50, 30, and The Identity Exercises

Here's another one I wrote for some friends on Fet

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I have a good friend turning 30 soon, a good friend turning 30 soon-ish, and a good friend turning 50 soon. Got me to thinking.

When I was in college, I was in therapy for family reasons, a theater major "because I learn more about what it is to be a human through stories than I do psychology or hard sciences" (that was my standard answer, and yes, I know it was pretentious), and heavily involved in a close-knit religious community which encouraged emotional honesty. So I basically thought about myself and my emotions ALL THE TIME. It sounds exhausting now, but obviously, it was what I needed then. Don't judge.

My religious wrestlings, therapeutic processes, and artistic growth often fed each other, but never as much as the week of The Identity Exercises.

In acting class, we had to make a list of our identities: daughter, niece, sister, student, actor, lighting designer, girlfriend, friend, dancer, mathematician, tutor, teacher, comedienne... Then my acting professor had a guy named Joe read his list. It included "boyfriend". She asked whose lists included "girlfriend", and I was picked to go up to demo.

I stood on stage with Joe, and the professor asked us to talk with each other as if we were interested in dating each other. She told him to start with the question, "How was class today?" and so we chatted, flirting. Within minutes, we were well on our way to our first kiss if nobody stopped us.

Then my professor said "And now, you're father / daughter." (which, first of all, was a brutally emotionally sadistic move, because I had only recently begun talking with my father again, but hadn't seen him in two years, and she knew that... but her irresponsible bitchery is not the point of this story) It was suddenly VERY AWKWARD as we both adjusted and he asked me again, "How was class today?"

The class told us afterward what they observed - when we were boyfriend/girlfriend, we stood closer, we touched more, we met each others' eyes, we laughed more easily... when we were father/daughter, we stood further apart, stood up straighter, both our hands went in pockets, our eyes narrowed... We both looked and acted completely differently.

I took the list to my therapist. After she helped me through wanting to strangle my professor, my therapist asked me to fill out the list more - recognize positive attributes of each role, identify roles where I could borrow confidence (student had confidence to spare for daughter...), and generally ponder the complexity of human interactions by mapping how I wanted to behave in each role.

(Hooray for competent cognitive/behavioral therapy: that therapist was an amazing gift)

Then the topic for the Fall Retreat was announced, with the kickoff talk, "What Would Change If You Really Believe God Loved You?" and there were all those identity roles and behavioral choices rolling around in my head, so I spent a week in a daze, imagining God pouring love over me in each of those roles, and soaking in the understanding that I could simply... choose to believe it. Or at least, to do my best to fake it until I believed it.

My next time in therapy, I was barfing all my thoughts to my therapist, and she asked, "So, with all this information, how do you see yourself in the future?" And I closed my eyes, and I imagined.

I was 50. I knew I was 50. I was wearing a sun hat, kneeling in earth, planting things, or maybe tending things that grow. I knew I was on my own land, and I knew that I enjoyed the gardening, and I looked up at something in the sky and wiped the sweat from my brow, and grinned, and I was... So. Amazingly. Peaceful.

I wasn't a peaceful kid. I wasn't a peaceful college student. I wasn't at peace with my family, my body, my career choices, my intellect, my talents... None of it. I saw myself as a constant barrage of insecurities and facades. Sure, I was honest, but almost I was almost unbearably messy. Spastic. Chaotic.

But she... This 50-year-old. She was... well... You've met peaceful, happy 50-year women, right? They're strong and solid and trustworthy and comforting and huggable and funny and amusing and wise, and ... y'know... awesome. I grew up in a big multi-generational church with many confident, awesome women in their 50s. And in that moment of imagining, I could see myself as one of them.

And I wanted it. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be guided by her. I wanted to know what she knew. I wanted to skip 30 years ahead and go to be her, immediately. Of course, I couldn't skip my 20s and 30s and 40s. Darn it.

But that vision of my 50-year-old self has continued to be my North Star. Literally everything else I thought I wanted for my life has changed completely since then, but in every season - reconciling with Dad, losing Dad when he died, my first marriage, my unexpected technical career, my divorce, my discovery of kink, my relationship now with my husband, my vertigo, losing the house, becoming a phone sex operator, and this past crazy year of explosive polyamory - in all these wildly disparate seasons, my 50-year-old self has always looked back at me with kind eyes and a peaceful-but-mischievous grin, and encouraged me to be like her.

So I guess I've lived my life as "What Would I Do If I Were 50 And Awesome?" And then I try to live up to that, as best I can.

When I turned 30, I was "happily" married, living in a house that we were "going to be in forever", and we were going to start having kids soon. I felt good about the external circumstances of my life, but I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with my emotional realities, how I felt about myself and my increasingly angry husband.

My 30-year-old reflections on my 50-year-old self led me to leave it all, so by the time I turned 32, I was divorced, redefining my faith and romantic relationships and sexual desires, and rebuilding my sense of self-worth from the ground up.

It felt, at the time, like I had wasted a huge chunk of time, that I would never "make it up", that I would always feel stunted by the choices and mistakes of my 20s. But now it's laughably easy to see that I had so much time ahead of me to make whatever I wanted. Several times over, in fact. For that matter, I couldn't have predicted my current life 15 months ago, much less 20 whole years!

So getting older doesn't bother me. I'm excited every year. I get to be closer to her, that vision of myself. Someday, I will meet her in myself, I think, although it may not be exactly at 50. Most importantly, every year, I can see ways that I become more like her.

So, to my good friend turning 50 soon, congratulations on getting to experience the awesomeness. I'm a little jealous. You may not always be peaceful, but neither will I. But you know stuff. You make good choices often. You're full of awesome. I hope you can appreciate it.

And to my good friends turning 30, I urge you to imagine a version of yourself at 50, full of every drop of awesome that you want to become, and to think about becoming her, more than you think about what you've already done or not done, and even more than you think about who you are today. Let her love you, nurture you, and assure you that you'll make it. Because you will.

I know what she'll say: you'll be amazing then, even more amazing than you are now. But let's face it, you're pretty damn amazing now.

Happy Birthdays, friends. I'm glad you were born. I'm glad I get to journey with you now. I'm looking forward to our journeys from here.

And hey, wait a minute: why don't I own a sun hat?

Becoming The Answer

I turned 42 this year, which means I am now The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything (follow the link for the geeky reference).

So for my birthday party, I gathered a few local kinkster friends with a very specific set of criteria:

• I had to believe they wanted good things for me
• I had to believe they would not be offended or bothered by sexual play (many kinksters, especially BDSM players, only play with pain outside their primary relationship, but they don't include overtly sexual acts)
• I had to believe they would say "no" to my request if they were uncomfortable in any way (not everyone will)
• I had to believe they would enjoy running their hands over my body (not everyone would)
• I had to believe they would not be traumatized if I cried in front of them

The first unbelievably wonderful thing about my birthday is that I had to pare down my list: there were enough people fitting those criteria in our kinkster community that I couldn't invite everyone who I wished could have been there, because the sheer volume of people in our home would have been counterproductively overwhelming.

So. Yeah. This is the part where my brain goes -splork- from disbelief with how crazy wonderful my life sometimes is.

-splork-

Here is what I said to kick off the party after everyone had gathered, also known as Easily The Most Insane Speech Ever:

Thank you all so much for coming here tonight.

I'm almost sure you all know this, but just in case: in addition to this being a birthday party, it is also 2 days before my disability insurance settlement hearing. We've waited three years for this hearing, and it's been a crazy hard road.

[start to cry, spend the rest of the speech powering through tears as best I can]

So this week, to prepare for the hearing, I am doing lots of things which normally wipe me out - but nothing that would have made me dizzy in 2008 before I got vertigo - and I'm pretending like it's 2008 and I don't need to recuperate between activities. I'm pretending that there is no vertigo wall for me to crash into.

However, what only three of you know, and this is hard to say out loud, but... something shifted in my neurological balance over the summer, in June some time, I think, and some things have been wiping me out even more than usual since then. And unfortunately, one of those activities has been having orgasms, especially with a partner. So, I just haven't been. Having orgasms. With other people. Not really at all for a few months now. Poor guys. [gesture to my husband and my local lover]

My local lover: No, poor you [I nod, catch my breath again, take in the empathy I feel in the room]

So, hmmm, let me see, if I'm trying to do things I enjoy this week without worrying about getting wiped out... what could I possibly come up with that I might enjoy? [everyone laughs]

So I figure that if I'm going to have a non-solo orgasm, I might as well go big and... y'know... throw a party and invite everyone in the party to help bring me to orgasm. Cuz... y'know... go big or go home, right? [gentle cheering]

So that's the goal. Now for logistics. I'm going to explain an insane amount of information and caveats, after which you can make an informed decision whether or not you want to participate.

First of all, I was tested for Sexually Transmitted Infections earlier this week, and they all came out negative, and the copy of my STI report is right here if you want to see it [wave a paper].

Next, before we start, I'm going to be a crazy controlling control freak and ask everyone to wash your hands so I don't get the flu on Monday [everybody laughs at me].

Also, I bought a bunch of those single-use toothbrushes Colgate Wisps, so if you want to kiss me or lick me, feel free to brush your teeth first if you'd feel more relaxed about it, or use the mouthwash in the bathroom.

Also, if you want gloves, we have some non-latex gloves, and feel free to wear them.

Also, in what is perhaps the most embarrassing and awkward thing to admit to a sex party ever, I ... ummmm... deep breath... I started my period yesterday [groans of "oh fuck I'm sorry" from the women], so I just douched and I have in a menstrual cup, so there shouldn't be any blood, but if that freaks you out, feel free to avoid touching my cooch.

Okay. Now I'm gonna die a little. [crazy face while waves of "I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I just said that" wash over me]

Okay, I'm back. So. What's gonna happen is, I want you to help me undress, then guide me to that table, and then you're gonna gather around me, and you're gonna touch me, kiss me, lick me anywhere on my body until I have as many orgasms as I can stand.

Well, except, don't touch me anally, because if anybody did that, it would probably be over too soon, and it would be a harder intensity orgasm than I want. The same for pain - no pain, because it would escalate me too fast, and I want this to last as long as possible.

So you'll use your hands and/or mouth. I got some flavored body butter that smells and tastes like cake [side note: it totally does], so if you want to rub it into me or lick it off me, feel free.

Think gentle in terms of touch. Whole fingers, palms... stroking, not tickling. If you're touching my pussy, think petting, not rubbing. [demonstrate on my arm] If your fingers are inside me, think pressing, not pumping [demonstrate on my fist wrapped around fingers]. I promise it will be enough to make me come, because this is all already very intense for me.

Afterward, after I have an orgasm, I'll probably ask you to just stay with me for a moment while I come down a bit. And, I might crash... I mean, I might have an unpleasant vertigo reaction, and I might cry. It might look like it's hard for me to go through.

But here's the important thing for you to remember: I chose this. I chose you. You are not doing something bad to me. I designed this moment to be exactly what I wanted it to be, and you are here because I trust you and I want to share this moment with you. I believe this will be exactly what I want and need it to be. I'm asking you to do this, even knowing what's going to happen. I am choosing this.

So now... go wash up, and anybody who is willing to participate, gather back here when you're done.

Of course, in reality, all of that came out less well-organized, with clarifying questions, and stuff I forgot the first time, but that was approximately what was conveyed by the time the group re-gathered.

We gathered. I said thank you. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and said, "Okay". And I felt my roommate peel my clothes off me, my lover guide me onto the table, my husband's hand over my heart.

And then...

It felt like a sea of hands. Little waves of fingers crested and broke on my skin, replaced by new waves of gentle, rolling touch. It was amazing.

I heard whispering and jostling as the group trial-and-error figured out how to fit everyone into the space - I heard later they were rotating slowly around me so everyone could have a turn, because not everyone fit all at once, with my husband and lover approximately opposite me, with a few people watching from the other room at any given time.

I realized after about three minutes, just as the rhythm was starting to settle in, that I had, spectacularly, remembered to shave my pubic hair, but neglected to shave my legs, which I said out loud in abject shame, and everyone laughed at me and my easy-to-forget peach-fuzz leg hair.

I was rubbed, stroked, pressed, caressed, kissed, licked, suckled, petted.

I heard later that a couple of people got a little overwhelmed and stepped back just to watch, crying quietly, while others continued to rotate slowly around me.

It felt like the same person was gently touching my face the whole time, but I found out later that almost everyone had touched my face. I don't know how that's possible, but it was wonderful.

I felt loved. Cherished. Adored. Supported. It felt like the hands of everyone who ever cared for me were wishing their prayers into me for my good, for my healing, to give me love.

Although it may sound hokey to say, I thought of you some of you: readers, callers, friends I've never met in person, people I would have loved to have be there with us, people who felt like they were there with us.

I could feel the love of everyone who ever loved me.

And I came, twice, I think, although it was more like one that kept rolling into another. As the orgasms washed over me, I was grabbing on to wrists I couldn't identify, pressing against fingers I couldn't distinguish, arching under hands I couldn't place.

It broke over me, and I felt the vertigo washing in behind it, and I tapped something twice and said, "Okay" and then hands all went away, as if they were all one person. "No, no, stay touching, just stay" and they all came back, together, pressing into me, as if they were all from one heart, centered by the hand which was suddenly obviously my husband's over my heart, the hand that was suddenly obviously my lover's pressing into my belly, to ground me.

I cried into all of them, letting that first ugly wave of chaotic backlash hit me. I breathed through it as best I could, tensing up, and releasing, releasing, releasing, as best I could.

Then my breath returned, a bit at a time. I'm sure it was just five minutes maybe ten, but it felt like an eternity. Nobody moved. Everybody just ... stayed.

"Okay" I said again, nodding slowly. "Okay".

Nobody moved.

I smiled a little, snuggled into someone's arm, said, "Okay, I can do this," then let my eyes blink open.

If you've never been lying on a table, surrounded by people pouring intense amounts of love into you, and looked up at all of them all at once, let me assure you: it's incredibly intense.

I believe my response was to curl into a ball, put my hands over my eyes, and say something brilliant like, "aaaaaaaa! too much! too many eyeballs! go away, ya creepers!" At which point, everyone laughed at me, hugged me, reached out for one last touch, and left me with my husband and my roommate and my lover, where they wrapped me in a blanket and cuddled me until I could crawl up one stair at a time to my bed with my husband's help.

A few people came upstairs and cuddled me, thanked me, told me what they had felt, what they had seen, then quietly disappeared again. It was lovely.

After about 2 hours, I think, and some bizarre-but-peaceful vertigo dreams (which feel more like vivid hallucinations than sleeping dreams), I had settled enough to venture back downstairs, one stair at a time, with help again, but this time, dressed in my favorite sleep t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. The group dynamics had livened up considerably, more like one of our normal parties. People were rassling and beating and doing all manners of naughtiness to each other. I floated from person to person when people weren't actively in play scenes with each other, thanking them, hugging them, trying to let the snacks and hugs bring me back to earth. I felt and sounded wasted, forgetting words and being ridiculously confused, but everyone was gentle and kind and amused with me.

We opened presents, one of which was decorated in colorful pipe cleaners, which I drunkenly wove into my hair. There were presents for both me and my roommate, and at one point, I stared at the card with my FetLife handle written on it, which is the name I introduce myself as at munches, a personal nickname of sorts, which I hear and use often among my friends, and I genuinely wondered who to give the present to because my brain could not figure out it was for me, for waaaaaay too long. The laughter when I said, "Oh! That's me!" intensified when it turned out the card was a 'getting older' card about how your memory stops working ... priceless.

In case you're curious, here's how I look when I'm brain-drunk beyond belief, with pipe cleaners in my hair, two or three hours after a vertigo crash.

It was perfect. Everyone was amazing. It was exactly what I needed it to be, and more.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, in case you were wondering, is how you become The Answer to Everything. I would have suspected that it required a giant helping of love, which it did, but who could have guessed it also needed pipe cleaners? Well, now we know.

Happy Birthday (soon) Happy 400 (now)

Me, a year ago

This weekend is my 41st birthday (Sunday, the 18th).

Last year, for my 40th birthday, I made a ruckus on my blog, my name was in lights (literally) at the Northwestern-Rice football game, I had a professional photo shoot, and I spoiled and pampered myself all month celebrating.

This year, on the day before I turn 41, my hubby and I are joining my mom in her cozy little living room, where she is renting The Big Chill and buying us pizza. A bit different.

Apparently, my thoughts about turning 41 are, "I don't care about turning 41, but did I do everything I wanted to do while I was 40? You know, I kind of wanted to watch The Big Chill again - it's full of pithy truth about growing up, and how choices have consequences, and how complicated things get when you come to terms with what you can and cannot have simultaneously in your life. I should totally see it while I'm 40."

But since I always love hearing from blog readers and callers and fans, I thought of an idea to test for my birthday weekend: pay-for-text.

Here's how it works:

1. You spend $25 on me:
   -- through clipvia by this link or
   -- through Amazon Gift Card to galiana@ymail.com
   -- or through kinkbomb by this link
2. You send me an email with your digits, and let me know if I need to stay safe-for-work happy and flirty, or if I can be NSFW all-out naughty!
3. I text you from my (temporary, anonymous, internet-based, so don't try to stalk me) number.
4. Over my birthday weekend (Fri the 16th - Sun the 18th), I will casually* exchange texts with you.
   * Casually exchange texts = I will answer your text when I have a moment in which I would normally answer texts, which may be instantaneous and may be hours. I will not interrupt social activities or sleeping to answer a text, but I will answer every text eventually.

The way it works in my head, everybody wins: you get me a gift, and I get happy, flirty attention!

Of course, a gift card without the pay-for-text option would be lovely as well, especially Amazon, in any amount. Little things always come up after a move, and every bit helps!

Oh, hey, non-sequitor: This is my 400th blog post. /partyhorn

40th Birthday Shoot Summary

At last. At long long long long last, my final blog post announcing a photo set for sale from my 40th birthday celebration photo shoot. This is the last picture set I am putting together, and it's my favorite.

(note about self-management: I knew if I posted this set earlier, I'd quit and never finish the other ones. I have to save the best for last or I lose steam.)

I had such grand aspirations for the shoot: 4 outfits (if you count "naked" as an outfit), and with each outfit, I had:
* a way to masturbate
* a way to look toppy
* a way to look submissive
* a way to be oral
* and unique poses for that set

By the time we got through the first outfit (yellow), I realized that I had grossly underestimated the amount of time we needed, so things got thrown off the train left and right. And nobody brought snacks, so by the time we were in hour five, it was 2 in the morning and we were all loopy and making bad decisions about what would photograph well, and about how much stamina I had left it me.

But wow, was it fun.

My photographer, the incomparable Vivian Ronelle (http://www.vivianronelle.com), and her very temporary assistant (my husband) kept me on track with the next thing to shoot, and kept me in great spirits. Even though we had only planned for three hours, Vivian was generously able to expand the time.

And my husband was a trooper; he was cheering me on, riling me up, tying me down, and looking proud the whole time. And, of course, trying to get me to flip him off, because he thinks it's cute when I look mad. Grrrr.

When you buy the set and view them on my online gallery, each picture has a bit of an explanation on it, like they do here on the blog, so it really is the little story of a long, happy, celebratory evening.

The pictures for sale are 4.5 times larger than these preview sample pictures, so there's phenomenal detail.

40th BIRTHDAY SUMMARY 43 pictures. 2048 px. $15.

These 43 hi-res pictures are of me in all four outfits, including me naked, enjoying my first professional five-hour photo shoot. From the start, in yellow, having a warm-up orgasm with the Hitachi wand, to break the ice and relax me:

 ... to the pictures that showed me beauty in myself that I didn't know I possessed:

... and flashes of a mature sexuality that befit my age:

... as well as a playfulness that belies my age:

Purchase 40th Birthday Summary by clicking here (especially if you never got me anything... /grin):


I had such an amazing night. I am so incredibly grateful that I had the means, the imagination, and a damn good reason to feel so celebrated and so beautiful the week of my 40th birthday.

Every woman should be so fortunate.

Topping and Subbing Picture Sets

In keeping with my tagline ("a Phone Sex Operator with a fetish for variety"), when I had my 40th birthday celebration photo shoot, I made sure to get pictures showing my dominant side and my submissive side in each outfit.

Some of these picture sets are now for sale for the first time as of this weekend, and some of them have already had their own dedicated blog post introducing them, but I wanted to put them all together in one blog post... and here it is!

The number before the "px" indicates that all pictures in the set are at least that many pixels tall or wide. That means the pictures for sale are many times larger than the sample preview pictures below, and show much more detail, much more clearly. 

The price is $10 for each set, except "Mistress In Red" where I felt the variety and quantity justified a higher price of $15.

MISTRESS IN RED 39 pictures. 2048 px. $15. (new!)
These 39 hi-res pictures are of me being toppy in my red and black corset, fishnet hose, and black latex ankle boots. The fun includes me growling:

... flipping you off:

... brandishing a flogger:

... and threatening an inadequately small penis-ish attachment on the Sybian with my boot:

This is the most varied set in terms of poses, expressions, and activities. So if you like your Galiana tough, purchase Mistress In Red by clicking here:



SUBMISSIVE IN RED 37 pictures. 2048 px. $10. (new!)
These 37 hi-res pictures are of me in a red corset and fishnet stockings and vinyl ankle platform boots, on a kitchen floor, obeying commands to masturbate:

... and then to kneel:

Pictures include bare pussy and ass in a few shots. So if you like your Galiana turned on at being ordered around, purchase Submissive in Red, by clicking here:



BONDAGE IN RED 37 pictures. 2048 px. $10. (new!)
These 37 hi-res pictures are of me in a posture cuff, wrist cuffs, a ball gag, a corset, and fishnet stockings. My expressions range from frightened:

... to amused:

... and maybe a bratty moment or two:

A friend of mine said of these pictures, "You don't look like a damsel in distress. You look like a superhero about to escape." So if you like your Galiana tied up and gagged, regardless of the outcome of the story, purchase Bondage in Red by clicking here:



FLOGGER IN PURPLE 22 pictures. 2048 px. $10. (new!)
These 22 hi-res pictures are of me, in soft purple babydoll lingerie, wielding a flogger:

... or two:

... and flipping some birds.

The photographer and her aide (my temporarily conscripted husband) loved the "perverted cheerleader" vibe of me happily twirling two floggers. So if you like your Galiana playfully threatening, purchase Flogger in Purple by clicking here:



Stern In Purple 23 pictures. 2048 px. $10. (new!)
These 23 hi-res pictures are of me, in soft purple babydoll lingerie, looking more strict than normal: 

... more stern than normal:

... and maybe even a bit haughty:

Pictures include two shots of my bare ass. So if you like your Galiana judgmental, purchase Stern in Purple by clicking here:



Bondage In Purple 20 pictures. 2048 px. $10. (new!)
These 20 hi-res pictures are of me on my tummy in soft purple lingerie and grey silk heels, blindfolded and hog-tied by scarves, with a leather bit gag. Chesty from the front:

... or showing off my ass (there is a thong there, so technically it's not nudity...):

I designed the bondage pattern, and loved being in the tie - I was enjoying squirming against the restraints so much, I almost didn't want to get out of it. So if you like your Galiana helpless, but well-displayed, purchase Bondage in Purple by clicking here:



Strap-On In Yellow 25 pictures. 1024 px. $10.
These 25 high-res pictures are of me in yellow lingerie wielding my bright blue Feeldoe, both as a weapon:

... and for naughtier uses:

I love using the Feeldoe (on women and men!), and I love the point-of-view feeling to this set, as well as the contrast between the sweet lingerie and the mildly threatening nature of a strap-on. So if you like your Galiana geared up for action, purchase Strap-On In Yellow by clicking here:



Subby In Yellow: 34 pictures. 1024 px. $10.
These 34 high-res pictures are of me being submissive in sweet yellow lingerie: blindfolded, gagged, with clamps on my nipples and labia (including close-ups). I can't show the clamps, but I can show myself gagged with my own panties:

... and my face when the clamps came off (pain and relief):

I love how these came out - I chose the most brightly-colored BDSM implements possible to complement the innocent-looking yellow lingerie, and the result was exactly what I hoped: a candy-colored painslut. Torture never looked so sweet! So if you like your Galiana flooded with adrenaline, purchase  Subby In Yellow by clicking here:


As if this post weren't complicated enough... if you want to read about why I consider topping and subbing flip sides of the same coin, please do so in this blog post.

Or, if you want to read my first published erotica, from 2002, which explores my very earliest feelings about taking control in a BDSM setting (I started as a submissive), read "Enriched" from the Exotica archives at Clean Sheets.

For me, playing with control, pain, and emotional intensity add delicious flavor to a sexual experience. I'm glad I managed to capture a few expressions of my enjoyment to be able to share them with you.

Go Cats!

This afternoon, I told "Office Crush" that it was my birthday, and that I was going to the Rice-Northwestern game (I grew up by Rice and went to Northwestern, so I didn't actually care who won). We had a lovely chat, then started to play.

The sex, as always with him, was smokin' hot, but this time, moments after he came, in the space that normally contains a "Whew!", he breathed a deeply grateful, "Go Cats!"

Cannot. Stop. Laughing.

P.S. Northwestern won 30-13. Clearly, Rice should blame Office Crush.

Happy Birthday, Galiana

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Celebration Shoot

As I've discussed ad nauseam, I had a photo shoot for my 40th birthday last night.

I had a ton of fun playing dress-up in new outfits, even though I needed help getting into some of them.

Vivian (http://vivianronelle.com/) encouraged the pin-up look.

My husband encouraged me to look mad because, in his words, "you just never look like that."

Of course, I had to involve getting tied up.

And look like a damsel in distress.

But then I also explored my dominant side a bit.

I had a few luscious orgasms.

And I cracked them up when I "hung up the phone" after masturbating (yes, I was thinking about a call, and no, I'll never tell which one), and let out a grateful "whew" at the phone... which I guess I actually do after real calls, because I didn't mean to stage it.

I got caught making ridiculous faces.

I got caught photographing the photographer.

And I got caught being happy.

If you've ever called me, you helped make this possible.

 Thank you so much for my birthday present. I love it!

The Big Present

New pretties

Although my 40th birthday isn't until Saturday, today is my big present: a photo shoot with Vivian Ronelle (http://vivianronelle.com/), erotic photographer extraordinaire.

Friday, I went shopping for new lingerie. I haven't bought new lingerie in years, because although I love to dress up, I keep taking lovers who prefer just plain naked, so my limited lingerie choices have been more than sufficient.

On a practical level, I am going to be arranging the pictures into packages to sell. So yes, today is a career investment.

But on an emotional level, even if I never sell a single picture, I am still giddy at the thought of celebrating my sexuality, and my body, at age 40, unashamed of my non-Hollywood shape. I look forward to being on the phone when someone opens an email with a new picture of me in it, so I can hear his breath catch with lust. I wish that every woman on earth could feel as affirmed and adored and desirable as I have felt for the last two months doing this job. Using my own pictures was an amazingly good decision for me.

I am seeing myself through different eyes, dozens of perspectives, changing with each call, and I am able to see the things that draw others to me in a way that ... well... wow... who gets to live like this? Happy birthday, indeed.