There Ain't No Danger We Can Go Too Far

We start believing now that we can be who we are

I feel like Mr. Gibb must have written a different original chorus. There's depth in the lyrics, but the chorus is so cringe. I bet there was a different original word, and then maybe the Brother Gibb was approached with a lucrative offer and he reworked a piece he already had penned. 

Grease can't possibly be The Word. 

We take the pressure and we throw away conventionality belongs to yesterday. 

I feel strongly that grease lacks groove or meaning. 

Kink would fit, by the way. Just a suggestion. 

Did you catch my recent visits with Your Kinky Friend, Nicholas?

Ms. Cassidy Cream - 10.2024 w/ Nicholas Tanek - Your Kinky Friends

YKF SUNDAYS 11.3.2024 w/ Ms. Cassidy Cream & Neci Archer - "Locktober to Nylon November" - Your Kinky Friends

I believe I've been on the show seven times, and we always have so much fun. 

I love catching up with Nicholas. He is always so welcoming, and yes so flattering. The show is authentic and accessible.  There are so many voices, so many flavors within our community, and the vibe reflected in YKF is one of my favorites. It feels a lot like Twizted Acres at the peak. It feels like there is space here for anyone. Come on in, the water is fine. Claim your space and be your most real self in it. 

Of course, if your most real self is an asshole, we'll tear you apart. 

There's going to be more by the way. Tune-in Sundays at 8p, November's theme is going to be nylons. I didn't know that this week, perhaps for the show on the 10th I'll dress accordingly. 

He has another show coming up too. I'm not yet cool enough to be on it. It's an Author's Circle. Published kink authors only. 

I want an invite to that show. 

Return to Sender

It's come to my attention that another Cassidy Cream Fan Club has formed. This one is also headed by a former lover, and my once Ride or Die. Not the same duo as the original, although the blood alcohol level and the delusions are causing me a little deja vu. I'm uncertain if this a franchise or a new, independent organization. The primary activities of Cassidy Cream's Number 1 Fans seems to be getting black-out drunk, haunting my socials and posting incoherent comments. The comments jerk erratically from what my recently deceased mother thought of my lifestyle, to openly fantasizing about who and how I fuck.  

There was more. It was well written. He said so, and you know that's the only high I've ever enjoyed chasing. But I'm simply not inclined to accept your invitation. Pity parties and regret are not my kink. My deepest regrets, I must starve it and let it die.  

Next.

Aqua Fit, I'm on my way to Aqua Fit in a moment. I found myself with a 4+ hours open today that I could do anything at all during. Anything. How blessed am I to have the resources and the time to do whatever I wish for an afternoon. I literally bounced in my seat when I saw my open block of time overlapped the aqua fit class at my gym. 

Who am I, and how did I get here? 

If we were to time travel, dial in October of 2017, you'd find a pretty content Cassidy right here in this very spot actually. Even then I was in love with my life and grateful for the many ways it had worked out just as I hoped. There were, if I am honest, a handful of things I wished were different, but not many. And I was certain those handful of things were bearable. They were, I was positive, unchangeable. Like smoking, I had been a 2 pack a day smoker since 13, there was nothing I could do to change that, right? I would have said I was happy with my body, and I was. I guess. My arms were starting to grow into wings, that's inevitable with age though, right? I missed dancing, stripping. I missed the time when I earned an income living out my favorite fantasies. How could I complain about that though? Being a Domme is also work I feel so passionate about. It is unquestionably my calling. 

I remember pausing before I replied, acknowledging to myself that I understood and accepted the consequences for the action I was about to take. Of course, I thought the consequences were going to be more along the lines of my standard variety. It had been decades, how was I supposed to know that he hadn't grown-up to become a felon? Ya know I have a type. 

In what would come to be the last decade of her life, my mother and I had falling out. An ugly, complicated, regrettable falling out. We were very close before it, but after our conversations were typically tense and argumentative. Unless we were talking about my top. The smile I had every time I heard the subliminal I told you so when she asked about him was absolutely maddening. 

At every fork in the road I have chosen the path that takes me further from conventionality, intentionally and unapologetically. I am certain some of my choices were far from my mother's comfort zone, and that I was probably the cause of many sleepless nights. I am equally certain that committing to a man who sees my best and compels me to do better, wasn't the cause of any of them. 

For Fear Tonight is All

You know he makes me write lines when I misbehave. It's awful.   It eats a huge chunk of time. It is utterly impossible to multi-task while writing. It makes me feel embarrassed to foolishly waste something as precious as my time, writing but not working on my writing. Even more so when I look over my punishment journal and I see that most of my punishments fall into just a couple categories. The most common reason I find myself writing lines is for cursing at times my Top deems inappropriate. You'll remember it was my affection for c*nt that landed me in the ER, broken toy lodged in my...never mind. You can scroll back if you want to revisit my humiliation. 

There's a big jump from the number 1 thing I am punished for and the second most common reason. There's an embarrassing number of cursing related, then only a few for times I have in one manner or another doubted my Dom's affection or commitment to me. Times when I have said or done a thing that reflected a lapse in my trust of our dynamic. 

I struggle with that often, but typically work through it before it reaches a boil-over. I think I do an exceptional job reining myself in before I act out, but every so often, as my punishment journal reflects, I don't. 

Recently, I randomly came across the email that was the precursor to this entry: The Musings of Mistress Cassidy: And if you say run... (mistresscassidycreamsmusings.blogspot.com) It's perhaps the most explicit post I have ever shared here, but the original version that was sent to my top is even more so.

As I was typing I wish I could remember what I was looking for when I stumbled over it, I remembered what it was looking for, the interconnectedness of all things. I was looking for emails exchanged with a pretty kitten several years ago. There's been a few, I needed to double check the fine details. 

His reply was there too. It wasn't the post that led him to say, I love your blog. That was so long ago, it's still my favorite though. Maybe I'll revisit that one too. In this one he was encouraging me to share here what I wrote for him privately. He was uncharacteristically generous with his compliments. It makes me so wet when the sincerity is obvious. Then again, it was a confession that I come when he calls. That I wait, with bated breath, for his command, to suck and gag, on...

His exhibitionism isn't precisely like mine, but it is there. 

It's late. My muse is being coy. Every time I think, I'll find the thread to pull tomorrow, let's just sleep, a word, a concept, flashes and fades. Pick it up hot, your fingers will heal but if the spark is lost, we'll freeze. You're alone in this room with me, it is mighty late to tease me like this.

You'll finish what you started.

How can I be so in love with someone who fantasizes about...

Control, humiliation, force, rejection

I swear that I am. 

I am ever so deeply, passionately in love with me. 

How else would one signal to the universe, I am ready to explore these parts of me too? Not simply accept, and manage, but embrace and master. 

Be Gentle

Or be banished and live with your regret forever. Have I ever told you how I have a reoccurring nudity dream? I can hear you, you're saying big deal, we all do Cass. Right, I know. Except in my dreams, for decades now, when something major happens, something bad, in response I intentionally take off my clothes so I can handle it unencumbered. Then I handle it. I ace the test or steer my car off the cliff or foil the thief, empowered by being naked. I'm going to start sharing my poetry here too. Maybe. Probably. Definitely. Ya, I'm totally going to do this. And if it sucks, who cares. 

When I hear beautiful women say they've never been told they're beautiful

I roll my eyes, much like when an empath can't read the room. 

Two of ours have told me this, pants on fire ladies

But I have heard it from so many

It's getting hot in here

Stop Drop and Roll

I am an authority on how men talk to beautiful women

Why should I feign modesty, I know Narcissus was pushed. 

That other fib I am still considering

If it meets the criteria to be flattering

My most long-distance love votes pathological

Afterall, I have a type

scratch that, I had a type

We're not doing that on this timeline 

Voting

I spent Independance Day, also to be known as day 361, with my most vanilla friend, 

grateful for her maternal nature  

Her phone was pinging with donation requests from the donkeys

Give a mouse a cookie

Cashapp us now or we will photo shop a MAGA hat on your Facebook icon

But still, like true blue Massholes, we started to cap on the elephants

The cows specifically

Like any mammal might, feminist eat their young

if they're embarrassing

or weak

Can you imagine she said, they support him, is it like Stockholm?

Do they not value their freedom or believe they deserve rights? 

And as I was nodding my head murmuring my concurrence

My ownership tattoo flashed between us 

I wonder if she noticed 

and what she thought of me if she did.

It's a Cruel, Cruel Summer

 We don't have Wa-Wa's in New York

None in Massachusetts either, but they're all over the south. 

Boston, eh? You a Red Sox fan? 

Nope, not into sports at all. But if you start talking smack we're gonna throw down.

Massholes are loyal. 

It's funny, this story happened twice. Little glitch on my current timeline I suspect. The first time it ends with Grovites Forever, but that's a bit obscure. Our NY Love's writing professor said that it's rude if your reader doesn't know what the fuck you're talking about. Ok, he probably didn't say fuck, but he did say the rest of that objectionable sentence. I gently disagree but acknowledge he may be on to something. For the record though, notice how I typed that all out, we'll likely come back to that. Anyway, when I read a thing that confuses me, when I find myself scanning faster to find when the author draws the curtains back fully, I call that engaging my curiosity and I quite enjoy it. 

Maybe that's just me though.

She thinks it's a poem, and I am inclined to concur. 

Sames. 

Does she give me gifts too? Sir, she writes me poems. She writes poetry for me that references you. She writes poetry for me, that references you, that tells the story she shared with her Mama. 

Does she give me gifts too?

There isn't enough room under the tree, and doesn't that feel so good? 

Know what else feels good? Being grounded. I mean it's gone on for soooo long now and I really didn't do anything so terrible. I am totes a grown-up, I just had a wee bit too much wine and cosmos. Three, maybe four months now, grounded. Not even allowed to ask. I'm banned from abbreviations too. To be honest, see I wrote that all out, I'm surprised it took this long. Sometimes I'll just be like, "ROFLMAOPIMP bbq, ymmv, kwim Leon, peace". Once I was grounded for a whole summer, because my mother misheard Escapades as the Ice Capades and I should have known better. Whatever, that story has a jaw dropping plot twist, totes worth being grounded all summer. 

  

I Wonder if She Knows

Does she know that we're having a love affair? 

I have fantasized about telling her. Yet despite what you've heard, I'm really not that bold. 

It's funny how the rules are different for girls. 

About a year ago, maybe longer, my NY Love, who wasn't yet my NY Love, shared an idea that I have contemplated so many times since. She essentially said that the love she feels for others isn't dependent on how the person she loves feels about her. The object of her affection, of her love, doesn't have to reciprocate, mirror or love her back for her love to be valid, real, genuine. Her love, in the act of giving it to another grows and multiplies. It's her love that makes her feel good. 

I'm having an affair with my stylist. She doesn't know. I'll be embarrassed if you tell her. We meet every four weeks, like clockwork. I won't abide by roots. She puts me in black cape bondage, and I do my very best to be patient and still. She always remembers, sometimes better than myself, where I was jetting next when I was in her chair last. Doesn't it feel so good when someone witnesses you?  Every visit, she's asks about my work. She asks about my Top and knows exactly why there's that spot in my hair. She asks about my NY Love, and my vanillas.  She paints my hair, washes it.  She gives me this amazing scalp massage. I have to think about baseball to avoid moaning out loud. Then so slowly, painstakingly, section by section she blows me, blow dries my hair. Complimenting me continuously; it's so soft, it's getting so long, it's so shiny. She makes me look and feel so good. That I compensate her for her time really is irrelevant, especially to me. Every 4th Wednesday I feel so much love. 

She's my side piece though, an ongoing yet casual, soft affection. For me to reach the depths of passion I enjoy the most, I need intensity. A challenge or to be challenged, that's what wakes up the butterflies. Don't you love the butterflies? My trainer is my imaginary waifu. She's brilliant, a Gemini, you know my Sagittarius self can't resist The Twins. When I complain, when she makes me do pick-ups or stand on my tiptoes, it's like she's channeling my top. The longer you complain the more I'm going to have you do. Her eye crinkles aren't quite the same, but close enough to bring out my best. Every week, sometimes twice if I am feeling especially masochistic, I am pushed, guided, and encouraged to bring my best and just a little more. 

How lucky am I to have so many opportunities to give away my love? 

But please, promise you won't tell them, it'll make it weird. 

I Say You'll Miss Me

Culture Club - Miss Me Blind (youtube.com)

Now would I lie to you

It was my intention to write a "Five Reasons I Love having LDRs" post. Five or whatever number of reasons I came up with once I made the list. In my imagination it was a very neat and tidy post.  I would have used bullet points. Maybe proper quotes, complete sentences and correctly applied italics. The concept has been floating for at least a week. The story that sparked it happened a few weeks ago.

But much like I can't quite identify who in my life counts as a partner, I also can't edit these thoughts into a tidy, simple, Top Five List.  

For today the opposite of neat and tidy is conceptual, not sloppy, k? 

This is why I love being in long distance relationships....

A few weeks ago I was meditating. C had just headed back to country where C lives, my top was in route to somewhere, my Love in NY was not in NY, and she too was traveling while in her secondary home state. What can I say, I have a type and my type travels. Those weren't even the only travelers in my universe that day. Other people I love were also moving all around the country, and the world. So I'm sitting on my floor, lavender and jasmine are diffusing, I am Zen and filled with bliss. I am imaging their safe and stress-free travels, and my imagination wanders, as it does. What if C and my Top crossed each other in a hallway in some layover airport? They've never met, but would the love they each carry for me be drawn to the other? Would they turn their heads, and wonder why they feel compelled to smile at this stranger? As I was imagining that, I heard the echo of George Carlin, bitching about when someone asks you to give their love to So & So, in a stand-up routine. It is hysterical. I loved George, but what a silly thing to bitch about, even if it was funny.  And here I imagined so many people I love, and all of the places they were on that day, even the ones at home. Richmond, Manchester, Hawaii, South Carolina, Texas, Maine, how blessed am I, the whole list would take an absurd amount of time to document. 

This isn't an ode to being poly though, I have a different story I wish to share for that post. Soon. Maybe. 

As my lovers and love were busy all over the country, I was here and I was busy too. Well, once I was done contemplating my navel I was busy. 

That's why I love long distance relationships. My needs were not holding my partner/s back from what they were working on or enjoying that day, nor did they need me anything from me other than I hold their love. I don't know why George found that troublesome.  

I love having long distance relationships, because I want to be actively falling in love with my partners forever. I am a passionate person, and the ache I feel when it has been too long between visits burns deep. But I'd rather tend to that burn for eternity than ever again hear myself think, I am so tired of listening to you breathe. 

Having LDRs is allowing me to thoroughly enjoy these last moments of my not-so-little vanillas childhoods. There's nothing more important to me at this time, nothing that even comes close to as important. My partners get that, respect that, I think they love that for me. They have priorities and passions that come ahead of me, I love that for them. 

Every moment I spend with those I love is precious. The quick check-ins, and the longer catch-ups are equally treasured. When I am planning a visit, like I am right now (omg x infinity), I bounce around for days saying silly things like infinite omg, and when I come home, I will be glowing for weeks. 

So listen, I'm not sure how many reasons I gave, and I feel like it might need a tighter edit. But my To Do List says this gets done before I pack, and I have to pack now. Because the next part is the very best part of a long-distance relationship. 

Mondays

 

Maybe I should hire myself for a session. I know precisely the right combination of discipline, encouragement, threats and praise I need to get things done. I raised my rates recently though, I'm not sure that I can afford me. Then again, I happen to know Mistress Cassidy is totes a ho for promises of adventures, maybe I can barter myself some motivation. 

That was Thursday. Why do I even try on Thursday? It's already too full without trying to squeeze words in too. 

It's Monday now. I fucking love Mondays. Explained it to someone again last week. I live a pretty charmed life, and the more I acknowledge that the more magic I invite in.  But even my charmed life has moments that just blow. Like waking up to Fiona's upset tummy, or a sticky countertop, or forgetting to gas the car before the day that's too full. You won't hear me bemoaning these things often, I am not interested in inviting that energy to linger; but sometimes even my week just goes to shit. Weekends typically offer a moment to vent these frustrations. Sometimes I even find the time to fix whatever fell short during the week, and I appreciate those opportunities. Mondays though are fresh and new. The future starts on a Monday, and the future is now. 

This Monday, today, I found myself at the dog park with Fiona. She's finafuckingly chilling a little bit on trying to challenge dogs 10 times her size. Fiona was chill, the sun was shining and I was editing xxx pictures I took last night for OnlyFans.

I love this timeline the most.  

Wednesday I was in Black Cape Bondage. (I was at the hairdresser, for those that don't speak Cassidy.) My favorite magician asked about my New York trip from a month ago. So I told her that it was amazing, that we had so much fun. That I found myself in the back of an Uber, more intoxicated than I intended, texting my Top that I love him, on my way back to my hotel in Times Square, at 4 a.m. on a Monday morning. 

I'm grounded from alcohol until further notice, but it was so worth it. 

Yesterday, before the xxx picture shoot, my- I have to pause here. My what? I want to call her My (redacted) Girlfriend. I have her consent to call her anything, but I think that was just in private. She read me poetry. She read me poetry that she wrote. She read me poetry that she wrote that references me. She read me poetry that she wrote the references me, and she thanked me. You have no idea how fucking wet I got. I mean unless you subscribe to my OF.  

Just a reference, it wasn't about me. Not everything is about me, or so I've been told. Still, she read me poetry. 

Does it matter what I call her? 

I want to say it doesn't, a rose by any other name and all that.  It matters though. Terms, titles, I want to convey how much she means to me.  

 And also, without a term it might get confusing when I reference other undefined Loves of Note.  

 

I'm not gonna lie....

 

I'll not be a gentle man. 

The Toadies - Possum Kingdom (Official Music Video) (youtube.com)

At a party a couple weeks ago, I got talking to this young lady. She was doing her best to have a good time but was clearly in a funk. Sometimes Mom-mode just switches on no matter where I am, I found myself asking why she was upset and trying to coax a smile from her. She shared that she's dating someone who falls short of her standards, and her friends were relentlessly encouraging her to be done with him. It was clear in the language she used to convey her story it was her friends that was causing her the greater upset. I channeled the sort of advice my top often gives me. Are they in relationships that you wish you had? Are they who you try to emulate in your relationships? No? Then thank them for their concern, then disregard their advice. I skipped the part about picking up rocks, but added enjoy happiness wherever you find it and trust yourself to know what's best for you. 

Perhaps that's awful advice. Her friends know her better than me. She started smiling though. Her guy might be an asshole, I certainly don't know. She might in fact be 100% better off without him. She had that just right balance of snarky and sweet. Quick, and clever retorts but good natured, you know the type.  If her partner is an ass, I am confident she'll be finished with him soon enough. She'll choose better the next time. Then again, maybe this less than perfect partner isn't so very terrible, maybe he's just human. 

I read another post belaboring how awful unicorn hunters are. My metamour found us via a snarky post I wrote the last time anti-unicorn hunters twisted my panties. This one also rehashed all the points you've heard before, well if you've considered polyamory before. Opening a failing relationship won't fix it. Couples looking for a woman to join their relationship are inherently predatory. If you like kissing pretty girls, you're the worst of the worst. If you don't agree with these and other assorted moral judgments, if your ethics don't match this model, you suck and you don't deserve super sexy time. 

I may be paraphrasing a little. 

I don't actually fully disagree. Opening a failing relationship won't fix it. I 100% agree. However, not opening it won't fix it either. Most often when an "expert" makes this observation they follow it with, if your relationship is in trouble find a therapist. Maybe that's good advice. Therapy may not save your relationship either.  If one person feels ganged up on, resents that the other is forcing them into therapy, I'm no expert but that strategy may not end in happily ever after either.

Your relationship will or won't fail if you do or don't seek out another partner. I'm pretty sure Fate just tosses a coin to determine these things. In my not so humble opinion, maybe you'd be best off turning your attention to whatever brings you joy. If it happens that someone is nearby, share your happiness with them. 

My last relationship of note ended about 6 months after I declared that I was done with monogamy. We had visited the idea of an open relationship dozens of times in the 17 years we were together. Each time I either lead with or agreed, that we have a lot of stuff as a couple. Perhaps we were not in a place to invite another person into our toxic, co-dependent, mess. Yet in that same time frame, we each had full lives including many friends who were well meshed in our toxic, co-dependent, mess. We were well meshed in the messy journeys of our friends too. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces, affairs, rehabs, illnesses, accidents, fuck there were even a couple of incarcerations; my friends have held space for me through my many and sometimes messy milestones and I have held space for theirs. Aside from orgasms, I shared everything with my friends. I love them deeply, with all our flaws. How is that different from exploring an intimate relationship while flawed? 

I am absolutely pro-therapy. Like myself, most of the people I know who are non-monogamous have also rejected other conventionalities. The other day in a moment of sincere desperation while doing my taxes and deeply missing my mom and my accountant who also passed last year, I posted on Fet: Looking for a queer, poly, kink, sex-worker friendly therapist, masseuse and accountant. I got leads for a masseuse and a therapist, they were both in other parts of the country. 

At the end of the day, I am sadistic, masochistic, queer, kinky, rather crunchy, a parent, and wicked opinionated. I've worked in the adult industry for 30 years and I am poly. We can go to therapy for our first date, I'm still going to be problematic AF.  My partners have different quirks, but they're just as tricky to navigate. 

If you find yourself drawn to us, to me, to Him, or her, or her, (forgive me it can be challenging ID'ing whom my partners even are) you're probably just as quirky. If I find you attractive, you're probably a beautiful, vivacious walking red flag, I have a type.  Let's get lunch, let's have fun, and let's fall in love anyway. 

I saw a quote the other day, forgive me for not noting who to credit for it, no love however brief is ever wasted. 

 

God Sometimes You Just Don't Come Through

Do you need a woman to look after you? 

Tori Amos - God (Official Music Video) (youtube.com)

There's a post on Fet where I refer to myself as positively awful. It's in relation to my top, that I have been positively awful to him and yet he's allowing me to do this special thing I wished to do.  

I wonder how terrifying it is to be involved with to own an extraverted, exhibitionist who doesn't quite understand how to filter, while being a person who requires a high level of privacy? 

It is humbling how much trust others place in me.  

A few weeks ago, I caught a TikTok of a creator I follow talking about Kiwi birds. It was specifically how the Kiwi, who's roughly the size of a chicken, pushes out an egg as big as an ostrich's egg. Now, in quiet moments especially behind the wheel, I can't stop wondering if Kiwi Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge too. I wonder if she regrets her choices.  For the record this descendant of Eve does not.  If the price for knowledge is laboring as one does in the fields, check my receipts I paid for the unlimited and unabridged edition.   

I also find myself returning to, mental health experts will tell us we recreate our experiences, particularly traumatic ones. That we find ourselves in similar relationships over and over again, because if we haven't done the work, our subconscious finds comfort in them. New age gurus, manifestation experts, your mom's woohoo hippie bullsh*t, tell us that we can only attract what we are a vibrational match to. 

Aren't both just a more palatable way of saying, she was asking for it? 

Positively awful was shorthand for wicked human, totes lame and mundane. It turns out, stay with me, this is going to be shocking. When your partner/top/whatever-you-call-your-person is involved with another who you recognize as every bit as beautiful as yourself, wicked bright, clever and perhaps way more humble than you, long sleeping insecurities will wake right the fuck up. 

Who knew? 

Guess what else comes with them? Coping strategies that haven't been used in just as long, even the awful ones. It will spark a chain reaction. 100% probability you'll be met with equally human, totes lame, and not terribly healthy responses. 

Sometimes there is such comfort in the familiar.  

Of course, eventually, familiarity breeds contempt. 

Dahlia and I once penned our own version of if you give a Mouse a Cookie. Someday we'll collab again and put it in ink. 

So that you can pack appropriately, you should know that you are going to time travel with me. Hope you're quick, we're leaving right now. See Write a blog post is on tomorrow's To Do List. The list is nearly finished. I want to add a couple stickers to jazz it up and then it will be Ta Done, and I will be ready to navigate a Wednesday. Tomorrow I'll take a contrasting color, probably gold, I'm using a black journal currently, and start checking things off. Except maybe we're checking Write a blog post off a day early. I opt to keep a couple bags always packed, one never knows when you can squeeze in an extra workout or meet a two-headed alien at a costume party. I find I just have a better time when I feel prepared for anything.

Tomorrow I'm meeting with a life coach. I sort of love this. It is very much in-line with my manifested, bliss-following, fantasy life I live. Also, I am more than just a little scared. Can I be completely honest, my terror is growing exponentially. 

What a silly thing to be afraid of, right? Wand flick, ridiculous. What a silly, privileged, bougie thing to cause me fear, expecto patronus. 

When I say I love to be watched, to overshare, to go ahead and just get naked right here, it really should be understood that I only mean in spaces where it is safe to do so. I only mean with people who are going to meet me with kindness or perhaps respectful curiosity. While I have never met with a life coach, I am pretty certain she is going to ask me what I do for a living. Bet she'll ask me about my relationships too. Well no, I bet she'll ask if I have A Relationship, singular and with a capitol R. Then I'll get to decide, on the spot, is this person safe to say that I work in the adult industry? I'll get to calculate how apt it is that I'll find acceptance or at least graceful neutrality, if I disclose that I have several intimate partners. And if I miscalculate, are my damage control skills up-to-snuff these days? Not really living close to the bone anymore, after all I'm in a place on my journey where I can access a life coach.  

How little can I share, but still access the benefits of seeing a Life Coach?

What does guarded authenticity look like?

This isn't my first rodeo. Typically, these moments work themselves out really well. It makes a lasting impression when a jaw drop is the first piece of info you share about yourself. More often than not, a positive lasting impression.  But sometimes it doesn't go well.  Several years ago, I made my new neighbor cry when I told her I was a dominatrix. Nothing I could say would reassure her that I wasn't a victim of the patriarchy or of trafficking. It was nearly impossible to quiet my imagination that was continuously reminding me the many ways she might try to save me and my family. 

This will not go like that. Tomorrow I am going to giggle about how unjustified my worry was today. 

I Know Lots of People are Smarter than Me...

 

But I have this philosophy,
So what?

Let's shares.

Wanna hear the funny from last weekend? This picture was taken maybe an hour before this story takes place. I made a packie run. Well not really, I made a caffeine run I just wanted to use the term packie. It's been a while since I've been home. Anyway, I jetted to a local convenience store to pick up the contraband. The woman working the counter greeted me like we were down south. Big smile, bright eyes, lashes flashing, good morning can I help you find anything. 

Again, in Virginia, it would have felt normal. In New Hampshire, early on a Sunday morning, it felt suspicious.  Now I'm checking out, she's a cutie, maybe late 20s. She's still all smiles, I think she must be a transplant. Bet she's a southerner, wonder how she wound up here? The culture shock must be so jarring. She rings me up, we exchange currency and a strangely awkward moment. As I'm walking out she stammers a bit and says, I love your shirt. I said thank you and went on with my day. It was an hour later before remembered I was wearing my, I just look straight shirt. Ya know, the one I bought specifically to be an ice breaker when I'm trying to figure out how flirting with women works. 

Oh well, there will be other cute, brave kittens and I won't fail to notice the one destined to be a good match, right? 

Perhaps I should have quoted Lita Ford for our Dance, cum or meditate tune this week.

Our tea party was fucking amazing. We had some snafus, a couple major ones even. My co-hosts took it all in stride. It was so refreshing to collaborate with women with similar standards and work ethics. If needed we can be dramatic later, but right now guests are on their way, so roll up your sleeves and get this done. And also, keep it all in perspective. We're hosting a party. Our pleasure, our delight was also a top tier priority. Somehow with dozens and dozens of moving parts, it all came together and unfolded so perfectly. 

Plans for the next one have already begun. We'll be using a bigger venue, and expanding our guest list. It will still be a vetted, exclusive event but if you ask nicely and beg a little, I may be able to get you in.  

Earth Girls Are Easy (10/10) Movie CLIP - Cause I'm a Blonde (1988) HD (youtube.com)

You Can be the Side Effect...

There's an extension of the last post on my Fetlife group. It isn't, strictly speaking, a required read. Just a lowkey flex, and with it out of the way, let's dive deep. 

How did I get the rest of the magic beans to buy my pet store? I made 3 more phone calls. The first was a red light, the second and third combined loaned me all of what I needed. There were two more people on my call list if they hadn't. I was a 23-year-old college and high school drop-out, a mom and a stripper. I had a list of people apt to be willing to loan me cash to pursue my lifelong (or year long, whatever) dream of owning a reptile store. 

It would be out of line for me to share the specific thing my grandmother helped my cousin with, but it was by far less whimsical. I doubt she had a list had our grandmother not come through for her. 

We could just stop here. I could just cringe over my younger self's entitlement, and I could go back to writing about my charmed life. But the universe issued another invitation to grow, and for real I want to evolve. 

Let's probe the wet parts and cut away the necrotic tissue. 

What if my cousin was my grandmother's favorite? What if she evoked the softest part of my grandmother's heart? What if my grandmother saw something of herself in my cousin? What if they bonded deeper? What if she loved her more? 

Want to hear a ridiculous thing that caused me to seethe with jealousy? My top and one of my metamours have jobs that are loosely in the same broad field. Their jobs are literally nothing alike. Actually, let me rephrase that, they are exactly alike in the way that neither one of them work in the adult industry. One day I found myself contemplating how neither of them have to pause when asked what they do for work. They can each say, with pride, what they do without any concern of how it will be received. Then my imagination, normally a quality I consider one of my best, ran with that idea. It painted technicolor scenes for me of my top and his subbie smiling while talking shop and making friends with vanilla people. 

I love my job. Most of the time, it evokes glee when a vanilla asks what I do. I only pause for a second before leaning in and saying something like, Do I look familar? I make porn. Do you watch a lot of sissy porn? You into pegging? Or I say, I kick boys, I make them cry and they pay me for it. Sometimes, rarely, if it feels unsafe to answer truthfully, I say, I'm a consultant. Politics. I'm having such a great time, I'd prefer not to discuss work right now. 

Why would it bother me to imagine my top and his sub bonding over a shared interest?

Jealousy may very well be completely human, and totally normal. 

Have you ever heard me suggest I want a normal, human, just a regular sort of life?

What if my top likes my metamour more? What if they bond deeply, passionately, with giggles and eye crinkles over their work? What if he likes her shade of blonde better than mine? What if she loves to iron, and has never sent a screaming email in the middle of the night over a thing that only existed in her imagination? What if he loves her more? 

It is fully, 100% none of my business or concern. But if my thoughts get away from me, if they demand that I contemplate such things, I will push back. I will refuse to do anything but celebrate that my top has opportunities for companionship, for passion, for depth, and for an abundance of love. 

And if I can't shake the noise with love and high vibes, I can always go kick a boy until I feel better. 

I decided songs about jealousy were boring ..Prince is spinning, and I've worked out 3 times.

Pope (youtube.com)

 

Tell me do you think it'd be alright,

 If I could just crash here tonight 

Gin Blossoms - Hey Jealousy (Lyrics) (youtube.com)

There are probably thousands of more sophisticated beats we could explore the green-eyed monster with, but why? 

you know it might not be that bad, you were the best I ever had 

Let's overshare. That's what you're here for, right? Me too. I have a punishment waiting that has been promised to be brutal. Honest, humbly, hear my sincerity, I swear on all I hold dear there is no bravado in my tone when I say: bring it, please.  

I am terrified, but my eagerness to evolve is by far greater. Fear isn't a valid reason to avoid growth. 

He said, you're a smart girl, you'll figure it out. And the echo was deafening. It isn't such an original statement, but it was a top 3, frequently heard, most infuriating statements from my childhood. Last heard with significance when I was 23. I was about to make my lifelong goal come true. I did that at 23. It was actually like the third or fourth lifelong goal I was going to hit. Luck and tenacity creates an amazing life experience, but it also means you have to find a new life goal about every 3 years. Anyway, that one was, own a pet store. My favorite store, The Garden of Eden, was about to go out of business and for a fistful of magic beans it could be mine. I possessed about 25% of the required amount of magic beans. The asking price was so low, too low for a business loan. Besides did you hear me, I was 23 wtf did I know about business loans? What I knew was my grandmother had just helped out one of the other grandchildren, and it seemed like a good idea to ask her if she would be inclined to help me. She was not. 

and if you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down. 

Twenty-seven years later, and I can still taste the contempt I felt at the unfairness and the injustice. I can hear my indignant tone, I'm being punished for doing well. I'm being short-changed because I am capable. Keep telling yourself you don't have a favorite, but you do and we both know it isn't me. 

Are we real time friends? You know how that story ends, right? I am a smart girl, of course I figured it out. Less than forty-eight hours I pushed all the magic beans across the table and signed the P&S for my lifelong dream of owning a wicked fucking cool pet store. 

cuz all I really want is to be with you, and feel like I matter too.

Notice how I told that story, not the one about how I threw a temper tantrum in the middle of the night over an event that only happened in my imagination. I don't mean a cute little pout, I mean the earthquake sized tantrum that only an only child like Veruca Salt and I know how to throw. 

Twenty-seven years later I've almost figured it out. I was an adult; my grandmother didn't owe me anything including an explanation. She offered me one, and I opted not to accept it gracefully. It really wasn't any of my business regardless. But since I imagined it was, since I linked these 2 things together, couldn't I have also recognized that if it gave my grandmother joy, or comfort, or sense of relief to help my cousin through a tight spot, I was fully out of line to begrudge her. How did I miss how repulsive it was to suggest my need was greater, or that I was more worthy.  

How was I demanding fairness, while living a blessed and highly favored life? 

 

But that ain't gonna be me

I've got one life to live and I wouldn't live it no other way. 

Dirty Heads - Vacation (Lyric Video) (youtube.com)

That's so perfectly today's vibe. Cass is definitely opting to dance to this one. Just float, sway, and hum through my day. 

January was so challenging, unexpectedly so. I fully prepared for a great month, and the universe was like oh since you've got it going on, how about you deal with this and this and maybe this too. It's all good. I am a smart girl; I will figure it out.  Can you image how much worse it would have been if I hadn't prepared for a great month? Wait, no, scratch that, never imagine worse. Fuck that noise, my imagination is really vivid. 

Daily, daily, I get to do the sh*t I love upon the daily, 

Daily, Daily, everybody go and live your daydreams. 

Deep growth happens in the challenging moments. The challenge lasts a moment, maybe two, but the growth lasts forever. Or at least as long as the lesson is remembered. 

It's a new month, I love that as much as I love Mondays. New goals, new projects, and perhaps new invitations to grow.  

Guess what... I'm co-hosting my first event in, has it really been 4 years?! I guess it has. Date and details to be shared in my next post.

Do You have the Time...

to listen to me whine....

Of course not, what a stupid question. 

This week's Dance, Cum or Meditate is :

Green Day - Basket Case [Official Music Video] (youtube.com)

I wasn't an instant fan of Mr. Armstrong.  (Name redacted) youngest of the (edit) clan introduced me to (censored album name because that's a stupid & gross word) I think it was the same visit that she coined the term I still call my little vanillas. For anyone with the Major Events in Cass's life Bingo Card set, check off: that time Cass did NOT marry that boy on a dare. I love lyrics, I think I've mentioned that before. I like clever lyrics, like Billy Joel's Scenes from an Italian Restaurant. A threat to whine, swapping some pronouns and an odd pronunciation of melodramatic, it won't take much but I will need a little more than that if you want me wet. 

In my organic, small batch, local brewed, vanilla life, we just wrapped up a mini exploration of the childhood of Van Gogh. 

I found myself wondering, how talented does one have to be to be so insufferable?  Which in turn lead to some harsh inner dialog that I really need to hone my craft if this is how I present to the world. 

My poodle is already pink, I have some catching up to do.

I am sticking to writing weekly, go me. Don't bother reading the last one though. We were aiming for done, not well done. 

In my defense, I tested positive for Covid an hour or so after I hit publish. Nearly over it, still isolating, if you love me, entertain me. 

I've also been super committed to OnlyFans, keeping to the schedule I set for myself, seeing it finally pay off; I'll miss it when I pull the plug. 

Wait. What? She dyed her poodle? She's leaving OnlyFans?  

Mmm, yes don't you listen? 

Where am I going next? 

Who knows, who cares. 

My goal is to find a platform where I will never receive a message that a photo, I took of myself was removed because I failed to document that I had the creator's consent to post it. The best part is wondering if setting the bar there is still too high for 2024. 

Also, still looking for a web designer. Obvs, must be kink and adult content friendly. Feel like that bar shouldn't be hard to step over either, but here we are. 

Basketcase? Cass is striking a match, let's dance. 

Post Publish Clarity Edit: Although it is absolutely on brand for me to spur of the moment declare ftn and walk away from anything, I won't be abandoning my fans  friends on OnlyFans. I will commit firmly to another platform and invite you to follow me there. I will likely maintain my premium OnlyFans even after moving, I am sincere when I say I value loyalty. 

Imagine there's a clever title here, and perhaps like magic there will be later

Lightning-fast entry, maybe we'll edit and add pictures later. The goal is weekly posts. I built in some wiggle room, because I know myself. A week is either 7 days from the last one or ends on Friday, whichever let's me say honestly, I met that expectation I set. 

It's 6:24 AfuckingM. After the gym, there's a vanilla commitment, then pack and then the studio. This is the window I have for getting this done. There were a dozen other open windows all week long, but ya know sometimes the highest one, the narrowest one, the one that's about to close; that's the one that looks the most interesting. 

I'm not going to beat up my top's property because I had a hard time managing my time and my feels this week. What a waste of time to revisit that. 

Do you like that phrasing? I mean I could have said, I am not going to berate myself for having a challenging week. Negative self-talk is really damaging, and water is wet. I know these things, everyone knows these things, don't they? But all the same, Cass would absolutely tell herself she's really falling short to not meet this simple goal that I set for myself. Oh, and I'd use my most aggressive, most unkind vocabulary. But my top expects me to take exceptional care of his property, so I don't talk to myself that way. 

It's funny how the stories we tell ourselves create our reality. ILike,  don't go to the gym, masochists go to the gym. I smoke, I can't quit. I love sleeping in. There were also ideas like, I could never afford to touch up my hair every 4 weeks or manicures every two. The math is right there, I could do my hair every 2 weeks, and my nails every week on my cigarette budget if I wished, and tip generously. But I could only hear the story I was telling myself. 

Anyway- naval gazing is over, I gotta get ready to see my second favorite sadist. 

 

Some you grew up with around the way,

And you're still real close to this very day

Dance, O or meditate? 

Whodini - Friends (Official Lyric Video) (youtube.com)

He had asked if it made me uncomfortable that my friends have seen me work. I could see how curious he was even there was a hint of incredulous in the mix. I opted to clarify that part of the story instead. See I was telling the story of how every time I catch up with <name redacted, lifelong friend> he gives me a hard time about that time I broke So & So's nose (So & So isn't a lifelong friend. Truthfully, I don't recall his name) trying to swing on a pole. Instead of answering the question my Master asked, I clarified that I wasn't at work. I wasn't stripping. I was just having fun, being silly in a night club. 

My top's question was better. I mean who cares about a nose I may have broken 25 years ago? I'm looking at you <name redacted>. 

How did I feel when people I knew saw me work while naked? Isn't that a much cooler question?

I couldn't begin to estimate how many people have seen me naked. Dancing, toy shows, public play at private events, girl-girl shows, cam shows, decades of content on Fet, and now years on OnlyFans. Oh, I guess I could have turned the question around too. Master, what would you feel if your friends watched you enjoy me in those clips you let me share? 

While I sketched the rough draft for this entry, I thought I'd be able to calculate how many friends have seen me naked though. Kept the count to those not active in the lifestyle. You know, vanilla friends, high school friends, friends from college, day job work friends, fuck gotta add moms of the little vanillas friends. I tried diligently, but I can't estimate that number either. 

Have you seen me naked?  Would you like to know how that makes me feel? Lean in sweetie, I want you to get the best view. While I have no idea who has seen me, I know with absolute certainty that if you have seen me work while naked, you have never, ever forgotten. And I f*cking love that, let's dance. 

If you're bound and you're gagged....

Draped and displayed, would you still love me anyways? 

It's the Misfits mom. 

It's just a song. 

It's called Helena. 

Oh hey, welcome back to 2024.

Of course, we're not going to do a daily post like Seth. But we are, go me, keeping to our intended weekly post. It's already written. This is just the edit and typo patrol. I'll miss some. You know that, don't you? 

Let's keep the game idea though. I love when he says let's play a game. Mine will probably be comparably lame. I have no intention of busting out the rug beater. If you ask nicely, maybe I can be talked into the vampire bat. 

What? The game, right. There was all this blood, sorry I got distracted. 

I mentioned it in the last post, remember?  Dance, orgasm or meditate? Today song is  Helena (youtube.com) 

I'm going with meditate. The Misfits came on during a dance party drift that began with Punk Rock Girl the other day. I did slam hard to it but I'm feeling more chill now. So I'm going to contemplate why Danzig's Helena doesn't love him anyway. First guess, it might be the hair. 

Anyway. 

My top and I were both born during Mercury retrogrades. Have I shared that before? My astrologist said something like, you both talk to people in ways that would seem rude from anyone else, but people really like the way you talk to them. 

They do. Pretty sure the how is unimportant, they like that I talk to them. 

They like when I make them cry too. 

Sometimes though, I feel so misunderstood. I've never quite mastered Vanilla, and to be honest, the older I get the less inclined I feel to try.  

There was a term I fell instantly in love with like a decade or so ago, Mansplaining. How useful, my vernacular desperately needed this word and I began using it with reckless abandon.     

Problem that. I was using it wrong. I'm pretty sure it was Tyler who schooled me. Imagine, having to have mansplain explained to you by a man. How embarrassing. What I thought it meant was so much cooler though. It made sense. I thought mansplaining was when a woman had to dumb down something complicated, like feelings, to explain it to a man. So listen, when you come in here and track mud all over our living room it makes me feel unappreciated. Or, Hey, I appreciate that you think I'm pretty, but this is a funeral and I'm pretty sad right now. I have kindly, successfully, explained something tricky to a man, ergo I have mansplained it. 

Mansplaining, as I am sure you know, is when a man explains to a woman an experience she has had or a concept that she is an expert in. 

I remember for a few months I paid attention to the exchanges I had with men. Because at first I dismissed the concept out of hand. This can't possibly be right. Men talk to you like that, are you sure?  Turns out sometimes they do. I noticed chicks do it to sometimes too. I also noticed that if not for the fact that I was intentionally watching for it, looking to see if this really happens, these are the times I normally cut a dude off and say no, you're not listening. Should the man in question continue to attempt to tell me about myself, the man (or woman) in question is going to find themselves talking to themself. 

Thank you for this invitation to debate, but I must politely decline. 

It saddened me to have to remove mansplaining from my vernacular, but the probability of convincing the masses to use it my way seemed slim at best. And I, thankfully, have no use for it as it is intended. 

So, Helena, are you going to dance, cum or meditate with me?