Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

A beautiful, six-foot-sensuous french woman danced with me tonight and told me three times how gorgeous I looked. I watched her run her hands up the inner thigh of one of her friends and realized she wasn't just trying to create a show for possible spectators - it was subtle and likely unnoticed except that I was dancing quite close to her. So I invited her to a lingere and sex toy party that I'm throwing for my women friends (and am now trying to figure out how I can make sure she's the last to leave....) She threw her arms around me and said it was exactly what she needed right now.

I could see by her dancing that she clearly was in touch with a comfortable sensuality. The best lovers I've ever had thoroughly enjoyed every sensation, every sound, smell, touch and reaction. I'm going to enjoy thinking about her slender hands in my hair and then on thighs as I drift off tonight....

bon soir mes amis!

Scraping for Peanut Butter

When your peanut butter jar is 98% empty, do you scrape the last old bits to try to make a sandwich anyway? I guess that's how I've felt every time I think about blogging something with meaning.... digging for dregs of something worth saying and coming up with nothing, or only old things, feeling empty and sick of peanut butter anyway. I'm surprised at the gentle prods I've gotten from people, to speak up, be real, tell the truth... or my truth. But in some ways, the venue seems stale, tired, and brittle like the soles in my 10 year old brown loafers... Or maybe that's me?

I've thought once or twice that my aversion to blogging in pure prose has muzzled me in some way. Who wants to hear the full details of my fucking insanity anyway? Why poison the ethers with my agitation and discontent? Why repeat myself? But the more likely truth is that I'm afraid that if I indulge my shadows they'll take over. I'll be feeding those lurking shapes in the corners, paying homage by naming them.

I've been slowly wading out of this spongy marsh but I'm still so close to the cusp that I feel like I could easily slip back in. My lack of progress toward inner contentment is partly a reflection of choices I'm continuing to make: eat things that drain my energy rather than rejuvenate, work too much overtime, under-sleep, isolate, reach out to people who don't reach back... certain aspects of my life these days seem unloving.

I'm unloving myself.... hmmmmm. To those who have sent their love, Thank you. It's meant a lot to me.