Hidden In Plain Sight

Maybe some of us are meant to wander
To taste the sunlight and walk with bare feet and passionate hearts
Maybe some of us are meant to see life differently
To see light
Fractals of time
Moments of clarity
Maybe some of us are meant to be outcasts
Loners
The black sheep
Or even perpetually misunderstood
Maybe there’s some of us who love fast and forgive quickly
Who always have open arms
Waiting with an embrace
A hand on your heart
A kiss
And eyes that say
I see you
Maybe there’s some of us who crave the moonlight
Who cry over mountains
And pray with the sunrise
Maybe there’s some of us who live for the top down kind of moments
The bathing suit and cutoffs
Crazy hair
And bronzed shoulder days
Maybe there’s some of us who love soul deep
Who feel your energy
Who exhale in your arms
And never need much but you
Maybe there’s some of us who still make dandelion crowns
Who stop to talk to strangers
And sit with the homeless
Maybe there’s some of us who believe in the good
Triumphing over hate
In integrity
Honesty
And in people actually becoming their best selves
Maybe there’s some of us that get lost on purpose
That seek out the path less traveled
That make up their own rules
Or live by none at all
Maybe there’s some of us
Who’d rather take chances
Than only wish we did
Who trust ourselves
Our hearts
And follow them like our own North Star
Maybe some of us do exist
Maybe it’s not such a dream after all.

~ Kate Rose ~

He challenges the gentle parts of me. The soft parts. And it’s confronting.

‘I want to take you shopping,’ he says. ‘You can buy anything you want.’ ‘I want to give you a gift, no strings attached, nothing expected in return.’ ‘I just want to give this gift to you.’

There’s that moment when I know something has touched deep. The pause. When everything stops for a minute second, and leaves a wake of confusion. What?

I’m cautious. Wary. Unable to determine if the next step is where I fall through what I thought was solid ground.

‘When was the last time someone gave you something just because they wanted to?’

My mind scrambles, looking for an answer.

The bravado I’d been clinging to crumbles, and a tear comes, uninvited. Quietly followed by others.

I don’t know.

That’s a wound I’m not prepared for. A deep wound, winding its way all the way back to childhood. Disappointment. Constantly let down by false promises. Hidden strings attached. The secret pact I made as a child, hidden from everyone, myself included until this moment, to not need or want anything from anyone. The struggle with being able to receive, this pact left me with.

The struggle to receive. I sit with how that one little thing has tendrils spread throughout all areas of my life. It’s safer to be the giver.

As we speak about it, I realise there’s a trust there. I trust what he’s saying. I believe him. His actions have already shown me this is his truth. He is kind and thoughtful and mindful and aware. He listens as I share my discomfort and fears and pain. And then gently reminds me of who I am. He gently reminds me of who he is. And I feel safe. Safe to accept his gift. Safe to pick anything I want… not what I would think he’d want me to pick… not something practical or cheap or easy or dismissive (basically, I won’t bestow my own rules beyond his).
I will simply pick something I want. Without guilt. And I will receive his gift. Because the gift he is giving me goes far beyond a material item. He is teaching me the art of receiving. And the art of allowing another the opportunity to give.

Something I realised we have already been exploring together.

I look deep into his eyes, a mischievous smile forming, lean forward and whisper, ‘I love sitting here in such an ordinary setting having dinner with you, knowing I’ve just sucked my ass juices from your cock.’

He laughs that beautiful laugh, and reaches across the table and grabs my hands. We giggle at our secret, like delinquents. The intensity of the session we’ve just had, enveloping us. I know I’m glowing… can feel it radiating out of every pore. And I don’t care. I bask in it. I can feel the stares, the wonder. My goddess is alight and I am feeling free and satisfied, so I revel in the curiosity.

His mere presence makes everything disappear, yet at the same time, heightened. He makes me feel seen and somehow safe to be. I want to be covered in him, and I am. Spit, cum, sweat, lube, juices… all of it… laying beneath my casual summer dress, as we sit eating pasta and pizza, and sipping wine, whilst listening to the musician singing 80’s cover songs.

Conversation flows between spiritual beliefs, to every day thoughts, to concepts around kink, to the food. All so natural. So ordinary. Sometimes awkward. But we long ago gave eachother permission for it all. Authenticity.

He pauses for a moment to ask if I mind if he texts his wife to check in. His thoughtfulness for everyone is so admirable. I smile and nod my ok and look away to watch the singer, to give them some privacy. It’s so easy to share someone who is so easy to share. And so easy to share with someone who is so easy to share with. I am grateful to them both for the work they have done to reach this place.

Sometimes you just find that person who resonates. Somehow you’re both so very different and yet so very the same. And for some reason, we have this. We have our fears, yet are both driven to make everything beautiful… even our ugly parts. Which somehow, the simple recognition, or perhaps, acceptance, allows some kind of magic to unfold.

I want him. I crave him. I’ve never had my body switch on so quickly by a person. Something has awakened, and she is ravenous.

As we lay on my sofa, digesting, relaxing, languidly throwing words into the ether, he suggests it’s time to shower. The thought of him naked stirs my pussy. I want to feel him deep inside me again. As he undresses I watch. Observe. A new feeling emerges… the huntress watching prey. The urge to grab his cock, or say something is overwhelming, but instead I just quietly watch. So methodical in everything he does. I smile.

I remove my underwear and leave the room, walk into my bedroom and remove my dress without a word. He walks around the corner and sees me. ‘You’re naked,’ he says. ‘I am,’ I purr. The seductress has come out to play.

His body wraps around mine as he whispers into my ear. ‘You want me to fuck you again bub.’ It’s not a question. I nod. ‘Yes please’ I reply. ‘I want you to fuck me from behind and cum all over my back.’

He bends me over and glides in. ‘Mmm you’re so open,’ I hear him say. I feel it too. I am. My body opens to him like a flower. Craving his cock deep inside.

We move to the couch where only moments before we had been snuggling, and he pounds into me. Letting go. Going to that place we have discovered. ‘You want me to cum on you?’ He growls. ‘Yes please,’ I reply. ‘I want you to cum all over me.’

With that he lets go and I feel his warm spurts up my back. He rubs his hand around, spreading his cum like lotion on my skin. I revel in it.

As he goes to shower I put on my silk robe, feeling it cling to the stickiness. Something deep inside settles. Content.

It starts as a whisper. Maybe a word you say. A look. A touch.

Although it’s still so new, you are my first resounding Yes.

Not just as a word.

Placating.

Seeking acceptance.

Seeking approval.

Seeking validation.

This Yes… Your Yes… is real. It is honest.

It comes from a place deep within my body that melts into your safety. Safety you have worked so diligently to create. Delicately unthreading the parts wound so tightly.

Your Yes sets me alight. Makes me squirm. Makes me smile that smile only lovers understand.

Your Yes makes No’s so obvious now.

Thank you for your thoughtfulness and patience and tenderness and care. Thank you for allowing me to unfold before you. Thank you for taking the time to allow my body, my heart, my soul, to say… “Yes!”

Please remember…

I can’t always be consistent in how I make you feel. 

I have my own demons too.

There is a place.
Somewhere in here, and somewhere out there, where the two meet… the Virgin and the Whore. 
At first there may be conflict. At first one will overshadow the other. At first one will have a stronger, louder, more convincing voice. She will regale you with all the should’s, could’s, expected’s, are’s, is’s, wrongs, rights. All.the.things. 

Eventually she will run out of reasons… and allow the Other a voice. At first that Other voice will be timid. Ashamed. Fearful. Lonely. Sad. Angry. “Why did you abandon me?!” she will cry. 

And you will dance. You will dance them both into your body, and eventually you will dance them out into the world. You will give them space and freedom. Freedom to be, and express. Freedom to take up space… equally. Freedom to merge and become both the strength and softness for eachother. 

And something will shift. 

You will become the Goddess that encompasses both. You will find your power. The power that radiates the feminine. Fearful and Fearless. Nurturer and Seductress. 

Those who are afraid will fade away. And those who are enamoured will step forward with desire to share in your power. Bringing forth their own. And together you will create a Bond. A spellbinding, mesmerising ritual that will stop others in their tracks and ask… ‘how do I have that too?’

And you will smile… and you will hold out your hand… and you will ask them to join the dance. 

And those who hear the music will swirl and twirl and laugh and cry. And you will all be seen as crazy by those who don’t hear it… who don’t feel the call. Who don’t feel that pull to tear off your flesh and go back to the beginning. The time when we were all Gods and Goddesses… beyond flesh and bone and blood and sweat.

You will remember that once upon a time we all heard the call, and we all understood what it meant. 

I asked a question in chat today: 

How do I learn to begin shifting away from an instant gratification mindset, towards a longer-term mindset of health and wellness? Aka, how do I stop continually substituting one quick fix for another?

Some suggestions were made, which I was very appreciative of, however, they didn’t really touch the depth of what I was hoping. 

And then I found this… or more accurately, it found me:

“Self-care is often a very unbeautiful thing.

It is making a spreadsheet of your debt and enforcing a morning routine and cooking yourself healthy meals and no longer just running from your problems and calling the distraction a solution.

It is often doing the ugliest thing that you have to do, like sweat through another workout or tell a toxic friend you don’t want to see them anymore or get a second job so you can have a savings account or figure out a way to accept yourself so that you’re not constantly exhausted from trying to be everything, all the time and then needing to take deliberate, mandated breaks from living to do basic things like drop some oil into a bath and read Marie Claire and turn your phone off for the day.

A world in which self-care has to be such a trendy topic is a world that is sick. Self-care should not be something we resort to because we are so absolutely exhausted that we need some reprieve from our own relentless internal pressure.

True self-care is not salt baths and chocolate cake, it is making the choice to build a life you don’t need to regularly escape from.

And that often takes doing the thing you least want to do.

It often means looking your failures and disappointments square in the eye and re-strategizing. It is not satiating your immediate desires. It is letting go. It is choosing new. It is disappointing some people. It is making sacrifices for others. It is living a way that other people won’t, so maybe you can live in a way that other people can’t.

It is letting yourself be normal. Regular. Unexceptional. It is sometimes having a dirty kitchen and deciding your ultimate goal in life isn’t going to be having abs and keeping up with your fake friends. It is deciding how much of your anxiety comes from not actualizing your latent potential, and how much comes from the way you were being trained to think before you even knew what was happening.

If you find yourself having to regularly indulge in consumer self-care, it’s because you are disconnected from actual self-care, which has very little to do with “treating yourself” and a whole lot do with parenting yourself and making choices for your long-term wellness.

It is no longer using your hectic and unreasonable life as justification for self-sabotage in the form of liquor and procrastination. It is learning how to stop trying to “fix yourself” and start trying to take care of yourself… and maybe finding that taking care lovingly attends to a lot of the problems you were trying to fix in the first place.

It means being the hero of your life, not the victim. It means rewiring what you have until your everyday life isn’t something you need therapy to recover from. It is no longer choosing a life that looks good over a life that feels good. It is giving the hell up on some goals so you can care about others. It is being honest even if that means you aren’t universally liked. It is meeting your own needs so you aren’t anxious and dependent on other people.

It is becoming the person you know you want and are meant to be. Someone who knows that salt baths and chocolate cake are ways to enjoy life – not escape from it.”

-Brianna Wiest

sometimes when we talk,

I have to refrain from saying, ‘I love you.’

sometimes,

it still sits so close to the surface.

sometimes I can forget,

and fool myself into believing I’m moving on.

sometimes,

I want to reach out and touch your face.

run my fingers through your beard.

curl up in your arms.

your smell. your warmth. engulfing me.

I thought the pain was gone.

why on some days does it still feel so fresh?

she gave you a bracelet.

a gift to you, yet it pierced my heart like an arrow.

I want to scream and shout at the unfairness of it all.

but I don’t. there’s no point.

there never was.

all I can do is sit with this pain that seems to have made a home in me.

and when I’m alone, allow it the only escape that makes sense.

one day my tears for you will cease.

until then I will give myself grace.

I will hold and forgive the parts that still hurt.

that can’t seem to let go…

It occurred to me recently how much I abandon myself in a relationship. I come away barely recognisable. It’s made me begin to sit back more and observe. Observe others and how they move together. My last experience showed me signs I can see that are so familiar. I observe the women mostly. We are so absorbent. You can tell a lot about a relationship, and the man a woman is with, by observing just her.

I saw a couple that did make me smile this morning though. Their energy flowed between them as freely as their touch. It was so beautiful to witness. The ease with which their bodies knew each other without thought. I realised how rare that is to actually see. He and I didn’t have that. Our bodies knew each other less than our souls… and our souls hardly knew each other at all. Even after 3 years.

I’ve shifted through so many emotional states in regards to us. But now I just feel sorry for us. We struggled so much. I always feel so naive in hindsight. Looking back, reflecting. So many mistakes that I see now could have been overcome had neither of us been so naive. That’s the cruelty of hindsight. Being able to look back and see where things could’ve been different. A pointless pursuit. It’s easy to say hindsight is a blessing to help prevent mistakes next time… but it just leaves room to make new ones.

The thought of a new relationship is absolutely unfathomable to me right now. And to be honest, I’m perfectly ok with that. I kind of like it. It feels peaceful. I still revel in the beauty of witnessing love, and being able to be happy for those who seek it or have found it. I am just feeling a very strong urge to walk this part alone. I’m tired of abandoning myself. I don’t want to be one of those women I keep seeing everywhere who lives in a perpetual state of… what? Exhaustion. Carrying the weight of those around her. Smiling while she acts like glue, yet is silently falling apart on the inside.

As the lyrics from one of my favourite songs states:

“I will not pretend. I will not put on a smile. I will not say I’m alright for you. For you, whoever you are.”

I may not life as others think I should, but I love my life. After a lifetime of seeking distraction and numbing myself, I love the depth of which I now feel and experience everything. I love that I’m remembering to come back to paying attention. Ignoring things doesn’t make them go away. It simply makes me go away.