As a Libra, I've always innately understood that life is all about duality. Black and white, ebb and flow, male and female... sometimes life is so stark in its contrast and other times it's all about the greyish hues of having no clear path to follow. I play into that myself, as well. I'm a switch, I'm bisexual, I'm both a tomboy and a girly girl. I defy labels, and I'm proud of that. However, standing at the precipice with a bungee cord and a parachute and not being able to jump either way is irritating at best.

I'm not going to go into detail (it's mundane and boring), but I'm working so far past my comfort zone that I feel the urge to say "fuck it" and go ahead for my own good. I've never been good at being patient and waiting feels like the seventh circle of hell (although, honestly, the eighth circle sounds so much worse).

I have nothing noteworthy to write about. Went out with the girl twice this weekend, which I may tell you more about as things (or if things) progress. Spend 5 days with Bear and, although there were a few fights, had a relatively restful time-off. It was lovely, I'm recharged. I'll write again soon.

In every good relationship, there's always a moment of understanding. It's almost an audible clicking when things slam into place; when your subconscious mind and body understands, more highly than your conscious mind, that you're meant to be together (at least in that place and that time).

For me, it happened on a single day. It had to be about 4 years ago sometime soon, although I've never really kept track of things like that. We had known each other for a few months, off and on, through emails, instant messenger and a few face to face hangouts at bookstores and coffeehouses. There was always a connection there, but we were both trying to shut it down and lock it in tight. I was married, trying to convince myself that I was happy, and he was leery of getting involved with me. To this day, I've never been able to get a straight answer out of him. He'll never tell me when he decided that he was attracted to me, or when he let his guard down enough to investigate.

After flying back from Arizona, we started hanging out more. I'm not sure what it was - the lack of friends, the need for companionship or maybe a sense of something more - but we decided to get together and "chill." He was crushing on some other girl and I was utterly confused, but there was some weird sexual chemistry between us that refused to be so easily put away.

I don't remember too many of the specific details... we must have walked miles and miles that day with his, and eventually our, dog Dude. I remember seeing A Mighty Wind and having this odd need to hold his hand, but instead I pulled one of those macho shoulder bumps that people do when they're too afraid to show their real feelings. I'm such a ridiculous girl sometimes, but I know every girl out there has done that little hip check at least once. Am I wrong?

It all ended up in a local park though, sitting next to each other on a picnic table in the dark as the wind began to kick up. The air was warm, almost sticky, and the threat of stormy violence was so thick it could almost be tasted. There was a hum between our bodies; the need for them to be closer and to touch. It was the first time I had ever really experienced something like that... and it terrified me.

I remember walking over towards the creek when he pressed his body against me. My head nuzzled into his chest, as it often does because of the foot of height that separates us. We had hugged before, we had even kissed once before, but at that moment the world just seemed to stop.

As my body was pressed onto the warm and wet grass, I remember thinking how right everything felt and how necessary every moment that lead up to that was. The collection of my experiences from the last few months, every decision I made and every decision that was made for me led up to that. My skirt hiked up around my waist, I felt every blade of grass under me just as intensely as I felt his fingers exploring my sex.

Even though we didn't have sex that evening and even though a tornado almost hit when we were most oblivious, I still remember that night as the night I knew things had changed. The interesting thing for me is that I still don't know what happened inside of him. He's a writer, he can write two million times better than I can, but I still don't know the other half of my story. It's a little frustrating, to say the least.

Clicking is like that though. It may happen for one person, but never for another. As someone who is, only recently, venturing into a pseudo-polyamorous relationship, I hope to find that small zen moment again. I also fully expect it to not come close to matching the glory of what Bear and I have together. Nothing is ever the same twice. Life is like that... it catches you off guard. I wouldn't miss that for the world.

I feel like getting back to some real-life smut. I ruminate enough in my own head, sometimes I just don't feel right to subject you to everything that actually goes on in there. It's a dark, dingy, poorly lit place, especially lately. I'm all bunnies and flowers on the outside but inside, well, inside is another story.

The lovely picture to the left is what my back looked like yesterday afternoon. I had just gotten done putting in a good hour and half at the gym and was eating a late lunch when I decided that I really needed a spanking. I continued to get squirmier and squirmier until I picked up the phone and called Bear, desperate for some pain and human contact. While I have the sex drive of a 14 year old boy, my tolerance for putting up with my inability to get laid as much as I'd like to (at least a couple times daily) is usually pretty large. I think Bear was as shocked as I was when I called for that reason.

I showed up 10 minutes later. After the initial niceties, my gym pants found their way around my ankles as I leaned up against the bed. In 5 minutes, my ass was red and welted as I gyrated my hips like a cat in heat. Like a trooper, he kept on spanking... we tried to keep count in the beginning but I'm sure the swat count was over 200 at least. Every connection filled me with peace and backed off the monster that was raging inside me. My inner beast doesn't understand much, but she bows to pain and dominance. Usually.

I'm sure you can guess what happened after that. Breasts were tortured, my back was ripped to shreds and my ass certainly didn't get a respite, but I'm satiated for the time being. It's specific energy - it takes awhile for that well to get filled up but when it does, it fills to bursting. My well has been drained, and I look forward to what happens next time it fills up. My ass, however, might not be quite so excited.

I had meant for this post to be about something else, but I can't stop thinking about Bear's smooth adorable clean-shaven face. You see, out of boredom or desperation for something to occupy his time while he's cooped up in the house, he decided to buzz his head and shave his beard off. I was aware of this plot, but didn't expect to see it when my daughter and I brought his movies and prescription meds over this afternoon.

I was floored. Seriously, unbelievably floored. You see, I knew my Bear was good looking (although, I'm not sure the nickname Bear qualifies anymore since his face is baby bottom soft now). The number one quality I look for in either sex is intelligence or charisma; that spark of something else that makes me intrigued and interested... and Bear absolutely has that. He's hands down the smartest man I've ever met and, when we're really on, we can talk for hours about absolutely nothing at all and make it sound like it should come straight out of our mouths and go into an encyclopedia (for instance, how to zombies move in space? They can't shamble, with zero gravity and all, and that's what really makes a zombie zombie-like!).

Wow, tangent. Anyway. When I met him, he had the cutest little Satan goatee. I loved it. L-O-V-E-D it. I remember sitting on his face giggling as the hairs tickled the insides of my things. My ex was always clean shaven, very Army, so it was world's different than what I was used to. A few winters ago, he went full on mountain man. It worked for him... and that's when I started calling him Bear. He was so furry; my own personal burly punk rock bodyguard.

So when I walked into his apartment, I couldn't even really look at him. This wasn't my big furry Bear, but this man was SO cute. I wanted to jump into his lap (albeit carefully), rip all his clothes off, toss him to the floor and fuck him. It took me about 5 minutes to even glance at the chin I had never met before and, even then, I felt shy. I can't say why, really, just the presence of the same man with a different face... but what I can say is that I can't wait to find out what my smooth haired lover's chin and cheeks feel against the insides of my thighs. They're tingling in anticipation.

It's almost like being able to cheat and get away with it... the same fantastic beautiful cock, the same smell of the man I love, the same way that he knows exactly what to do to get me off in record time... all with a new face. It's delightful. Now heal, back. Heal so I can fuck my new man. I command it!

I'm very surprised with myself. I'm usually incredibly creative; scribbling notes for blog entries on the backs of old receipts and faded grocery lists from months ago. I usually can't stop my mind from gushing forth random thoughts and concepts or different ways to state the same ideas I've had for years. Lately my head has been the quiet buzz of many tiny inspirations; an almost swirling white mist that won't allow me to plunge my hand into it and pull something concrete out (Oooh, it's so tempting to insert a Harry Potter reference here. I'll refrain, for now!). I'm feeling quite like an impetuous little girl, stomping my foot and furrowing my eyebrows in an attempt to coerce something, anything, out.

And plainly, it's not coming. I have no inspiration. I'm going a million different directions at once...

Bear is, well, being a bear. He's stuck in the apartment 24 hours a day because of his back problem, and I'm having to be the rock in the relationship. That's draining all on its own, because it's hard for me to be so fucking tough all the time. I'm quietly breaking down on my own, mourning the absence of the love of my life and dealing with his new pensive mood. Being strong requires the opposite of strength, sometimes. It requires knowing when and where to break down, quietly.

I'm done with school for the semester, but adegree change and new responsibilities at work are keeping my ass toned and tight with all the running I've been doing for them. I absolutely love my job (I've never had a job that has left me so positively emotionally drained at the end of the day. I literally leave tired and with a gleam in my eye.), so it's a great change.

My daughter is my daughter, and requires plenty of time and attention. It's become more apparent to me lately that I need to be a little less "fun-time happy" mom and more of a "helpful, teaching her the correct ways to behave" mom. She's smart, energetic, loves life... but she has my tact and inability to filter. I should apologize to her for her bad genetics. Between her father and I, she's pretty fucked.

I'm pseudo-dating this amazing girl, so we're trying to get to know each other better in our extremely limited time together. I'm very fond of her, so I won't talk too much about her in order not to jinx it. My superstitious nature is definitely not a boon, but it gives me something to believe in. I think I'll knock on wood right now.

So there you have it. Life is on hold right now while I perform typical stress management. I'm working out probably 6 hours a week and drinking a glass of wine before I go to bed at night. I'm trying to breathe, to be as zen as possible, and remember that life is temporary. Pleasure, pain, happiness... everything is a state of mind. And I'm just currently on the sidelines, trying to figure out a quick and easy way to rejoin my game currently in progress.

I'm exhausted. I have very little to write about and no drive to write down the little I have to say. I'm sure I'll get through it soon - my daughter and I are happy and healthy. Bear is no better or no worse, but somehow enjoying his shut-in nature. Everything is fine here, I'm just creatively drained. I'll be back soon, probably by the end of this week. Hope everyone is doing well.

Well well well... Naked Loft Party just made my night a whole lot more interesting. Anyone want to do a photoshoot like this with me? *grin*

I love my kitty. More posting this weekend, guys and dolls, I promise.

Libra (September 23rd to October 22nd)

Espertantina, a town in Brazil, celebrates May 9 as Orgasm Day. As much as I'd love to import this enlightened holiday to my home country of America, it might be difficult in the foreseeable future. Why? Because religious fundamentalists have been spreading their infectious mental disease, seducing people into mistrusting their bodies' natural urges. Meanwhile, the advertising and entertainment industries try to sell us on the glamour of being in a chronic state of titillation without satisfaction. I'm calling on you Libras to do what you can to resist these cultural trends. The astrological omens say this is an auspicious time for you to seek out, cultivate, and honor your own orgasms.