And I know the night is fading, and I know that time's gonna fly

 Writing without vaping is a bit more challenging than I expected. Well to be honest, I never really expected to be writing without vaping, so my expectations were skewed accordingly. Yet here we are. I've lost count of how long it has been. I am pretty certain it has been over 100 days now. Please note, when I say it is a challenge, I am not sure that's the best word for it. When I quit smoking cigarettes, I experienced moments of depression so intense that I felt unsafe. Writing without a vape feels like when a gnat is flying around you at the beach. It's not causing you any harm at all, but you can't seem to just not notice it even though you're at the beach, otherwise having a wonderful time. I am very aware that I am typing and that there isn't a cloud of strawberry scented vapor over my head. I'm not sad about it, not even stressed, I just can't seem to ignore that I am aware of it. 

Someone asked me recently how I quit smoking. I spared them the minutia. We all know the tools that are available, if you really want to a soup can will work as well as a hammer. The only part that matters is the part where you really want to. I quit because the version of me that lived in my top's imagination was somehow cooler than who I imagined myself to be. No easy feat, I think I'm the bees' knees. 

The other day I stumbled across some angry posts about the realness of porn. I don't wish to be shown more angry posts debating the realness of porn so I didn't engage. But of course, I have opinions, and it's your lucky day.   

In the quibbling twittering I eavesdropped on, the OP remarked that porn is fake. To which another little bird said that that's why they like amateur porn. Then many little blue birds chirped that amateur porn is fake too. If the scene when Alan Rickman plumets to his death makes me wet, does that mean Die Hard is porn and not a Christmas movie? 

I don't know why realness would be a component of factoring quality or value. And if it is to be a factor, what do you even mean when you say real? I have never heard of a porn star using a stunt pussy. I mean I make amateur movies, perhaps on big budget sets that's the norm, what do I know. I have heard people devalue porn because it doesn't showcase how people really have sex. I suppose that's pretty accurate. Lights off, wrapped in blankets and thrusting may or may not feel good but it definitely isn't visually stimulating. 

I think amateur porn, like any commercial art, is some imprecise ratio of this is what I enjoy creating, this is what I imagine my audience wants to consume, and I hope it pays the bills. 

I was curled up on and around my top. He had just paddled my feet, at my request, on camera.  I was crying hard. I was professing my love, confessing my fears; an uninitiated observer may have thought I was intoxicated. My top was stroking my hair, rubbing my back, I heard his light bulb spark and then he said this is what we should be recording, and he turned my camera back on. Then he started <censored> while reminding me to look at the camera. 

Our angry twittering friends probably have never had sexy time that looked or felt like this. Perhaps one can't miss what they have never had, and it's all for the best. But never have I ever faked an O or lived a life that wasn't authentic. 

And I Promisie that I'll Run Away with You

 Guess what?

 Do you give up? You should, it'll help keep the tempo if you give in quickly, k?

If we're blue-bird friends or insta-besties, if you pay me any attention at all, (and doesn't everyone?) you already know. 

Two more sleeps and this Goddess will be half a century! I've been saying I'm almost fifty since like I don't know 45. It seems appropriate to upgrade and call myself half a century now. 

Are you in your 30s? Terrified of aging? Listen, most grown-ups are liars, this shit rocks. 

Okay fine like 2% of this is bravado. Mostly because death terrifies me, not aging. I love my life; I want to do this for a wicked long time, and I notice the clock has likely half run out. But aside from that, aging is so fucking cool. Pay no mind to anyone who says otherwise. 

It's been on my agenda to post for weeks. I mean how else will I hear, I love your blog, if there isn't a new post to love? But I have been soooo busy. There was a vanilla vacation. A couple pictures of Cassidy braving the rope course crossed over, you may have seen them. I jetted up to NH to attend Ela-One's SW'ers Summit this weekend. Then drove home contemplating how fortunate I am to be part of such a vibrant community. Fiona Pup had an ouchie of unknown origin. She's healed but looks quite silly only rocking one bracelet now. I've teamed up with a new-to-me creator, Bailey Wilde. Some teasers have been shared in the usual spots, probably won't have a chance to post the good stuff until after my birthday. 

And most importantly, I have been fully submerged in this lovefest with my top and his new pet/my new playmate, S2. Do you subscribe to that idea that'd be wicked hard to find a 3rd who you and your partner both like, who in turn likes both you and your partner? I did too, turns out, that's why you can't find one- cuz you're all whining about how they don't exist. Shut-up, go have fun and Ta Da, there's your unicorn. Ours rocks. She's a Gemini, of course. She gave me a book. She gave me a personalized book detailing my birth chart. Ya no, take it, I had no big plans for my heart, it's yours. I think you'll enjoy it; it's shown itself to be so resilient. Expect to see full dork moments like long distance dance parties, and for The Cure to be featured far too often in my insta posts.  

This probably needs a more thorough proof and edit. Definitely want to add some pics too. But know what? I have plans, life is short, posting is a top priority, editing is not. 

Kismet and Fate

I love the serendipitous nature of the universe. I find it fascinating, and humbling, to contemplate the precise points where it seems some random, insignificant event altered my path in a significant, life changing manner. 

Did you see the Alchemy post   on Fet? Have you been holding your breath ever since? Breathe silly, nice and slow, I want you fully present. 

So one day, oh I don't know probably 6 months ago, I was scrolling the gram. NBD, just mindlessly killing time. A post caught my eye and sparked my rage. 

It shouldn't have upset me.

A thing can only be truly upsetting if you care about the person saying it or if the insult they're throwing resonates with you, right? Like if you were to say I am the worst baseball player in the world, who cares? I give no fucks at all about baseball, and probably give no fucks about you. 

I didn't know the person who posted it. It was a multi-slide reel detailing why "Unicorn Hunters" suck. If you and your partner only wish to date hot, sane, non-toxic, employed, bi-bitches, you suck and you have "couple privilege".  

According to the poster's detailed checklist, I suck so hard. 

I didn't know the person who posted it. So why did it sting so sharply? 

It really wasn't quite the intended message, but the takeaway I heard the loudest was, I'm not going to find what I want in a new partner because I am too needy, my wishes are too obscure and really at the end of the day, I don't deserve a partner of the caliber I am aiming for. 

Did I quietly reflect on this? Fuck no, I recognized quickly it was a bunch nonsense and dismissed it. To make sure my subconscious was really clear that we were not co-signing such rubbish, I penned a post on Fetlife. The title was, "Un-Ethical Non-Mono Unicorn Hunters", and the vibe was a tongue in cheek post about why you should be flattered if you catch the eye of my top and I. 

How would I have spent last Tuesday if some c--- (oh we aren't saying that word again) on the internet hadn't hurt me in my feelings a little? I love you cantankerous internet stranger. I sincerely hope you are having the best day ever. Because how I did spend my Tuesday was getting to know a hot, sane, non-toxic, employed, bi cutie, with my top.  We were tucked into a little cabin, being watched over by squirrels and, oh it stings to write this, spiders without spinnerets, playing and giggling. Fully committing to following our bliss and living our best lives ever. 

My goals, wishes, fantasies are outrageously unrealistic. The universe delights in granting them all, because I deserve them all.