The year is finally ending...

There was a time, earlier in 2012, when I thought this was going to be a pretty good year. I was living at home mostly, painting and drawing regularly, participating in world wide art trading events, there was even talk of participating in an arts and crafts show in the fall. I got a new job, I reconnected with my grandfather. I was even feeling closer to my husband.

I had hope.

Then, as I've bitched about ad nauseum, everything went to hell.

Now, ironically, I'm probably going to lose my home. I have absolutely no idea how to handle that. But I'm having fun. Seriously, fun! I am having sex with my husband more than we have since we first met. I'm enjoying the heck out of being a cam model most nights. And my new favorite thing is to shop for sex toys. I managed to order another dildo yesterday, and pay nothing out of pocket for it. SCORE!

If I have a terrible day, nine times out of ten I can improve it by going onto my site and finding friendly regulars to chat with, or orgasm with, or just be happy they are there. I have never had a job I enjoyed so thoroughly.

But even with all that, I want this year over. I want a new start. I want to regain the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time things will work out for us.

I want a tattoo.

I want to see a dentist.

I want to find a doctor and have my first physical in over 3 years.

I want to figure out some way to get into better shape.

I do not want to make resolutions.

I just want to be more happy than sad, more joyful than terrified, more secure than anxiety ridden.

Is that too much to ask?

So as this year ends, I look forward to 2013 as the start of something hopefully beautiful.

I wish I had a better title, but "ASSHOLE!" will have to do...

Last night (Friday before New Year's) I had to work at the telemarketing job. Hubby decided to be a sweetheart and arranged to have the last visit with his father while I was at work, so he and the wildflower child drove me to work and then apparently met his father at the restaurant for dinner.

I had a crappy shift at work, but at least our boss decided to feed us decent pizza and send us home 45 minutes early, so that's not too shabby.

I had to wait a bit for Hubby but that was fine. When he did get there and I got into the car, the negativity was palpable. Being me, I immediately thought I'd done something wrong, but no, not this time. The visit had not gone well.

I don't know why I expected anything different. Maybe because I wasn't there I thought perhaps they would be able to talk. I can be so damn naive sometimes.

My father-in-law is moving his apartment in February to a smaller one, and is apparently divesting himself of things he considered extraneous. He asked my husband, who just lost his mother in August remember, what he would like from the apartment. Immediately and without hesitation he said, "The piano. Mom played piano, Grandmom played piano, I played piano and [the wildflower child] loved playing it when we visited." Apparently the response was, "well I think she's too young for that! I'll have to consult music teachers to see if it is appropriate."

What the fuck? Is there an expiration date on this thing (it is an electric piano/organ)? Why wouldn't it be appropriate for a three-year-old to be able to bang out whatever she wants on that and decide if she wants lessons? And my husband asked for it specifically!

Next try. The flatware set they had when they lived in Wisconsin. This holds deep sentiment for my husband and he thought it would be nice to have. I can't even figure out what my father-in-law's response was because even my husband couldn't figure it out. He said he asked for clarification and the response to that request was "right." What? Shot down again.

Then he asked for any paintings or pictures and he was brushed off.

So in effect he was asked a question "What do you want?" but all of his answers were judged incorrect and unfulfillable. Because that's how his father works. If we don't adhere to his idea of whatever we need to be doing, he disapproves.

Hubby went on to tell me that in the parking lot when they were going their separate ways, his father asked "What am I doing wrong? I feel like you are pushing me away." And, there, in the parking lot of a Ruby Tuesday, with our daughter strapped in her carseat in the car, he told his father exactly what he was thinking.

"Everything I asked for you, you judged. You are judging whether we deserve to stay in the house. You are judging how we are together. You keep judging me and us. I asked for the piano and you are judging whether or not I know what my daughter might want or enjoy!" And on and on. Eventually he said he just stopped and went and sat in his car and his father drove off.

Fuck you very much father-in-law. The one thing my husband didn't tell you, that you deserve to hear, is you stole his ability to mourn his own mother. You have denied him the comfort a parent should offer a child in trauma. Your self-righteousness may give you comfort, but you will, and probably already have, lost your most immediate family.

Enjoy your trip home.

Let It Snow

I vaguely notice at some point mid morning today that it was snowing. But it was snowing those sharp driving diamond sharp ice crystals that sting your eyes and cheeks and make everything slippery and precarious. It wasn't "snowing." I figured it wouldn't last and went back to letting my daughter watch "The Fox and the Hound" for the second time while I wondered if the laundry was done.

I grew up initially in New Jersey, and then in New Hampshire. Snow in the mid-atlantic states when I was a child in the 70s was always an event, and there was snow all winter, but it generally (there were exceptions) didn't bank halfway up first floor walls, or blockade front doors or keep people stranded for days. It painted the urban street on which I lived in an 18' wide row house white, covered the scraggly lawn and winter gardens, made the overly pruned boxwoods seem somehow majestic. In New Hampshire, snow is a way of life, an industry. Snow is the major draw of a state that people forget exists between Vermont and Maine. The first winter I spent in New Hampshire was the worst they'd had in at least a decade. Now piled up in mountains three times my height and never seemed to stop. Our home, which was supposed to be fully stocked with heating oil, cooking gas and wood for the wood stoves, was not. It was cold. Cold like you can't imagine the inside of a house being cold. Go to bed in your winter coat and hat in a sleeping bag under every blanket you own cold. Eventually we got the fuel sources we needed and found that there was warmth to be found in our new home, but it was not a fun introduction to New England.

While the wildflower child played and harassed the cats and I cleaned a bit and thought about how not fun it would be to go back to the call center after a mini-vacation of four days off. I liked not being yelled at. And obviously I've been having a good week with the cam modeling.

Still snowing.

Laundry was done. Dishes were done. Got my work clothes figured out.

Still snowing. But it didn't look like anything...

Got a text from my husband that he was on his way home.

Got in the shower. It was a very nice shower.

Started getting ready for work. Really didn't feel like it, but put my best face forward so to speak.

By the time hubby got home, I was almost ready to put clothes on, and the first thing he said to me was, "You're calling out."

Apparently the two to three inches of snow we had were enough to cause people to drive off the roads or into each other. He passed twelve accidents in 17 miles.

So I got another night off.

And made more than I would have at the telemarketing job on the cam site.

Let it snow.

Merry XXXmas!

So it is official, I have made it though Christmas without a major breakdown.

This is the first time in years!

Last year, right before my daughter woke up, I was a sobbing wreck holding onto the kitchen counter while my husband had no idea what to do. Not a stellar holiday tradition.

Strangely enough with everything that is going on in my life right now, I should be a mess, not the relatively calm, happy, and let's face it horny, Kir before you today.

The only thing I can think of that has made the difference is orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms. And talking about orgasms and planning on having more orgasms. And how many times can I say "orgasms" in one post?

My work on the cam site and the improvement to my sexual well being has been frankly astonishing. Granted, there are those moments where I feel like a fat idiot, but mostly I feel like a goddess. And this has opened up whole new roads of communication with my husband about what each of us wants and fantasizes about. Also, we have been treating ourselves to toys. Just ordered a whole new set of things to hopefully enhance our intimate moments. (Gotta love holiday sales...)

I decided to work Sunday and Monday night before Christmas hoping that I would be able to make some money, and also, honestly to keep my sanity. My previous post details how fantastic Sunday night was for me. I was curious to see how Christmas Eve would play out and decided I just had to sign on last night after spending the day with family and having a great time. It just felt like the right time to get on.

All things considered, I was right! I didn't make huge amounts of money, but I did get to finally play with one regular who had never taken me private previously. I had such an amazing orgasm, that I woke up my husband sleeping upstairs. Great way to start my night. I believe that the end result of that session was mutual. I do my best work when left to my own devices or given direction from the member of an intimate and passionate encounter to play out for him. Sometimes I take the reigns and express what I would do were we together, but mostly I accept that this is their time and I'm there for their fantasy and just go with it. Within reason and without crossing any of my boundaries. On that note I did get a new member who has a fetish he was slightly uncomfortable discussing. It really wasn't a bad fetish and one I could play along with. And after a lot of conversation he took me not just private, but exclusive and we worked through his fantasy together. There came a moment when he described something I wasn't disgusted by, but would find very uncomfortable in person and actually felt relaxed enough to express that I have issues that wouldn't make that pleasant in real life, so "no, it didn't turn me on, hope that's okay?" And he was fine with that response! I made sure to do my best for him to make sure that everything that I was comfortable with acting out was sensual and sexy and just for him. And apparently it worked. He seemed quite appreciative. I don't know if he will be back, but at least he and I both got a good start to the holiday.

The one thing that my husband asked me last night, as he kissed me goodnight and sent me downstairs, was to not stay down there until 5:00am and to preferably come back up at 3:00am. It got to 2:45am and I had a few people in my room that appeared to be interested in a session. One was quite appreciative, but a bit demanding. I started talking about signing off at about ten minutes to 3 saying that unless I had a reason to stay I was going to get offline for the night.

No response other than more attempts to see more of me.

3:00am I said I was going to sign off soon.

Still lovely comments about me being sexy and wanting to see me, but no promises to take me private.

3:05am said I had to go be Santa Claus and I was signing off. I could hear my husband walking around upstairs and I said one more time, "Seriously, unless I'm give a reason in the next two minutes to stay, I'm signing off."

3:07am the new member was still just fiddling around, so at 3:08am I said goodnight to my friend that had stayed around to chat, mentioned that I would be on again and that next time take me seriously when I say I have to go. And clicked "Stop my Show." It was the first time I had done that with people in the room, but I had made a promise to my husband, and he has been nothing but supportive to me through all this and everything else we've been through lately so I had to keep it.

Today I got an email from the dithering member that he so very much wants to see me. Well then, next time, take me private!

I hope everyone else had a nice holiday and a little fun.

If we aren't having fun, then what the fuck are we doing here anyway?

Happy Christmas Eve

Good morning everyone. I hope that those who celebrate Christmas are enjoying themselves. I started out my Christmas Eve with a bang.

After being suspended over the weekend from my cam modeling site, apparently for sharing my Twitter handle (which you don't need to ask for, just click that link over there -> Go ahead!), I was very excited to be signing on again last night. I cannot express how much I love doing the modeling when I'm feeling good about myself. And to be honest, I'm doing much better.

Yes, we are still in deep trouble with the house, but my father and step-mother have stepped up and said they will help us as much as they can. Both with contacts in the lender bank, taking the stress of communicating about the foreclosure off our hands. And perhaps, just maybe, if necessary, purchasing a small foreclosed or inexpensive house in a reasonable area and renting it too us, so that we do not become homeless or have to get rid of our cats. The offer, just the idea that they were thinking about doing this to help us, is overwhelming and delightful.

My father-in-law on the other hand just said, "You have to go through the darkness to see the light."

I saw my husband's body tense like he'd been hit. What a bullshit thing to say. My husband and I have been through deepest darkness. I even left him for almost a year when our daughter was an infant. And here we are, more in love and connected then ever, loving our life and our potential, and he's willing to watch us burn. Asshole.

Anyway, enough of that.

I finally got back online at about midnight or a little later last night, and my room exploded. I knew one client was looking for me, but I had new people, old friends, people I'd seen once or twice. It was unbelievable. At one point I was trying to carry on seven conversations at once. I was overjoyed to see one of my absolute favorite regulars who hadn't been around for over three weeks. I had been hoping to see him and apparently the powers that be decided I got to have one wish granted this year. ;-) And as a bonus prize, I learned new ways to use my new toy with him. Always a positive.

All in all, I had the most fun and most lucrative night/morning yet with the cam modeling and hope to manage to tap into the magic regularly and in the rest of my life as well. Whatever drives people to my chat room and keeps them there is something magnetic and powerful and I want that at my control. I believe this is one, major, way to improve my entire life.

So, Merry Christmas to me, and to all, come have a goodnight!


I am as far from what you'd expect to see on a sex site as I can imagine.

I am short, soft, pale, brunette. My hair is short and untrainable. My cheeks are full, jawline rounded, shoulders almost always slump. My skin is scared and freckled. I have a sipderweb of delicate pale stretchmarks under my navel that map the miracle of my daughter's development in my body. My belly rolls and hangs and I'm always trying to hide it when I'm online.

I am told over and over that I am "gorgeous," "sexy," "a goddess," "cute," "amazing..." And yet every day I look at myself in a passing reflection or catch site of my arms or neck in a mirror and I want it all gone. I want the taughtness of my youth. The chiselled hollows of my underweight high school and college years when I read or studied or hid or drank or fucked and always forgot to eat. I want the freedom I had four years ago to ride my bike like Hell itself was chasing me for hours. Stress and inches melting away with sweat and exhalations.

With my work schedule, my lack of a car, or funds, and my daughter to watch during the day, I can't ride my poor neglected dusty bike. My vertigo lays me out often enough that I don't even know if I can ride anymore. I always want to try yoga or something I can do at home, but I get bored and disenchanted. I do hula hoop when I can. That's something.

Why should I worry so much? I get dozens of positive compliments. Lovely, enthusiastic adorations of my form and face. What I hear ringing in my ears with enduring clarity is "fat ass baby?" or "plumper slut." I have such a hard time seeing the soft ivory skin and deep brown eyes, sensual lips and sexy naughty smile that have been so often appreciated.

There are moments when I see my body for the thing it is, a soft inviting vessel in which to cradle all that I am and all that I love. My daughter drinks nurishment and comfort from my breasts, rests on my belly and cuddles in my arms. My husband wraps himself around me and buries himself body and soul in my embrace. My cam site members find release through virtual time enjoying this form and this flesh.
I need to make those moments the norm and not be so taken down by the few nasty remarks of shallow and cruel individuals.

Easier said than done.

Soft, but smooth belly, hint of stretch marks, ancient pajamas. I need a manicure. 

"You are currently in timeout"

Just when I need to be performing more than ever, I sign onto my cam page and get this message: 


You are currently in timeout.
Remaining: 1 day 18 hours 26 minutes

Seriously? I sent an email asking why, but I have a feeling I know. I resisted my members requests for flashing for almost as long as I've been online, but this week I finally allowed them to convince me that it is okay to flash for gold. Today I sign on to this. Although I didn't flash last night. I did break down in sobbing so I don't know if anyone complained about me. I have a five star rating. It just stuns me that there was no contact, no warning, no feedback at all. Just BAM! you can't sign on and make money and get release and feel better about yourself. You just bought pretty new lingerie for no reason. You always get caught. 

I was promising myself and my regulars I would be on this weekend. And now I can't sign on until Sunday night. I have a new toy and everything and there is nothing I can do. 

Update: I was suspended for sharing my Twitter name onsite. I believe they only caught me because I typed it in the chat field, but I won't be doing that again.

Happy Holidays

Just got the foreclosure letter from the bank's attorneys. Because that's what you want the day before the world isn't going to end and less than a week before xmas.

Because that's what you want ever.

Five weeks.

Five weeks in July and August went bad and we are going to lose our home.

I can't come up with $14,000.00 by the end of January.

Turns out we have been barely able to save anything.

But the bills are up-to-date on the home we are probably going to lose.

How am I supposed to keep smiling and remain positive in the face of this? How am I supposed to respond to my daughter yelling at me "No! Mama is NOT SAD!" How do I go to work tonight and offer mortgage refinancing to strangers while I know that my own lender is going to take my home.

How do I do this?

I can hear my husband in the other room talking on the phone with the bank. And I just heard him say "You should have all that!" But you know they don't. Even if they do. And they just hung up on him.

My world is ending.

I guess the Mayans were right. I had no idea how personal their prediction would be.

I want you (A stream of consciousness daydream)

I see you. I hear you. I want you.

I look in your eyes and see you see me as though it is the first time. See the lust and love and humor and so much more. I see secrets spoken and unspoken

What do you see? 

I want to climb up into your lap, wrap my arms around your neck and never, ever, let go. You make me feel like a Goddess. You make me feel like a woman. Sometimes you make me feel like a child.

Every day we learn something new about each other. About each other's wishes and dreams and life and how we work in it, together.

I see your messages throughout the day, knowing you are thinking about me as much as I am thinking about you, and my smile grows. I try not to laugh with the glee that I feel knowing I'm not alone.

I stay up much too late to be with you. To start or end our days/nights together. Alarm clocks be damned, I want you to go through the day smiling as much as I do. I want to feel you under me, over me, around me, in me, on me, through me. Shivering and shuddering and aching and exploding with waves after waves of pleasure and passion and connection. I want to hold and be held and breathe and sweat and laugh and doze and dream.

The road that brought us to this place has twisted and turned and been marked with illegible signs. And I don't know where it goes from here. I can't read the signs and I lost the map. Instead, I trace the topography of your body with my fingertips and lips. Ride the hills and valleys of your hips. Race to crest after crest of pleasure.

You are in my dreams. Doing things we can never do during the day, as is possible, in dreams. So vivid and clear and passionate these nocturnal fantasies, I find myself wondering if everything about us now is a dream. That we can't be this happy in this moment with the uncertainty and unknowing. But we are and it is not a dream and I don't want this to stop.

If you can't type, you might want to rethink using a chat room...

Monday night I went back online after almost a week of needing time off. I had a wonderful night. All concerns about my regulars moving on or forgetting me were assuaged and I realized that as much as I enjoy my regulars, apparently they enjoy me as well. It was very satisfying to be able to move right back into enjoying my chat and performance time and reconnecting.

I was still carrying the glow of that contentment with this aspect of my life when I signed on last night.

It faded quickly.

If you are in an environment that requires at least marginally decent typing/spelling/grammatical skills in order to be understood by the other individuals in that environment, it might help if you actually have them.

Last night for the first time in a very long time, not one of my regular friends showed up to my room. NOT ONE. And I was desperate for some support.

I had a new to me member show up last night with the absolute worst typing skills I have seen since I started cam modeling. Now I'm used to the ubiquitous use of "text speak" in the chats I see;

"Hi bb, hru?"
"Gr8, u?"
"U do sph?"

That I can deal with. I don't enjoy it, but at least I can read it and figure out what the member is saying and for what they are looking. But what I encountered last night was so far out of my field of understanding that I felt like I was sitting sideways from the world and needed a translation key.

"Hi Royale, U real Special U no?"
"I see in U, it Really no?"
"U must be a starbabii 4 Real no?"
"I like U, U Special and All That Jazz!"
"What U thk about the Phisical Clip? For Real or Ficticious?"

I'm sorry, what about the physical clip? (Now I'm thinking circumcision or something here.)

"The Physcal Clif, Real or no?"

(Are you kidding me? You want me to talk about the Fiscal Cliff on a cam model site? Okay...)

So I briefly described the Fiscal Cliff and what I was concerned about happening next year and then asked, "Was that a test?"

"No not test. U Special. Smart and Sexi and All That Jazz! U No?...."

This went on for an hour and a half. I was getting dizzy. There were at least a dozen "And All That Jazz" and I can't even count how many "U No?" and I think I needed to be drunk to understand what was going on.

Finally, FINALLY, the very first member with whom I had a session showed up, and I almost bounced with relief. I'm not entirely sure he remembers me, and he's not the most couth of the members, but damn if I wasn't so very much thrilled to see someone who can type and just wants to get his rocks off. I had been online for two hours by now and was watching my "private time online" percentage drop like a stone. I got naked faster than you can say "U No?" And once he was done, so was I.

My brain needs a vacation.

Grief fucks you up

My mother-in-law passed away of pancreatic cancer in August of this year. She was diagnosed 11 months before she died and to be honest, she really did put up a great fight. She was just fighting the biggest opponent.

As a side note, she died two weeks to the day after my grandfather, who I had just reconnected with, also died.  But no one really noticed that.

My husband and I were there, not in the room with her because she died quite early in the morning, but in the town, in the apartment she'd been sharing with her husband of 50 years, my husband's father. In fact, the day of her passing was the morning of their 50th wedding anniversary. She really wanted to make it to their party. She was a very stubborn woman.

I didn't always get along with my mother-in-law. To be honest she was as crazy as I am, in differing ways though, so we were often at loggerheads. We had very divergent views of what is "art" and how to parent and diets. For instance I was told once that father-in-law is allergic to corn and never forgot it. It took ten years for her to remember that I'm allergic to walnuts and bananas. Crazy. Also smart. And driven. Oh my gods you never saw a woman so driven by her passions. She campaigned for Obama in 2008. She supported LGBT equality. She thought sexism was stupid and outdated. She was a grant writer for years and had run a county wide help line in NJ for a very long time. She was a remarkable woman. Still crazy, but that's okay.

I miss her. I wish that our daughter would have had a chance to know her better. To make her own decisions about how crazy Grandma is. She misses her. Keeps asking about her and why the doctors couldn't make her better and why she had to die. How do you explain death to a three-year-old? I keep trying. I don't know if I'm doing a good job or scarring her for life, but I'm trying the best I can.

My husband misses his mother so much. He is an only child and she adored him and he her. He had been afraid from the moment of her diagnosis what would happen when she died between him and his father. She was the buffer, the fixer, the controller. She kept his father reasonable. Ish.

When my husband was a little boy, one day his mother packed him up and put him in a car and drove off, away from the brute his father was at the time. He never knew why, but at some point she turned around and drove back. I can't remember at this point if that was the day his father had beat him for no discernible reason, or if it was inspired by another event. The beating by the way was never discussed. Ever.

My father-in-law is a minister. A man of "faith." They were "church people." So much so that they only lived in either graduate school or church provided housing until 1998 when they bought their first house. They would trot my husband out as the Preacher's Son while he was growing up, and tried to do the same thing to me when I joined the family, but I very quickly found other things to do than go to church with them. I am not christian, never was, don't have any interest. I am very spiritual, but you know, that is simply not the same.

We didn't leave my father-in-law's side for almost a week after her death. My husband went with him to the funeral parlor, watched as he threw away money on having them run the obituary for her ($309.00) when the local paper would have done it for free, go for the more expensive casket, pay extra for them to dress her even though there was no viewing. He said nothing because this was his father's grief. Meanwhile I had lost a job two weeks prior and was unaware that my unemployment application was being challenged by my previous employer, so I was not receiving unemployment during this time. My husband wasn't working while we were away. And we were having to spend money every day on gas and supplies we hadn't known we needed when we went out there because we weren't expecting to stay longer than two and a half days. This was a very bad week for us financially. And emotionally, but I have to think practically about things because sometimes I'm the only one who does.

By the time we got home we were effectively two months behind on the mortgage due to a bad July. We tried to make a payment of one month to get ourselves closer to caught up. We even thought it went through, but it was kicked back by the mortgage company for being insufficient. There was no budging them, all or nothing. No partial payments. We believed that my husband's father would help us out with some money from the life insurance settlement on his mother. That never came to pass. In fact his father blew through over $18,000.00 in two months paying back taxes and going to baseball games and getting $800.00 in clothing and traveling. We applied for mortgage modification, again. When his father came to visit us in September, we were three months behind on the mortgage and he said to us "would losing the house be the worst thing that happened?"

Are you kidding me? You have a three-year-old grandchild you are willing to let become homeless?

He did give us a bit of money at that point, but of course the mortgage company wouldn't let us use it to pay down the delinquency, so we paid bills. And kept trying for the modification. At one point in this visit he also grabbed my face and lectured me from less than 6" away. Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Like. That. Again. My husband did nothing.

His father is becoming less and less the man he was with my mother-in-law. He is more and more dogmatic and biblical and less supportive and more critical. He is selfish and mean and continuously reminds my husband that "God loves you" even as we are suffering. My husband still hasn't processed the loss of his mother. The events in Newtown, CT yesterday rocked my husband as much as they rocked me and I think he wanted to call his mother. Instead he texted his father that we were struggling and hurting, and today his father reminded him at the end of their phone call, "remember, God loves you." My husband was furious.

And in an instant, he turned into his father.

I had made some admittedly not terribly sensitive comments about his lounging on the daybed for dinner. I told him to sit up, if we can't eat at the dining room table, at least sit up! The rest of the night went downhill from there. He accused me of not giving him room on the daybed, which I hadn't the last couple of days, but I've also been laid low with killer cramps. But I always move over if he makes moves to sit with me, he didn't even budge. I tried to clear my plate and he yelled at me to come back and sit with him. I averted my gaze because he said I was looking at him meanly so he said "I guess it is not in your nature" meaning I can't be comforting. All I had been trying to do all day was being comforting. Asking what was wrong, what I could do to help. He finally snapped that he was going to lay down for a while. I said "okay." What was I supposed to say? My daughter spent some time tickling us with cat toys and we tried to hide whatever the fuck was going on from her. Then he said again, rather harshly, "If I nap would that be okay?" I tried to smile and said "whatever you need to do, is fine!" But that made him angry. I know he's grieving for his mother and angry with his father but it all came out on me. And he thrust himself up from the daybed and I got scared. He has never hit me, never, but he does have a temper and my anxiety level is so high right now, I ran.

I ran outside to my deck and I broke down. Gut wrenching wailing sobs that I could only curl around with my forehead on the deck railing. Feeling the cold dampness of the wood through my slippers and wondering if the neighbors could hear, but I couldn't stop. I didn't think I would ever stop.

I have done nothing but support my husband through all of this shit. Through the chemo, through the death, through the mortgage modification, through the visits with his father. I support him, I honor his right to grieve, his right to be angry. I cry in the middle of the night alone. I make lists of the cats I might be able to keep if we lose the house and the ones that will either go to the shelter or be euthanized. I hide my fear from our daughter as best I can. I get naked for strangers at night to make extra money in case we can save our home.

He came out and said "Kir...Come inside." like I was throwing a hissy fit or being particularly exasperating. I ended up sobbing out "I don't know what to do! I just wanted to help! I just wanted to help! I don't know what to do!" and he enveloped me in his arms as I flinched away and fought him because in that moment I was so afraid, of him, of his father, of all the men who have hated me... In that moment all that fear and rage and hurt and terror was embodied in him and his frustrated voice. He just held me. Eventually I could breathe and he said "come inside." and left me there on the deck to compose myself I suppose. I don't know. He just went inside and shut the door.

And I followed.

How to make sense of it

I look at my 3-year-old daughter, just a year from being pre-school aged, a scant two years younger than some of the victims of today's atrocities, and I lose all ability to reason. If a child, just moments in time older than my precious wildflower, can be gunned down in a small, secluded, affluent, safe, elementary school, then where in the world are children safe?

I can't stop reading about the tragedy in Newtown, CT. I'm sitting at work trying to make leads, but totally not caring because how does this job matter in the face of this horrible act of extreme and senseless violence?

I want to save all those lost babies. Pluck their souls and futures back from the dark and heal their broken bodies, reunite them with their grieving families and erase this horror from history. I want to hug them all and wipe away tears and wash the blood from their faces and make everything better. I want to save the shooter from his own broken mind long before he decided picking up a gun was the right answer to a question only he could hear. I want the doors to have been too heavy for him to push through. The car to have not started and brought him to that place. I want so very much for it to have not happened. But I have no power over the universe to make that wish so.

I don't know how to move past this in the part of my motherness that allows a child to grow up and away. I don't know how to let her move from my grasp and my eye. I want to hold her close, keep her to my breast, envelop her in my sphere of control, forever.

This is not rational. This is not healthy. This is not how to mother. But this is what my instinct is screaming at me to do. I know that tomorrow she will grow a little further from me, next year even more, and always away. The line between us will never be severed, but she will draw her own lines and all I can do is pray and beseech the universe to please keep her safe, to teach her how to be safe, and to accept that I have no control.

We are all going to spend the next days and maybe weeks trying to understand why this happened and how it could have been prevented. Gun enthusiasts will demand the gun control will only make it worse and politicians will do nothing in the face of the lobbying behemouth of the NRA. I don't have the answers but I do know one thing, something must change. Too many of our most vulnerable have been lost to these kinds of mass killings, this is a symptom of something broken in our society and we must, must, work together to heal that break. Better mental health services and outreach programs. More accesible interventions. Yes more gun control. Less glorification of violence as an answer. Less use of violent rhetoric by our politicians and pundits which makes violence seem normal and appropriate as a response to frustrations or disappointment. We need to abhor violence, reject it, find alternatives.

We must work together, only in harmony and cooperation, can we heal.

V, the wildflower child, in front of her artwork

Why I can't quit my "day job"

So I think I might make a grand total of $11.00 this week at the cam modeling job.

Eleven Dollars

My pay week goes from Saturday to Friday. I didn't work last Saturday, Sunday or Monday due to my hypo-manic episode and feeling like Oscar the Grouch was a ray of fucking sunshine compared to my mood. Tuesday night I had someone take me to private just to show me that he was jerking off for a few seconds before summarily clicking off while I was trying to undress. Never said a word. I think this person probably also whacks off on Chat Roulette because what he did was beat the clock (and his cock) so I didn't get paid. Wednesday I spent two hours chatting with a new member about Norman Reedus"The Boondock Saints" and "Warm Bodies" before he finally took me private for a little mutual masturbation session. Thank heavens we had been chatting and enjoying each other's company because the site I work through crashed in the middle of the session! He didn't blame me at all and came back to finish up and it was very nice. But that was the sum total of my earnings for the week thus far. Because nature sucks.

I'm a biological woman (I'm sure there are some trans-women and gender queer performers out there, so I don't assume anyone assumes I am what I appear to be). And I am in my childbearing years. So there is no reason I wouldn't have a menstrual cycle and need to occasionally take time off for such things. But twice in one month? Seriously, I just got my period for the second time in a month. At 14 days in to my cycle to be exact. And it hurts like hell.

I'm fairly regular and since I had my daughter my periods have been rather predictable and only 4-5 days long. But last month it came 4 days early and lasted almost 7 days. And then 14 days from start date I get it again? No wonder I've been feeling so horrible. Or maybe it is because I have been feeling so horrible that it came. Stress is a major factor in irregular periods and I have absolutely no lack of stress in my life.

No matter what the cause, I'm not a happy camper. If I wasn't in so much pain I would get online and do surface stuff or at least chat with my regular friends and stay in touch, but I have to work at the telemarketing gig tonight and tomorrow morning and I think I just want to cry.

If anyone wants to bring me ibuprofen, another heating pad and a kitten to cuddle I'd be thrilled.

Totally star struck!

Isaac Marion is the author of "Warm Bodies." And this just happened. *swoon*

Several hours later, he came back to the conversation...

And I think I just propositioned an author. Oh dear. Hope he wasn't offended. 


One china cabinet, two bookshelves, one hurting Kir
So since I've been a bit manic lately, yesterday I decided it was finally time to make some progress on my disaster of a house. I had wanted to move a pair of bookshelves out of the living room for quite a while and of course it seemed like a good idea to undertake that project while the husband was at work and I have a rambunctious 3-year-old underfoot. Because why wouldn't that be a good idea? 

Did I mention the living room is sunken and I was moving the bookshelves into the dining room, which has a six inch step up? No? Oh, yeah. Well there is that. 

So after a nice round of cuddles with the child, I put "Suburgatory" on my Hulu+ to just keep playing and started taking books off shelves. Then I remembered I needed to move the china cabinet in order to make room for the shelves. Luckily that just slid. About two commercial breaks later my entire living room was covered with piles of books and stuff and the bookshelf was cleaned and detached from the wall. 

Moving the first one wasn't so bad. I did find a few books that were too dirty and worn out (not classics, old funky text books) that were not going back up and then arranged what was left to allow my two main sewing machines to live on the bottom shelf. Then came the second bookshelf. 

I managed to clear it off just like the previous one, and even got it moved to the edge of the living room al right. But when I tried to tilt it to slide it up the step, I dropped it. On my left arm and thigh and my glider. I was screaming at it "NO! YOU WILL NOT FALL!" while trying to protect the bookshelf and the furniture it was threatening and not tip it the other way onto my kid who was watching all this from the love seat. I yelled at her to get out of the living room so she wouldn't get hurt, while I maneuvered around the almost horizontal bookshelf in such a way as to right it mostly the way up and angle it onto the dining room floor. Eventually I got it in place and loaded it up. 

Once there wasn't a dozen piles of books and blankets and stuff around the living room, I moved the rest of the furniture and vacuumed a dozen times. 

I didn't notice anything wrong until I was downstairs online last night and rubbed my arms because I was a little chilly and felt the lemon sized knot in my left forearm. Pulling up my sleeve, I found the four inch bruise across the top of my arm. I don't even remember that happening specifically. Today the bruise is ugly and purple and my shoulder is stiff and my fingers and hand feel frozen and painful. I also have a bruise on my thigh. I look a mess. 

Nothing is sexier than furniture related injuries eh? No wonder I only made $0.20 (you read that right) last night. I have no idea how I'm going to perform tonight. My only saving grace is that I'm right handed. But still! Half my body feels likes I was beaten with a baseball bat. Or a bookshelf. 

At least I now have a place to put the Yule tree. If I can carry it out of the basement any time soon. 

Crazy, but don't you call me that!

When I was fifteen, my mother took me to see a pediatrician because I was in pain all the time. Not uncomfortable. Not just achy. In pain. Pain that inspired me to take over 20 Tylenol caplets in one school day. My back, my legs, my head. PAIN. The doctor ran his tests and talked to us for a bit. I hadn't seen him before and I never saw him after, but I suppose he was doing his job well. He couldn't find a physical reason for my pain, so he suggested that what we were dealing with was actually "major depressive disorder."

 I cried all the way home in the car. It was dark since it was winter in New England and it is almost always dark in winter in New England. I didn't want to be crazy. I didn't want treatment because it would confirm that I was crazy. I didn't want to talk about it. Even though the doctor has specifically said that I wasn't crazy, that this was a chemical imbalance and it is very normal for depression to cause physical symptoms, all I heard was "crazy." What is so ridiculous about my reaction to this diagnosis is that I knew I wasn't "normal" anyway, and honestly if I could have been helped then I would have saved myself a ton of trouble later. But I was fifteen and stubborn and thought I knew how to take care of myself. It really didn't help that I was getting this diagnosis during the same year that I testified on camera about the five years of abuse I'd survived at the hands of my step-father. I missed a lot of school that year. And since I was in New England, that whole step-father thing turned into a royal fuck up of epic proportions. But I digress.

 In college I was finally convinced to go on Zoloft for the depression. By this point not only had I had numerous very public freak outs on my boyfriend(s), but I was also self-mutilating. You've heard this story before. It is almost boring it is so standard. Crazy girl cuts and burns herself in order to stop the crazy. You know, cyclical bullshit that just seems to go along with certain life tracks. And yes, I was also very smart and over scheduled. So typical.

 So there were years of medication and weight gain, loss of libido, and yet still freaking out or feeling hopeless or contemplating suicide or self injurious behavior pretty much daily. It's so much fun living in my head sometimes. I tell ya, I should sell tickets. "Welcome to the Kir Royale Bat Crap Crazy Funhouse! Please keep arms and legs inside the ride at all times, and do not feed the animals!"

 In 2005 I lost my home and my job in two days. Living with my parents I was looking for work and my father suggested I try out to be a police officer. Seriously. Follow in my father's steps? Seemed ideal. I had always been fascinated by police work and I have a strong sense of justice and protection. Seemed like a good fit. But there was one thing he wanted me to do. I had to go off the medication. He felt that it would be a mark against me that I was on mood altering medication when I applied. And since there was a physical component to the application process, I also had to quit smoking. In July of 2005 I quit smoking and got off Effexor at the same time! I was a total and complete bitch for at least a week. Maybe more. I don't really remember some of that time. I do remember having to MOVE, walk walk walk walk walk walk walk. Walk walk walk walk walk. Just keep moving. Until I collapsed. Felt like my cells were eating themselves. It was awful. But I got through it.

 Now 7 1/2 years later I am still nicotine and medication free. I'm also still breastfeeding my child and therefore either would be a bad idea (no I have no intention of ever smoking cigarettes again, even though I use my flavor only ecig often). But I'm also still crazy. I think that as I've gotten older some of my symptoms have rounded out a bit, but I still get edgy and what I call "manic." Everything bothers me, I hurt all over and I cannot stand smells or sounds or sights that are unpleasant. I want to chew out everyone and I feel like I have been pulled as tight as a completely stretched out rubber band and I can snap at any second. My shoulders feel like they are up around my ears and my jaw hurts from clenching. I believe that I was misdiagnosed all those years ago. From my own research, Bipolar Type II fits better because I have these little mini manic episodes that are so violently uncomfortable. It feels like a sandstorm in my brain. But they only last a few days at most. I also have the crushing, everything is lost why bother, depression episodes when just getting out of bed and being there for my daughter is an Olympic test of willpower. But I do it. And I smile at her and hug her and tell her I love her. And walk into the other room or lock myself in the bathroom when I don't want her to see my face contorted in fear or grief or whatever random emotion has assaulted me in the moment.

 Today I'm coming out of what I think is a manic episode. I was so angry and edgy yesterday. All I wanted to do was sleep, instead I spent all afternoon and evening yesterday working on one blog post. And yes, I'm fine with the word crazy. I'm a highly functioning wackjob, but I'm nuts. I have completely inappropriate emotional responses to stimuli and I have tried to kick over a refrigerator. But that's okay because I know I will never hurt my child or myself and that if I just get through it, I will be okay soon. So today I'm going to be kind to myself and my daughter, and hopefully by tonight, I'll be more "myself" and less "insane person." Wish me luck!.

Zombies Rule, Vampires Drool

So over the course of my lifetime fascination with the supernatural/horror genre, I believe that my list of favoritism has steadily and organically evolved from being initially:

1. Vampires
2. Werewolves
3. Zombies

To now being

1. Zombies
2. Werewolves
3. Vampires

First of all, while never a top favorite, it is important to note that werewolves are awesome. The internal conflict of being good and civilized versus succumbing to animal instinct and just ripping through all the people that piss us off externalized with awesome special effects or outrageous costuming? Love it! Some of my personal favorites are:

I just didn't want to move on to the reason why vampires and zombies have switched places without giving werewolves the love they deserve. And honestly, if you told me I had to become one of those beings or everyone I loved would suffer? I'd totally go werewolf. And I'm vegetarian. But still. Werewolf.

Anyway, back to reversal of numbers 1 and 3.

I believe that the change in what I like is due to my growth as a person as I've matured.  When you are an adolescent or younger person, vampires are sexy and everything sexy is good. But when you have to worry about bills, or keeping your home, or going to work every day and being a responsible adult and you have to take care of a family and pets, in other words you have "real world worries," the zombie genre simply relates more!

Don't get me wrong, "The Lost Boys" will always be a perennial favorite. Always. I mean I even met Corey Haim once upon a time. And that thumb of his did go in my shirt briefly.

Monster Mania, Cherry Hill NJ 2008
What may make "The Lost Boys" one of my favorites in the vampire genre is that while it is sexy, it isn't only about sex. There aren't latex suits or writhing vampire brides. There is a single mom and her teenage boys just trying to survive in spite of all the damn vampires. And Diane Wiest is awesome. I just love her. And trust me, there are plenty of vampire stories and movies that are high on my list of favorites in general. They simply don't hold the top spot in my heart and mind anymore. I'm married, I work as a cam model. I don't need to chase sex. I'm not a trembling teenager overwhelmed with angst about whether or not someone will ask me to lunch and I know I'm not freaking immortal and with this body I don't really want to be. Immortality and unchanging beauty doesn't have the same attraction that it did at 14 or 18 or 24. Frankly, it seems awfully boring and gloomy.  

Also there is a pretty limited number of story options to work with in the vampire genre. The vampires themselves have generally two life arc options. They either live forever or piss someone off who has a stake or pointy part of a chair and they die. In the mean time when they come across humans during their lives they have three options for interactions. They can a. eat them, b. turn them or c. outlive them. Not much to do there but add some details and roll credits. 

But just because I do still love vampires in their cold cold way.

But in the end, at least for now, the zombie genre has my heart. With the 2004 remake of "Dawn of the Dead" the tide began to shift. "28 Days Later" pushed the line even further. "Wasting Away" (also known as "Aaah! Zombies!") made me laugh out loud. "The Walking Dead" sealed the deal and the zombies came out on top. 

Zombie stories are all about survival and they are not hemmed in with limited story lines. The zombification itself can be started any number of ways. Virus, bacteria, mold, aliens, failed scientific experimentation on monkeys... But once the zombie apocalypse starts, the story is all about the survivors (or in the cases of "Wasting Away" and "Warm Bodies" the zombies themselves). In these stories, it is the people, the characters that matter. They are personal and interpersonal and relatable. I can imagine something horrible happening in which I have to take my daughter and run. I doubt very much that a vampire is going to descend on my messy little ranch and change my existence. But the idea that civilization could collapse around me? Yes, that is accessible. 

Ultimately I believe vampires are for the young, and zombies are for the moms. Because you should always be ready for the zombie apocalypse. 

Seriously, nothing good about telemarketing on a Friday night

Friday night I didn't get a single lead. Not one. That's not to say I wasn't trying, because I wasn't. But there just weren't any good options. So instead of pulling out my hair or gnashing my teeth over the loss of commission potential, I instead apparently reverted to high school mentality and came perilously close to becoming a "Mean Girl" which I have never been in real life.

Also I am the hands down winner of paper airplanes.

I sit in a dark corner of a cubical landscape, nothing but wall to my left. I have a woman friend who I'll call "A" on my right and a few days a week a young man named "B" sits to the right of A. A new employee named "K" sits in the cubical on the other side of A's cubical. K has become the inspiration for my first foray into the world of Mean Girls.

K is a man in his 30's and is according to his numerous and ongoing stories, divorced, the father of a prescool aged daughter, a karaoke DJ, a paper mache sculpture, and afficionado of art, music, food, travel and even a $10,000.00 lottery winner.

There isn't a single topic of conversation one can have that K doesn't have a bigger, better, more impressive experience with which to top yours. He doesn't even give the courtesy of waiting for a person to finish talking before he overwhelms the conversation with his own grandiosity. B and I have gotten to the point that on Friday nights, when A is generally off, we just find ourselves rolling our eyes at each other, or convulsing with silent laughter behind our cubicals in response to the ongoing ridiculousness of K's stories.

On Friday I ended up no longer able to take it and dropped at note on B's desk as I walked by. It said "I knew a compulsive liar once, the girlfriend of a friend. I destroyed her. Would do the same here, but I just don't care."

This is not a nice thing to say, I know that, but I was overwhelmed by frustration. Between not getting commission, and having every thing I said or B said or even our manager said "one upped" by K, something in my brain broke.

I did not explode upon K. I did not shout or say something nasty directly to K. I did not complain to my manager. No, instead, I started plotting ways to make fun of K. Also I made a point of illustrating my greater knowledge of koi raising in response to a story B had shared. K knew some basic knowledge about koi, but I have had koi for over a decade. Score one for Kir.

Somehow we started making paper airplanes. B must have made the first one. In response of course K had to make a paper airplane. (And yes this feels like high school all over again.) B's paper airplane flew well. K's airplane fell out of the air like a lead balloon. B, being B had to exclaim at the failure of the plane to fly. Blustering and flustered K started weaving a story about how in his youth his father taught him how to engineer paper airplanes that do tricks. And that it was more fun to play with himself making trick planes while his older brothers ignored him because they were so much older. And how (whinning) he never learned how to make a plane that flies straight. By the way, my husband makes loop de loop planes for tricks, and they make perfect circles. K's planes just stuttered and failed.

While musing upon ways to disprove all his outrageous tales, I folded my airplane.

Using a piece of scrap paper, I carefully creased and pressed and turned and folded and sharpened that quarter sheet of copy paper into a sleek, tight, example of aerodynamic excellence. With a bayonet point in front and wide flat wings in back, this marvel of paper looked ready to rain destruction down upon the desks of my coworkers.

With one final press of the creases and a tug at the tip to ensure it was straight, I drew back and launched it at B. Straight and true and fast that airplane hurtled through space directly at a surprised and appreciative B. A gasped and clapped at my airplane making prowess. Who knew this hidden secret talent of mine was the key to being an office deity?

A and B gushed their admiration of my plane, and K continued whinning about his trick planes. How it is more fun and harder to make planes that make tricks than it is to make planes that fly straight and true. He tried to make another looper plane. It landed in A's impressive cleavage. With mock outrage she exclaime that enough was enough because he had defiled her body. By now both B and A were taking turns throwing my plane which continued to chew up distance and maintain accuracy. So I made two more. B examined the engineering and was impressed, A wanted to take one apart and learn the secret. One landed on K's desk and he looked at it and said "oh, its one of 'hers.'"

How dare it do something so concretely better than he? B is an actual DJ with his own equipment and following and mixes. A has been in management and has three grown children. I have a wealth of experience with animals and art. And yet any of our talents are apparently outstripped by K. Except my paper airplane.

For the rest of the night he tried to stick to his "trick planes are better line" but the game was over and I was the victor. He whimpered and whinned and finally was silent and when it was time to leave he said nothing to any of us.

I had gotten a ride into work and my husband wasn't there when I got outside. A and B decided to wait with me and we continued to tell storied about K's stories while we waited, getting harsher and harsher as we went. I cannot believe how his bluster and braggery brings out the very worst in me. Very few people have inspired me to be so critical and dismissive and mean.

I pride myself on being a nice person. My regulars online love my ssweetness and friendly attitude. I'm embarrassed by this response to K.

But I still think I'm going to make up a game based on his stories to play with A and B at night.
I guess I really am a Mean Girl. At least a little bit.  

Slipping through the cracks

Just found out today my SNAP benefits, my daughter's Medical Assistane and our LIHEAP application have all be turned down because we make too much money on paper and because my husband gets "health insurance" through his employer. He has the worst plan ever and it costs us $400 a month. We have to pay for everything out of pocket 100% until we get to $1,100.00 annually. Then they pay 80% of anything after that. I have to find out if anything is covered at a discount at all, because we can't afford that out of pocket. Ever. And I haven't been to a doctor since my 6 week post-partum check-up. Three years ago.

I'm not good with stress. Has that become apparent yet? This is a huge stressor. We still don't know what is happening with the mortgage and I don't see how we are going to make it, unless I can make at least $1,000.00 a month on the cam site. And I'm not there yet. And I don't know how to make that happen.

Who needs sleep? Really.

Yes, I'm very clearly feeling sorry for myself right now. I just crave security with every fibre of my being. And I never have it.


I suppose it isn't surprising with my life set up the way it, that I get tired. I believe I've mentioned this fact before. The problem is, when I step back and break it down it feels like I have no good excuse for not being on top of the housework more or being bright eyed and bushy tailed and wanting to go to the park or out for walks with my daughter every day. I mean really, I only work four hours a day at the telemarketing job (plus approximately 30 minutes commute each way) and then what is cam modeling really other than sitting on a futon and talking to people in the middle of the night interspersed with some hopefully orgasmic masturbation. Then during the day I have the easiest toddler of all time (almost not a toddler anymore *sniff*) and she plays and draws and amuses herself and nurses when she wants to and very rarely is fussy.

So why am I so fucking exhausted?

Let us take a step to the side and look at this again. I spend four hours a day, five or six days a week, being berated, hung up on, yelled at, sworn at, told how worthless I am and to get a real job. In between those calls I have to remember my scripts, my rebuttals, the ever changing rules of our company policies and make sure that I get the numbers correct (I'm mildly dyslexic) and that the leads I put through are actually good ones. Considering that the second I get on the road to go to work every night I start to fall asleep as a stress response, this is a Herculean task to undertake. And yet I maintain fairly good numbers and have yet to fucking snap and lose my shit on anyone on the phone. For which I deserve a cookie and a gold star.

When I get home at night, if I am lucky the hubby has the toddler all brushed and washed and changed and into bed and is in the middle of telling her a delightfully long winded story about strange woodland creatures and their families. I get to change into pajamas and climb into bed with them to let her nurse to sleep. Understanding I will be changing out of the pajamas fairly soon.

If I am not lucky she is running back and forth up and down the house yelling joyfully about something and bouncing off the furniture and it will be at least an hour and fifteen minutes before she finally drifts off to sleep and I can disengage and go to her father.

After she is asleep it is couple time. We watch tv, such as "The Walking Dead" or "The Big Bang Theory" or "Modern Family" and fairly regularly have sex. Sometimes we get carried away and have a lot of sex. Hubby gets up at 5:00am every morning for his job, so I try very hard to make sure he gets some sleep.

Then I go clean myself up and figure out what I'm wearing. If you have done the math now, it is at least midnight, but more often than not it is closing in on 1:00am.

Once I have my cam model outfit and makeup done I get set up downstairs with the computer and the toys and my phone playing Pandora and the lights adjusted. This of course takes some time as well. Most nights that I sign onto my cam site, I'm doing so between midnight and 1:00am or even later.

Now in order to make money, I have to give my regulars and any interested new comers time to find me. Also I have to sit there and endure the constant stream of disinterested fickle wankers with penis ADD.


And on and on and on. Last night for example, I was on for twenty minutes just watching people pop and and out without saying anything. Feeling increasingly more uncomfortable in my skin and hating that the approval of anonymous masturbators matters so much to me in the wee hours of the morning. As much as I work to protect myself, and be comfortable in my own ivory, soft and fairly ample skin, I do get self conscious. I keep telling myself I need to exercise and get toned up. And that in fact exercise would increase my energy level, but I'm too tired to start.

When finally either a friendly regular, or an interested new member appears, I must engage and be bright and cheerful and flirty. I also have to deflect the tactless jerks who come in and right off the bat say things like "hey slut, you wanna suck me?" Which happened Tuesday night. It was like a punch to the gut. I was lucky in that I've gotten strong enough to say "no, niceness matters here." and my regulars who were in the room immediately told him to get out, which he did before I had to kick him.

Some nights all I get are my friendly regulars, as I have a bunch of them now, and while that is fantastic for my self esteem (they adore me, and I them), it isn't so great for my bank account as there is only so much money one can spend on masturbation. So I cannot ignore the new people coming by my room and I have to at least try to increase my member list. And when I do get taken into private for a session with a member, either new or repeat, I have to make them feel as special as they should. They are paying money to spend time with me. And the vast majority of the time, they are doing so because they really do like what they see and feel some sort of interest in me, or seeing me have an orgasm, or hearing me call out their name or whatever drove them to a cam site in the first place. They have picked me and they deserve to get the best show I can give them.

A typical show can range anywhere from some lactation play (my secret weapon), where all I really have to do is hand express some milk and massage my breasts a little to a full sex session using every one of my toys and having multiple orgasms. Often there is some narration of what the member is wishing he could be actually doing to me or me to him. Sometimes the member only wants to see me get naked and stroke myself a little before he cums and leaves without so much as a "ty bb" and I have to scramble to get my meager clothing back on in the thirty seconds before I am automatically switched back into the free chat area.

So you can see, there is a bit more involved in my cam site work than just sitting on a futon in my basement trying to stay warm and yet revealing and minimize my stomach bulges.

Eventually I go up to bed, normally after 4:00am. I wash off my makeup and change back into the aforementioned pajamas and crawl into bed next to my slumbering child and a cat or six. Being me, it then takes a while to actually fall asleep. At which point four hours disappear and a child is either rooting around for her morning nursing or simply leaving to go play in the guest room turned play room and chase around some cats. I have gotten to the point where I let her leave and role over and doze some more until she gets to the point that she has to have me get her breakfast or change her diaper or take care of some other toddler ordeal. Yes the house is safe for her. Otherwise I wouldn't do that. Once I get up, I have to figure out how to keep moving in my fairly zombified state and start working on the promotion part of my life. Here, Twitter, Facebook, Google+. Also keep up on my Norman Reedus obsession. (Joking! Seriously I'm not a crazed stalker, I swear.) In an amongst my online interactions I wish list shop for sex toys and lingerie to add to my shows (and life) which includes making sure that anything I add to my Amazon list maintains my anonymity. I also make snack, change diapers, rescue kitties from sticky hands, admire art work, read books and cuddle.

At about this time of day I then have to get in the shower and get ready to go to the telemarketing job and start the cycle all over again.

Yeah, I'm tired.

ARD Interview

The handwritten stream of conscious piece I wrote while waiting in the classroom of the Criminal Administration building for my group interview. Full text below.
I am sitting in the classroom of the Criminal Administration Building with a strange cross section of my fellow citizens. We are all here for an interview to determine our eligibility for the ARD program as we have all been arrested for DUI. I am writing this on the back of one sheet of my arrest records because I don't have a notepad in my purse and I cannot use my cell phone. There are students, professional looking adults, black, white, hispanic... Some are sitting primly forward, others are slouching and taking up space with the aggressive casualness of a testosterone soaked gorilla. 

The police officer who checked me in is a fresh faced smiling and engaging young man. I'd probably find him attractive if I wasn't so sick with the stress of this entire ordeal. I have been told over and over, by my husband, my parents, an attorney, that this will be fine, that it is a blip on the screen of my life. But it feels so much larger and more disastrous than that. I try to put my own situation in perspective. As I walked into this room a pair of fellow offenders were talking and the young woman admitted to driving 90mph on a local highway and crashing her car. I was not speeding and swerved a bit over the yellow line. Damn vertigo.

The room is filling up a bit as more people straggle in, waiting until the last minute, pushing off the inevitable, or perhaps not caring enough to need to be here early as I compulsively need to be. I find myself wondering if the interview will start exactly at 10:30am as scheduled or if we will be left waiting in the cold institutional gray and blue room with 30-year-old plastic chairs and tables for two. 

It is December 4th, 2012 and the air conditioning is on. It is rattling the vent above my right ear. The cold air is somehow snaking around my knees and feet and my legs are cold. I am glad I wore a jacket over my sweater that is buttoned to my neck to hide my tattoos. I keep worrying the hole in my lip where my labret normally lives. I'm trying to pass for "normal." Several of these people around me obviously don't care. 

I am sitting in the middle of the room and don't want to stare openly around me, but it appears that there are barely any seats left. I wish I had thought to bring a book or a magazine as did the woman in front of me. Alas all I have is this pen and paper on which to write. I don't feel the need to re-read the charges against me as they are burned on my conscious like a brand. I wish I wore a watch. The clock is behind me and I don't wish to turn in my seat to count the seconds until I am finished with this next step in my "rehabilitation." 

I just cannot get over how all this, this stupid mistake and resulting stress and inconvenience, is the result of my relaxing and enjoying a night with friends after a series of horrible events. 

I had fun. I made an error in judgment. I am being punished. 

I think that part  of me has expected to be punished for having fun, for enjoying anything too much. It feels as though any time I stop worrying, stop feeling dread, stop expecting the worst, and just relax and enjoy, something bad happens. It is a wonder I ever let my guard down at all. It can be truly exhausting living like this every day of my life. And honestly, if I stretch my memory back as far as I can reach it, I don't find a time in my life I wasn't like this. Expecting the worst. Knowing that there was a monster around the corner. 

10:50am. Looks like we are starting now. Only 20 minutes late. 

Friends, or Something Like It

"Do you like me baby?"

I got asked that by a particularly needy and surprisingly dirty member the other night. He was an older gentleman, potbellied and graying and obviously in need of contact and approval.

"Of course I like you! Do you like me?"

This was a really clumsy back and forth with a member I hadn't really gotten to "know" in free chat and I hope it wasn't too terribly obvious that I was playacting. I did care that he got what he came for, which was release, but I didn't have any idea what he was thinking or what he really wanted or what he finds funny. So no, I didn't like him. I didn't really feel much of anything for him. Except perhaps a little sad.

Do I like my members? Some of them I like very very much.

There are handles that I see that immediately make me smile because I know they are there to be nice to me. Some don't even ever take me private, but "stop by to say 'hi' and hang out." I won't ever kick a member out of my room for not spending money, unless there is another reason. I don't care if I spend all night just chatting about books and movies and the sexiness of various fonts. I'll either go private or I won't, and having a good time with people I think might be friends doesn't change that fact.

There are a few members with whom I have strong feelings of like/fondness/attraction/intimacy. In some ways it feels like "school girl crushes." I'm not looking to run away from my husband and family to truly be with any of them, but if I get to spend some time with them online, chatting, or playing, it makes me happy. Really happy.

I found out that one sees only me on the site. Which made me well up with tears I was so touched. We have even been multi-orgasmic together (as together as we can be hundreds of miles apart). And he enjoys very much that I am a total geek and fan girl. And he stays with me in private past orgasm, just the two of us, chatting. It is lovely.

I have one that I have gotten to know more since our first private session (which was amazing!) and now we are looking forward to a cam-to-cam session for the first time. I feel like I'm preparing for a first date! He makes me laugh and comes up with the wackiest ideas. Smiling is a good thing and he lets me smile a lot.

One is a friend that makes sure to make me smile, and tries to make me blush, and has shared very intimate stories of his life with me. What a treasure to be trusted that way!

My first ever regular shows up every once in a while and I get that rush of excitement because he was the first one who liked me enough to come back. We take turns being a little bit demanding. It is all in good fun.

One has admitted to visiting to have something to look forward to in his day. I feel honored and touched to be that much of a pleasure in his life.

One has never taken me private but can spend hours chatting with me in free about almost anything, and then making random very sexual and explicit comments or questions. Perhaps just to keep me on my toes. I don't know, but I enjoy the time.

I don't want to leave anyone out, there are more that I just love seeing when they appear. But the point is, I do like my regulars/friends/playmates. Very much. In some cases I know their real names, but not in all. Sometimes I know where they are geographically, but not always. Sometimes I know what they look like, but not always. But I care because they have spent the time getting to know me as much as they can. They care about ME, not just their orgasm. If I am offline for a few days, I might get a message in my email wondering if I am okay. This is friend behavior. And it makes my heart glow.

This is the biggest surprise to me about doing this. How attached I have become to my caring regulars. Like I said, I have intention of breaking up my family, but I love this virtual connection and these internet relationships. They have blessed me.

Why name sex toys?


When I first started working on the cam site, I had one sex toy. A ten-year-old vibrator I christened "Red." Guess what colour it is? It was the only one of my vibrators that survived the great orgasm dust bowl of the 2000s. Seriously, there was not much sex, and definitely not much toy based play for about six years there... It was sad. So very sad.

Anyway, I started working on the cam site and immediately members asked if I had any toys. So I'd say yes and introduce Red. Actually that's when I named him. Before that he was just "the vibe" but now he had a purpose and a personality and a job. So I'd show him off and say that Red and I were old friends. But most members were as underwhelmed by Red as I was. I mean, Red is a workhorse. He's lived through years of desolation and loneliness. He has been forgotten in the recesses of my "toy chest" with batteries still inserted sucking out his will to live. He is rugged, he is adjustable, however he is damn inflexible.

Red is a multi-speed hard plastic translucent red vibrator. He can get the job done, but there is no subtlety to his methods. And he's pretty much awful for thrusting. Which is of course what members want to see unless they are the "just do what you like BB!" types (WHO I LOVE!) But come on, who wants to have vigorous thrusting sessions with a 7" length of hard plastic? 'Cause guess what? I really don't.

So I had to get more toys. Oh the horror.

So I spent a week or more checking out internet sites and online shops and eventually I stumbled across something that took my breath away and I hadn't even held it. Pink, curved, smooth and textured, non-representational (didn't look like a penis), GLASS! And it was in my price range. I watched reviews and thought about finding my G-spot for the first time and had to have it. I mean, I was lusting over this thing like "whoa, Mama wants!" And I had never ever had a non-vibe toy.

Now I found one toy that I wanted, I kept searching. If I'm going to make a shopping cart or wish list, there has to be more than one item in it right? That's what I thought anyway.

I was really looking forward to trying to find my G-spot (yes I know, I've had tons of sex and been masturbating longer than I care to admit, but had never had a G-spot orgasm that I knew of). So I started looking at vibrators meant for that job. And I found one. Purple, curvy and bulbous, highly rated, and easy to take care of. Sounds like a match made in heaven. "Click" right in the wish list.

So then I thought, I have to have at least ONE minimally representational dildo, for the fans you know? I knew I wanted silicone because it is so body safe and better for thrusting. It had to be a good size, but not too big because I didn't want to hurt myself, or my husband's feelings. And it had to be something that I didn't mind looking at. Then I found it. The dildo that made me smile and the description that made me laugh out loud and the shape that made my nethers tingle. The Vamp.

And then because EdenFantasys is so freaking awesome, they threw in a free gift with purchase of yet another vibe. Who am I to say "no" to more battery operated climaxes? I mean really. I'm not made of stone!

So once I had created this list I ran it by the hubby who seemed appreciative of my choices. And the order was placed. Can you imagine what it was like waiting for that order? There was a box full of tingly pleasure on its way to my door. As well as the promise of more paid sessions while working. (Have to keep reminding myself this was really to increase money right? Right?)

So eventually (must faster than I expected), the box arrived. Remember, these toys were like nothing I had ever purchased before. High quality, made to last, well reviewed, and super sexy. My hands actually shook a little when I opened the box. I had promised to play with them with my husband first, so we tried most of them out that night. And fun was had by all.

I've had them all for about a month now and they have their own personalities and names and I love them all.

The glass piece is gentle but insistent. Starts off cold but gets hot and bothered quickly. Feels amazing in my hand when I'm fidgety. And yes, she found my G-Spot. "Rosie" is often one of the first toys I grab, and also a favorite bath buddy on the few occasions I get to take an actual bath.

The purple vibe is named "Sweet" because oh how sweet it is. The name was recommended by a member and it stuck. Often if I don't use Sweet during my online time, I'll give myself a some fun time before heading off to bed, and grab it then.

The silicone dildo is one of my favorites. I never thought I'd say this, but damn I love that thing. "Edward" is so named because the model is called the Vamp and is loosely designed to reference the "Twilight"  character in that it is ivory pale and slightly sparkly. I laughed out loud at the description. I cannot stand the Twilight saga but I wanted the dildo so badly I had to have it anyway. And as a joke, I named it Edward. I did run the name "Spike" passed my husband, but he vetoed it, because in truth I would have fucked Spike (from BtVS) into the ground given a chance, whereas I'm not at all interested in Edward. Some perverse logic there, but I didn't fight it because I still get to play with the dildo no matter what it is called.

The freebie got called "Buzzie." Again suggested by a member and it stuck. Also, it is buzzie. And it works. And I love it. And did I mention it is waterproof and likes baths? No? Oh, it does.

So why did I name my toys? Because it is easier to say "grab Rosie" then, "can you please get the glass dildo?" Also for members I think it is easier to introduce the toys by name and then ask which they'd like to see me use. They don't seem to mind. And I get to create complicated relationships in my head with inanimate objects that increases the fun while using them. It reminds me a bit of the relationships I created with my stuffed animals when I was little, but these are much less pure. *wink*

Now if I can just find the perfect dildo to name "Daryl Dixon" I'll never leave my room.

Nothing good about telemarketing on a Friday night

I work 5:00pm to 9:00pm every Friday night doing the telemarketing thing. This is truly a shit shift. No one is home, or admits they are home. Those that do admit to being the person I'm calling are very rarely pleasant or interested. Not that many people are at any time, but Fridays are their own kind of hell.

Every other Saturday I also work days at the telemarketing gig. So I have about ten and half hours between the commutes. This makes the Friday before even more heinous. But more than the average stress of being a telemarketer (seriously, try it) Fridays suck all the more because I get reminded with virtually every call that I am not just not out on a Friday, I'm working, as a fucking telemarketer!

I haven't been out, like "out," on a Friday or Saturday night in forever. And I don't mean "oh it has been six months since we went to that bar that time!" forever, I mean like seven YEARS forever! This must really hammer home the "Kir doesn't go out drinking" thing very well doesn't it?

I do go to gatherings with friends when I can, but we just sit around and eat and maybe have some wine and then go home. Only once have I been out past midnight on a non-New Year's Eve in years! So every time I get the answering machine or babysitter or grandparent on a Friday night call, I die a bit inside. I may be a cam model and body modification enthusiast and talk like a freak, but damn I'm boring.

Friday nights suck.