Posts Tagged ‘sexy’

Gimme equal pay, but lemme where some stilettos, k?

February 13, 2017

ok so… I got some thoughts going on in my head. I’m not sure it’s linear enough for a blog post. I’m all over the place. There’s a central theme, but, well… You’ll see if you can handle the ramble.

Feminism vs anti-feminism?

I just tried to google the opposite of feminism and really there isn’t a word.

Misogyny isn’t necessarily the opposite. Obviously you can’t be misogynistic and a feminist… but being anti feminism doesn’t necessarily mean something as malicious as misogyny, right?

I feel like I fit somewhere in between (not between misogyny and feminism, but feminism vs anti-feminism). I believe in a balance. I believe in the Ying-Yang of life and the universe. But I also think women can do it all… within the biological realm of reality anyway.

So…

When I’m at work I want to be treated equally. Same pay and compensation. Same expectations and repercussions. I NEED my male co-workers to see me on an equal level. I need them to not crack comments about my mood and hormones. I need them to not ask me to coordinate the baby shower next month. I need them to feel like they can come to me for work advice because I’m just as good as the next guy. All these things are the not the case and it drives me insane. Working in a male dominated field isn’t the most zen experience of my life. These guys don’t even hear anything wrong with the things they say! Open your ears! I could go on and on about what these guys think are okay. I MEAN ON AND ON AND ON FEMALE-HORMONE-RANT STYLE…. ­čśÉ hm.

Then there’s that… I am female. And I do have to deal with hormones on a monthly basis. And guess what? Those males I work with, they have to deal with me during those times too. And it’s a true statement to say that hormones effect my mood. And sometimes very drastically so. It’s not something I can help too much. This is a fact of life. No amount of feminism is going to undo do the fact that the chemistry in my body is reeking havoc on almost all function of my body. IT. JUST. IS. Women ARE different. So when I storm out because some fucking fuck face says something misogynistic about lipstick and credit cards in my purse because I JUST CAN’T handle stupid shitty comments like that they are most certainly not wrong about it being my time of the month. GRRR. What do we do with those moments, feminists??? How could I possibly combat that??? lol I mean, when I flip out over a misogynistic comment because my hormones won’t allow me to smile and nod and maybe even retort with something flippantly witty…? It’s comical, right? Well, it’s comical in 4 to 7 days, anyway….

But… I want to be a girl. I want to be treated like something special. I want to feel the protection a man can provide. I want to be able to hand a jar of pickles over to a man to muscle that sunuvabish open. Just like I want to be someone a guy can lean on for support. I want to be that safe place a man can come and crumble upon because he knows the massive amount of respect I have for him and the amount of warm, soft, feminine comfort I have waiting for him to crash into. I want to fill in his gaps and I want my gaps to be filled (sexually and otherwise – ba dum chhhh). I want to be the ying to his yang. I want to flow together so well we are better than two puzzle pieces… Like oil and water coming together with perfect, visible seems. Touching each other whole-y, but both very separate and different. You can see one. You can see the other. They are very distinct.

When it comes to significant others and their roles in the household I think that should just be something agreed upon between the two. When I was married, I was happy to do dishes if I didn’t have to mow the lawn. I’m okay with that trade off of responsibilities. My ex husband HATED laundry but didn’t mind vacuuming the stairs, which i hated! He liked to fix things and he liked to make things look better. I’m bad at it, so I was happy to have him use tools that I wasn’t comfortable using and making things look good because he had the better decorative eye. When he took on special tasks like cleaning the garage I didn’t mind taking on a larger load in the house. I’d much rather be in the comfort of the AC.

So here I am. I strongly feel my feelings and opinions and beliefs and preferences should be considered AND VALUED. But I’m not going to be weird when I’m cooking dinner for 2. And I want to be your princess too.

Okay… another HUGE ASPECT THAT PROMPTED THIS WHOLE TRAIN OF THOUGHT TODAY:

Where’s the line at work? Where’s the line in my brain? I LOVE to wear a skirt and high heels. It makes me good about myself. I love feeling sexy. I don’t know of a single thing I can do that delivers the same feeling. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I don’t do it because I want some man to undress me with his eyes, or admire me walking down the hallway, or for someone else’s pleasure. I don’t think. Is that denial? I hope not. I love how I feel when I think I look sexy. If I leave the house and I don’t feel cute, I don’t have a good day. Period. End of discussion. My day is shitty. My self confidence: tanked. My body image: poor.

So how does feminism come into play there? Am I anti-feminist because I enjoy feeling sexy and powerful purely by the clothes I wear and the body under them?? What’s that about? Gimme equal pay, but lemme where some stilettos, k? I don’t know.

Last tangent, swear: Interesting offshoot about women in corporate environments. The ones that dress sexy or dress flattering for their figure always look younger at older ages. The women in heels and a skirt… they look 20 years younger than those women that wear the frumpy slacks. Whats that about? Why are those types of women more likely to take care of themselves in other ways? Is it just our vanity? But is it vanity or healthy pride? Are the other women just choosing other values and other things that make them feel good? I’m sure that’s what it is. They have a different priority list and their clothes choice just isn’t there. But then neither is their health…. I don’t know. Major ramble at this point.

I think I’ll wrap that up here.

Hope everyone has a great week! Happy Monday!

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what’s that smell?

April 8, 2016

Woke up late.

Rolled out of bed.

Took my pup out.

Threw my hair in a messy bun… like, not the sexy kind. It’s greasy and gross.

But I put on my skinny jeans and nude wedges… any time you can throw the word nude in your outfit you’re golden, right? I mean… I’m sure the men I work with would agree.

I completely thought this thru. They won’t notice the smell of my un-showered self if they can see the outline of my ass, right?

That’s not controversial or out of line with my feminist views of women at the office at all.

fun for a sadist

October 21, 2015

In the middle of a movie he takes off his belt. Sets it next to him on my couch.

For most men when the belt comes off it’s like a woman taking off her bra. It’s the release of a day. It’s getting cozy and comfy and retreating to the blissful end of day.

When a sadist takes off his belt… It’s never about comfy and cozy. It’s methodical. You can bet that belt choice was made before leaving the house with knowledge of its dual purpose.

So, Sir takes off his belt and sets it aside. I take note. But my attention span isn’t that great. I get lost in the movie within minutes. I lay my head on his lap, which I don’t normally do, but it felt right.

He starts to pet me. I love being pet. It’s a turn on. It’s calming. It’s one of those things that always make me want more. I always find myself silently begging when I’m being pet. Hair, down my side, hips…. all my favorite spots over and over again. He loops his belt around my neck. Pulled taught, but not adding pressure yet. But this is enough for me to go from silent begging to a complete change in breathing. I know he notices that. It’s why he did it. Nothing is on accident. The petting continued.

I don’t remember if we finished the movie. He switches from petting to pulling the belt tight around my neck. I’m in sensory heaven. I love that feeling in my head when the oxygen is cut off. My whole body reacts. I’m instantly desperate for everything. I just want┬ámore. Of anything.

He stands me up. He always takes his time taking off my clothes. I’m getting use to this part of the routine. Its the only constant from scene to scene. He pulls my shirt off. Takes off my bra. The belt still hanging from my neck. He unzips my jeans. Pushes them down. I step out of them. He puts my hands in cuffs… and connects those cuffs to a spreader bar laying across the back of my neck. He takes the hanging belt and fastens it to the bar too. Clamps my nipples. Shoves my face into the couch, forcing my knees to the ground.

His phone starts ringing… I hate reality checks during scenes. hate hate hate. I wanna stay gone. But then I realize he is the one making the call… on speaker! Wait… VIDEO CALL??? I am pulled out of this scene┬áhard!

It’s his best friend… she’s also a sub… not his. “I thought you forgot about me!?” She was in bed waiting on his call. ha. They planned a chit chat in the middle of our scene?? Talk about a sadist. He’s laughing at me. I haven’t met this girl yet. So… hello lady… yes, these are nipple clamps. and yeah, my forehead is stuck to the couch… Don’t mind this pretty little belt on my neck… Glad I could meet you and you could see me naked all in the same moment. To be fair, she pulls out a boob too. Why thank you. She’s actually really cute. Dark hair. Dark eyes. She didn’t really acknowledge the peculiar state I was in. Gotta love fellow kinksters.

He randomly cuts off my oxygen as they continue the conversation – making sure to aim the camera at my face… as I can’t help but react – because it’s what I do when my oxygen is being played with.

Sometimes a scene is sexy…. and sometimes it’s just sadist-y.

a tinder’s end

March 13, 2015

After 3 weeks of being on Tinder I couldn’t take it any more. I told myself that I was going to stay in Tinder but stop swiping. “Just weed out the ones you have, chick. You got too many.” But I was beyond hope. I was addicted. The One could be the next one. Oh! He’s cute! But look at him!!!! Each swipe brought a new hope. Of course then you get that message “Can I get your number?” Crap. reality hits. and you realize this is the 5th person just today that you have given your number to. yikes. And in your phone it looks like this “ryan tinder” “ryan cutoff tuxedo shirt tinder” “kyle tinder” and so on.So not only do you have 10 people texting you (or more) but you have new matches popping up by the second. At some point you just have to know when is when and claim your life back. So. I never logged back on again. I’m still out there somewhere. But I haven’t even down loaded it on my new phone. It’s not that I was done dating. No. I mean… Yes, first date over load. but… I still had phone numbers. So I worked off what I call “Tinder Residuals”. So as I went on first dates and crossed guys off the list I was happy to do it a little bit more focused.

I was down to my last few tinder residuals. And just trying to shake a few. But there was one in particular I felt I was connecting with. Great conversation. Extremely interesting. Ambitious. Flirty, but not too flirty. Kept me enthralled. I liked. I had to meet him. So I did. I told myself that no matter how this went I was done with the first-date thing for a bit. If for no other reason but because it was killing my diet.

We met at my go-to first date location. An Irish pub about a mile and a half from my apartment. Something about this place made me less nervous about every meet up. We sat at a different table. I tried to pick a different table every time I went in hopes that the staff wouldn’t recognize me quite as easily… I started getting self conscious about meeting with yet another guy in so short of time. At some point you just have to not care. I probably should just go ahead and friend these people. Get them to rate them as they come in and out… hm…

Anyway, Ryan Tuxedo Cut-off Tinder – who had since graduated to Rayn <insert last name here>. Something about his voice threw me off the first time we spoke on the phone which happened to be minutes till our first meeting. Couldn’t quite decide what I didn’t like about it. But it wasn’t like the guy who I had to ditch because of the super twanginess he put on every single syllable. I decided I’d get use to that. WHAT?! Did I just say that? I made myself smile by talking myself off of that deal breaker. I get there and he’s sitting at the bar. It’s a Tuesday night so there was only about 3 other people there. He was at the bar. Leaner looking than all the selfies I’d seen from him. Guess no one taught him the camera angles that shaves the pounds off. Still. Handsome. Just my type. Tall. Broad shouldered. Naturally strong looking.

I put my phone in my purse and hung my purse on the chair. It was 7:03. We talked. Ordered a few beers. Talked. Ordered food. Talked. Stopped drinking beer. Talked. The conversation was good. Flowed easily. And there was something about this guy. Just under the surface. What was that? Sexiness. That’s it! Why was it hiding? I mean, that made it sexier. I take pride in finding the good in people… but I don’t know that I’ve ever found this in someone unless it was dripping from the surface. He held it in such away that said he was saving it for someone. Keeping it safe for something… for someone special? I made my second date decision right there. It was happening. The time came to wrap up the evening. We (he) paid the bill and we put on our coats. Walked out of the buidling. The building’s entrance is the corner… where a stop light is. I was headed one way and he was headed the opposite. We hugged and said our goodbyes as we waited for the light to turn… that awkward moment of “well, I’ll talk to you soon.” Always hated that. I usually just high tail it in an awkward way because its going to be awkward regardless. We hug again. I walk away reaching in my purse for my phone. 10:57. I hadn’t looked at my phone since putting it away. This made me smile again. I let the possible meanings of this swell in my mind and chest as I unlocked my car door.

­čÖé

feeling loved

November 10, 2014

I talked to my sister recently about boys… imagine that. Mundane enough, right?

We grew up in a very religious house hold. Everything was bad. It’s not about being safe and moderate it was about sacrifice. NO NO NO NO NO. So when it came to sex, naturally abstinence was the rule. But my sister got involved with an older guy at age 14… sex was involved. I thought it was this young age that has affected her and her view on relationships and men from then on… Thought she was affected by the older boy on top of the guilt she may have felt for going against a religion that was so heavily preached and ingrained in us.

Fast forward to current day. Me and my sister are 27… She confided in me that she knows now she seeks out affection from men… because this is how she feels loved. This is the only time she has EVER felt loved by men. EVER. What does this mean? My dad wasn’t very affectionate. He was the book nerd type. He read us stories from child craft. He taught us to study by reading our texts books to us and quizzing us. He prayed over us at night. BUt the most affectionate I remember him being was literally tucking us in bed at night. Otherwise he was reading on his own. Or on the internet. Basically once his work day was over, he was done. Me and my sister decided we don’t remember anything hands on from both our parents. Why is it then, that her act of love… her love tank… if we go with “the 5 love languages” theory… is only filled by┬áintimate contact? There was a hole… and she is filling it with what was missing? is that how it works. It’s not she was loved in so many ways and that’s how she feels it now out of habit…? but the opposite? Forgive me if this isn’t making a whole lot of sense. I’m just brainstorming. Just don’t understand why we were shown love by being provided for, by being pushed in academics, by a whole host of other ways, but the one way that we didn’t get we seek… Why is it not habit to feel love by how we’ve always been shown it.

Let me be honest… Hearing my sister say this was like… well… reflecting my own thoughts. I want to be touched. This is when I feel my most worthy. And my sexual back ground is the complete opposite of hers. I was 18 when I lost my virginity. And it was to my boyfriend of over a year and half… who i eventually married.

I don’t know, just rambling on. Maybe this is completely normal for women. I know that the word slut gets thrown out a lot at females… the whole double standards of having a lot of sexual partners. Man, if men (and some women) only knew that the reason (some) girls turn into “sluts” is because we mistake the time spent on us in the act of sex with how much the person doing the act with us feels about us and the promise this act might mean.┬áWith every time they give their bodies to a man they think this could be it… This is my turning point. My life just started. He is the difference. He is my future… only to wake up finding out that the chickens were counted too early. And we kick ourselves because we know… this isn’t the answer. but how else do we get that love we want. We give what we think will make the difference. and every time the hope is there. and every time dashed. But its worth the possible dashing to be loved. In those moments she is whole. Happy.

My heart breaks for these scenarios. I hear about it all the time. Wonder what will bridge the worth that we really are┬áto the worth we feel we are….

The little things I love

October 1, 2014

soap suds running down my back in the shower

the surge of happy i feel after i consume caffeine

driving over a bridge with my country music blaring

early cool mornings with my windows down and before the sun is fully awake in my sweatshirt

clouds… and the what the sun can do to them

laughing with a friend… over something so silly that only that friend in that moment would find it funny with you

Feeling sexy in a skirt and heels… nothing truly rivals this feeling…

nerdy office jokes

passing by a mirror and being pleasantly surprised

hearing my niece giggle

watching my niece furrow her brow in concentration and/or confusion

missing someone so much it hurts

meeting new people

flirting

being touched

the burn in my abs, legs, arms, or anywhere the day after a good workout

being productive on a Saturday

That feeling when I walk into a clean apartment

making something pretty

the feeling I get when i’m on stage

being good at something. Even something as simple as shuffling a deck of cards.