Care and Feeding of Galiana

Too much want

In the probably-forgettable movie Made In Heaven, seen in my impressionable youth, a new soul falls in love with a guy named Mike in heaven, and then, after she's born and grows up, although she doesn't remember him directly, she writes a children's book called "The Care and Feeding of Mike". The sweet little phrase stuck with me, and now when I think of care, I think "The Care and Feeding of..."

Urg. I have so much want.

I want to continue the dialog I entered into with my celebration of male submissives post, reading others' spectacular writings and leaving comments that make me seem like I know what I'm talking about. I want to keep engaging with Fizz and Chaos of Lab Coats & Lingerie, lose myself in the archives of KittyStryker's recently-Janes-Guide-approved PurrVersatility, help Alisa research to fill in the blanks of her archiving efforts at KinkInExile, encourage Tomio to keep writing, and pathetically attempt to keep up with all the insights and research spread by the inspirational maymay, knowledge worker extraordinaire, the one who drew me into this particular dizzying world of rhetoric and ideas to begin with by the brilliantly evocative MaleSubmissionArt...

Maymay, by the way, is also the one who helped me realize the value of contextual linking. I recognize the irony of having no links in that sentence. (trivia: I am always certain I have used the word "irony" incorrectly)

But back to my insatiable want... I want to write more about fairness and negotiation and respect in relationships, BDSM and vanilla. I want to share my observations about community-building from years of church and BDSM groups and playing MMORPGs. I want to start podcasting. I want to release more videos that are like visual podcasts. I want to open an Ask Galiana blog so I can pretend to legitimize my compulsive need to share my perspective.

I want to take series of pictures enjoying my body as I strip out of constrictive clothing to show that I can still celebrate my physicality even though my medicines packed on an extra 15 pounds I didn't intend to gain.

I want to spend every moment with my family for these last couple of weeks while I still live in Houston with them. After 21 years away, it has been soul-nourishing to live in the same town again for 6 months, just barely long enough to develop habits of including each other. I will miss the casual ability to help, and to feel feel caught up.

I want to be spending enough time over the phone with my husband, who is away from our current home, working in the place where I'm moving at the end of the month, to stay emotionally connected to him during this busy time, so we don't get too snappy or resentful.

I want to sort through the crap in my home that we didn't have time to sort through when we moved here in March, and I want to recycle, donate, sell, and throw away as much as possible before we pay by the pound to move it cross-country. I am disturbed by how many belongings we have moved multiple times and never used.

And I want to keep feeding off the energy of my callers, take luscious escapes of fantasy and pleasure, lose myself in the delicious focus of luxuriating in the erotic rhythms of wants and needs and secrets and lusts. I feel useful and sexy and empowered and strong and capable when I spend time having phone sex.

And on the days of the move, I want to be at the top of my game, ready to do whatever needs to be done, strong and willing and able.

Days? What do you mean day? The next 3 weeks include these separate days: hub's last 4-day trip where he has to finish packing everything that is his and sorting everything that is ours, 4 days of paying an underemployed friend to help me pack, movers taking our stuff, my hub driving away with the car and the dogs, my flying up to *static* and him driving me to our new home several hours from there, our stuff arriving at our new place, and a great friend from college arriving to help me unpack for a few days.

Oh, and I'd like to do all that without having any vertigo crashes, please. Because having massive physical limitations is completely inconvenient right now. Could I just not have vertigo for a bit?

Dear Galiana,

Please read The Care and Feeding of Galiana. It goes something like this: Galiana needs, at a minimum: water, food, down-time to let her brain rest, and, separately from the rest, sleep. If you could also work in "having reasonable expectations for herself," that would be peachy.

Love, Galiana

I feel like I'm considering dropping out of a bunch of stuff that just finally got rolling, and I don't want to let any of it go. But that is the thought pattern of people who drive themselves crazy from inexperience, and, for better or worse, I know better.

So I will put my activist urges on a shelf, carefully schedule blocks of time with family, resign myself to still having clutter after we move, watch my days-between-blog-posts climb again, savor the escape with the callers who catch me on the phone, email the ones who let me know they missed me, and do the best I can to get through this as productively as possible.

Jane's Guide Loves Me!

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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

Pretending I Help, Part II

Callers have told me that I have helped them, most often by helping them fall asleep after they climax. As someone who is genuinely, deeply concerned about sleep-deprivation for many of my friends and loved ones, I value "phone sex as a sleep aid" more than most people probably do, and I'm happy to help in that way.

But back in late 2010 / early 2011, I was active on reddit for a while. I had to quit; it ended up being too dizzying to keep up with the amount of scrolling required. But I enjoyed reading people's questions, and offering pithy and/or amusing answers, imagining that one day I could develop a following and become the phone-sex-girl equivalent of Dan Savage (gay male sex and relationship advice columnist who shares many of my thoughts about being, as he calls it, "monogam-ish").

Today, I followed a link in Twitter to reddit and saw my "unread email" light was on, which is weird since I haven't posted for months. Here's what I found:

Last January (5-6 months ago, but it feels like a different world) I posted about "getting over" the fact that I had a "needle-dick" and enjoying my sex life. Something you said really stuck with me - long story short you told me to develop a positive mantra . I did, begrudgingly so, because I really had nowhere to go but up at that point.

(note: some of what I actually said: The idea of using mantra to help change your mental state is a time-honored one. "I will enjoy sex" or whatever, but don't have a negative mantra (ex: I won't let my needle dick bother me, which only reinforces "needle dick" and "bothers me"). I think everyone should enjoy sex regardless of their physiology - it is only one part of who you are, and I wish you much luck in "getting over it")

Within two months my cock insecurity was completely gone. And here's the thing - I found out that I actually have a fairly large penis. It literally started to look bigger to me. I don't need to get into specifics but it's well above average in length and above average in girth. But that's irrelevant.

Your suggestion helped me to realize I had some kind of body dismorphic disorder combined with a crippling case of mental self-sabatoge. Looking back, almost every girl I've slept with has orgasmed from penetration alone, and some had told me my dick was big (no prodding on my part) But I literally erased these memories from my mind, replacing them with negative ones (some of which I only imagined). Your suggestion was the chink in the armor of my crippling insecurity, and once it started to fall, it fell hard. I'm the happiest I've ever been, and in and out of the bedroom my life has never been more fulfilling. Sure, I'm still one crazy and weird motherfucker, but you helped me absolutely ruin my insecurity and the negative way that I viewed myself.

Thank you so much.

Clearly, I was only one tiny push in one tiny step in this man's long journey to heal himself. He had the courage to post to reddit that he wanted to "get over" the size of his penis and learn to enjoy sex, so he was on the very brink of his own healing before he met me.

But seriously. How awesome is that?

While we're on the subject of cock size and body dysmorphia and shit I know that may help someone, here are some hand-to-heart truths:

I will play cock-size humiliation games with someone upon request, but it's all bullshit. I care thousands times more what size your heart is than what size your cock is. If you make me laugh, I will want to make out with you before I know what's in your pants. If you make me feel sexy, I will want to share orgasms with you, regardless of the delivery mechanisms.

Some of my favorite lovers have had erectile dysfunctions of various types (difficulty reaching orgasm, difficulty developing and/or sustaining erections, etc). Many of my favorite sexual memories involve sex toys, fingers, tongues, and/or women without a cock or strap-on in sight.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love me some cock. Mmmmm cock. But an erect penis of any size is no more necessary for my sexual fulfillment than any other method which brings me great pleasure.

My personal little theory (unproven and perhaps unprovable) is that erectile dysfunctions are so common among smart men over 30 (especially men with tendencies on the autism / asperger / obsessive-compulsive spectra), because they have so many damn thoughts bouncing around in their smart brains that they find it difficult to focus on their pleasure. It took a while for me to believe that my partner could enjoy sex if he didn't get off. Once I let go of that worry, I learned to love the freedom of it.

For what it's worth, I've heard anecdotal evidence that meditation and tantric practices can help quiet your overly-speedy brain, as can prescription anti-anxiety medicines, as can other forms of chemically induced mellowness. However, please be careful when messing with your brain chemistry.

So. Here's the deal: If you squeeze my heart, I will love fucking you, even if "fucking you" involves no penis-vagina penetration whatsoever, or even if the penis doing the penetration is shallow or thin or both. It's what you make me feel in my emotional guts that counts, far more than my physical ones.

(note to callers who have told me I have helped you: if you want a blog post in the "Pretending I Help" series, now that it apparently wants to be a series, feel free to email me your at-least-somewhat-concise version of how I've helped you, in your words, and I'll publish a version of Pretending I Help for you, too... eventually... although, you know how unreliable I am about when I publish which blog posts. Also, that run-on non-sentence was not a good example of how to be concise.)

My First YouTube Video: First Thoughts on Control

I just posted my first YouTube video!

The title is "First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation" and it's aimed at people interested in control play in the bedroom. I do not think I have necessarily original thoughts on BDSM subjects, but I believe that every voice helps when it comes to encouraging safety and sanity, even in the context of for-pay BDSM over the phone.

I have more a generic intro "Hello World" video that I should post first, but upon re-watching it, I need to add one significant thought to it before I post it, and I've already stalled on posting these long enough (I recorded it 10 days ago). So I pulled on my big girl panties and pretended like it's okay to do things out of sequence.

(That screaming you hear? Several of my more particular Inner Voices throwing fits about posting things out of sequence...)

If it gets yanked from YouTube for being adult content, that's fine, I'll upload it elsewhere and re-do the link here, but for now, this embedded player should work (fingers crossed...):



If the embedded player doesn't work, here's the link instead: First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation

Although the video does not reflect me in phone-sex / sexy-time mode, it does reflect me being all reflective and thoughtful, so for those of you who get turned on smart thoughts from smart people, you're welcome!

(many thanks to Domme Kyaa for posting her Philosophy of a Fem Domme series, which was the original inspiration for me to do these - I can't find the original links anymore, but the one linked is representative of her work)

Kiwi Candy, the Crossover

The Hollywood-gorgeous Kiwi Candy and I were chatting today about callers we've shared in the nine months since she has skyrocketed to NiteFlirt fame. Background: she found my blog when she was first starting out, and at first I mentored her a bit, but we became friends as she kicked my ass in the ratings, and now I ask her advice as often as she does with me.

It's easy to bond in that vulnerable time of night that is made for fucking, that 10pm-2am window when both our defenses are a little lower and our minds are both set in sexy mode. We often keep each other company between calls.

She's as genuine as I am: she really loves phone sex, she really wants to please her callers, and she really is that adorable. But more important to me than her beauty and cuteness, she has the thing I require in my truest of friends: she genuinely cares about doing the right thing. Hell, if you generalize further, it's still true: she genuinely cares. She gives a shit. She's good people. I feel fortunate to know her.

Candy and I have never met in person, although I'm certain we will some day. (You'll get videos of us doing naughty things with each other if you fly me to her! Not kidding!) But we recommend each other a lot on our blogs and on our calls, which has led to us having 15 or 20 callers in common.

So today, we were talking about some of the Candy+Galiana fantasies our callers have played out with us, and we decided to do crossover blog posts about them. Because we're both giant dorks who amuse ourselves a lot. And this sounded fun, so we're doing it.

The Maid: He and I are married, and Candy is our maid, who probably never actually cleans anything other than my pussy with her tongue, while I'm guiding her head with my hands, and he's fucking her from behind. Oh, and my juices off his cock after he fucks me while Candy and I 69 with me on top. But not so much with the *dusting*, really.

Fembot Assembly: The Candy-bot makes a superb to help assemble a brand new Galiana-bot to test her pleasure thresholds. How does one test a new Galiana-bot? Have the Candy-bot lick and finger it when she is being fucked from behind, of course! Gosh. All the good technicians know that.

The Fembot Cat Fight: The handy thing about androids is that you can always wipe their memories and repair them, and they're as good as new! So, y'know, if the Candy-droid and Galiana-droid had their jealousy levels increased, we could rip each other to pieces... literally. It's obvious her chest panel is more delicate than mine, it's not my fault she can't function without this handful of wires. Oh, well, maybe it is. Oops. But what do I care? That'll keep her away from my man!

The Struggling Submissive: Since she admitted she's capable of having an orgasm without touching her pussy if the mental / visual stimulus is strong enough (as am I), he could tie her into an X and make her watch while he fucks me, and she can be released when she comes that way ... maybe twice ... if he's feeling generous ...

The Two-Girl Blowjob: The guy with the 11" cock (seriously, we've both seen him on cam, and he's not exaggerating) wants us both to slide our tongues and lips over him. Good, because I'm not sure either of us could take care of that thing on our own!

The Exhibitionists: Two different callers want to masturbate in front of us, as we're watching them, and possibly playing with each other, but the important part is that we're both watching him masturbate. We both honestly, genuinely love watching men stroke themselves, and we feel like we learn new techniques. We both especially like watching that guy in California with the full beard who does that overhand squeeze thing ...

The Strap-On: He wants to feel her pounding me with a strap-on because it shoves his cock deeper into my throat. Or me pounding him with a strap-on while he has his lips wrapped around her clit. Or one of us fucking him while he's fucking the other one. Or...

Oh good grief almighty, now I can't think straight. Surely someone has plane fare to spare, don't you? Pretty please?

Tell Me You Love Me

I just realized, just this moment, that there is a phrase I utter in my fantasies, in my mind, all the time, that I can hear echoing in my head as the prelude to almost any self-arousal, and as an essential part of any masturbation, but I have never uttered it during phone sex:

tell me you love me

Late at night, when I start getting sleepy and snuggly, and I take a deep breath and listen to my body, those words echo through my mind before I know where they will lead, but they set the stage.

tell me you love me

I worry about being manipulative, even though I know sometimes I am, by the nature of the business. But I have lines I try to draw: I never ask anyone to refill their account after the one-minute warning (except for the one guy who asks me if I want you to come back, and I know you do it because you like to hear me beg). If I hear the one-minute warning and I know you're close, I'll push instead of slowing down, even knowing that if you climax, you're more likely to hang up and send me a thank-you note than you are to refill your account.

tell me you love me

Over the weekend, I built a ridiculously intense connection with a caller and told him it sounded like he was telling me he loved me, but there were a million ways for him to sluff off my comment, and I knew he was smart enough to navigate beyond that if he chose to.

tell me you love me

But it's different than the phrase I hear in my head. That one, it is direct, unsluffable. It's needy. It's desperate. It's manipulative. I could never say those words to someone unless I trusted them deeply to hold their own power, emotionally, to not let me coerce them, to only tell me if it's the truth.

tell me you love me

Sometimes the emotion behind someone else's words can hit me square in the chest, or in the gut, or make my head spin, or make my mouth water. It is irrational that I would crave for someone to tell me they love me when I logically find the word to be meaningless without further definition. And yet, the origins of a thousand orgasms are in these words for me:

tell me you love me

... and I don't know why. I've started writing probably a dozen stories with that as the first line, and I get lost in them, unfinished, because they never seem worthy enough to fill in the possibilities the phrase creates.

I won't do it. I won't say those words to you. Not over the phone, not when you're paying for the call. You're there for your pleasure and entertainment, I couldn't ask that of you.

But if you tell me to say them, tell me I can, I will,

Tell me you love me.

But if those words tumble out of my mouth, and you respond, I'll warn you now, I don't know what my response will be, other than ... intense.