Sugarbaby, Mike, Greg, Heather


          You should find a sugar daddy, you need someone to take care of you.
That night Heather’s voice sounded very persuasive over the phone; I was feeling like “she makes sense, I have the bills to pay, Greg does not help with child support, and blah, blah, blah”, well, I decided to try.
Mike was aesthete; well-mannered, well-educated, well-spoken; successful banking career and maniacal search for a submissive partner. He was a Dom, total control got him rock hard; I was into dom/sub role playing too, I was curious, I allowed him to take me on a date.
He was intelligent and boring, I had a good appetite.
          Want to hang out at my place?
          I gotta go, – he offered a good arrangement, I promised to think and let him know later.
The amount was transferred to my account shortly, I blocked his phone, withdrew the cash and hurried to the nearest store to buy a new toilet. He called me from a different number while I was choosing between effective flushing and water saving.   
          Why did you block my number?
          I do not know Mike,
“Get as much as you can, give as little as possible”; the sugar baby rule was simple to voice and hard to realize; Mike was everything but not an idiot. He knew what he wanted. It was a quiet tug of war, he was horny as hell, I was as a slippery as an eel.
          Vixen, you are full of surprises, can we meet again?
          Maybe, – I knew I would not fuck him, I knew it would be over soon, I just hoped I would replace the old leaking plumbing in my apartment prior he figures me out.
Our sugar story ended sooner that I thought. He took me shopping. He loved putting money into designer clothing. I felt bored. I got handbags and jackets, I was ready to check out thinking about a valid reason not to join him for dinner when my phone rang, it was Greg. The mood jumped from 0 to 100, although my “Mike, will you excuse me for a minute” sounded calm and casual. I hid myself in a fitting room, excited to hear Greg’s voice, sitting on boxes of shoes and accessories.
          Where are you?
          I miss you, you make me hard
          I am busy, bye
The happiness felt dizzy, my sugar life ended as quickly as it started. I quietly returned Mike his credit card and left the store. Greg could be home at any time, I missed him, it felt like I had not seen him for ages.
          How can you be so dumb, Mike could make your life so much better, did you get at least anything? – Heather was very disappointed, I shrugged my shoulders. The sugar lifestyle got me a new made-in-Japan toilet, Heather thought I was crazy, I thought it was funny.
Greg stopped by later, angry, obsessed, and totally insane in his introversion, greediness, and surgical geniusness. He craved sex, I craved his dick. We were on the same page. Mike was in the past, I did not care, I was happy Greg was here, that night I started believing in miracles.

Saturday Morning, Flipping Realities, Jim


Saturday morning, 50 boy-pushups on the pier, and beach running. Dancing palm-trees and air in the ears as I was forward and backward swinging on a children’s playground. The fun of morning loneliness,  my 87 pounds on a swing seat, feeling as light as a feather.
Jim’s “you are psychotic, I cannot figure you out” shattered the serenity of rustling palm leaves and crashing waves. His texting threw me from trance to the hysteria of his never-ending I-need-to-know-what-is-on-your-mind. The message got me pensive.
Psychotic, wow. He kept telling me I was bi-polar, I kept laughing in his face, he kept getting pissed, I never cared.
With time, I learned to accept my mood drops as the part of one of my countless personalities. Then, I started catching the signals of my upcoming mood swings, I knew the time they would occur, I knew when the reality would flip, and how long it would take to get back from seeing the world through the lens of gloom or ecstasy. Gradually, it got way too old and boring to follow the mind games, and I just stopped paying attention to my mind. I quit forcefully evening up my moods since I did not care any longer.
The Madonna’s “you only see what your eyes want to see” made lots of sense. The depressed personality chose to see the world through the despondency of poverty and fast-food, the anxious self was able to find drama even in the bliss of winter sunsets. 
Then I discovered a bunch of other personalities and stopped locking myself in the hyper-hopeless box. The mind could create anything from happy to horny, from pensive to doomy, separate personality – separate reality with own rules and regulations. I learned to take advantage of the Buddhist “what we think we become”, choosing the personality daily like my laced panties. I juggled the realities having fun when I wanted, knowing that they were fictional, that everything was fictional, that there was no real self, that I did not exist.  
Speaking to Jim about it made no sense, he was way too immersed in his money-making rat-racing circle. Greg and Adam were more existential, they understood, but it did not matter, nothing really mattered that quiet Saturday morning in Florida.     
kinky, love

Swinger, Lunch with Victor


          Tell me what turns you on,  – Victor’ voice was hypnotic; he had dark eyes and a calming touch. I loved hanging out with him.
          Well, – I blushed but did not look away. He was amazing; NON-possessive, NON- judgmental, NON-monogamous. Once or twice a week we met for lunch to discuss each other’s kinks and lick vanilla chocolate off the fingers, – Kindness, common sense, big hard cock.
          That’s me, baby.
          We are just friends.
          But we can take care of each other’s needs.
If Jim heard us, he would freak out. He hated Victor. “Your friend is cuckoo, I would never hire him, never in a million years. His hospital privileges need to be revoked. Don’t tell me you are talking to that pervert again”.  I kept hiding my smiles and faking seriousness every time Jim lectured me.
          I have questions about swinging, –  I was subtly changing the topic. 
          Wow, Vixen. I can’t believe you are interested. Ask me anything.
          How do you find partners for group sex?
          By asking friends. Or through swinging clubs and private parties. At both there is no pressure, you and your partner can do what you want. It is so hot going to those places. Some of them are very upscale. I will take you. You can pick out a guy for you to play with
          Please go on, – talking to Victor was much more exciting than working on the damn research proposal. The statistics was killing me that day; I was thankful that he called and invited me for lunch.  
          Vixen, I am safe, been tested
          What excites you most about such places?
          May I be direct? – Warm smile, white teeth and deep gaze, his openness touched my heart.
          Yes, you may, – I was curious, he was horny
          Watching you getting f*cked would excite me a lot. I love you Vixen, you have the qualities that I need: kindness, intelligence, you are submissive sexually. I want to f*ck you hard and watch a hot guy f*ck you hard. A swingers club will be ideal for it.
          Hmm,  – I  did not expect that our hey-what’s-going-on lunch break would turn into this,  I was stunned and speechless. I was entirely unprepared – we were just friends.
          I hope you are not upset.
          No, I am not, – no one ever expressed his feelings in such a weird way, it was interesting, I did not want to interrupt his stream of consciousness
          Do you want to give us a try?
          So, it would not bother you to see me with another guy?
          Not at all! – his excitement was increasing, my sanity was vanishing
          Can you love several people at the same time, my friend?
          Of course, I love you, I love my girlfriend, my heart is open, can you?
The question caught me off guard. I was surprised I never asked myself if I can have feelings for more than one person. The answer was on the surface: YES, YES, and YES. I threw back my head in hysterical laughter. I felt relieved. Victor’s kinkiness was amazing. The lunch was over.

Slut, Escort Girl, Difference


         Jim says I am slutty, – I stretched in the chaise lounge, turned my face towards the sunset, and closed my eyes. Big swimming pool area, evening quietness, and warm jasmine tea added coziness to Heather’s new house. She had a great taste for places and for males; the house was chic, the boyfriend was established, generous, and always far away. My attempts to find someone to take care of me kept ending up in an emergency room with a nervous breakdown. Heather was a professional. She mercilessly drained the pockets prior moving on to a wealthier penis.
           Does it bother you, Vixen?
          I do not care
          It bothers me though, –  her pensiveness surprised me, I had never observed anything like this about her before.
          Why does it bother you?
          A man is calling you a whore, and you do not care? Really?, – the melancholy in her voice sounded ridiculous; an escort girl was trying to teach old-school morals. I was doing my best not to laugh in her face.
          Excuse my French, friend, aren’t you f*cking for money?
          Escort is different from being a slut, – her response was firm and assertive, – escort is a job, it has nothing to do with being promiscuous
          I have feelings for more than one person,  – I breathed in the serenity of the Florida evening and continued, – If the societal matrix supports monogamous possessiveness, it is not my problem. No one is gonna tell me how many people I should fall for, and how I should feel if I love more than one guy or one girl. By the way, I am bisexual, are you going to lecture me on this as well?
          Vixen, there is a difference between a slut and an escort girl. They pay well to see me, and you are a free cum dumpster for them. I have a high-paying job, and you waste yourself on your Greg or Jim, or um… what was the name of that crazy guy who jerks off in the on-call room, Andrew?
          Adam, we are just friends
          Right, – her sarcasm did not annoy me. The evening was too quiet and refreshing to get upset or angry.  – I would be offended if someone called me a slut, and you do not care. This is what bothers me.
          Heather, – I burst into laughter, – Heather, my dear, have you ever been in love?
          Not yet, are you making fun of me? – she got angry, her iron self-control was crushing   
          Actually yes, what you are saying is funny, and you are hypocritical, and…. and callous, yep. both hypocritical and callous
          What do you mean?
          Do you have feelings for Greg?
          No, nothing, it was just a side job, I thought we already discussed it.
          Did you have any feelings for me? You knew I love him, you knew -I knew that he will pay you to f*ck him that weekend. And you still went with him. Do you think it may cause me pain?
          Were you in pain, Vixen?
          No, it did not bother me much. Do you have any feelings for me? You state I am your best friend.
          You know, – she paused, looking into nowhere, – I felt disgust, he was on the phone texting you right after I gave him a blowjob. You deserve someone better.
          OK, you are not callous, only hypocritical. You sleep with all these guys, and state that you are not promiscuous.
          Like I said, it is just a job.
          The difference is, Heather, – I was wiping away the tears of laughter, – the difference is that I build my life on feelings. I can open up or entirely freeze, I can laugh or suffer, but I do not go to bed with someone who disgusts me, I do not communicate with disgusting people. You have to deal with people you consider horrible, you do it cold-heartedly, you rationalize it. And you worry what other people say. The word “slut” really bothers you. I do not care, you do. I feel – you do not allow yourself to feel. I live – You hide behind the gated community. I do not need friends, I am happy by myself and with myself – You hate being alone, otherwise you would not have invited me over after having sex with someone I love.
She was looking through me, she obviously was not happy that she had started this conversation.
         –  Heather, I do not see any difference between a slut and an escort girl. All I see is a difference between you and me. Now, let’s go inside, it is getting chilly.
          Yes, yes, – she was relieved to finish our discussion. She looked sad, I felt sorry for her.

My Bodily Needs and My Mind


 The only friend I can entirely trust is my body. Unlike the mind that drags me through a myriad of imaginary horrid to ecstatic life scenarios, the body never lies. The body is always real, it always stays with me here and now, the body is very articulate in expressing its likes and dislikes regardless of the societally imposed bullshit about the nutritional value of meat, sugar, salt, bread, and dairy.
The body will cry out loudly for the need to work out and to sleep at least 8 hours daily.  Even if its voice is temporary silenced by anti-depressants, energy drinks, antibiotics, and surgeries, the truth comes out sooner or later. We tend to panic when the body sends us signals in the form of sickness. Instead of putting our rat racing on hold and listen to the voice of our bodies, we desperately ask doctors for help, entirely ignoring that most of them literally fall apart under the burden of diagnoses and prescribed substances. Mentally and physically sick people who do not know how to take care of themselves claim that they know how to treat others. The matrix is ruthless in its insanity.
Suppressing the bodily needs is the most inhumane thing that most of us do going to work they hate, impressing people they do not know, and sleeping with someone without chemistry – Kids need both parents, two incomes are better than one, I must save the family at any cost and blah blah blah.
The mind is tricky, it only goes by what happened in the past; it offers the future based on the previously happened traumas. And we listen to it, turning our back on the reality that does not give a shit about hallucinations of our little broken tape recorder. We follow the mind, disregarding the bodily yells to stop and get real. We do not want to get real, we cannot get real associating ourselves with that little head device that tells us what to do and how things need to be done. Even when the reality smashes us with common sense, most of us do not get it and continue following the mind games over and over and over. All we get out of being slapped in the face is that we are victims. And we fall in love with our sufferings, traumas, and problems, proudly carrying the victim-status throughout the life. We cherish this shit, aggressively protecting it from common sense.
          We live in imaginary worlds created by our minds. Even if the body suffers, we are not willing to let go of the created illusions, Greg.
          Interesting, Vixen. But I still do not get how come that we do not exist.
          It does not matter
          What matters?
          Nothing really, our mind creates what is important what not, and we stupidly follow the created priorities. This makes us suffer
          Do I make you suffer, Vixen?
          Sometimes, when I appropriate the illusion that you are the most wonderful person in the world.