Real-Time Service

I was so deeply moved by my time with teddybearslave today. This blog post is likely to be poorly structured at best, and completely incomprehensible at worst, but I need to get my tumble of thoughts out of my brain into some place where I can see them again and remember what I feel like right this moment.

I'm so cautious interpersonally, in some ways. It's a crazy statement from someone whose husband's girlfriend lives with us, who has an in-person lover locally and another long-distance. I can see that.

And yet, on Friday night, when I tagged in to substitute in a play scene with my husband and another local couple, I stopped myself from kissing her, taking off my clothing, licking her, blowing him... and in the debrief, we all admitted later I could have done any of those and been welcome, but we hadn't negotiated it. Instead, I did what I knew we'd agreed on: I added my energy, I helped hurt her, I helped arouse her by kissing and licking elsewhere, but I would rather err on the side of caution and leave everyone wanting a bit than to go over a line and leave anyone regretful.

So I love asking for permission, but I hate asking for help. I always have.

I used to have a strong back; I built sets and hung lights in college. I can carry a 40-pound bag of dog food, a 50-pound dog, an air conditioning unit, furniture. I can do it by myself! I can hear the echoes of myself as a toddler pitching a fit, and my feminist professors ranting against stereotypes of women in American culture. I loved making more money than either of my husbands. And I loved the mental image of myself from 1991, driving to my job with my freshly dry cleaned cocktail dress neatly laid over a stack of lumber I needed to haul, to be used to build sturdy things that people would stand on onstage. That was me. That is still me, in my head. Tough. Capable. Strong. Feminine. But with the claws of a tiger and the shoulders of a bear.

Today, my teddybearslave came over for the first time. To serve. To serve me. I've paid people to clean before, I've paid people to help me organize before. Those felt like even exchanges, your time for my money. Clean. Easy. Simple. And although I cringed at needing the assistance, I knew I had earned the money to pay for it.

Today was different. teddybearslave was cleaning in exchange for attention. Energy. The privilege of ... gulp ... serving me. His expectations were merely that he be allowed to change into frilly panties and stockings before he cleaned, and that afterward, he be allowed to do whatever I wished.

This morning before he came over, I almost wiped down the bathroom before he came over a dozen times. I have long hair, I shed. The tub has stains that were there when we moved in. I'm pretty sure we haven't cleaned behind that cabinet, ever. I kept hearing a voice saying, "I'm not paying him, he shouldn't have to do that..."

But I let my bathroom be uncleaned before he arrived. It was excruciatingly difficult to let anyone serve me like that. To let someone else see one of the ways I have felt the most weak, the most needy, the least strong. To let him see that weakness, and let him fix it.

The bathroom, unsurprisingly, is perfectly clean. Everything shines. Everything is lined up straight. It's beautiful.

Afterwards, for play time, I wanted to stop thinking about my bathroom, and instead show him how I like to have my sore muscles rubbed: in my back, my hands, my feet. I wanted to show him first, then let him. Feel his muscles under my palms, then feel mine under his. Get used to the feeling of each others' bodies, grow accustomed to touching.

I felt his back muscles loosen immediately under the heels of my hands. They responded to me. He doesn't carry his tension in his back. Nor in his ass. Nor in his legs, all luxuriously covered in nylon thigh-highs. So strong and so silky under my palm.

Then I laid down, let him rub my back. I overruled the urge to be grateful and non-specific, knowing it was okay to ask for more, less, other. No, press in first, then slide. Use the heel of your palm, or the side of your hand. Yes, like that. Right there.

I felt him squishing away a tension in my left shoulder I hadn't realized I had, and thought about my bathroom, sparkling. I felt him listening to my muscles. I felt him wanting to help me.

It felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of all my feminine strength. I don't need a man to help me, goddammit. I don't need anybody to help me, goddammit. I'm strong and powerful and full of grace and this is totally wrong to let him serve me like this. I'm strong enough to give without taking, I'm strong enough to do and do and do and never rest... The crazy voices of a million moments of martyrdom echoed through my mind.

Sometimes, when the tension in a muscle gives way, it releases something emotionally which has been tightly held for decades. When that happens, sometimes it releases tears.

"Don't stop, I'm fine," I managed to say. I felt him press in, staying steady, while I cried, because I needed someone to help me, yet again, and because, yet again, I found the help I needed when I finally found the courage to ask for it.

I didn't ask if I could cry, I'm his Mistress. I didn't ask if he minded, I'm his Mistress. And the good wishes pouring through his fingertips let me know he was at least okay, if not a little confused.

I did explain myself, eventually, with his hands still working on my back. It's vulnerable for me to be served - I feel my needs exposed. I don't feel comfortable crying with most people - the urge doesn't usually even surface - but when I do, it means I have a gut-level trust. It's a good thing. My tears subsided. A grin began.

He laid down again, so I could rub his hands. They're huge. Strong. Calloused. His back had given way to my pressure, but his hands were holding on. He needed his hands to stay strong; after all, they make him what he is, a servant.

So I pressed. Rubbed from his elbow down. Listened to his muscles. Told him to let me. He had to close his eyes to release to me. There, that's better. His breathing slowed down and I could feel him struggling to surrender to my touch. The other hand went easier, and I found myself curling up my hand in his relaxed palm, marveling at how tiny it looked, how safe it felt.

When I tucked his arm around me and snuggled in beside him, I giggled. This was ridiculous. Mistresses don't cuddle, right?. But he was my plaything, and I got to do what I wanted, and I didn't have to ask, or I had already asked, or something like that. He would tell me if he was uncomfortable, we had already established and reinforced that. I was simply to do with him what I wished, and what I wished was to wrap his giant teddy bear arms around me and cuddle in beside him, so fuck it, I did.

It was too much for his calm. His hands began roaming, stroking my skin. He pressed against me, and I could feel the erection growing under his pretty panties. I enjoyed his touch, his want. I felt him want to kiss my neck, but stop himself, and I grinned, knowing that for any other lover, I would have told him to go ahead, but for this moment, I wanted to feel his desire and his struggle, so fuck it, I did.

I could just lie here and let him caress me. I could grind against him, or not. I could leave him breathless. I could do anything, feel anything, have anything from him. He was there for me. I got it. I was so happy.

I laid him on his back, knowing my timer would go off in a few minutes, and spent the minutes running my hand over his body, feeling the curve of his muscles in his arms, down his chest, where his breath caught when my fingertips traced, how he trembled a little when I brushed over the dampness of the wet spot on his frills. I didn't have to do anything, complete anything, give anything. This was for me.

It seems absurd to me that I absorbed the feminist ideal in a way that made it hard for me to be served. And yet, I was struggling with feeling weak by accepting the surrender of someone else to my whims. The struggle was unexpected. The fact that I was learning quickly, that I seemed to be able to get past the crazy voices and do whatever I wanted to do with him made me suspect that I was going to figure it out.

"I'll probably go on record as the craziest Mistress ever." He laughed, shook his head no. I thought about asking for stories of others crazier than I, but realized I didn't need them.

The timer went off. I silenced it, and asked myself what I wanted. Just me. Without regard to his wants, just me.

"Put your clothes back on. There's a hanger in the bathroom for your things to leave here. I could probably go longer. We could probably do more. But this seems perfect to me."

He nodded. "Yes, it does."

I grinned. "So we're done."

Downstairs, I stood on the bottom stair and pulled him over to me by his shirt, pausing him close to me, eye to eye. Are Mistresses supposed to kiss their slaves? I don't know. But I had the urge to kiss him. So fuck it. I did.

I'm gonna learn a lot from this.

Retro Picture Sets

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Merry Christmas To Me

So in addition to getting connected to the party side of kinksters in the heartland (as I wrote about in my last post), I was smart enough to drop an introductory note to the community's unofficial photographer: Sir Wallter (I'm not being sloppy, his name really has two Ls, and you can find him on Model Mayhem if you're so inclined).

Last night, we loaded two outfits, my travel toy bag, and a ridiculous volume of beauty products into the car to head over to Sir Wallter's for a photo shoot.

It went well.

Snuggling

 No, seriously, I mean, it went really really really well.

Teasing

 Sir Wallter's specialties are: (1) bondage rigging and photography (but alas, I ran out of energy before we got to that part of the evening - boooooooo) and (2) vintage pin-up poses, so I brought my awesome Secrets In Lace ostrich-feather-trim chiffon robe, and let him direct me, which resulted in winners like this:

Bunny Ears!

Yep, that's right, the classic make-bunny-ears-with-your-shoes Playboy pose. How freakin' awesome is that? Seriously. Couldn't you just kiss him? (don't tell anyone, but I totally kissed him -- how could I not? He shot me with bunny ears fer fux sake!)

But he was also kind enough to allow me the use of one of his play rooms, the one with the St Andrew's cross and implements of bondage and torture artfully placed about, to do a shoot with one of my other strap-ons, since my Feeldoe set had been relatively popular. Turns out, his eye for top shots was just as keen:

Training Time

 That's my hefty strap-on, his hefty paddle. They make a nice pair, don't they?

In addition to just having a fantastic eye for poses, he had a gift for drawing emotion out of me. Even though it was our first shoot, together, he got me all playful and squirmy and needy.

Inviting

I love my foot curling up in the background from being wiggly...

He said I'm welcome back. All I can figure is that somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something very very very very very very good.

Or maybe it's just that in my adulthood, I keep doing things that are very very very very very very naughty. It's hard to tell, isn't it?

If it means something to you, Happy Christmas Eve. If not, Scandalous Saturnalia...

P.S. I'm expecting coal tomorrow. Or to have Santa slip in and have me suck him off when I'm half-asleep. Either way, I'm clearly on the naughty list.

Fuzzy Secretary Santa

You wanna take pictures of a scantily clad phone sex operator for fun? Although my plea for a photographer on FetLife was not much more sophisticated than that, an aspiring erotic photographer by the FetLife handle of "Quicksilver84" took me up on the offer anyway, and we spent a few hours this afternoon taking pics of me.

Although not as luminescent as my 40th birthday photos in Vivian Ronelle's impeccably lit studio, I was happy that Quicksilver captured a few great moments. It should be enough for a month or two to feed this blog, and to send to callers (I know I know, I'm months behind on thank-you follow-ups, I'm sorry...).

My plan right now is to break the pictures out in three separate posts, but just in case I get lazy or distracted, here were the three concepts:

First, "What are you wearing?" has been answered a lot lately with "my fuzzy pink bath robe and slippers, plus undies" so I thought I'd provide a view into what that looks like on a good day:

Robe, slippers, undies

That's me in The Red Room, with the rope lights at the place where the wall slants on purpose, ready to be wrapped up and snuggled, or unwrapped and... well, that part's up to you.

Secondly, I was long overdue for a good secretary look, and I have a caller with a thing for textured tights, platform heels, and a good ponytail to grab, so I dug back into my memories of my white-collar professional days for a look that started off like this:

You wanted something, sir?

By the end of that outfit, the strapless corset and tights were fully exposed, and the use for the ponytail was glaringly evident to anyone paying attention.

Last, but certainly not least, Mrs. Claus got a bit of an update for 2011.

You've been very naughty

Oh, gracious. That is... ummm... quite an update indeed. She seems a bit ... angry? Power-hungry? Eager to find a target for that flogger? Maybe it's best if she goes back to checking her list.

Thankfully, I remembered to ask for at least one good horizontal shot because Kiwi Candy asked me for a new banner. She's re-doing her listings and her blog ... again... the woman seriously puts the rest of us to shame with her work ethic, bless her darling little slutty heart. So I popped this together for her:

I think it's warm and friendly and playful and inviting, but I'm much more interested in what you think of it - I'd love a comment or an email telling me whether or not you would click it if you saw it in the wild.

Overall, there were some lessons learned: I need to re-think the lighting in my Red Room, I probably shouldn't wear red things in The Red Room, and I should let the photographer help me put my stockings on next time, since it turns out it's kind of a thing with him.

All in all, it was a fun, affirming afternoon with a charming young man. (He's 27, so he's just young by comparison. I didn't do anything illegal, don't worry) Productive fun was had by all!

Lingerie Bar

Lingerie Bar in The Red Room

My sister came in to help me unpack the last two days. It was amazing to hang out with her relationally, of course, but she's also a whirlwind organizer. Not only did we get the kitchen and guest room completely settled, but she created the Lingerie Bar.

I knew I wanted the Fuckatorium 3.0 (aka The Red Room) to only contain sexy Galiana things. Necessities, therefore, include: a couch (I learned the hard way a couch is comfier than a bed for lounging with a computer for hours), laptop (for blog posts, email, Twitter, and catching up on others' sexy blogs, like Kink In Exile who mentioned me this weekend - awww thanks Alisa!), sex toys (they're in here, but not yet unpacked), and, of course, lingerie. No sexy space is complete without lingerie, right?

A few awesome folks got me housewarming Amazon gift cards, which I used to buy, among other things, an adjustable garment rack, intending it for Fuckatorium lingerie. When it turned out we needed the garment rack for my non-lingerie clothes (I overflowed the tiny century-old closet), my sister immediately saw the possibilities in the shower rod we had replaced (I love curved shower curtain rods - they make the shower feel so much roomier). Why not hang the shower rod from the angled ceiling to act as a clothes rack?

A couple of hooks, a bit of bondage rope, and voilà, the Lingerie Bar was born! I love it sooooo much.

As I hung everything on the awesome new fuzzy-grippy hangers my sister generously provided me, I relished the memories that drifted up: photo shoots, play times with lovers old and new, evenings on cam, evenings shooting videos, the delight of opening gifts, and the look on my husband's face when we were first dating and I knocked at his door wearing *that*. Delicious.

Why yes, that is a shoe rack next to the Lingerie Bar! And yes, those are new strappy silver heels I expect to wear soon, since they match the new silver headband... Not that I've been hoping the Fuckatorium can pass for a robot lab or anything. Pffff. Don't be ridiculous.

Speaking of ludicrous, that splash of plaid is definitely not a skirt headed for a barely-legal babysitter fantasy video anytime soon. That would ridiculous - I'm 41 years old, I could never pull that off, not even in braids if I were sucking on a lollipop.

The same goes for that red cheerleader skirt and pompoms if I were wearing pigtails... Absurd. I mean, nobody would ever fantasize about their middle-aged wife surprising them with a flashback role play, I'm certain of it.

And that satin nightshirt I've had since college, who would want to see a video of me demonstrating how I masturbate myself to sleep while wearing that?

It's not even worth considering putting a lacy bra and panties, a garter belt, and stockings under that feather-lined vintage-inspired robe to discuss my preferences and techniques when I'm wearing a strap-on.

I'm hoping to shoot more video in this new space... it seems I have a decent start on inspiration, doesn't it?

Video: Submissive Slut

I'm pleased to announce my bounciest, ditziest, cutest, perkiest video yet: Submissive Slut Awaiting Master's Visit.

It's a custom video, and the instructions were:

* dress as cute as you can get: pigtails, your glasses, and girly lingerie (check)

* act out the scenario of: you're my submissive slut, and you're telling me how much you're looking forward to my visit this coming weekend (check)

* look sweet and innocent, but talk filthy (check)

* if you can gag on a toy or play with your pussy, all the better (oh hell yeah check)

I was kind of hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline when I shot this. I'd been thinking about sexy things all day and changing into a series of sexy outfits, so I was dying to get off. It was super-easy to let my favorite clit-stimulating pink egg vibrator do its thing while my shoving my favorite cock-substitute red vibrator down my throat.

Ahhhhh, it feels so nice to return to the basics, doesn't it?

Although the runtime is only 5:29, I did manage to have a genuine orgasm on video (and momentarily forgot to keep looking at the camera... some day I'll behave like a pro, I'm sure).

I am in constant motion in this video, never a still moment. Although it is more pronounced in the video than in my usual demeanor, this is absolutely an accurate glimpse into how incredibly damn wiggly I am when I'm turned on.

More than one person with the intention of dominating me in a BDSM way has paused to laugh at me and tell me some variation of, "I'm not sure I can beat you because you look so damn happy." This video captures that side of me exceptionally well.

If you wish to purchase it, it is $10 through NiteFlirt: click the Buy Now button and it'll be on its way to you in a jiffy.


Wow, talk about being the exact opposite side of the coin from my last post, isn't it? Fetish for variety indeed!

Video: Paralegal Humiliation and Blackmail

You've been a bad boy, haven't you? First, you took credit for my work on the case, then you lied to me about your marital status, and last, but certainly not least, you are working with a seriously under-equipped little partner there in your pants, aren't you?

Tell you what, you just sit back and enjoy this video conference call where I do a strip tease for you on company time, and I'll make sure and save it with no audio so HR and the senior partners can get a good long look at it, if you don't give me what I'm demanding...

I was in quite a mood when I shot this video, thinking of a caller who is a lawyer (and I used to do litigation support, so the jargon is actually legit), who will likely be both horrified and fascinated by it. The humiliation includes legal incompetence as well as small penis humiliation. I think I had some leftover hostility from my old job!

I know there are more images in the gif than usually available for most clips that only run 6:22, but I had a ton of fun shooting it, and couldn't choose only a few looks.

I think I look kind of adorable in this one, if I do say so myself, but what I'm saying definitely shows that I'm not someone you want on your bad side!

It's available for $7 via NiteFlirt:

New Cam Red Bra

In May, I got a lovely gift from a caller of a new camera, and we spent the evening taking low light test pictures in my Fuckatorium. I would send them to him, along with a description of which cam setting I used, and we decided on the optimum settings after it was all said and done.

I was wearing a red bra for all the pictures, and a red thong for about half of them (the other half I'm naked from the bra down). Most of them are from the back, because that is clearly his favorite view of me. /blush

The flash got overzealous in some:

Flash Washed Out

In others, there wasn't enough light at all:

Too Dark

This one was our second-favorite setting:

Runner Up

But the winner of the best resolution, detail, and actually my favorite picture of the night was like this:

The Winner

 That version of me looks like a hell of a lot of fun. I'd hit it.

There are 41 pictures in the set, all of which are at least 1024 pixels high or wide, some are larger.

Just $10 via Niteflirt:

Pinups

I'm so excited to do the rest of the blog posts to announce the last of my picture sets from my 40th birthday celebration photo shoot!

These "Pinup" sets are of the happy, flirty shot in each outfit, along the lines of classic pinup poses. All three sets have fantastic shots from behind, or of me lying on my tummy, for those of you who enjoy such things (I know, nobody who reads this blog likes women with big round buns, but I thought I'd say it just in case... /grin)

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 4.5 times larger than the sample preview pictures below. The detail is fantastic.

PINUP IN YELLOW 34 pictures. 2048 px. $10.

These 34 hi-res pictures are of me in yellow lingerie and cream satin kitten heels, looking relaxed and happy:

... and about as sweet as cotton candy: 

... oh, or maybe I mean a lollipop (we all know how much I love things in my mouth):

You may have noticed: my breasts are practically spilling out of the bra, because I bought this lingerie before I did the official bra fitting and realized I was buying 1-2 cup sizes too small. Oops. So if you like your Galiana cute and tasty, purchase Pinup In Yellow by clicking here:



PINUP IN PURPLE 44 pictures. 2048 px. $10.
These 34 hi-res pictures are of me in a purple babydoll nightie and grey silk high heels. I do love what it does for my boobs:

... and the matching thong is sweet, too:

... the set includes a few shots of me attempting to masturbating standing up (which I'm not very good at, but it felt great) with my favorite pink-egg-on-a-stick vibrator:

With the headband and the chandelier earrings, I was going for a gypsy vibe, and I think it worked. So if you like your Galiana a little sultry, purchase Pinup In Purple by clicking here:



PINUP IN RED and NAKED 35 pictures. 2048 px. $10.
These 35 hi-res pictures are mostly of me in my red and black corset, fishnet stockings, and black vinyl platform ankle boots. The outfit made me feel saucy:

... but to show off my geek side, I posed with a rare early D&D book that my husband has. No, I've never read it. Yes, that makes me a poser. But I understand how to read it, and I have played table-top RPGs before, and I know that my dump stat is Dexterity. Does that help?

... and then I did a few pinup shots when I was completely naked. I had to crop the picture to put it on the blog, but trust me, in the picture package for sale, it's all there.

My makeup was getting darker and messier throughout the night (by design), so I'd look more and more fuck-scrambled. So if you like your Galiana a little roughed-up, purchase Pinup In Red and Naked by clicking here:


I think these are the pictures that I return to when I'm not feeling sexy, to remember that I have it in me to be a siren, a sex kitten, or a wind-up playmate, and that I love doing so!

New Picture Set: Stern In Purple

I'm delighted to announce a new set of pictures up for sale: Stern in Purple.  These 23 hi-res pictures are of me, in soft purple babydoll lingerie, looking far more strict and stern than I normally do (pictures include two shots of my bare ass, which I can't preview on the blog).

Taken in September 2010, as part of my 40th birthday celebration shoot, I was experimenting with looks and poses. I look happy and relaxed in the vast majority of pictures taken of me, so these should especially be fun for people who like picturing me when I get stern or haughty or angry.... I kinda look all three.

The pictures in the package are at least 2048 pixels in one direction - approximately five times bigger than what's here on the blog. That's a lot of intimidation.
And on the meta-blog side of things, here's my true confession for the week, which should explain why (hopefully!) you're about to see a rash of new picture packages offered for sale: I really want to start producing new photo sets, and technosexual/fembot videos, and recorded listings, but I can't let myself do that until I've listed all the pictures from my September photo shoot first.

Things I learned: taking fewer pictures per shoot is better, in every way. Less overwhelming, I finish packaging them faster, and I don't get bored looking at the same 4 outfits for six months.



So hopefully, for the next week, there will be a flurry of picture set announcements, so that April can be The Month of New Content. Wish me luck, productivity, and a keen eye for detail...

Lover Experience

In the midst of sorting through my pictures from September's photo shoot, I found one that I hadn't focused on before, but now it's my current favorite picture of myself:

First of all, that babydoll has a bra strap around back, so dang, my boobs look amazingly perky for DDs (did I mention that I got fitted for a bra and found out that I'm a DD, not a D like I thought? Crazy.)

Then the soft purple fabric, with the soft scarf-looking headband, and the flowing gypsy-ish earrings, and my flowing gypsy-ish wavy hair ... all together, it's a soft look physically.

But the real attraction for me is my expression: I look as if I am enjoying the company of whoever I am looking at, as if I am open to them, kind, relaxed, and happy.

I've been thinking lately about the term "Girlfriend Experience" (GFE), and whether or not it fits me. As a married, openly non-monogamous woman, I don't consider myself to be in the market for a boyfriend, which, to me, connotates someone that I'm considering as a potential life partner. A boyfriend/life partner has to share chores, help me when I need heavy stuff moved, and listen to me kvetch when I'm moody... the daily things of life.

I care if my boyfriend/life partner can consistently reinforce training with my dogs, how he behaves towards customer service people in public, whether or not he likes hosting parties, if he likes to travel, and what he chooses to do with his money. Details. Encumbrances. And in many cases, hassles. My husband has to be a good fit for all that crap, poor guy, and that's what I would need from someone to call him my boyfriend, too.

But a lover... well, that's different, isn't it?

I had a conversation with my current lover (also married and openly non-monogamous) when we starting about what we wanted to be for each other. We came up with the concept of an amusement park: lots of fun choices of activities, plenty of delightful options to explore, and no trace of the concerns of daily life. We are an escape for each other. I protect my ability to feel sexy when I'm with him by (mostly) shielding him from my unsexy anxieties about logistics and uncertainties and insecurities and disappointments. When I'm with him, we're just fun and good and happy and sexy together. And it feeds both of us.

So what I think I want on the phones with callers is not a girlfriend experience where you would have to help me with all the annoying hassles of life.

I want a lover experience.

I want to be an escape from your daily grind. A new setting. A different mood. A space in which you are free to be any version of yourself you wish to be, and free to discover which version of me responds to you in that way. Permission to luxuriate in your desires and focus on the pounding of your heart when you touch my skin and hear me sigh.

I once had a crazy-luxurious massage combined with a moisturizing salt scrub, washed off by four overhead shower heads, and followed by heavenly-smelling lotion. I got to shed dead skin, release muscle tension, and replace stress and dullness with relaxation and health.

I want to be that: the sexual equivalent of a day-spa-salt-scrub-massage-shower for those who call me.

So why did I combine that picture with this discussion about offering a lover experience? Because that picture, to me, looks like how I feel as a lover. Calm, relaxed, kind, open, confident, attentive, enjoying your company, and fully aware that you're probably missing all of that because you're distracted by my boobs.

/grin

It's totally okay. They're awesome.

So kick off your shoes, lover. Come on in. Let's play.

From Last Night

Testing the awesome new cam last night, I changed into my amazing new retro/elegant lingerie from Secrets In Lace, including a robe with ostrich feather trim that I wrote about here.

I can't share the video because after I adjusted the angle, you could see blankets on the floor and other distracting stuff in the margins... and it took me WAY too long to get the garters done, and when I did them, I my fingers weren't facing the camera anyway... and the pillows seriously need replacing...

I have a problem with perfectionism. /cringe

Thankfully, I don't have a problem enjoying myself in the moment.

Proof of that statement: a screen capture from the unusable video:

That's the new robe. The new shoes. The new setup. The new cam. And in that one moment, I think it happened to all be working quite nicely, thank you. 

Who Is This Material Girl?

In college, I had a job building sets, doing props, and being stage manager for a local high school, so my car frequently looked like I had just robbed a hardware store. Although I wasn't in a sorority, I knew a lot of frat guys, and I got asked to formals on a regular basis because I loved to dance and I didn't get embarrassingly drunk.

One day, these seemingly dissociated facts collided: I had picked up my go-to little black dress from the dry cleaners, the one I'd gotten on sale for under $50 and worn four times already, and had loaded in some lumber to build platforms, and on my way down the highway, I thought, "This is exactly me."

It was the juxtaposition: lumber and lace (well, velvet and taffeta, but that's not the point...). It symbolized being practical, flexible, and fun, and I loved the image of myself as a strong, tough, capable girl who wasn't afraid to gussy up now and then, but who didn't take her gussying up too terribly seriously.

I was a fancy girl growing up: I begged to wear extravagant costumes to school, and my favorite part of the circus was the sparkles...



And I was a tomboy growing up: I would come home bleeding from a scrape on my knee, and when Mom asked what had happened, I would have no idea, but maybe when I fell out of that tree...

But by high school, I had decided that spending money was best used on entertainment, travel, and decadent meals with friends. The memories were what I wanted, the connections with other human beings, not "frivolous" material things.
And yet, this week, I have been delighted by lingerie, and chocolate, and shoes. And it has made me ask, on a surprisingly deep level, "Who am I now?"

Well, first, the lingerie and the chocolate...

My first gifts to my PO Box! A hypnosis caller who loves to please me (he asked for it, I promise...) asked me two days in a row what would make me happy, and I reluctantly came up with lingerie and chocolate. I'd open the box and show you the pretty chocolate morsels, but ... well... it's partially ravaged, so I'd rather just stick with the elegant closed box.

I'll be taking pictures with the super-happy sparkly red top when my new camera arrives. Yay fun!

And now that these have arrived, apparently, it was time to indulge me further, so he told me that he was ordering me this from Secrets In Lace in black:

I love. It. So. Much. 


Like, my heart skips a beat when I think of wearing it, I love it so much.

Like, I need to upgrade my body wash to make my skin luxurious enough to deserve to wear it, I love it so much.

Like, I need new shoes, and new panties, and stockings and a bra and a haicut and to get my eyebrows waxed...

I had this chat exchange with a friend from college about it:

Galiana: I think this robe will always mark a turning point for me
Her: How so?
Galiana: The day I finally embraced my Inner Femme
Galiana: I've been such a tomboy, so practical, and loved that self-identification
Galiana: and something about spending real money on frilly things... I've shied away
Galiana: but I get it now, or I get it more than I have before
Galiana: the human being as art
Galiana: or rather, the human being as a canvas
Galiana: and the fabrics and the textures as the paints
Galiana: and that the beauty has value in and of itself

It amuses me that it took me two decades of adulthood to embrace the celebration of fabrics and colors and textures that I celebrated so naturally at age 6. Somewhere in the middle, avoiding "materialism" was temporarily more important to me than enjoying something luxurious if it is available to me.

I know, I bought new lingerie for my photo shoot in September for my 40th birthday, but those were play things, of lesser value, not objects of quality and art to be admired and treasured. And they were for work, so it was justified. They didn't make me feel like that robe is going to.

It makes no sense that I would value a dinner with friends that cost $139, and yet, the prospect of owning a robe that cost $139 has required serious introspection, to the point of even having to redefine myself a bit... I understand giving a gift of luxury to someone else, and I've done it, but it is taking some emotional growth on my part to accept such gifts for myself. 

Well, hello there, Inner Diva. I'm sorry I haven't properly attended to you for so long. Please enjoy the sunlight and fresh air and chocolates. I hope you stay a while.

I'm going to have to reorganize my closet, aren't I?

I will never value things more than I value relationships. But, if it just so happens that a relationship can be enhanced by my acquisition of things, well then, how can I say no?