Saturday, December 1, 2018

Vanishing Box

I had a box and then it vanished into thin air.

I have now moved to my 4th department in 2 years at the same company (it's a big company). And to each department, I have carried around this box filled with various things (mostly decorative). The last 2 departments, I didn't even bother unpacking it. It just sat in a corner. In one department, I was just too busy and never got around to it. And, if you've followed this blog, you know that I no intention of even staying in that last position. So when I got the notice to move my belongings to my new office (which is very spacious), I grabbed the box and headed over.

My last memory of the box is holding it in front of my office door, which was locked. I assume I sat it down to unlock the door. I assume I walked in to set my bag down. And I assume I got distracted by something, forgot it was outside my door, didn't notice it when I left for the day, and that it was thrown out by the cleaning crew.

But I'll never know.

The normal night crew was all on vacation, with some random person filling in. So, the next day when I asked the crew about the box, they could only shrug their shoulders. I even checked the dumpster, but it was empty. Literally nothing in it! I guess the trash pick-up was early that morning.

The box is gone... I guess... I can't really confirm other than that I don't have it in my possession.

And I don't know if I really know if I care about the contents. But it left me feeling such anxiety that I don't know where it went. Knowing that someone had to clean-up after me, even though I didn't intend for them too, which I feel bad about it. The sense of the effort I spent dragging it around with me feels wasted. Wondering if it was rummaged through and feeling some anxiety about what I had put in there but don't remember...

So this event, and recently some others, have really helped me realize that a lot of my anxiety derives from being worried about what others think. Which that worry was built into me by my parents who lie their way around the moon and back to maintain a certain social image (and they're not even rich, so I don't know who they think cares?)

I was considering buying a Pornhub shirt and wearing it to the holiday family gathering. Which is mostly a big fuck you parents millenial move, I know; but why not be proud of the work I love doing on Pornhub and my age-restricted YouTube videos. Also, I have this hope that one day in the near future, people will reference something they saw on Pornhub like they do Facebook and Instangram. And with all that in mind, why am I worried about what a box of crap left in a hallway says about me? I think world probably has bigger problems with my videos than anything that was in that box.

Which leads me to the question of whether putting my body out there relieves some of this anxiety. The pent up stress to constantly do what is morally right. My love of Yaoi was probably the gateway for this, since being a fujoshi get's the "that's weird" scrunched face from people. But the super ego is developed through teachings and not inherent. Thus, my since of what is "morally right" is being unlearned and redeveloped right now as I embrace my sexual identity and desires.

For I love yaoi and doing my feet videos. I love meeting all the people in both communities and the conversations I've had, both mundane and sexually intriguing. I have learned so much through the process and through following the art of other sensual and sexually explicit artists. So here's to furthering my education. And thanks to all for being my life teachers.

Monday, November 5, 2018


It seems... no it is...
Things in flux. I think of the word transitioning... but transitioning suggests that there is a beginning and an end...
And I guess there are...
Maybe I don't like beginnings and ends, so I ignore them...
Or maybe because it just always lingers in my mind and in my past... it's never gone, never ends.
And the anxiety of what's to come and what's to come back again...

I spent the weekend with my parents. They pulled out all there tricks to suck me back down again. As the sun set, the old ways crept up on me.  The bottle looked sweeter and sweeter. The knives looked oh so gentle. But oh... I know this is only in comparison to their treachery. Bullying me down to give them the answer they don't want to hear; only so they can turn it around and blame me, tell me I'm being ridiculous, and it's all in my head.

Of course it is. But none the less it is. It's in the past... but the memory of my mother's gaze on my naked body creeps up on me more and more these days.

I'm transitioning to a new job in a more creative department. Yea! Celebration! When I started this blog, it's one of the first things I complained about and one of my purposes for writing. To fill that creative hole in my life. (But this blog is also a flood gate for days like these.)

My husband expressed his concerns... will this job finally be okay? Will it give me what I'm looking for? Will I like it more? Will I stick with it?--All reasonable questions.

Will I like it more?--sometimes
Will I stick with it?--I think I have to.
Will it give me what I'm looking for?--For now. Until I need to run away again.

I'm constantly running in place from those childhood days... because I love where I am now, but the invasion is just at my borders.

A facebook meme once said something about suicidal people having it best because every small task accomplished is an amazing feat.

I'm not suicidal. But when I'm sad and anxious like this, I like the philosophy.

#blessed #thankful #Thanksgiving #November #hashtag

Transition, Flux, Fluidity--People come and go around me. People grow. I grow. People transition on to other things. I transition on. Let in. Let go. It's what we do as a society? Or just me? So overwhelmed by the connection I have with someone that I flee... no... it's just that nothing's permanent. So loving and leaving is natural. But I feel heartless with this philosophy. #singleservingfriends #fightclub Why do a variety of relationships have a variety of stipulations... and why can't we all agree to love and let go without it being a thing to be emotional about? And why the fuck will this one relationship with my parents just not burn up in the nuclear fission of the sun. #millennialsnowflake

This would make more since if I was high? #JackKerouac

#bottles #blades #drugs


Thursday, October 25, 2018

When Bodies Move Perfectly

I've always said that I like to people watch... listen in on conversations and watch body language. Learning how people are is always fascinating, but it can be intense too. People carry a lot of emotions where ever they go... and most of time I want my people watching to be relaxing.

This is really something I've narrowed down recently. I found a lot of enjoyment recently watching 2 particular bad boys on the web.

1. Sergei Polunin--scrolling through Google+, someone had posted a video of Sergei Polunin doing ballet to "Take Me to Church" by Hozier. (You can watch it here.) I watched it over and over again. The complete control of every millimeter of muscle was intoxicating. The back arches, the body holds firm and relinquishes, and the struggle to maintain (both literally and figuratively). And I know that that dance didn't happen without years and years of focus, practice, and body transformation. And there's a certain amount of fuck you I'm dancing my heart out to this song... to create something real... even if it hurts and sucks a little. I imagine his sleep that night was either painful or deep.

2. Jake Bass--This porn star shows up on my Facebook feed periodically. Yaoi fan girls like to swoon over his gay porn... and I'm like, people there's a difference between gay porn and yaoi. But curiosity finally got the best of me and I checked it out. I jumped around a few videos on Porn Hub and started to notice what the girls are talking about. In yaoi, there is a certain look that is exchanged between the two guys. Usually a sense of sweet powerlessness. The common quote from the seme being "I'm sorry. I can't hold back any longer." Cut to penetration, pain/comfortableness, pleasure, "I love you's" and "Don't stop."--Basically a woman's experience of sex. (Makes since given that it's written by women for women.)  Jake Bass is really able to convey this in his facial features when he's on the bottom. When he's on top, he comes across as a powerful seme in control but periodically caressing his partners body in a gentle and loving manner. I just ended up watching the porn videos like I was watching a relaxing video of trees swaying in the wind. So, again, to be performing with one's body and to be in control of every inch of your existence.

Or maybe it's not that. Maybe they are so in control, they can let go and move freely within the form.

I want that. But the Tao tells me I have to not want it to have it.

Monday, October 1, 2018

Origins of My Fetishes

So I've been thinking a lot about my fetishes lately. On a "Where did they come from?" thought process. I have a hard time believing that anything is just straight nature. I believe that our nurture plays a large part in shaping who we are, using the genetic code as a foundation.

A basic internet research led me to this article on Psychology Today: "Survival of the Fetish". I focused in on the part that described how traumatic/emotional experiences help in the creation, as well as, early associations that correlate with the development of sexual feelings.

So let's analyze me!

1. Coffee-- So I mentioned this in a Google+ post that I am really into coffee porn. That watching videos of coffee being made gives me an erotic experience... not that I cum or anything, but it definitely gets me aroused and ready to go.  So,where did this come from? When I was in high school, I hung out with a group of friends. We were all aspiring writers and poets. I would do slam poetry and enjoy the high from that. I would meet with my friends at one of the local joints that had these big, soft, broken down couches. It's where I got used to the bitterness of coffee, leaving the sweet drinks behind for something bolder. It was a gender mixed group, but us girls would cozy up together, kicking our shoes off, taking comfort in lying on bosoms (one girl in particular was very comfortable... hehe). This was definitely a free love kind of group. Not that I got anywhere with anyone. We were too self-absorbed. lol. But we just sat there with our espressos and cappuccinos. We'd talk about politics and sex way too loud. Our hands we're playful. It teasing and comforting and erotic. When I hear the whirring of the espresso machine, smell the aroma, and taste it on my tongue, it's hard not to think of those warm experiences deep in the winter months when my blossoming sexual desire was exploding for any lips and hands that would take me.

2. Hair-- I used to have a serious problem with wanting to get my hands in other people's hair. I can get lost in hair. I want to press my face into it. Smell it. Feel the oils. Groom it. Pull on it. Twist it between my fingers. I once got so into it in college, I may have made a prospective college student pretty uncomfortable (or is that impossible because all guys like female attention? For the record, I was given consent to play with his hair). I stopped playing with hair once I got engaged and such. But despite that this is so erotic for me, I believe this fetish developed out of a more traumatic experience.

When I was in elementary school, maybe 4th or 5th grade, my sister  (16 or 17 at the time) was busy trying to run away from home to be with her boyfriend. My parents were done that shit; so when she tried to do it again, they locked themselves with my sister in their bedroom. I could only hear their screaming, and mostly my sisters. She was yelling at them through sobs to get off of her. (I later learned that they were sitting on her/holding her down on their bed to keep her from running away--and I'm trying not to cry as I write this-- I saw the bruises later). I couldn't handle the screaming so I walked out back to my rabbit's hutch. She was an all black rabbit, mixed with a lop, but only one ear flopped. I picked her out of the hutch and squeezed her close to my chest. I decided to do my own running away. They'd never notice anyways. I walked out the back gate, down the street, turned the corner, walked another block, and stopped at the corner. Maybe there was an evening sun. Maybe it was late in the summer, maybe early fall. Maybe there was a breeze. I held my rabbit close to my chest. I buried my face against her. I combed my fingers through her silky fur. I told her that everything was going to be okay. And then I went home. I put her back in her home. And I went back into mine. I sat in my living room, listening to the screaming in the other room, and no one knew that I had left. So, is it too far of a stretch to consider that rape like screaming from my parents bedroom combined with me finding comfort in the soft hair of an animal, would make a sexual connection somewhere in my mind? Even though I didn't even know what sex was?

Final thoughts--I don't feel that trying to understand any of this really makes a difference to my sexual experience. It's interesting, keeps my mind busy. And there's basically a switch in my brain set aside for when I want to allow for the potential of arousal that I can mostly turn on and off (no pun intended, I think). In the end, I'm wired the way that I am, no matter the reasoning. So, I just have to be mindful and have fun.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018


So for this week's blog post, I am going to point you in the direction of a new short story I posted to my website called Yellow. It's a sci-fi shounen-ai/boys love story (so more about intimacy and connection, and no sex--my other stories have sex if you want something a little more smutty).

So, I have a fascination with non-verbal communication: body language, sign language, facial expressions, written word. My process from thought to verbalizing is rather slow, my anxiety hinders my ability to create a functional sentence on the spot, and I am rather self-conscious of the whole thing.

However, the written word is very fluid to me. And I have time and space if I need it.

So this is one of two stories that really focuses on non-verbal communication. The other is Say It With Voice. It was like the first yaoi I ever wrote... so... yeah. lol. It's about a senior in high school who has used sign language most of his life to communicate. His best friend is coming home from college and he finally wants to tell him how he feels. But the friend is rather surprised by the method of declaration. I like the concept and have considered exploring that character more.

So please enjoy. All my short stories are a quick read. Feel free to leave feedback in the comments.

And here's a link to all my short stories: Yaoi Fiction

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Muscle Memory

I took the weekend for some self-care. Mostly forced self-care, as it usually ends up in these situations. I mean, I guess I could have pushed through... but the body never overcomes. It has to heal and recover at some point.

I worked out Friday. My trainer stepped up my game a little. My improvement in my form with the exercises really activated previous areas I wasn't targeting well. I was fairly exhausted and out of sorts afterwards, but I still went to a party later that evening.

My muscles are notorious for storing my emotions in them. I noticed this back when I was doing chiropractic care. After some adjustments, it was worse than others... especially at first when I didn't realize what was going on. I would lie in bed next to my husband trembling--my entire body shaking, my breath shallow, just staring, unable to move. We would generally have a conversation that would turn out something like this:

Me: I think I'm having a panic attack.
Him: Yeah, seems like it.
Me: There's nothing really I can do about it is there?
Him: Nope, not really.

And then he would rest a firm hand on me until the trembling stopped, which it always did.

But something about the chiropractic adjustments just released all of those chemicals associated with emotional memories and it would all just come rushing out within 24 hours of the snap, crack, and crunches.

So after this particular workout on Friday, and the party, I finally settled down in my bed to watch episode 3 of the boys love live action drama Pornographer based on the manga by Maki Marukido. And I should also point out that I was watching it in the original Japanese without subtitles because Facebook took down the only copy in existence. So the only reason I knew what was going on was become I read the manga before watching the episode.

The story is not particularly a fresh and new piece of fiction. It's a simple romance drama with a heavy theme of loneliness. However, the actors: Terunosuke Takezai as Rio Kijima and Kenta Izuka as Haruhiko Kusumi, really bring the theme to life and punch the audience straight in the gut and pull out their hearts. There is a moment in episode 6  (I think) where Kijima contorts his face not to cry and sticks his tongue against his cheek and swallows every gut wrenching tear only to have it all come pouring forth... and I'm dying cause I know what it's like to cry like that... and to cry like that because I feel so fucking lonely (2nd time I cried in the show).

So Friday night I am watching episode 3. And the emotional uneasiness from the muscles releasing during the workout is starting to boil up. In the episode, Kijima is drunk and reaches out for Kusumi to come back to the bed. Kijima is pitiful in this moment. It's the moment where we see as the audience how absolutely worthless he is... or at least that that is how he perceives himself. And as he's letting that image show through, he wants Kusumi to stay and make him feel safe--either through love and/or creating more chaos.

The episode ended shortly after that moment and I lost it. Tears dripping down my face. I'm trying to wipe them away, holding my eyes closed with my hands, like the pressure will stop the tears like stopping blood from pouring out of a wound. My body shuddered. My thoughts raced. Suppressed wounds opened up and a frenzy of problems screamed to be dealt with all at once.

And in that moment I went into recovery mode. I powered down my expectations of myself for the weekend, promising to take small steps towards solutions. Eat a little better. Sleep a little more. Finish a couple of projects... and just not worry about some. I lazed around and felt the change of the season creeping in through the open windows.

I finished the series Saturday night. My body still physically processing the shit released from my muscles. I cried some more. And I must say that I am by no means alone in this world... I recognize the many people who do care about me. But I saw myself in both of the characters in that show. Kijima is not alone, but in his personal struggles and the amount of pressure he places on himself, he isolates to deal with the struggle alone, feeling as though he needs to manipulate those around him to make them care... even though they care about him without all that. And I see myself in Kusumi, who could have kept walking out of the room and not lay down on the bed with Kijima. Kusumi chooses the pain of the relationship to avoid being alone... life is suffering... and we can't reach enlightenment without life, which means we have to have suffering... But Kusumi could have chosen to just avoid his want and desire. And thus would he have achieved enlightenment sooner? Or not at all? I am Kusumi though, because despite the emotions I build up and vomit out, I return to the struggle and pain of each relationship and activity in my life so that the loneliness is not so deep and heavy.

I wonder if that is the final emotion that must be let go for enlightenment: loneliness. Or maybe it is for me, at least.

Friday, August 31, 2018

Evolution of a Day

Stumble into a the dank storage closet office... was that the sound of rat a in-between the walls? Did it find my Skittles?
Set the coffee down on the fold out table and flop the laptop onto it.
Gulp coffee.
Flip the laptop screen up. Power UP.
Power UP Power UP Power UP Gulp the coffee.
Load the mandatory, necessary screens. Logins galore.
Sip the coffee. Slump back into the over sized chair from 1992.
Breath in. Breath out.
Check phone for Yaoi pics and  messages.
Sip coffee.
Put phone away.
Gulp coffee.

Fuck Fuck Fuck
How do I even do this document? Flip through over size binder falling apart at the seams. The examples all color-coded; PowerPoints for all sorts of confusions and emergencies... Fuck... where is that one--that one that I need.
Oh my God. I'm dying. Oh my God, I can't breath. Oh my God, only an hour and half and then it'll be known that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, Oh my God Fuck fuck fuck
Lay head down on table. The computer whirrss... voices murmur outside my office... "Don't go to sleep. Don't just let go." \
Pick head up.
Dial phone numbers; send messages; publicly,digitally freak out.
A calm voice answers.

Step-by-step a hand walks me out of the pit. Step-by-step... I'll only look marginally foolish. I hate this job anyways.

I'm an insane, stressed out, seething-just-underneath bitch at said meeting.
This is not me.  I'm so sorry people.
Why am I giving so many fucks for something that deserves ZERO fucks?

Beat head against table. Slog through paperwork. Stomach knots. Can't breath.
Log off. Power Down.
Stow away the laptop. Turn off the lights. Lock the storage closet. Leave the rat to the rest of the Skittles.

Burst out the front doors. The heat and sun of the dog days of summer slam me. Like turning up the burner on a simmering pot, I push through the parking lot dodging cars. Don't get in my way. Gotta leave now.

Laptop bag thrown hastily into the back. Keys in the ignition. Throw CD's around the car until I find the heaviest punk rock I have. Press eject on the player. Pull out Emo the Musical from the slender loading slot. Shove in the FLCL Soundtrack by the Pillows.

Turn it up. Turn it up. Turn it up. Turn up the adrenaline.

My ears hurt. My heart aches. My head bangs away to the rhythm. I screech out of the parking lot.

Avoiding the interstates. Taking the back country roads. Windows down, hair flying around my head caught by the cooling breeze that breaks through the sweltering, greenhouse car. 5 over, 10 over, 15 over the speed limit, hair pin curves; the land opens out on either side of me. Houses dot the dying fields. The sun burns us all away. I breath. I suck in the air. I scream at the top of my lungs to the Japanese words I don't even know, making up for it by belting out the lyrics sung in broken English.

God damn this world. The cars glide past.
I'm haulted at stop lights. We rest together at busy and noisy intersections. My music adds to their rhythms. My head bangs away. My hands beat away on the steering well.

Get home. Grab my swimsuit. Head pool side with friend. Cannon ball into the water and slam the bottom. It startles me. I rise to the top. The water is warm. The sun is setting. I let my whole body float along the top of the water. The sky turns shades of pink and purple. The orange sun tries to hold on, but nothing can stop the stars. Fleeting clouds give up. I send them away. In this warm bath I am held in a womb. People jabber. My friend looks over me in sweet compassion. She sees my distracted gaze. But I have my strings, and I am holding on.

Go home. Shower. Room is dark. Find clothes. Body feels soft in the darkness. Mind feels soft in the darkness. Breath is even in the darkness. Sirens in the distance bleeding into the darkness are signal for the melatonin to release in my brain. I fall onto the mattress. Springs squeak beneath the pressure of my body. Masturbate. The internal waves rock me to sleep. The fan blows gently. My blanket grazes my chin. I try to count to 30 meditative breaths but get whisked away to somewhere my physical body cannot achieve.

And here my teeth grind, my jaw clenches, and then I relax. Rinse and repeat in mystical place all made up inside my mind.

ALARM. snooze 5mins. ALARM.

Stumble into clothes. Throw food in bag.

Slip into the car. Switch back to Emo the Musical  soundtrack.  Pull onto the dark streets. Lights on, I maneuver to the main road. Street lights, car lights, neon signs invite me into the day. I drive a few blocks and pull off at a gas station.

Pay, slip the nozzle into the hole to the gas tank, pump. A country ballad plays overhead. The stars keep piercing the sky, fighting against the fog that hovers between us. I breath in the humid air and feint whiff of gasoline.

The price of gas station coffee has gone up.

I settle back into the car. I sing with passion to the soundtrack. Windows down, I let the rising sun guide me. The sun has to start over, and so do I.

Vanishing Box

I had a box and then it vanished into thin air. I have now moved to my 4th department in 2 years at the same company (it's a big compa...