over him trying to interest him in some action, “I’m not a machine.” Ouch. I was pissed the whole next day about that, though I completely understand his point, now. But I knew I had to do something to blow off all this extra steam. On top of everything else, I was stressed, on and off, about work, and my body had begun betraying me with all kinds of chronic aches and pains, to which I’ve alluded before. I began to see an obvious correlation between sex (whether the self kind or the other) and feeling better. Physically and mentally. Now that’s medicine I can get behind, yeah? There was one 24 hour period where I, well, healed myself five times. Five times. I’m quite sure that entire years of my life had passed where I didn’t heal myself five times. Putting aside the fact that I had the desire to heal myself five times in a 24 hour period, I could heal myself five times in a 24 hour period. What the fuck? This was the greatest thing ever. But I did need more fuel for my inner fires.

Your mind is made up but your mouth is well undone

Hey, it's been awhile, hasn't it? My next post will explain what I've been doing with my online time, but this one is to show some pictures of my fabulous Christmas presents.

First is this oxidized silver pendant with an extra brass blossom charm. You can't tell in the picture, but the oxidation is blue and green.


I should document what Etsy seller this came from, but I don't remember. I love birds and I love freshwater pearls, so this necklace was a natural.


And now we begin the chalcedony portion of our post. I have recently become obsessed by the stone, particularly the greenish blue ones. These earrings are just gorgeous.


To match a lovely pair of chalcedony and gold earrings I got at the Rock 'n Roll Craft Show, I asked for this gold dangle necklace with it's chalcedony teardrop and smoky quartz bead.


And probably my favorite of the bunch, this simple silver bird and chalcedony briolette necklace. This stone is of such an absolutely gorgeous color. I love how the light refraction makes it appear as if the stones are a creamy, translucent color on the inside and that exquisite green blue only on the outside. I just want to gaze at it.

So come for the danger, stay for the strange/But I'm never going to give it away/You'll never clean my dirty mind

Happy New Year! It's hard to believe it's 2008 already. As my co-worker asked this morning, where's my flying car, where's my jet pack, where's my vidphone? (OK, well, I asked about the vidphone. He pointed out that webcams sort of fill that hole.) Besides disappointment that what was the future is pretty much exactly the same as the past, it just seems crazy fast that it's already 2008. It seems like the insanity over Y2K was just a few months ago. In other words, time flies.

I had to work today, this morning, in fact. Time passed quickly because we talked about sex just about constantly. It's currently my favorite subject. And activity. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, it's the cause and the solution to all life's problems. And way more fun than beer.

Oh, and speaking of sex, if you've become enamored of Alex O'Loughlin, you must rent The Oyster Farmer, if for nothing else than a rather extended and quite naturalistic sex scene. You know how much I love this man, right? Even I had to look away, it was so intimate. Of course, that didn't stop me from watching it again. And making Steve watch it.