Last night, my boyfriend of nearly 3 years (there’s some discrepancies on the date as neither of us can place precisely when we truly became an “us”) came home from a 2 week business trip.  Despite his exhaustion, he was happy to see me again which in turn made me even happier.
We obligatorily made love and he quickly fell asleep atop the sheets and buried in my shoulder.  The alarm woke us late in the morning.  I’d shut it off and laid back in bed; we were on our sides, noses nearly touching.  I grumbled my dissatisfaction with having to wake and he just stroked my cheek and smiled.  “You’re so precious,” he whispered and quickly fell back asleep.  A few small words spoken poured sunlight into me.

I watched him drift deeper into slumber and explored his bare body with my hands.
His beautiful long hands, thin skeletal, pianist fingers.  They were dry and rough, even callused in places from obvious labor done on his trip.  It saddened me to see such beauty roughened yet brought out a deeper masculinity in his form.
I felt his shoulder and the marveled at the muscle there as well as his bicep.  He’s tall and thin but has such defined muscle tone; he looks so frail at times but proves otherwise when he must.  I could feel the well-defined fibers of his muscles.  Masculine and beautiful.
I ran my fingers through the hair upon his forearm, felt over the hair of his chest and furry belly, again marveled at the hardness there.
His soft soft sides and hips.  Thick hard thighs and fuzzy calves.  Long and thick brown cock and bristly balls from lack of maintenance.
I scratched my nails through his semi-thick beard.  He stirred and moved to his back.  I felt over his gorgeous high cheekbones, his only feature that gives away his Native blood.
Across his thin eyebrows I ran my thumb, bringing my hand to the side of his head.  I pulled my body against his, leg over his midsection.  He blindly placed a hand on my thigh.  He smiled in his sleep when I kissed all over his rough unshaven neck.

Yeah, I’m a bi chick and adore cute soft little girly girls.  But when it comes to loving my man, I love every sexy inch of his manliness.

I never really talk of him here or in the real world.  Why?  Because he’s incredibly private.  Also, I do like keeping him to myself; my big personal prize.  I know he doesn’t really like being in the public eye so I do my part to keep it that way.  But I really wish to scream my love of him to everyone — to tell the world every detail about him and what makes him so perfect.

So, why not divulge a bit about my beloved!  He won’t mind.  Much.  I pray.

Jack is not his name.  GASP!  But, Jack is a name he answers to in particular situations, to particular people.  I learned early on that it’s a name he gave to a cartoon character he created (I think in high school) to vent some angst.  I’ve had the distinct pleasure of having him draw up his creepy little dude for me.

He is a self-educated theologian and well-versed in countless religions.  He is a registered Minister despite not having a firm belief in God.  He is a member of a very prominent magical Order and is a Thelemite (I think that’s how it’d be said).  His knowledge of such subjects is amazing and frightening at the same time.  I’ve grown to love his ramblings on many topics and am rather proud to be learning new philosophies and religious beliefs from him.

He is a writer and often angers me when he reads over my blogs and whatnot, always mentioning a slew of grammatical errors.  His own works are absolutely brilliant, yet I don’t think a single one is finished.  His perfectionism apparently comes into play when he writes and he doesn’t think anything he commits to paper (yeah, he literally writes – with a pencil – everything) is worth a damn.  Everything I’ve had the pleasure to read has truly blown me away.  I’m a (high-) fantasy fan and am quick to call works that I don’t enjoy “crap.”  The fantasy story he has shared with me puts to shame any writer I’ve ever read to date.  (All you Tolkien nutters, back off!  And take note that the wonderful LotR series is actually poorly written – it’s simply written with cartoonish flair that sucks readers in and makes the imagination easily take over.  FACT.)  His sci-fi, of which I’ve only read a couple dozen pages of, is good as well as his shelved romance work.  He even began a vampire tale which I didn’t like because they were “empty” instead of the popular “sexy” vampires, which I prefer…sorry…I like Anne Rice vampires.  But his crime-drama is astonishing.
Jesus, I could ramble on for days about the few works I’ve seen.  Despite massive negative tones, his stories are so rich with emotion that makes me feel in touch with the characters.

He is a leader and designer for his company and has apparently refused many higher paying job offers (according to those who work around him; he doesn’t talk on the subject).  I’ve gotten to see him in his element and it’s really neat.  When things are going well, he’ll sometimes smile and seems to carry an air of confidence that appears infectious.  When things aren’t going so well, he’s cold, demanding, and I’m told – silent to whomever he’s supposed to be instructing.  I’ve seen him in these situations before and those around back off while he does the jobs for them (which once took something like six hours — again, I only heard that later as I went home ’cause I didn’t like watching him work in that manner).  But, I know he loves his job.  {Worth noting that he’s done works for Best Buy, Staples, Rockstar Games, Nintendo (Wii), Wal-Mart, Clarcor, Lowe’s, Heinz, and more that I can’t think of or even know about yet.}

At home, he’s so rarely upset.  Never angry.  He’s sweet and soft and good.  If I asked, I know he’d wait on me hand and foot.
He’s also a good Salsa dancer thanks to our lessons and is a god in the bedroom.

I love at Halloween how he enjoys talking of his family bloodline of seers/psychics all the way back to supposed witches (”of course there’s no hard evidence left behind,” he states).  Of his own other-worldly encounters.

I love how when he’s insanely happy he picks me up from my thighs and runs to hurl me upon the bed.

I love how he treats his pets (cats) like they truly are children of his.  Their relationship is astonishing as each one has particular ways of letting him know they want specific things (a treat, food, held, etc); I especially love how each one has a “trick” of their own they do just to know his attention is upon them and only them, a “trick” they sometimes do to each other perhaps to fight for the affection of their dad.

He is brilliant, beautiful, special, and genuinely male.  I love it all.  I love him.

That’s my Jack.

{There’s a good chance he’ll make me take this down once he sees it!  QQ!}

At about 11:00PM tonight, my baby will finally be home!  He’s more than a day late, but that’s OK (not really!).
His house is clean, I’m clean, the kids are in order.  He said he won’t be eating tonight, but we’ll see MUAHAHA!  What I mean is I bought a huge fruit “basket;” one of those expensive half-a-watermelon-stuffed-with-a-dozen-different-fruits things.  Not what you were thinking, perverts.  OK, maybe that too.

Speaking of sex, in an effort to better beautify myself for his return, I’d not shaved for a week.  That always makes for extra smoothness, fyi.  BUT, instead of waxing as I intended, I simply shaved down below and presently sit with a hideous mess of pink dots from ingrown hairs screaming.  For the first time in YEARS, I forgot to use my aloe (it’s been a godsend for preventing ingrown hairs).  Way to go, dumbass.  It’s upsetting due to the circumstances, but I accept that Jack is male and therefore will only focus on what lies below.

Speaking of popping things, Ireland is a go!  (Get it?  Cork.  Popped.  Laugh.)
I’ll miss Jack’s birthday, but I’ll more than make up for it.  Due to work, he’s unable to go.  My girl G won’t be able to go either, but I’ll be staying with her in NY for a week beforehand.
I’m very excited.

It’s been a while since I’ve mentioned anything overly personal about myself.  Heck, I think my opening entry may have been the last “dramatic truth” shared.  (Upon reexamining my posts, it appears that my true first was left incomplete and saved as a draft.  I should consider posting it, albeit a year late, as it certainly will make for an important “first” entry.)
Fact is, this is an entry that’s been a very long time in the making.  A bit of me that I’ve wanted to get out for a rather long time but simply haven’t.  A topic that develops as time marches on.

There was a time that I found intimacy in public to be distasteful and disrespectful.  A time when asked to have sex while guests were elsewhere in the house would lock my knees vise-tight.
Nowadays, despite still thinking it’s disrespectful on occasion, I thrive on showing my sexuality in public.  Kissing my boyfriend from neck to lips to ears occurs nonstop.  When he kisses me the same, I’m giddy.  Slapping or pinching his behind happens, sometimes with my hand down the back of his pants.  When he spanks my bottom or grapples my top, I’m daffy.
When I’m heading out alone, whether it is to the grocery or just a drive, I make an effort to dress to draw attention; usually I wear very low-cut tops (as I’m a bit busty).
I like being seen.  Sexually.  Even as an object.

I cannot place an exact “first” time, but I learned some of my voyeur likes long ago with one of my first true relationships (despite it being Hell).
I was still nervous and uncomfortable with having sex in the same house as other people, and the thought of being walked in on was usually enough to turn me into a pained desert, but there were several times that it happened and I was OK with it.  No, nobody ever “walked in,” but close.  I recall one rather intense shag during which my guy was sitting up whilst I laid back and he smiled to the side, not even looking at me.  Glancing over, I noticed someone standing past the opened crack of the door watching and listening.  As it turned out, I enjoyed the faceless peeper and, as this happened several more times, I began putting on shows for whomever watched; I’d be louder, rougher, and talk more.

With the same guy, I’d given oral in movie theaters, jerk off under restaurant tables, and fuck outdoors.  Knowing that someone else was watching, or at least just knew, got me off.

Fast forward well over a decade.

After living with my best friend for a very long time, and dealing with her nightly loud fuckfests, I became numb to the once-exciting tidbit of myself.  I end up meeting my present boyfriend with whom I remain timid with sexually for quite some time.  But, after time, the idea of being seen/heard returned.

For a couple years now, the window blinds in his bedroom have remained partially opened and the glass raised some.  When I suspect someone peering in from afar (or close as has happened as well), I maneuver us both so he can remain obscured and I am seen almost totally (usually in the reverse cowgirl position – a favorite).  I’ve caught glimpse of anyone from the elderly to tweens watching; no matter who happens to be around, I always raise my vocals and aggression to add to the show.  I love it.

Aside from being viewed, I discovered that I’m not against being the viewer…  No, it’s not something I search for.  I may be perverse but I’m not a pervert.

A long while back, I was leaving for work from my boyfriend’s home when something caught my eye…  It was just after 4AM and, from inside my car, I noticed a light on in an apartment upon the third floor.  In the yellow light walked a woman perhaps ten years my senior removing her top.  Out of curiosity, I watched.  I watched her remove her top, bottoms, and begin to remove her bra.  At that point I decided to leave her to herself.  But, as I was changing view, a man entered the picture.  He removed her bra and fondled her from behind.  They kissed over her shoulder and eventually moved from sight.  It wasn’t an arousal for me.  It was beauty.  I left for work that early morning happy to have witnessed a still-sexy couple.

A few weeks later I found myself witnessing the very same act.  This time I was standing by the car.  This time, she noticed me and as I was diving in the car out of embarrassment, she waved her spouse (I assumed) over.  I pretended to fidget with the keys inside while peering up from below my brow.  The woman continued facing the window while her man was holding and suckling her breasts.  The role had truly reversed that day.  A couple were doing precisely what I’d done for the longest time: they were putting on a show.  I left happily again.

The next day, I didn’t have work.  But at 4AM I went to my car none the less.  The two were there, perhaps waiting for me, nude and kissing.  The woman was quick to end the kissing (perhaps upon realizing I was there) and turned her back, giving herself to him.  I remember them both often turning their heads to the window.  Me?  I held my stance wide and openly felt my crotch; it was a gesture to let them know I enjoyed their show.

While I’m almost certain they both saw me with my man on one occasion, work hours changed minutely and I never got to see that couple through their window again.  But I did see them outside many many times and still do.  The man, to this day, is shy and lowers his head in a way that lets me know he remembers me.  His wife always stops to chat with me about the mundane world, always departing after looking me toes to head (in a way that leads me to believe it really was them who saw me once) with a smile and a sultry wink.  I know she rocks her man hard and often.

A couple months back, I went into the office hours before anyone else were due to prep a few things.  While walking to the kitchen for a coffee I noticed headlights along a wall.  I found the window the lights beamed through in an office and saw an employee with his girlfriend in the car.  He was more than an hour early for his job and the buildings doors were locked.  I thought nothing of it and grabbed my drink.  As I passed the office again I decided I’d entertain myself by watching to see who shows up and at what times.  I rolled up a chair near the window of the dark room and kicked my feet up, sipping my coffee.  Minutes ticked by and nobody was showing up as early as this fella and his girl, the driver.  When I got up to leave, I looked down into their car.  From that floor’s height, I could almost see their laps, or in this case, his exposed crotch.  Yep, she was giving her man a handjob.  I don’t know how long it had been going on, but just seconds after I noticed her tugging hand, she dove down upon him for a few seconds.  He tucked his parts away and the two kissed a bit.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it myself.  Fact is, I was salivating.

Around a month ago, a ruckus in the neighboring laundry room caused me to pause the television and look out through the peep hole.  A couple young folk stumbled out, dragging a basket of dried clothes.  No sooner did I sit back down, I was back up because they were still outside the door and talking loudly.  I could probably quote most of what they said, but won’t.  Basically, the girl, who I’d guess to be 17, was “arguing” with her boyfriend(?), who was probably 20, about how she didn’t want sex right there and would rather be in his bed. Despite being worried someone may come in, she caved in to his coercion.  I was shocked to see him work his member from his zipper and put it to her mouth — right there on the stairs.  They both took constant looks around their area to see if anyone was watching…they didn’t seem to realize the neighboring doors had peep holes, behind one of which was an excited voyeur named “me.”  After a minute of blowing him, she stood up and pivoted around on the stair, then bent nearly in half after tugging her jeans and panties to mid-thigh.  He rose to his toes and pushed his little penis to her behind and pounded her extremely fast at her “please be really quick” request.  Only a few seconds passed before he quickly pushed his parts away and she covered hers.  They both laid on the stairs kissing for another minute before they hustled upstairs to do it in the bed, again at her request.

Being only two feet from a heated couple, and invisible, was exciting.  Me and my sticky hand immediately rushed to the bed where my own man was awoken to finish me off.  Afterwards, when I told him what I’d seen, he took another go at me.

I love being watched/heard.  When the rare occasion presents, I enjoy watching.
So if you happen to be local to me and think I may be around when you’re getting yours, give me a good show.
And never hesitate to take time out to watch me at work; believe me, I don’t mind.

Or rather with.

While restlessly shuffling about the house yesterday evening, a couple cats bolted from the living room to the underside of the bed.  I pondered what their problem was for a moment, calling them retarded for their seemingly wacky action.  Then, a very soft knock issued from the front door.  I stepped to it and peered through the peephole.  Pacing back and forth was the embodiment of cheer.

I whipped open the door and June stiffened up, her eyebrows raised high beneath her shaggy hair.  “Hiya,” she said through a toothy grin.  I was too happy to react further.  Instead, I stood there as she walked in, closed the door behind her, and laughed nonsensically.  I think I whispered her name.  We hugged for an eternity.

She said she saw my previous post and figured I needed some company.  She was right.  It was also nice to know she reads my blogs and cares enough to want to comfort me.

We talked and joked and drank beer for hours.  We set up the camera and turned into tweens, producing a couple shitstorm weather forecasts in front of the window (where it was a downpour), dancing idiotically together to The Dead Milkmen, and a sexy solo with June and The Veronicas;  it’s been promised that the hour+ of video will be on her YouTube.

Around 2am, when we decided sleep should occur, one of the cats went hysterical.  With the huge thunder and lightning storm rolling through, she was scared and wouldn’t leave the top of the sofa.  Knotted together with a cat between us, we slept on the couch.  I awoke with a kink in my neck and a very pained knee.

My life sometimes sucks.  I get lonely easily and have breakdowns often.
What makes everything OK are my few dear friends.

June, my midget muffin, I loves ewe.

I am a bear.
I am an ox.
I am her rock, her bunny, his muse.
I am his kitten, her amazon.

I am inspiration.  I am support.
I am Everest.

My best friend told me how strong I am.  For being by her side for everything.  For standing up on my own despite obstacles.
I rested this afternoon, alone, thinking on the people in my life and what they mean to me, what I mean to them.
It would seem that I am strong to most everyone.  Not only can I carry the weight of my own, but the weight of other’s issues.
Fact is, the weight of my own problems has put me into the hospital on numerous occasions — occasions when I was tired of the pain that weight brought unto me.  The weight of other people’s continues to drive me into despair as I know there’s only so much I can do to help.

I’m not strong; I was never strong.  What I have is a big heart and compassion.  And such is my bane.  I love and embrace my friends and their lives, the ups and the downs, and carry them inside me for always.  When those downs come, I do not, will not, allow my carrying arms to show weakness.  Not until I’m alone.

My father raped his daughter.  She still loved him.  I still love him.  I miss knowing he’s out there somewhere; living, maybe smiling.
My mother brutalized her daughter.  She hated her.  I still hate her.  I detest she existed and speak her name venomously.
Both are gone from this world, my dad 2 years this Sunday and my mother 1 year the past April.

Every time I watch a film, television show, anything that depicts good and loving parents, I break down into tears.  Just moments ago I bawled at the story and performance from America’s Got Talent’s Voices of Glory.
Children honoring their mother.  So much love.  So much beauty.
Something I’ve always wanted in my life.  A family bound with love who respect and cherish one another.

I am a lot of things to many people.
What I’m not is a loved daughter.  I never was.  I never can or will be.

Like Everest, I can appear strong and mighty and continue on through the elements.
But I am eternally hard, frozen, and ultimately alone.

Jack and I had a fantastic few days.

Thursday we went for our tattoos.  Laying back with the gun at my abdomen, I backed out.  No, I’m not a pussy.  I simply want to make for certain I’m wanting that particular piece and want to fix myself up by losing a couple pounds and toning the area.  I actually considered having part of it done up at my hip bones as the skin/fat there won’t be affected by further weight loss (which is actually going quite well, thank you).  Before you ask, I’m wanting a few stars on my abdomen from my hips leading downward towards my pubis; maybe 5 on each side.

With the additional time, Jack went ahead and had two small works done on his arm.  They’re some odd occult symbols.  He’s ultra-sex with them.  After his initial panic attack (massive trypanophobia), things went well and we all had some good laughs and good general conversation.  He’s already made plans to go back for three more…  While I support him 100%, and haven’t any distaste for him modifying his body like this, I’m fast losing attraction to what he’s adding.  Don’t get me wrong, every single piece he is getting is going to look sexy on him; but every single piece he is getting has some pretty intense meaning to him — that personal meaning is intense in the negative way.  I really am uncertain as to what I actually feel about him having them, so many of them.

We’ve spent a ton of time in the kitchen this weekend cooking various things.  It’s his favorite place in the house to be.
Hours and hours spent watching movie after movie.  Hours and hours spent making love until daylight.

We spent an afternoon salsa dancing at a rather non-local club which was fabulous.  No liquor, no cigarettes, just us and music.  Despite the cool temperature within, we poured sweat just like the other few dancers.  The friendliness of dancers amazes me as after every song, everyone on the floor shook hands and/or hugged one another.  Out in the normal world, Jack comes across as being rather misanthropic, but every time we go dancing he’s so friendly and wears a smile.  It’s good for him, no doubt; it’s great for me.  And just to throw a bone to the sexual deviants out there: we ended the afternoon in the “public” laundry room with me clutching the dryer, dress pushed to my shoulders, as he took me.

So we come to now, 7:40pm.  Here I sit alone.  Just over an hour ago, I gave my love and kisses to my beloved as he hustled out to catch a flight to Salt Lake City where he’ll be educating dummies for two weeks.  TWO WEEKS!  Yes, my cheeks ache from crying for the past half hour or so.
Maybe I am a pussy after all.

For two long weeks it’ll be me and the cats and lots of shuffling back and forth from his place to mine and one of my offices… which is nearly 4 hours one way.  I don’t mind the drive when I know I’m coming back to the comfort of him.  Without him, I’m just going to be depressed.
C’est la vie.

2 days away.

Saturday is an official girls’ night to take place at “the sisters’” home.

I’m quite excited about this.  The Sisters, several (four I think) of their friends, myself and June will be joining up for booze, games, and UFC99; rawr.  It should be a great time.  It’s been quite some time since I’ve had girl-only outings.

After literal years of talk, the man and I may finally be taking the plunge; it’ll be his first ink and only the second time (lip piercing) a needle has struck him outside of medical care.  (Yeah, he snorts > shoots.)

Stars.  That’s what I want.  I now know two people with stars and I freaking love it.  I want a few across my belly or on my sides at the waist.

I want him to get some tribal type dragon stuff but he’s fighting me on it.  If he gets what I want, I’ll get the same, damnit.  Here’s a couple things to show the type I’d like to see on him (and myself):

Trust me, if you knew the guy you’d know how these types suit him.

He’s fighting though.  He thinks none like those will look good unless on a large scale.  He wants something small…  Except for the shit he wants on his back (which he’s had priced and won’t tell me what the cost will be) – this sigil.  Don’t get me wrong, no matter the cost, that thing is hot fucking sex!

He’s made several mentions to me and the artists we visited earlier today.  If he goes with something other than the dragon ideas, he’s probably going for some other occult crap (again, if you know him, it suits him).  If he does that, he’s probably going to get a fuckton…  Not a bad thing as I’ll get to lick the wounds.

So, should it really go through, I’ll most likely be getting a handful of stars slapped across my torso and Jack will be some walking occultist demon-warder or something.  NEAT!

Yes, I am excited.

Just a brief update for anyone who bothers to keep up.

Jack’s doing fine.  He’s dreading future visits to the hospital, but he’s doing fine.  He’s lost a lot of weight and still doesn’t seem to have an appetite.  He’s tired a lot and I’ve been spending every second of every day possible with him – there’s a big chance I’ll be leaving my job up north so I can remain by his side for always.

We took a mini-vacation to a themed hotel (which we’ve been to before) which was a lot of fun.  Fun to swim and sweat then return to our room where the temperature forced us into sweaters and coats… We intentionally fixed the temperature as such to fit with the arctic theme.  It took a couple weeks but we finally had some perfect us time, even managing some good love-making.

The hirsute chick that I was is no more.  I know, it’s heart breaking!  But, in preparation for our little holiday, I did my shaving and had a waxing.  As much as I loved being a furry, being a girlie again sure feels good.  And it was nice to have my boyfriend salivating over me again.

That’s about it.  Not much has been happening.  Random friends stopping by to chat has been the only other entertainment aside from sleeping, television, and gaming.  Looking in, I’m sure many people would see our past couple weeks as boring but for us I think it’s been wonderful.