So it’s the day before my birthday. A birthday they swore I would never see. Tomorrow I will be able to rejoice and celebrate the fact that I was one of the lucky ones who defied the odds. Oh, I know that I’m not out of the woods yet. If I would forget, the neatly lined prescription bottles on my desk would remind me that I have a long way to go. Still, to be here, to be alive when they said I wouldn’t be…it’s just amazing.

As part of my new plan for living out loud, tomorrow is the day that I will officially begin Weight Watchers. I’ve dusted off my treadmill(a gift from Mama who was no longer using it), found my Nikes, and asked The Knight for a great pedometer. My refrigerator is full of frozen vegetables, low-fat milk and yogurt and the all important water bottle. Though I have tried to Weight Watchers before, it’s different this time. Back then it was just about losing weight. This time around it’s about changing my lifestyle and my relationship with food. (And I found the coolest journal to use while I am doing this. Catalina told me that writing things down really helped her in her weight loss journey, so I am taking my friends advice and giving it a go!)

Since I am making 2009 the year that I become a better version of myself, I am also attending Sex 2.0 in Washington, DC in May. With great speakers and great bloggers in attendance I can’t imagine a better way to mix and meet and find out how I can do more by way of activism. I feel that after four years of blogging it’s time to do more with my site than offer a peek into my own life and give readers reviews. While I admit that some of the things will be easier to do in a larger city, I’m hoping to find ways to help and spread the word here in Pittsburgh and I can’t think of a better way to get started than by spending time with people like Audacia Ray and Elizabeth Wood. I look forward to seeing everyone there, so be sure to register. {If you can’t attend but you’d like to show your support you can do so here.}

If you’re making 2009 your own year of self-discovery through weight loss, activism or even through writing (I’m determined that this is the year I see my writing published), drop me a line. I’d love to hear more about your plans and your goals. Maybe we can offer one another support along the way.

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What? Sex 2.0
When? Saturday, May 9 2009
Where? Washington, D.C.

If you are part of the sex blogging CommUNITY at all, then you have already heard about, read about, or written about Sex 2.0. I didn’t hear about it last year, but once I saw Match’s Tweet about it, I needed to know more.

I read about the event in 2008 and knew immediately that I wanted to attend, no matter what. Then as I read a little more I knew I *really* wanted to attend but as I am not a conventional sex blogger, I worried that the fit might not be right. And their session topics? As much as I’d like to think that I’m evolved and educated, the truth is, not so much. I mean seriously, fat chick like me at an event with people like Audacia Ray, Catalina, and Ellie Lumpesse? Yeah right. So I put it on my back burner.

Time passed and more updates came. I mulled it over, subscribed to the Google group and let it settle in for a few days. I did an intro and expressed that I had no real experiences, so even if I attended it would be as an observer, not as someone who actually had something to say.

I registered for Sex 2.0 mere minutes ago. I reserved two tickets, one for The Knight and one for myself. Whether I have anything to say or anything of value to add, this is an event that I want to attend. I want to hear what the fabulously evolved and educated individuals have to say. I want to walk away knowing that I learned something new, something that I can carry into the rest of my life and apply that knowledge accordingly and (hopefully) for the greater good.

Some of the people you will find at Sex 2.o 2009

• Audacia Ray
• CARAS
• Cunning Minx
• Elizabeth Wood
• Ellie Lumpesse
• Erik Van Riper
• Match
• Melissa Gira
• Nikol Hasler
• NoVaHedonist
• Renegade Evolution
• Sabrina Morgan
• Viviane

So won’t you take the time and spend the weekend in with me in Washington D.C.? (Not for me, but for all the people listed above!)

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Since so many people have asked for a safe for work (SFW) version of the Life. Love. Cancer. series, we’ve made it happen. Please don’t hesitate to spread the word. Share it with your family and your friends. Just follow the link below or copy and paste it into an email.

Life. Love. Cancer.

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For too long I have been silent. I have taken so many things in, held them close, and there they’ve stayed. I have decided that those days are over.

After I posted about my imperfections yesterday I found myself in a very pensive sort of mood. For me, it was a good thing. So I shifted and sorted my thoughts. I looked at each and every thought, every feeling and tried valiantly to give it its own place in the archive.

The things that Sperm Donor did to me do not define who I am. He did those things to me. I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t “seduce” him the way he tried to tell the court that I did. It has been a very long time, but now I’m pissed and I’m calling bullshit.

I was a child. What two year old could be so overwhelmingly seductive that a grown man was compelled to abuse her? None. Two year olds are NOT sexy or seductive. They are innocent and in need of protection. They are precious.

For far too long I have sat back and let the past exist without setting the record straight. I don’t know what I’ve been so afraid of. It’s not like I’m two anymore. The days of playing his victim are long over. I was a helpless child then and I couldn’t do anything about the things he did to me or to my mother.

It’s over. The abuse, the inferiority complex, the silence. All of it ends this very second.

I love that you come here to read what I write. I like knowing that sometimes my words reach people in very positive ways. For that reason, I have to say this, so please understand.

This is my life. However long or short it may be, this is my life. Finally, at the age of thirty-one I am ready to set the record straight. I am ready to speak up.

I will write about real life. I will write about reality and the difficulties that come with being married. Maybe I’ll even write about really hot sex with my husband again.

And I’ll write about Sperm Donor. I’ll write about childhood abuse. I will take off the gag and break my silence.

These are my stories and they will be told.

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I’m thrity-one years old. I have been married twice. I have two incredibly gorgeous biological duaghters and three incredibly boyish not biological sons. With my bare hands I have wiped away tears, wiped runny noses, stitched wounds, rescued beads from noses, dug for clams, and saved lives. I am not without reasons to feel okay about myself.

So why is it that when Mama comes to visit I feel like an inept child?

My parents were here with us this weekend. I love when they visit, even if it means that I probably don;t rest the way I should. I like having them here because I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like.

For the most part the weekend was fine. Quiet. Uneventful. Just the way I prefer it. I’m not a big fan of feeling pressured or being on the go from sun up to sun down, even when I had the energy to handle it.

I know my mother means well. I really do. The thing is, sometimes her best intentions miss the mark so completely that you can’t tell anything good was ever supposed to come of it. {I can this and not feel guilty about saying it because sometimes I have the same problem.}

It seemed that every time I asked the kids to do something, she questioned me. Every time I told them no or set a time limit or some other thing, she had something else to add. Even in the middle of a very intense heart to heart talk she had something to interject!

You have to understand that I have discussed this with my mother in great detail. She has always done this. It has always made me crazy. I told her again on Friday night that I want her to be proud of me, etc. but that I don’t believe she is. She says the words and tells me how wonderful I am, what a great woman I’ve become and how very proud she is of me, but it doesn’t ring true. Because she still second guesses and criticizes me.

How is that being proud of me?

No matter what I do. No matter what I say. No matter my age or my survivability. I have to accept that as far as my mother is concerned I will never ever be good enough.

{By the way, for those who have asked why I don’t submit stories to various publications, etc. this is why. My mother says to do what I want, that it’s my life but I know she doesn’t mean it if it means I’m writing erotica. Or posing naked. Or speaking frankly with our kids about sex. I don’t need to do yet one more thing to make my mother ashamed of me.}

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She waited for him in the abandoned hotel, leaning against the front desk. Her blouse fell open to reveal ample cleavage and her pencil skirt hugged her thick hips. She’d torn her fishnet stockings on the way in, stepping over the pieces of wood that had been placed across the door to keep trespassers out. She wasn’t worried about them. She had four more pair in her lingerie drawer at home.

Light filtered in through the cracks in the walls. It smelled of rain and aged wood. As she closed her eyes she inhaled the scent of something faintly floral. Once there was a rumor about the place being used as a brothel and the floral scent almost made her believe it.

Before she saw him she heard his tires on the cracked pavement out front. Any second he would appear before her and relieve her of her clothing burden. Oh she liked the clothes well enough, but what she loved was being naked before him.

As if he knew her thoughts he maneuvered over the wood that had torn her stockings and filled the space in front of her. She licked her lips and moved her eyes to his. An almost imperceptible nod and she began to undress.

She unbuttoned the first button on her blouse, then another. As she worked her way down to button number three she saw his movement out of the corner of her eye. Seconds later her blouse was ripped from her hands, buttons flying and the material hanging in tatters.

A gasp escaped her lips as he continued on. His strong hands unbuttoned her skirt then ripped it to the hem. It landed in a small pile on the floor and she stepped out of it.

The knife appeared out of nowhere and though she knew enough to not be afraid, her heart skipped a beat and her pulse raced. She felt the cold steel of the blade just beneath the swell of her breasts. He traced his way to the center of her bra and worked the tip of the blade beneath the cloth. A quick movement and her breasts were untethered, hanging, barely covered by the cups.

“Get on the counter and don’t say a word. Not one.”

His voice hypnotized her. That was what commanded her. Not the words but the tone of his deep, nearly baritone voice.

She allowed him to help her onto the counter that was covered in dust and cobwebs. Her hair cascaded behind her as her head hung freely off the other side. Her hands pulled the remnants of the bra away from her breasts then moved to pinch her nipples.

He spread her legs then lifted her feet to rest her heels on the edge of the counter. Beneath her bottom a small wet spot had started to form. His mouth met her open pussy as the blade sliced first one thigh then the other. She cried out and the sticky warmth flowed from her center and from the cuts. The blood and secretions mingled in a puddle as he licked her cunt one last time.

“Whatever you do, don’t move.” His voice insisted that she listen so she did. She barely breathed and she swore that the sound of her heartbeat filled the room.

She heard the rustle of his clothing and focused on it. The sound of his coat falling. His tie being undone. His clothes piled neatly to avoid wrinkles. His lug soled shoes landing on the floor. The sounds comforted her and reminded her that she had not yet been left alone.

His hands clamped down on her thighs and she screamed. She felt her back slide across the bar, the edge leaving scrape marks that burned when she was dragged through the puddle of blood and secretions. She screamed again just before his mouth captured hers and his cock impaled her.

Over and over he filled her. Come and blood mingled on their thighs and genitals. Cobwebs clung to her tangled mane. Their breathing slowed and he lowered her to the blanket he had spread on the floor.

With a gentle kiss on her lips he disappeared. The foyer of the old hotel was silent. Once again she had been abandoned.

*This is a work of fiction

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Not too long ago Edenfantasys proposed that I write a few pieces for them detailing what it’s like to deal with cancer. As a sex toy company they were definitely interested in how the cancer diagnosis had impacted our sex life and my sexuality but they were also interested in knowing how it changed my life and my marriage as a whole.

I read the email and asked the questions that I thought of. Then I sat back to think about whether or not I was willing to lay bare my soul in quite this way. Yes, I blog. I blog about sex; I blog about cancer. Blogging about how those things really feel or how they truly impact the most important aspects of your life is something completely different.

Then I realized that maybe this was something that needed to be written about. Why? Of all the articles on the Internet that I read or found myself directed to, very few mentioned the effects of cancer, chemo, or radiation on a woman’s sex life. I didn’t know when all of this started if it was normal to still desire my husband much less need to have an orgasm. I had no idea what to expect or what was normal. But I didn’t understand why no one had written about it.

So, I started writing. I wrote an article and I cried the entire way through. Another article took me three days to write. Other pieces and parts of articles came easily and they made me see myself in a different light.

Just before they started posting my articles on their blog I received an email asking me to set up a PayPal account and provide them with a button for donations. Edenfantasys had decided that they would match any donation made between then and November 18th. I was absolutely shocked and overwhelmed. So, I did as they asked.

Now, Catalina and the commUNITY at Best Sex Bloggers have decided to keep the articles going. Soon you will be able to read the articles there in their entirety. It’s amazing what happens when people pull together and I am honored to be a part of something so wonderful, to call many of them friends.

So a little time has passed and now you will notice a donation button in my sidebar. I swore I would never have one. To me, it’s an honor that you visit my site and read what I write here. However, some people have expressed concern about knowing that their intended donations reached the person, etc. With a donation button linked directly to an account specifically for this purpose, people can rest assured that their donations are going where they want them to go, if they choose to donate.

This is an odd place for me to be. I’m used to being the one who sets up donations for people. Families who can’t give their children a proper Christmas. Coats, blankets, and meal vouchers for homeless men and women in DC. Care packages and handwritten letters for men and women serving their country in Iraq and Afghanistan. There are many other things that I have organized and been a part of; things that warmed my heart and nurtured my soul in ways that no one will ever understand.

To be on the receiving end of an amazing gift is indescribable and I thank all of you from the bottom of my overflowing heart.

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In June of 2006, a little while after I started blogging originally, I wrote a post about The Green Eyed Monster. It was a whiny post full of snark and all sorts of things that normally would never have said. Okay, maybe I would have said them, but never in quite the way I said them.

I’m happy to report that two years later, The Green Eyed Monster has passed away. It died a slow and painful death, like almost everything else I’ve ever dreamed of, at the hands of cancer. As we all know, cancer is a bitch that knows no boundaries and never takes no for an answer.

And Stephanie, I’m so glad that your dreams are coming true. I’m sorry for the awful post made back then. In the last few months I have lived vicariously through you. I have cheered for you. I have cried for you. Not once, however, have I envied you. I was thrilled that your star was on the rise.

Long after I am dead and gone people will dream impossible dreams. They will suffer and struggle and find themselves flat on their faces. All the things that I have experienced, others will endure. I hope that for every single one of us that have failed there will be three who succeed.

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The first time I logged in over at MyHopeSpace, I noticed the front page featured a link titled Cancer Is A Bitch. I clicked on the link and knew, right then and there, that I had to read the book. I navigated my way to Gail’s site and searched until I found her contact information.

The email that follows is the actual pathetic begging that was done-

Hi Gail

I’m currently in the middle of cancer treatments for a brain tumor. In addition to that, I also blog like a fiend, write like there is no tomorrow, and thrive on reviews. I just read about your book and really, I’d love to review it on my blog. I’m sure you get hundreds of requests for things like this every day, but I’d like to read it and review it to get the word out to the people who visit my site.

If this is at all possible, please let me know. Thanks for your time and the best to you and yours.

Imagine my surprise when I received an email back almost immediately. It wasn’t a form email or a computer generated reply, but an actual response from Gail herself! In it she wrote words of encouragement and offered to send me a pdf if I was interested.

So I received the pdf and began to read. And I began to cry. Not silent tears that no one could have noticed, but sobs that shook my entire body. This was a woman who knew how I felt and she was writing about it! Immediately I emailed her and told her that her words had moved me. (I know this because I have the emails in my inbox still.)

Gail wrote, with such eloquence, all the things I’d been feeling.

But Cancer didn’t hear me, didn’t see me cry. It was
busy moving in, crushing my sternum, throttling my
throat, sucker punching my gut, bullying me into
submission.
…
How had I not appreciated my health all those years
I didn’t have a diagnosis following me everywhere like
an annoying sibling, mimicking my every move, mirroring
the parts of me that make me feel awkward,
ashamed? My diagnosis, a brat, demanding center stage,
forcing me to fill my calendar with appointments
where I’m weighed and blood pressured and poked and
probed, felt up and down and warned about my risk.
I want to be brave. I want to be big. I want to be gracious
and cool. I want to be the Audrey Hepburn of
cancer.
…
But I’m not like Heather. For one thing, I’m not tall.
Or bony. And cancer doesn’t feel sexy on me. It feels
ugly, cankerous, mean, and old. It reminds me that I’ll
never be twenty again, that time has moved faster and
less kindly than I expected.And I’m not wearing it well.
I can’t figure out how to hold my face anymore, what to
do with these weary eyes afraid to stare back at me, this
I’m “It” mouth that doesn’t know how to smile anymore when
smiling feels so foreign, so strange. Why do, how do
people, how did I ever smile? when all I can think is
cancer cancer cancer cancer.

She fought the battle and won. She did it with dignity and grace. Gail is an example of how exceptional real women can be when faced with the worst news of their lives.

Please, but the book. Read it. Then pass it along to someone you know. Because Gail is right you know. Cancer is a bitch.

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I close my eyes and I’m there. Floating in the clouds, with sunshine on my bare skin. Your lips meet mine and our tongues mingle, lingering for a moment. You enter me slowly, gently.

At once I am whole. I am flying, soaring on angels wings. A gasp, a whimper, a barely audible sigh.

A flash of lightning. The world around me fades to black. You leave my body, slip from my grasp.

Midnight blue embrace. Freefalling to the ground below. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. A big love, a small lust, a final little death.

Time comes to an end. Now I know the answer. Eternal attraction, forever desire. I will love you beyond the point of dying, beyond my last breath.

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