Whoof. Tired, sore, did not get any writing done, and soooo happy. I was hypnotized, beaten, flogged, tied up, fucked, fisted, scratched, dragged around by the hair, and at one point had blood suction-cupped out of my body via the holes made by a stapler. I also got to see just about every kinky person I've ever met, watch the most fucking hilarious BDSM comedy show imaginable, and attend some fascinatingly informative classes on everything from "Mind Play 101" to "The History Of Torture." And the shopping. My left forearm will take weeks to recover.
(Stupid inside joke explanation: when you shop for hitty-toys, you test out their precise level of hittyness by hitting yourself or your shopping buddy on the forearm. When you're shopping through thousands of hitty-toys, the damage adds up.)
Oh, and some tidbits for the ever-simmering "BDSM and feminism" cauldron: I've never been in a more gender-comfortable space. All sorts of people were presenting all sorts of ways and very few assumptions were made--including the assumptions often made of ciswomen presenting as traditionally feminine. The Flea intro booklet had an entire page on transgender etiquette. Bathrooms were open to all genders, which I was way too into--"I'M PEEING IN THE BOYS' ROOM!" The general skeeve factor was admirably low, frankly much lower than at your average non-sexual nerd convention. Everything in the classes was phrased in the language of inclusion, respect, and the right to be and feel safe while doing bizarre shit to each other's bodies and minds. The word "consent," taken extremely seriously, came up probably eighty times a day.
I felt safer letting someone flog me at the Flea than I feel just talking to some people outside it. I don't know if that's "feminism" exactly, but it's awesome.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, October 10, 2010
How to have sex on the Brooklyn Bridge.
(Note: Do not have sex on the Brooklyn Bridge. This is illegal, and if you are witnessed by nonconsenting people unethical, and just a fucking sketchy thing to do. I am not responsible for your actions or how the NYPD might feel about them.)
1. Timing is important.
Sprite and Rowdy and I had just spent the night at a fetish party; they had jackets over their shiny black fetishwear, and I'd taken the vest off my Girl Scout uniform. It was 5 AM on a Sunday morning, clear but cool, and though the car traffic was as bustling as ever on the bridge, we had the raised pedestrian path all to ourselves. We walked up from the Manhattan side to the midpoint without seeing a soul.
2. Have accomplices.
We were supposed to be attending an event up there, but due to some sort of complicated miscommunication the only other people who showed up were a kinky couple we'd met at the weekend's parties. We hung out a bit, talked, and then the man got out his flogger and his partner bent over and he flogged her right on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.
At which point I leaned over the railing, hiked my skirt up, and asked if I could have a few swats myself. Oh, and I could, and it was lovely.
And then at some point, after a little more fooling around and some just sitting and talking, at about 5:30 when there weren't even joggers out yet, they brought up the idea of having sex on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, and started egging us on. It didn't take much egging. They gave us a condom and stood lookout. (Although they were mostly just looking at us, which is not technically "lookout." Lookin, more like.)
3. Dress for success.
I was wearing a skirt (in the official Girl Scout colors, naturally) that I'd pinned up to be short for the party, and I took out the safety pins. It was long enough that I could mount up on Rowdy and only look like I was committing a little bit of PDA to passerby. On the "whoa kids, get a room" level, certainly, but not on a "whoa, they are literally having intercourse right there" level. Not completely obviously.
4. Work fast, but have fun.
Rowdy sat on a bench, unzipped his fly, and took out his cock. I straddled him, spread my skirt out, pulled my panties aside, and we kissed and rolled the condom on and I slid down on him.
And I took it all in. Yeah, yeah, that's what she said, but I mean the whole scene. The cars rushing below us, the East River black and quiet far below us, the chill of the wind, and the million lights of New York City glowing all around us. The kinksters watching us and snapping pictures. And Rowdy's cock, deep inside me as I ground down on his lap, gasping in pleasure.
We switched positions and he did me from behind, bent over the railing, looking down at the traffic. It was too cold and too furtive for either of us to finish, but it was good. We stopped and kissed and cuddled on the bench.
5. Finish with bagels.
As the sun came up over Brooklyn, we ate bagels on the bridge. Yum.
1. Timing is important.
Sprite and Rowdy and I had just spent the night at a fetish party; they had jackets over their shiny black fetishwear, and I'd taken the vest off my Girl Scout uniform. It was 5 AM on a Sunday morning, clear but cool, and though the car traffic was as bustling as ever on the bridge, we had the raised pedestrian path all to ourselves. We walked up from the Manhattan side to the midpoint without seeing a soul.
2. Have accomplices.
We were supposed to be attending an event up there, but due to some sort of complicated miscommunication the only other people who showed up were a kinky couple we'd met at the weekend's parties. We hung out a bit, talked, and then the man got out his flogger and his partner bent over and he flogged her right on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.
At which point I leaned over the railing, hiked my skirt up, and asked if I could have a few swats myself. Oh, and I could, and it was lovely.
And then at some point, after a little more fooling around and some just sitting and talking, at about 5:30 when there weren't even joggers out yet, they brought up the idea of having sex on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, and started egging us on. It didn't take much egging. They gave us a condom and stood lookout. (Although they were mostly just looking at us, which is not technically "lookout." Lookin, more like.)
3. Dress for success.
I was wearing a skirt (in the official Girl Scout colors, naturally) that I'd pinned up to be short for the party, and I took out the safety pins. It was long enough that I could mount up on Rowdy and only look like I was committing a little bit of PDA to passerby. On the "whoa kids, get a room" level, certainly, but not on a "whoa, they are literally having intercourse right there" level. Not completely obviously.
4. Work fast, but have fun.
Rowdy sat on a bench, unzipped his fly, and took out his cock. I straddled him, spread my skirt out, pulled my panties aside, and we kissed and rolled the condom on and I slid down on him.
And I took it all in. Yeah, yeah, that's what she said, but I mean the whole scene. The cars rushing below us, the East River black and quiet far below us, the chill of the wind, and the million lights of New York City glowing all around us. The kinksters watching us and snapping pictures. And Rowdy's cock, deep inside me as I ground down on his lap, gasping in pleasure.
We switched positions and he did me from behind, bent over the railing, looking down at the traffic. It was too cold and too furtive for either of us to finish, but it was good. We stopped and kissed and cuddled on the bench.
5. Finish with bagels.
As the sun came up over Brooklyn, we ate bagels on the bridge. Yum.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Going Home.
Very early tomorrow morning, I get on a plane for Boston. (Well, actually I get on a plane for Brussels, and then I get on a plane for London, and then I pace around the airport in London for five hours, and then I get on a plane for Boston. I don't understand why it's cheaper for the airline to fly me further and on more flights, but I'm no airplanologist.)
I have to admit, I'm looking forward to it. It's been fun here and I'm awfully lucky to be able to just run off to Europe like this, but I'm also lucky to live in a place where I have a car and time to myself and I can speak the language. It's been cool though. Europe is like going to another planet and finding a civilization parallel to Earth's, where everything kind of looks the same but everything's kind of different. Also everyone speaks Martian. And there's culture and stuff (although not that much in Hamburg because most of the culture got blasted to shards in WWII), and a lot of nice places to just walk around or hang out in.
I can hardly say "well, back to the same old boring routine," when I've been in Massachusetts less time than I've been in Germany. Back to trying to find a routine, really.
I have to admit, I'm looking forward to it. It's been fun here and I'm awfully lucky to be able to just run off to Europe like this, but I'm also lucky to live in a place where I have a car and time to myself and I can speak the language. It's been cool though. Europe is like going to another planet and finding a civilization parallel to Earth's, where everything kind of looks the same but everything's kind of different. Also everyone speaks Martian. And there's culture and stuff (although not that much in Hamburg because most of the culture got blasted to shards in WWII), and a lot of nice places to just walk around or hang out in.
I can hardly say "well, back to the same old boring routine," when I've been in Massachusetts less time than I've been in Germany. Back to trying to find a routine, really.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Elbe / Hookup Culture.
Lovely day today. Dad and I walked out on a dike by the Elbe, still in the city of Hamburg but surrounded by farmland on one side and tall reeds on the other. A big herd of sheep was grazing on the dike, with adorable little lambs frisking about.
We had lunch by the entrance to Hamburg's port, watching the big ships come in. An announcer at the little tourist-trap house announced, very importantly, the name and nationality of every ship that came in and played the appropriate national anthem each time.
And the link of the day is Tiger Beatdown, on hookup culture. The gist is that the real question isn't "is casual sex wrong?" but "how can casual sex be done right?" Hookups are fun, but hookups used as a pretext for a screwjob suck.
Money quote: Not just “sex” or “not sex,” when you’ve heard that “sex” consist of “giving a guy who refuses to be your boyfriend a million blow jobs that are never reciprocated.”
It's not really that hard to have non-screwjob casual sex. Just be... friendly. Be generous in bed like you'd be generous with a friend, and be nice to them the way you'd be nice to a friend. Ask what they're into and (within your own comfort zone etc.) do it for them. Unless they explicitly ask you not to, do your damnedest to give them an orgasm. Be honest before and after about the relationship potential you are or aren't considering. If they turn out to be expecting more than you were afterwards, let them down explicitly and politely; if it turns out you feel like seeing more of them, discuss it with them once and then let it go if it's clear they don't feel the same way.
Public service announcement for the guys: you all should start a little cooperative project where whenever you have casual sex, you try really hard to leave your partner happy with the experience. I'm surprised how many guys put a lot of effort into picking up chicks, then put no effort at all into pleasing the ones they succeeded with--even making it a point of pride to burn bridges. Every guy who turns into a clingy creeper or a callous douchebag the instant he comes is drastically reducing the number of women who will be up for casual sex in the future.
There's no point complaining that women won't sleep with you if you don't make the ones who do glad that they did.
We had lunch by the entrance to Hamburg's port, watching the big ships come in. An announcer at the little tourist-trap house announced, very importantly, the name and nationality of every ship that came in and played the appropriate national anthem each time.
And the link of the day is Tiger Beatdown, on hookup culture. The gist is that the real question isn't "is casual sex wrong?" but "how can casual sex be done right?" Hookups are fun, but hookups used as a pretext for a screwjob suck.
Money quote: Not just “sex” or “not sex,” when you’ve heard that “sex” consist of “giving a guy who refuses to be your boyfriend a million blow jobs that are never reciprocated.”
It's not really that hard to have non-screwjob casual sex. Just be... friendly. Be generous in bed like you'd be generous with a friend, and be nice to them the way you'd be nice to a friend. Ask what they're into and (within your own comfort zone etc.) do it for them. Unless they explicitly ask you not to, do your damnedest to give them an orgasm. Be honest before and after about the relationship potential you are or aren't considering. If they turn out to be expecting more than you were afterwards, let them down explicitly and politely; if it turns out you feel like seeing more of them, discuss it with them once and then let it go if it's clear they don't feel the same way.
Public service announcement for the guys: you all should start a little cooperative project where whenever you have casual sex, you try really hard to leave your partner happy with the experience. I'm surprised how many guys put a lot of effort into picking up chicks, then put no effort at all into pleasing the ones they succeeded with--even making it a point of pride to burn bridges. Every guy who turns into a clingy creeper or a callous douchebag the instant he comes is drastically reducing the number of women who will be up for casual sex in the future.
There's no point complaining that women won't sleep with you if you don't make the ones who do glad that they did.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
So the whole Holocaust thing.
Maybe once a day my dad will point out something to do with the Holocaust. There are small reminders around the city: little plaques on the sidewalk outside buildings Jews used to live in, a memorial wall in a shopping mall built over a demolished Jewish cemetery, a hulking Nazi bunker right next to the fairground. I always get awkwardly quiet at these moments; I don't know what to say.
It's a lot more personal for him; his parents were Holocaust survivors (as were my mother's), and a lot of their siblings and family and friends were killed. My knowledge is third-hand, and sketchy; my father's parents didn't like to talk about their experiences and they died a while ago. I suppose my father knows but it's not information he volunteers. I was 20 before I even knew that Yiddish was his first language.
I'm the first generation of my family to grow up white. My cultural heritage is a factoid, somewhere up there with my blood type on things that people only learn after knowing me a while and never really care about. I've never had anyone insult or attack me for being Jewish or non-jokingly use a slur against me. Although I'm fairly well educated about it, I don't follow the Jewish religion much. I make no special effort to befriend or date other Jews. My Hebrew and Yiddish end at the swear words. I straighten my hair and dye it red.
So I'm uncomfortable talking about the Holocaust because I'm neither an insider who can feel anger or grief, nor an outsider who can offer sympathy and sorrow. This isn't exactly "look what happened to my people," but it certainly isn't "I'm so sorry what happened to your people." Maybe what I'm feeling is that after what my family went through, I should be a Jew. I feel uncomfortably guilty that people so recently would hold on to their faith in the face of death, and I'm giving it up just because it's kind of old-fashioned and inconvenient.
I suppose family guilt is the Jewishest emotion of them all.
It's a lot more personal for him; his parents were Holocaust survivors (as were my mother's), and a lot of their siblings and family and friends were killed. My knowledge is third-hand, and sketchy; my father's parents didn't like to talk about their experiences and they died a while ago. I suppose my father knows but it's not information he volunteers. I was 20 before I even knew that Yiddish was his first language.
I'm the first generation of my family to grow up white. My cultural heritage is a factoid, somewhere up there with my blood type on things that people only learn after knowing me a while and never really care about. I've never had anyone insult or attack me for being Jewish or non-jokingly use a slur against me. Although I'm fairly well educated about it, I don't follow the Jewish religion much. I make no special effort to befriend or date other Jews. My Hebrew and Yiddish end at the swear words. I straighten my hair and dye it red.
So I'm uncomfortable talking about the Holocaust because I'm neither an insider who can feel anger or grief, nor an outsider who can offer sympathy and sorrow. This isn't exactly "look what happened to my people," but it certainly isn't "I'm so sorry what happened to your people." Maybe what I'm feeling is that after what my family went through, I should be a Jew. I feel uncomfortably guilty that people so recently would hold on to their faith in the face of death, and I'm giving it up just because it's kind of old-fashioned and inconvenient.
I suppose family guilt is the Jewishest emotion of them all.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Critter-Centric Day.
We went to the zoo and it was awesome. Mostly because:
A) They let you feed the elephants! We brought a big bag of carrots and handed them to the elephants, who had amazing dexterity with their trunks; it's awe-inspiring to have a 5-ton prehistoric-looking beast delicately pluck vegetables out of your hand. They never dropped one.
B) There's a GUINEA PIG TOWN! An entire miniature town with houses and a church and a little watermill and it's all full of zillions of guinea pigs! There's even a separate kindergarten with a little school for the baby guinea pigs! They all go squeeky and run around and you can give them carrots too! It's the best zoo exhibit ever.
And then for dinner we visited my dad's friend whose friend had shot a wild boar (they're a nuisance animal in Germany) and we ate boar stew, which was the most delicious thing ever. It's kind of like pork, but much leaner and with a lot more flavor. Yum.
And the following story was told at dinner: "I vas taking meine kinder to der kindergarten, ja, and vun of de little girl's mama vanted to kiss her goodbye. But de little girl started yellink in front of everyone, 'Nein, mama, I don't vant you kissink me any more, not after you had Papa's peepee in your mouth!'"
A) They let you feed the elephants! We brought a big bag of carrots and handed them to the elephants, who had amazing dexterity with their trunks; it's awe-inspiring to have a 5-ton prehistoric-looking beast delicately pluck vegetables out of your hand. They never dropped one.
B) There's a GUINEA PIG TOWN! An entire miniature town with houses and a church and a little watermill and it's all full of zillions of guinea pigs! There's even a separate kindergarten with a little school for the baby guinea pigs! They all go squeeky and run around and you can give them carrots too! It's the best zoo exhibit ever.
And then for dinner we visited my dad's friend whose friend had shot a wild boar (they're a nuisance animal in Germany) and we ate boar stew, which was the most delicious thing ever. It's kind of like pork, but much leaner and with a lot more flavor. Yum.
And the following story was told at dinner: "I vas taking meine kinder to der kindergarten, ja, and vun of de little girl's mama vanted to kiss her goodbye. But de little girl started yellink in front of everyone, 'Nein, mama, I don't vant you kissink me any more, not after you had Papa's peepee in your mouth!'"
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Hamburg / Intentional Vanilla
(Experimenting with dual post format. Unsure of wisdom of approach.)
Today was ordinary. I went with my dad to work, we had lunch with one of his friends (he's a paramedic and we were trading call stories in "neither of us knows medical terms in the other language"-ese, which was fun) and afterwards we went for a long walk and went shopping. Which I enjoyed; I'd rather have a slice of life in a different place than do the Official Designated Tourist Activities. We're going to go to the zoo and do a boat ride and all that, but it's not "doing Hamburg" so much as just living in it for a little while.
This trip is a little like being a kid again, in a weird way. I don't have any real responsibilities of my own, I follow my dad around because I'd get lost in five minutes alone, I let him do all the talking, and (me not having Euros) I have to ask him for anything I want. It's not a bad thing, but it's strange; I'm so used to setting my own agenda.
For some horrible IP-confusion reason Google is now speaking to me in Finnish. At least with the German I had a chance at guessing my way around. Finnish just looks like Martian.
---------
Anyway:
You know who I really respect? I have a couple friends who are strictly-heterosexual, monogamous, and vanilla as the day is long--but not by default. They're aware of other options, they've either tried or seriously considered them, and they've realized it's not how they're wired.
I think it's cool when people are in touch enough with their own needs that they don't take for granted that they're vanilla, but they're willing to accept it and assert it even when well acquainted with the pansexual/poly/kinky world.
(And the pan/poly/kinky world can be kind of jerks about "vanillas," if you couldn't tell by the name. The versions of "whatsamatta baby, you uptight?" that I've heard used to accost people--generally women--who declare they respect you very much but it's not for them, are positively shameful. Clearly if you don't want to get spanked by somebody else's girlfriend you just have a narrow view of sexuality and are probably some kind of *ptooey* Christian.)
Today was ordinary. I went with my dad to work, we had lunch with one of his friends (he's a paramedic and we were trading call stories in "neither of us knows medical terms in the other language"-ese, which was fun) and afterwards we went for a long walk and went shopping. Which I enjoyed; I'd rather have a slice of life in a different place than do the Official Designated Tourist Activities. We're going to go to the zoo and do a boat ride and all that, but it's not "doing Hamburg" so much as just living in it for a little while.
This trip is a little like being a kid again, in a weird way. I don't have any real responsibilities of my own, I follow my dad around because I'd get lost in five minutes alone, I let him do all the talking, and (me not having Euros) I have to ask him for anything I want. It's not a bad thing, but it's strange; I'm so used to setting my own agenda.
For some horrible IP-confusion reason Google is now speaking to me in Finnish. At least with the German I had a chance at guessing my way around. Finnish just looks like Martian.
---------
Anyway:
You know who I really respect? I have a couple friends who are strictly-heterosexual, monogamous, and vanilla as the day is long--but not by default. They're aware of other options, they've either tried or seriously considered them, and they've realized it's not how they're wired.
I think it's cool when people are in touch enough with their own needs that they don't take for granted that they're vanilla, but they're willing to accept it and assert it even when well acquainted with the pansexual/poly/kinky world.
(And the pan/poly/kinky world can be kind of jerks about "vanillas," if you couldn't tell by the name. The versions of "whatsamatta baby, you uptight?" that I've heard used to accost people--generally women--who declare they respect you very much but it's not for them, are positively shameful. Clearly if you don't want to get spanked by somebody else's girlfriend you just have a narrow view of sexuality and are probably some kind of *ptooey* Christian.)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Holly.de
I'm in Germany! Crazy. Some websites see my IP here and automatically make everything Deutsch, which is a little confusing. I couldn't "log in" to Blogger, I had to "Anmeldung."
I miss my little guinea pigs.
But other than that I'm pretty good; I'm staying with my dad, but I have my own room and it's comfy.
Mostly I just flew today. Or yesterday? However days work. I don't really fit in plane seats. I guess I'm lucky that I'm short, so at least my legs fit the legroom, but my shoulders are broader than the seats. I'm not sure it's even a fatness issue, my belly and ass fit in the seat fine, but I have some seriously wide shoulders and I had to spend the entire flight with my arms awkwardly tucked in. Not comfy.
They gave me socks on the flight. There was a little toiletry kit with mostly sensible items--toothbrush, toothpaste, sleep mask--and goofy little red socks. I'm wearing them now. They're comfy.
I was really hungry and thirsty for most of the day because food costs money on flights now, the airport terminals had no water fountains, and everyone wanted pounds or Euros and until I got to Hamburg I only had dollars.
Ironically the hamburgers are terrible here.
I miss my little guinea pigs.
But other than that I'm pretty good; I'm staying with my dad, but I have my own room and it's comfy.
Mostly I just flew today. Or yesterday? However days work. I don't really fit in plane seats. I guess I'm lucky that I'm short, so at least my legs fit the legroom, but my shoulders are broader than the seats. I'm not sure it's even a fatness issue, my belly and ass fit in the seat fine, but I have some seriously wide shoulders and I had to spend the entire flight with my arms awkwardly tucked in. Not comfy.
They gave me socks on the flight. There was a little toiletry kit with mostly sensible items--toothbrush, toothpaste, sleep mask--and goofy little red socks. I'm wearing them now. They're comfy.
I was really hungry and thirsty for most of the day because food costs money on flights now, the airport terminals had no water fountains, and everyone wanted pounds or Euros and until I got to Hamburg I only had dollars.
Ironically the hamburgers are terrible here.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Nein! Ja! ...Guten Tag?
I'm going to Hamburg, Germany for the next two weeks to visit my dad. Leaving Monday, back on the 29th. Which is awesome, albeit sort of crazy because there was really short notice and I'm still not settled in to the first unfamiliar city where they speak an unfamiliar language. It's a little frightening that I don't speak any German; my dad assures me that a lot of Germans know English, so... thank God for cultural hegemony, I guess.
Well, that's two weeks I won't have to be worried about getting laid, I guess. Phooey. I mean, anything's possible when you're a wide-eyed American abroad going "oh ja, I always wanted to learn a foreign tongue", but there's the Dad Factor. I'm going to be staying in his apartment and pretty much with him the whole time, which is a fairly major cockblock.
I guess that means I should totally try and get laid today. It might be my last chance! Why am I still sitting here in my pajamas? (Because pajamas are comfy! Why can't comfort be sexy? I want to go out to a sleazy bar in my jammies and have guys say "well, looks like you're ready for bed.")
Anyway, I'll take my laptop and probably post from Deutschland, but I don't know if there will be impediments.
It's too bad it'll be cold there, I understand in the summer you can run around parks and beaches in the nakey in Europe. And they have naked advertisements! Especially boobs, maybe not so much crotch, but I understand they're very relaxed about boobs over there.
Europe! Exciting! Kind of insane right now! But I think it'll be awesome! Maybe I can wear my pajamas there!
Ich will Sex wie ein verrückter Affe haben...
P.S.: Oh my. I just read a webpage on cultural advice for Americans in Germany and it specifically mentioned "don't make any Nazi jokes." Yeah... I kinda figured. (It's double funny because I'm Jewish. Awkward...)
Well, that's two weeks I won't have to be worried about getting laid, I guess. Phooey. I mean, anything's possible when you're a wide-eyed American abroad going "oh ja, I always wanted to learn a foreign tongue", but there's the Dad Factor. I'm going to be staying in his apartment and pretty much with him the whole time, which is a fairly major cockblock.
I guess that means I should totally try and get laid today. It might be my last chance! Why am I still sitting here in my pajamas? (Because pajamas are comfy! Why can't comfort be sexy? I want to go out to a sleazy bar in my jammies and have guys say "well, looks like you're ready for bed.")
Anyway, I'll take my laptop and probably post from Deutschland, but I don't know if there will be impediments.
It's too bad it'll be cold there, I understand in the summer you can run around parks and beaches in the nakey in Europe. And they have naked advertisements! Especially boobs, maybe not so much crotch, but I understand they're very relaxed about boobs over there.
Europe! Exciting! Kind of insane right now! But I think it'll be awesome! Maybe I can wear my pajamas there!
Ich will Sex wie ein verrückter Affe haben...
P.S.: Oh my. I just read a webpage on cultural advice for Americans in Germany and it specifically mentioned "don't make any Nazi jokes." Yeah... I kinda figured. (It's double funny because I'm Jewish. Awkward...)
Monday, March 8, 2010
No brakes.
My car died. Well. It didn't just die. It died in the sense that the lights and brakes died as I was going down a steep downhill in the dark. Augh. I'm okay though. Obviously. Didn't crash. Downshifted and E-braked and found a safe spot and was also fucking lucky and didn't crash.
At a motel now, I'm okay, piggies are okay, will get the car fixed in the morning.
So fucking scary. I'm crying now that everything's okay even though I wasn't while it was going on. I'm not going to get hurt now but oh my god. I was totally in the dark and alone and no one could see me and I couldn't see anything and it was a steep hill and I couldn't stop.
I want to go home. I want my daddy. I want a hug.
It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just completely exhausted and emotional. Probably the lady hormones or something. I'll get the car fixed and I'll go to my new apartment tomorrow and it'll all be okay. But goddamn. This is, as I say, Suck City.
At a motel now, I'm okay, piggies are okay, will get the car fixed in the morning.
So fucking scary. I'm crying now that everything's okay even though I wasn't while it was going on. I'm not going to get hurt now but oh my god. I was totally in the dark and alone and no one could see me and I couldn't see anything and it was a steep hill and I couldn't stop.
I want to go home. I want my daddy. I want a hug.
It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just completely exhausted and emotional. Probably the lady hormones or something. I'll get the car fixed and I'll go to my new apartment tomorrow and it'll all be okay. But goddamn. This is, as I say, Suck City.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Taylor, MI.
Alive. Visiting friends! Staying extra night. Happy. But not in posting mood. Deepest apologies.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Oak Creek, Wisconsin.
423 miles today. I deliberately stopped earlier than I could've so that I could meet some blog people! Hi Strings and Spoon!
I also don't have time to write a travelogue because I was all busy hanging out with Strings and Spoon, so you won't get to hear about my amazing journey through Minnesota and Wisconsin. (They're both flat and snowy. Wisconsin has a lot of trees and Minnesota has fewer. You've now experienced eight hours of my day in about eight seconds.)
Instead I want to share one of my fascinations: blatantly imaginary "reviews" on sex toy sites! Some of these are jokes but I think most of them are wank fantasies. Extreme Restraints has some of the best ones.
(All links are SO NWS it's not even funny. People say "why do you warn NWS, it's already a sex blog," but man, there's NWS that's a few dirty words and a mildly suggestive banner, and then there's NWS that's a giant butthole across your screen.)
I don't think a single one of these are true.
The next day, she introduced me to the neighbor's German Sheppard - O my Gawd, I'd never been done like that before, and when he knotted up, I begged her to take the CB-2000 off - NOW, I understand why people enjoy animals! But she wasn't done, yet! She lubed up her hand, and introduced me to Fisting! [..] As I began to cum, she pushed a full beer can up my ass! [..] She popped the top on the beer, and drank it with a straw, before releasing my hands.
Some items are so insane they deserve insane reviews.
Then he woud take me out to his garage ( live in a houseing davelopment) open the door, and hang me up for anyone to come play with. He would put 9oz. nipple clamps one me and a but plug up my ass. Then leave at first no one played with me during the day, so Master put a sing up that said " Sex slave: play with her for free" then people started comeing. Mostly house wives in the moring, then high schoolers in the afternoon, then bissness men in the eveing.
But even relatively ordinary items get the crazy treatment.
At first, I was restrained in these only around our farm for a couple of hours. They would be padlocked behind my back, and my fur-lined leather collar around my neck with the leash attached. This would be all that I was wearing as my husband led me around outside. The feelings of potential exposure and actual helplessness got my juices flowing and put a buldge in his pants, which led to some hot face, pussy, and ass fucking outdoors. At first, I didn't want to swallow cum or take it up my ass, but I had no choice and I learned to love it.
This one doesn't have funny reviews, I just love the models' attempts at looking smoky and intense while wearing ridiculous devices.
I never understand people who have fantasies about doing something strenuously sexual or being in bondage for all day or multiple days. Maybe I'm just too practical-minded, but I think I want to have sex for a few hours and be vigorously penetrated for a few minutes. It's not that I'm not way horny for those few minutes, but... I know my limitations.
Oh yeah, baby. Pound me with your moderately sized cock for a few minutes. Tie me in a comfortable position for a reasonable amount of time. Oh God, it's so tolerable.
I also don't have time to write a travelogue because I was all busy hanging out with Strings and Spoon, so you won't get to hear about my amazing journey through Minnesota and Wisconsin. (They're both flat and snowy. Wisconsin has a lot of trees and Minnesota has fewer. You've now experienced eight hours of my day in about eight seconds.)
Instead I want to share one of my fascinations: blatantly imaginary "reviews" on sex toy sites! Some of these are jokes but I think most of them are wank fantasies. Extreme Restraints has some of the best ones.
(All links are SO NWS it's not even funny. People say "why do you warn NWS, it's already a sex blog," but man, there's NWS that's a few dirty words and a mildly suggestive banner, and then there's NWS that's a giant butthole across your screen.)
I don't think a single one of these are true.
The next day, she introduced me to the neighbor's German Sheppard - O my Gawd, I'd never been done like that before, and when he knotted up, I begged her to take the CB-2000 off - NOW, I understand why people enjoy animals! But she wasn't done, yet! She lubed up her hand, and introduced me to Fisting! [..] As I began to cum, she pushed a full beer can up my ass! [..] She popped the top on the beer, and drank it with a straw, before releasing my hands.
Some items are so insane they deserve insane reviews.
Then he woud take me out to his garage ( live in a houseing davelopment) open the door, and hang me up for anyone to come play with. He would put 9oz. nipple clamps one me and a but plug up my ass. Then leave at first no one played with me during the day, so Master put a sing up that said " Sex slave: play with her for free" then people started comeing. Mostly house wives in the moring, then high schoolers in the afternoon, then bissness men in the eveing.
But even relatively ordinary items get the crazy treatment.
At first, I was restrained in these only around our farm for a couple of hours. They would be padlocked behind my back, and my fur-lined leather collar around my neck with the leash attached. This would be all that I was wearing as my husband led me around outside. The feelings of potential exposure and actual helplessness got my juices flowing and put a buldge in his pants, which led to some hot face, pussy, and ass fucking outdoors. At first, I didn't want to swallow cum or take it up my ass, but I had no choice and I learned to love it.
This one doesn't have funny reviews, I just love the models' attempts at looking smoky and intense while wearing ridiculous devices.
I never understand people who have fantasies about doing something strenuously sexual or being in bondage for all day or multiple days. Maybe I'm just too practical-minded, but I think I want to have sex for a few hours and be vigorously penetrated for a few minutes. It's not that I'm not way horny for those few minutes, but... I know my limitations.
Oh yeah, baby. Pound me with your moderately sized cock for a few minutes. Tie me in a comfortable position for a reasonable amount of time. Oh God, it's so tolerable.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Jackson, Minnesota.
South Dakota is like Hoth: flattish, windswept, covered in snow, the people are friendly and not fond of the government, you know you wouldn't make it through one night outside, and everyone rides around on giant kangaroo-goat things.
376 miles today. I waited to leave Wall in hopes that the fog would let up, and eventually I just gave up and drove anyway. It was 100 solid miles of pea soup before I could see more than a few yards ahead of me.
At Wall Drug I ran into a family moving from Massachusetts to Washington! Crazy.
Today was honestly really boring. There's not much to do in eastern South Dakota, and if there was anything, I didn't do it.
I passed the halfway mark today. The accents went from "yeehaw, pardner" to "oh ya, you betcha" and the radio stations went from K to W.
A recurrent experience on this trip is debating with motel clerks whether my guinea pigs constitute "a dog."
376 miles today. I waited to leave Wall in hopes that the fog would let up, and eventually I just gave up and drove anyway. It was 100 solid miles of pea soup before I could see more than a few yards ahead of me.
At Wall Drug I ran into a family moving from Massachusetts to Washington! Crazy.
Today was honestly really boring. There's not much to do in eastern South Dakota, and if there was anything, I didn't do it.
I passed the halfway mark today. The accents went from "yeehaw, pardner" to "oh ya, you betcha" and the radio stations went from K to W.
A recurrent experience on this trip is debating with motel clerks whether my guinea pigs constitute "a dog."
Wall, South Dakota--still.
This fucking fog. Visibility is well less than a block, and overnight the fog froze and coated everything with huge white ice crystals--very pretty, but not ideal driving conditions. I'm going to get to a late start today in hopes that the fog will burn off a little by midmorning.
In the meantime, I went to Wall Drug! You know what it's like? It's almost exactly like the Olde Curiosity Shoppe in Seattle. Same musty air and creaky wood floors, same array of fascinating but utterly disorganized and largely unlabeled objects on display, same merchandise mix of plastic tourist trinkets and true oddities.
The Olde Curiosity Shoppe is better though. It pains me to admit it, but... Wall Drug doesn't have mummies or shrunken heads or a FeeJee Mermaid. They do have dead things on the walls though, even if they're less gruesomely fascinating, so it's not a total loss.
I bought a pocketknife. It says "Wall Drug" on one side and my name on the other. Whoo. I hope this fog lifts soon.
In the meantime, I went to Wall Drug! You know what it's like? It's almost exactly like the Olde Curiosity Shoppe in Seattle. Same musty air and creaky wood floors, same array of fascinating but utterly disorganized and largely unlabeled objects on display, same merchandise mix of plastic tourist trinkets and true oddities.
The Olde Curiosity Shoppe is better though. It pains me to admit it, but... Wall Drug doesn't have mummies or shrunken heads or a FeeJee Mermaid. They do have dead things on the walls though, even if they're less gruesomely fascinating, so it's not a total loss.
I bought a pocketknife. It says "Wall Drug" on one side and my name on the other. Whoo. I hope this fog lifts soon.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Wall, South Dakota.
WALL DRUG! WALL DRUG! WALL DRUG! Sadly they're closed right now, I'll go in the morning.
510 miles today, about as good as can be expected with the damn trailer. There was a pea-soup fog for the last fifty miles, which scared the crap out of me.
Lots of deer and antelope today. Not really playing. More eating. Or in an unsettling number of cases, being dead. I came across a whole bunch of deer in one spot that had been shot and just left where they fell. Unless there's some legitimate reason that a dumb city kid doesn't know about... someone's an asshole.
I used to divide the country into two parts: the part where billboards have a snazzy slogan, and the part where billboards have directions. I need to add a third part: the part where billboards have directions and they're 200 miles away.
I'm allowing myself one ridiculous roadside-attraction impulse purchase per day. So after three days of travel I am the owner of a pink flocked unicorn, a jackalope, and a Tyrannosaurus bone fragment. Or a rock. It could be that they sold me a rock. I'm kinda going on trust with that one. (The jackalope is real though.)
Today's life lesson: walking around after dark in South Dakota in the winter in a T-shirt is a very bad idea. I was just going about 100 yards, and I'm one of those people who never gets cold and will snowshoe in a tank top, and... HOLD FUCK THAT'S COLD HOLY FUCK. It was like walking on the moon without a spacesuit and about as smart.
This motel room has two beds. I guess that's just what they had? They charged me for a single, so whatever. Every motel so far has put me on the second floor. I think that's standard procedure for women staying alone, because the first floor is more vulnerable or something. And a woman alone, as we all know, is a rarity and a tremendous risk, and has to be treated with much more care than a human alone.
No, no, I shouldn't be bitter about someone trying to help me out, I don't really care which floor I sleep on and I'd rather have my pride offended than have my room broken into. But still.
I don't think I really understood the game "Sam and Max Hit the Road" until now.
Despite filling my iPod for the trip, I've preferred to listen to local radio. It's a much more interesting experience and there's useful road information. And it's culturally enriching! For example, I've learned that people out here really care about high school sports. Seattle radio gives a one-sentence announcement of the state champions each year and that's it; Montana radio contains hours-long in-depth discussions of changes in the Sugar Beeters' coaching staff and how this might affect their octofinals results against the Sheep Herders.
I've also experienced the weird contradiction of Christian radio, which is that it comes off for the most part as being composed of fundamentally sweet and loving people, who are always talking about charitable projects and how God should bless everybody and how much they love their friends and families and neighbors and country. Oh, and they hate gay people. Even when it's couched in "we love gay people, we just want to help them overcome their sin"... it's still really jarring.
There's something really extra-sad about a trailer park with three feet between the trailers when it's in the middle of a gazillion miles of totally empty prairie.
510 miles today, about as good as can be expected with the damn trailer. There was a pea-soup fog for the last fifty miles, which scared the crap out of me.
Lots of deer and antelope today. Not really playing. More eating. Or in an unsettling number of cases, being dead. I came across a whole bunch of deer in one spot that had been shot and just left where they fell. Unless there's some legitimate reason that a dumb city kid doesn't know about... someone's an asshole.
I used to divide the country into two parts: the part where billboards have a snazzy slogan, and the part where billboards have directions. I need to add a third part: the part where billboards have directions and they're 200 miles away.
I'm allowing myself one ridiculous roadside-attraction impulse purchase per day. So after three days of travel I am the owner of a pink flocked unicorn, a jackalope, and a Tyrannosaurus bone fragment. Or a rock. It could be that they sold me a rock. I'm kinda going on trust with that one. (The jackalope is real though.)
Today's life lesson: walking around after dark in South Dakota in the winter in a T-shirt is a very bad idea. I was just going about 100 yards, and I'm one of those people who never gets cold and will snowshoe in a tank top, and... HOLD FUCK THAT'S COLD HOLY FUCK. It was like walking on the moon without a spacesuit and about as smart.
This motel room has two beds. I guess that's just what they had? They charged me for a single, so whatever. Every motel so far has put me on the second floor. I think that's standard procedure for women staying alone, because the first floor is more vulnerable or something. And a woman alone, as we all know, is a rarity and a tremendous risk, and has to be treated with much more care than a human alone.
No, no, I shouldn't be bitter about someone trying to help me out, I don't really care which floor I sleep on and I'd rather have my pride offended than have my room broken into. But still.
I don't think I really understood the game "Sam and Max Hit the Road" until now.
Despite filling my iPod for the trip, I've preferred to listen to local radio. It's a much more interesting experience and there's useful road information. And it's culturally enriching! For example, I've learned that people out here really care about high school sports. Seattle radio gives a one-sentence announcement of the state champions each year and that's it; Montana radio contains hours-long in-depth discussions of changes in the Sugar Beeters' coaching staff and how this might affect their octofinals results against the Sheep Herders.
I've also experienced the weird contradiction of Christian radio, which is that it comes off for the most part as being composed of fundamentally sweet and loving people, who are always talking about charitable projects and how God should bless everybody and how much they love their friends and families and neighbors and country. Oh, and they hate gay people. Even when it's couched in "we love gay people, we just want to help them overcome their sin"... it's still really jarring.
There's something really extra-sad about a trailer park with three feet between the trailers when it's in the middle of a gazillion miles of totally empty prairie.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Big Timber, Montana.
The phrase "High Speed Internet" is interpreted somewhat differently here. Although really, there's no way I would've gotten any Internet, especially not for free, a few years ago. My inconvenience is extremely relative.
426 miles today. Feh. I forgot about the time zone! I thought I'd have an hour more sunlight than I did. Also the trailer is, pardon me, a serious drag. On flat land it only knocks about 10 mph off my speed, but I went over about four mountain passes today and I just chugged over each one. The roads are good though. I was very worried about snow and ice but so far there's been only the tiniest patches at the tops of the passes. I suspect things might get trickier as I get further east, although hopefully the Northeast Snowpocalypse will have started to melt by the time I get there.
I bought a jackalope. I couldn't help myself.
Also, wow, it's been a long time since I've driven over a cattle guard. The first time today it kinda surprised me. OH MY GOD THERE ARE HOLES IN THE ROAD. WHERE WILL I PUT MY HOOVES.
I ate elk jerky! It's venison-y. For some reason I always associate road trips with exotic jerky. It's just not a road trip until you eat dried alligator or kangaroo or something.
Montana has weird casino laws. Non-Indian casinos are all over, but they can only have video poker and keno, no table games. I always get weirded out by gambling laws that exclude games with good odds. Way to protect the people, Montana.
Lotsa cows today. Serious cows. I saw this fluff-piece story the other day that said that cows always face magnetic north and no one knows why and it's this big Animal Mystery. I'm now fairly sure that cows face every damn way.
The stars, oh my God, the stars. Even Washington wilderness stars have nothing on Montana stars. I was standing under streetlights and I could still see entire galaxies I never knew existed.
When you close a bottle of liquid at sea level and then open it at Big Timber altitude, fascinating things happen. The "personal items" pocket of my luggage is now thoroughly lubricated. (Also, my tea won't get hot. Stupid physics.)
You'd think that Chinese food cooked by white people in Montana in a town smaller than my high school would be nightmarish. Shockingly, you'd be wrong! It wasn't exactly authentic but it was quite delicious.
426 miles today. Feh. I forgot about the time zone! I thought I'd have an hour more sunlight than I did. Also the trailer is, pardon me, a serious drag. On flat land it only knocks about 10 mph off my speed, but I went over about four mountain passes today and I just chugged over each one. The roads are good though. I was very worried about snow and ice but so far there's been only the tiniest patches at the tops of the passes. I suspect things might get trickier as I get further east, although hopefully the Northeast Snowpocalypse will have started to melt by the time I get there.
I bought a jackalope. I couldn't help myself.
Also, wow, it's been a long time since I've driven over a cattle guard. The first time today it kinda surprised me. OH MY GOD THERE ARE HOLES IN THE ROAD. WHERE WILL I PUT MY HOOVES.
I ate elk jerky! It's venison-y. For some reason I always associate road trips with exotic jerky. It's just not a road trip until you eat dried alligator or kangaroo or something.
Montana has weird casino laws. Non-Indian casinos are all over, but they can only have video poker and keno, no table games. I always get weirded out by gambling laws that exclude games with good odds. Way to protect the people, Montana.
Lotsa cows today. Serious cows. I saw this fluff-piece story the other day that said that cows always face magnetic north and no one knows why and it's this big Animal Mystery. I'm now fairly sure that cows face every damn way.
The stars, oh my God, the stars. Even Washington wilderness stars have nothing on Montana stars. I was standing under streetlights and I could still see entire galaxies I never knew existed.
When you close a bottle of liquid at sea level and then open it at Big Timber altitude, fascinating things happen. The "personal items" pocket of my luggage is now thoroughly lubricated. (Also, my tea won't get hot. Stupid physics.)
You'd think that Chinese food cooked by white people in Montana in a town smaller than my high school would be nightmarish. Shockingly, you'd be wrong! It wasn't exactly authentic but it was quite delicious.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Coeur D'Alene, Idaho.
Driving was easier than I'd expected. I'm towing a big-ass cargo trailer with a non-big-ass engine, so I worried about getting over the pass, but nope, it did fine.
God I'm tired. The last three days have been some of the most exhausting of my life. And I don't even own a lot of crap! I think the organizing and cleaning were worse than the packing--I took more stuff to Goodwill or the dump than I put in the trailer--so hopefully moving into the new place won't be quite as painful. (Also the new place does not have roommates to stick me with their messes that I only discover at 9 AM on the day I'm supposed to leave. Argh.)
I drove through a lot of climates today The western part of Washington looks like Washington, the central part looks like Arizona, and out east it's Kansas. Trees, desert, plains.
The guinea pigs are all right. They're not happy getting stuffed in a little carrier and subjected to horrible noises and bumping around, but they're eating and drinking and acting like guinea pigs. I think they're mostly just annoyed at me.
I made about 320 miles today. Which really isn't that much, but I got a late start and I'm dog-tired because I did about three hours of heavy lifting this morning. With eight hours' sleep, an early morning, and less painful muscles I oughta start doing 600 or so if the roads are good. I'm getting about 22 MPG which isn't TOO terrible considering the trailer.
It's both freeing and frightening to be pulling around literally everything I own. I have a route planned, but shit, I could go anywhere! If I don't mind losing a little money on the apartment I could take a turn somewhere and go make my new life in Kentucky instead and nothing would stop me.
This hotel room is really nice. Like REALLY nice, like I'm almost embarrassed that little ol' me is shmancying it up in a place far too rich for her blood. It still costs less than a shithole flophouse in SeaTac. Gotta love the boonies in off-season. (I am shmancying it up, because I could've stayed in a shithole flophouse here for like nothing, but I'm tired dammit and I can spare an extra $20 to be comfortable. I'll flop tomorrow, I swear.)
Man, America is beautiful. Well, that's not fair, the world is beautiful. The vast majority of it at least. (SeaTac not so much.) I drove past snowy mountains and rolling hills and endless fields today and they were all gorgeous. It's a cliche, but the skies really are big out here--clouds look so different when you can see every part of them. It's almost frightening to a forest dweller because every kind of weather looks kinda like those photos you see of giant thunderstorms out on the plains.
I wonder why there are so many horses out in the country. It seemed like I saw nearly equal numbers of cows and horses, even though cows make milk and meat and leather and horses make... horse poop. Well, and rides of course, but I've always thought of horse riding as a relatively uncommon luxury, one that would account for a few stables per town, not giant herds of horses all over. Are there a lot more horse-riders than I thought, or are there not that many horses and I'm just crazy, or what?
This hotel room has a free teapot with good tea! Truly this is the land of milk, honey, hope, and glory. I'm gonna take a bath and drink tea in the bath.
God I'm tired. The last three days have been some of the most exhausting of my life. And I don't even own a lot of crap! I think the organizing and cleaning were worse than the packing--I took more stuff to Goodwill or the dump than I put in the trailer--so hopefully moving into the new place won't be quite as painful. (Also the new place does not have roommates to stick me with their messes that I only discover at 9 AM on the day I'm supposed to leave. Argh.)
I drove through a lot of climates today The western part of Washington looks like Washington, the central part looks like Arizona, and out east it's Kansas. Trees, desert, plains.
The guinea pigs are all right. They're not happy getting stuffed in a little carrier and subjected to horrible noises and bumping around, but they're eating and drinking and acting like guinea pigs. I think they're mostly just annoyed at me.
I made about 320 miles today. Which really isn't that much, but I got a late start and I'm dog-tired because I did about three hours of heavy lifting this morning. With eight hours' sleep, an early morning, and less painful muscles I oughta start doing 600 or so if the roads are good. I'm getting about 22 MPG which isn't TOO terrible considering the trailer.
It's both freeing and frightening to be pulling around literally everything I own. I have a route planned, but shit, I could go anywhere! If I don't mind losing a little money on the apartment I could take a turn somewhere and go make my new life in Kentucky instead and nothing would stop me.
This hotel room is really nice. Like REALLY nice, like I'm almost embarrassed that little ol' me is shmancying it up in a place far too rich for her blood. It still costs less than a shithole flophouse in SeaTac. Gotta love the boonies in off-season. (I am shmancying it up, because I could've stayed in a shithole flophouse here for like nothing, but I'm tired dammit and I can spare an extra $20 to be comfortable. I'll flop tomorrow, I swear.)
Man, America is beautiful. Well, that's not fair, the world is beautiful. The vast majority of it at least. (SeaTac not so much.) I drove past snowy mountains and rolling hills and endless fields today and they were all gorgeous. It's a cliche, but the skies really are big out here--clouds look so different when you can see every part of them. It's almost frightening to a forest dweller because every kind of weather looks kinda like those photos you see of giant thunderstorms out on the plains.
I wonder why there are so many horses out in the country. It seemed like I saw nearly equal numbers of cows and horses, even though cows make milk and meat and leather and horses make... horse poop. Well, and rides of course, but I've always thought of horse riding as a relatively uncommon luxury, one that would account for a few stables per town, not giant herds of horses all over. Are there a lot more horse-riders than I thought, or are there not that many horses and I'm just crazy, or what?
This hotel room has a free teapot with good tea! Truly this is the land of milk, honey, hope, and glory. I'm gonna take a bath and drink tea in the bath.
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