e[lust] 94

Exposing 40 Elust 94
Photo courtesy of Exposing 40

Welcome to Elust 94

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #95 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Always Coming Second

Balance

THREESOME – the card game

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The #500words Project ~ 2

#Pussy Pride

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

No Eligible Posts

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Forgiven
Finally A Prostitute
On Display
World Traveller
Red
Ms. Mona’s Online Dating School for Dudes

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

BDSM is Not My Source for Life.
Pure and Simple
Discussing Consent & Scene Negotiation

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

You can
All for one, or one for all…
He haunts me.

Erotic Non-Fiction

Oh no, I’m not.
the shoot begins
Raylene’s pain does not matter

Poetry

-05.05.17_00:21-
White Tee Shirt

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Orgasm Challenge

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

A Kink Couple Fantasize About the Waitstaff

 

 

Elust 88

Sometimes, we should remain lost.

Lincoln loved me when I was an innocent 18-year-old girl.

His love burned bright and inexorably for months as I struggled with his attentions.  I couldn’t understand why this handsome 19-year-old boy liked anything about me, but he clung tightly.  His letters came regularly, his beautiful cursive unmistakable.  His words inked so tenderly my young heart often broke as I read for I was confused and uncertain about my own.

He had no car, so I would drive to the shipyard where he’d be waiting for me, the giant Navy ship he called home loomed heavily behind him like a sleeping mountain.  He’d pick me up and squeeze me and I’d sigh not with pleasure, but with impatience.  I wished he didn’t like me so much.

Our little misbegotten love affair ended when my little sister caught him reading a letter I had written, but never sent.  A note which captured a vulnerable moment wherein I contemplated loving him.  His earnest search for me in that letter caused me to evict him from my life instantly and without remorse.  I crushed him irrevocably that day.

Years later I hunted for him online.   Little tidbits of information he’d told became the only leads I had.  He was from Texas somewhere, I had his last name, he’d been in the Navy.  I poured over people-finder and high school class websites, but to no avail.  And then Facebook happened and there he fucking was.

I found him married, with many children through different marriages and configurations and discovered that he had lived 60 miles away from me for 5 years until he’d been restationed to somewhere in the south (via the Army this time).

We quickly caught up, but it came to a screeching halt one day when he announced that his wife was uncomfortable with him talking to me.  My husband understood my excitement and had blessed my discovery that Lincoln wasn’t dead.  Apparently, Lincoln’s wife had very different feelings about me.  And so, amid his many apologies, we said goodbye again in 2008.

In 2016 I became curious about him again and re-found him on Facebook.  I was no longer blocked from his account and messaged him, fingers crossed.  He was instantly receptive this time: he and his wife were separated and he was now 80 miles away, not several states.

We texted and talked on the phone round the lock for days, a virtual love-fest of lost innocence and crossed signals.  Our youthful romance figured prominently for him throughout his life and explained his wife’s misgivings of me.  I apologized for being such a broken girl.  He revealed he had been a virgin, too.  Our words were tender touches, two blind people rediscovering their surroundings with gentle explorations, every sense at attention.

Tearfully one night I revealed my double life.  He said he accepted me no matter what and was proud of me.  I shared the blog and Hy and everything I had ever done.  Still, he accepted me.  We set a date to meet.

He was a card-carrying biker now, literally a member of a national biker club with initiation rights and rivalries; the whole nine yards.  Tattooed all over, short, brown beard with a handlebar mustache, a Harley-Davidson hog his only form of transportation.  He looked formidable in my doorway, leather vest covered in biker paraphernalia, but his big bear hug was just the same.  And my immediate response to pull away was the same, too.

We reacquainted ourselves as adults side by side on my couch for the duration of a single drink.  I called a Lyft and we headed out to my favorite bar.  I didn’t want to just sit and drink at my house, the bedroom around the corner.

We laughed and flirted for hours.  The sun set and tears flowed as we finally said the things we’d always yearned to share.  I felt like a star-crossed lover, pulled away from a sweet tenderness I’d never again know.

Back home on my couch, we kissed.  His plump, soft lips were the same, his sounds, too.  I mounted his lap and he suckled my breasts — a move far past the Second Base of our youth — and I rubbed his crotch.  But I couldn’t go further.

I dragged him to bed, pulled the covers over us, and we fell asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to his big arm flung over my waist, his belly smushed warmly against my back.  I felt trapped.

He murmured and wriggled closer to me and I held still, but wanted to run.  His sweetness felt foreign, wrong.  I didn’t deserve it.  We got up and I made us coffee.  He had to head back to the club for a meeting that afternoon.

I was nervously distant and felt as if I could see the pain on his face, but it’s possible I only suspected to see it.  It was me at 18 all over again.  We hugged and kissed goodbye and the last I saw of him was the menacing skull and cross sewn on the back of his leather vest.

Over the next few days he’d call in the mornings to see how I was and we continued to text.  The intensity of our reunion clung to me like old perfume.  How could I fit him into my life?  I ate men for breakfast and Lincoln was no piece of sausage.  But I wouldn’t have to figure anything out.

One day, the texting didn’t happen.  I checked in and his answer was cursory.  Another day passed.  Again, barely a response.  And then he said we needed to talk.

My stomach dropped.  “Only one other man has ever said that to me,” I told him.  “And then that man left me.”

“Things are complicated,” he said.

A day or two went by without any other word and I guessed that he was reconciling with his ex and we could no longer be friends.  “Am I right??”

“Yes you are. Did some soul-searching. I appreciate your friendship but this is the path I choose.”

I burst into tears and tried in vain to get him to reconcile with her and still be friends with me.  He refused.

“I can’t believe this… I mean, of course you have to do what you need to and I support that, but… fuck.  This hurts.  Not gonna lie.”

“I know and I’m sorry. But I have to make her and my son my priority. Not just over you but the club and everything else.”

“I get that, I just don’t know why you can’t do both: be in my life as a friend and make her a priority but, ok… I guess now it’s my turn to have my heart broken, huh?  I wish you the best, Lincoln, and I’ll always be here for you.  I’ve got to go – need to pull myself together before I head into work.”

And his final words to me:

“Take care.”

He unfriended me on Facebook and has remained silent since, just as he said he would.

I doubled over and sobbed.  Lincoln seemed to be my lifeline to so many things.  The innocent girl I was to the wanton woman I am, the past to the future, from Hy to Me.  And he had chosen something else outright over any of it in even the slightest form.

I cried for a few more minutes, took a deep breath, and brushed myself off.  I had lived most of my adult life without him thus far; there was no reason I couldn’t easily go on without him for the rest.  But now the story is sad for far more reasons than youthful misgivings and childish anger.  Now I’m sad because I know I have truly lost him — forever — and I wish I had never found him again.

Soul searching, indeed.

 

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Plugging back in.

Something wonderful happened the instant I shut down my dating profiles.  Gone were the twitches to check email.  Gone was the guilt in my delay, my sloppy responses.  And gone was the worry I was missing out.

For years now I have operated under the assumption that if I said Yes to everyone I might be surprised.  Truth was I was mostly disappointed.

I feel lighter, more focused, more energized.  I’m cautiously exploring what it means to let someone get to know me while folding in this life as Hy.  I also feel the extra energy in my mothering and my work.

Peyton’s colors glow brighter somehow; my baby’s voice like bubblegum and sunshine.  I feel more, hear more, am more.

Had I known shutting off that faucet of illicit want and depravity could bring me this level of calm I’d have done it long ago, but perhaps I wasn’t ready.  Perhaps I had to wait for a million other things to line up to feel like pulling the shades on those windows (shutting the doors?).

When I think back over the many years of my life (for there are many) I am reminded of other moments like this where I feel like my life is beautiful.  The first time I ever rode a horse.  The smell, that rich mix of hay, dirt, and live animal; his warmth beneath my hand and between my legs; the muffled sound of hooves on dirt and a breathy whicker.

When I was accepted to a prestigious university 1200 miles from home.  I packed my little car with all my things and struck out on my own and never looked back.  I sorted out the bureaucracy of the school itself and life as a young woman all while taking 12 to 17 hours worth of classes a semester.  I hobbled through the finish line, but I did it.

I remember the first time I ever fell in love.  It was such a revelation; I felt like I suddenly understood all of humanity.  Why wars had been started over a love, why heartbreak could drag a lonely lover down with the fallen.  What a miraculous thing, love.  Does anything in our lifetimes even compare?

Again when I completed my graduate program with a 4.0.  Never before had I been so ravenous with my schoolwork.  The words I consumed melded to my bones; I am them now, they are me.  How lucky am I to be born in a time when a woman is allowed to achieve and grow and become an expert.

I discovered my body and its pleasures at a time when my life was torn apart.  Alone, nearly penniless, and wounded from a lonely marriage I found solace in the space between me and others, a cock the key to my emotional freedom.  I played in the sparkling pools of orgasm and unreality for many months like a toddler and accidentally realized my own power in my life.

My writing and this blog has outshone so many other relationships in my life.  It has survived The Neighbor and even other real life friendships.  It is a constant, wondrous, evolving thing.  I suppose just like its creator.  The friendships I’ve forged I will have till the end of my days, I have no doubt.  Who knew that my creative outlet and need to expose myself could harvest such a boon of love.

But by far the most outstanding memory I have of my life — which is a universe of emotion compared to even the simple joyful moon I am experiencing today — is the day Peyton was born.  The day I pushed a small body out of mine and held that little blinking face to my breast.  The wash of feeling that poured through me a cosmic binding to my helpless babe.

And every day since feeling the bond between us, knowing I am the protector, the mentor, the safe place.  There is no highlight greater in my life than that.

I’m plugging back in, I can feel it.  I want to be back here with you, Internet Boyfriend, and I want to return to me.  Hello.  Can you feel the hug??

 

That breast. My body reminds me of so much love.

 

 

Febraury Photofest

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

e[lust] 90

Photo courtesy of Rebel’s Notes

Welcome to Elust 90

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #91 Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Conflicted part 1

Glow

Happy Endings

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Please You to Please Me

How to suck my cock – part 1 (attitude)

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Visions of Sugarplums

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Writing About Writing

The Curious Case of Trigger Warnings
Writing About It All

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

PLEASING THE MISTRESS
Reader Q&A: Dominant women struggle, turn-ons
Chastity Questions
Not every hole is a goal

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Picture is Worth…
Morning Stretch
Lovemaking Almost Too Brilliant To Describe
The GP
I Want
Indescribable Pleasure
Humiliating an ex-Nazi: Raylene’s 2nd dozen
Preparation
I love big, fat dicks <– My contribution.

Erotic Fiction

Dude, You’re Wet!
When Love Becomes a Weakness
On a Silver Platter
The Silent Treatment
A Seasonal Affair
Three in a Stall
Schoolgirl Uniform
The New Principal 4: Escape

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Anal Retentive Or Just OCD?

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

BuzzFeed Femdom

Poetry

-06.01.17_13:22-
Mistletoe: A Lusty Limerick

 

Elust 88

e[lust] 89


Photo courtesy of Sex is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust 89

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #90 Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

When the Tears Finally Came

The pure and simple truth

One Down

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabilities & Submission, Part 2: I Say No

UnRepentant Darkness

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Hoar Frost…

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Hold me down
Keeping me chaste
Say My Name
The Little Things
Struggle…
Learning To Truss
A New Use
My Mania is My Drug
Life as a Laissez-Faire Domme

Erotic Fiction

Watching
Candy, Caned
Jax and Rickie’s First Kiss
New Collar

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why You Should Make a Sex Tape
And the winner is…doggy style!
Pleasantville: The Promise of Trump’s America
Bdsm reasons for not hitting children
An Open Letter to MrHankeysToys.com

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Fun Of Being Stripped Of Wet Running Kit!
I want to lick your pussy some more
KIDNAP – a story of fear, pain and sex
Sybian
Well, that’s new…
Objectionable Hair – A Lady’s Taboo

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

UnPartnered
The Cub
I still have hope
A Baker’s Dozen #fucketlist

Poetry

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Elust 88

e[lust] #87

understanding-flutterby-header
Photo courtesy of Understanding Flutterby

Welcome to Elust 87

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #88 Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

An Important Notice

This month our host did a bad thing, they migrated the website to new servers. This isn’t the bad thing, the bad thing is that they moved an outdated version of the site that was prior to this months call for submissions. This meant that some post submissions might have been lost. We republished the call and asked on twitter that people contact us to be sure we had all posts. If your post does not appear here we are terribly sorry and if you contact us through submission@elustsexblogs.com we will add your post to the digest. Thanks for your understanding (this portion of the digest will not appear in the html code).

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Secret Identities

Dividing lines…

Ember and Ash

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Bdsm: Our pleasures are our obligations

Southpaw

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Change your Cookbook: a monogamuggle’s guide to cookin’ with poly folk

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

When Love is not enough.
the fantasy and reality of my arrival

Blogging

Shine a Light

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

When You’re Bad
How Women Use Their Sexuality As A Weapon
Dear Fans: Quit Kinkbashing

Erotic Fiction

Big Daddy
(Re)Verse
The Front to Back Challenge
Pretty
GAME OF TWO HALVES – role shift
no. 106

Erotic Non-Fiction

He’s Cumming
Washing up
Chew Toy
So many friends with benefits

Poetry

One Stroke
-25.09.16_12:52-
Early Morning Haikus

 

ELust Site Badge

I think about quitting.

Writing.  This.  You all.

I feel like I have nothing to share, nothing to say that’s worthwhile or interesting.  My life as Hy is one gigantic flaccid penis: I came months ago in resplendent spurts and opalescent arcs and now I’m flat, dry and flaky.

I’m over.

I don’t have anything current to say, no interesting story, no new perspective.  I’m still proudly flaunting my middle-aged tits, I still occasionally have interesting sex stories to tell, sometimes I have an opinion on things, but generally speaking, I don’t have anything new to say.  Not really.

I’ve made incredible friends, done incredible things, but this isn’t my job.  I have a separate career that I have to keep safe; I can’t even tell you all what it is, though I long to.  God, how I wish you all knew what I did.  I wish I could marry the two sides of me – finally – and flourish in all the Hy/Me glory I imagine is waiting for me.

I am at a crossroads which feels less like a point in which I choose right or left and more like a place in which I choose to continue or not.  I’m not sure I want to keep going.

But when I think about my life without Hy I gasp.  Literally and figuratively.  I’m not at all sure how that would work: I don’t know who I am.  Am I Hy, the body- and sex-positive writer, and advocate, The Sharer of All?  Or am I Me, the professional ________ who ______ and _______ and _________s?

My blogging friend, Livvy, wrote recently about the divisions she experiences in her professional and personal lives and I related strongly, viscerally even.

“It was while I was standing there, squeezing this stranger’s penis, that I began thinking about quite how narrow the dividing line between what is sexual and what isn’t can be, and how blurring that line can be complicated and potentially dangerous.”

I don’t squeeze penises in my professional life, but I “squeeze” other things, and I’m so tired of keeping my lives at odds.  I feel that this life as Hy in particular could benefit greatly from my other life; its openness, its specific familiarity with my heart and trials.

It’s the fear of Hy’s impact on my professional life that keeps me from even breathing a whisper of the real me to you all.  I’d like to think you’d embrace her — I’m actually certain you would — but I don’t trust a single one of my career colleagues to protect Hy.  Why would they??

I spent a portion of tonight with The Artist, just as friends.  I laughed so hard I cried because he likes to send me fucked up videos of him in masks set to flutes and REM.  I like being friends with him.  On his plant-infested balcony I talked endlessly of Luke and how I’m head over heels for him, a man I can never have.  I got to be all of my self in a pseudo-anonymous way while sitting on that third story balcony and I liked it.  A lot.

Maybe that’s what I need here.  Maybe I need a pseudo-anonymity that helps me marry the two sides of me better.  I don’t have much going on in terms of unrequited love (Luke is returning all my feelings in truckloads) and I’m not fucking much.  I feel boring and shriveled up.

I have an entire other life I’m trying to maintain and grow.  This isn’t my life.  It’s who I am, but it’s different somehow.  It’s just a facet.

I owe Girl on the Net a guest post — a year in the making at this point — and I can’t bring myself to create it.  It literally haunts me.  God only knows how others who’ve been blogging for as long as me do it.  I’m losing my will to write, to create.  It all feels false and odd and off.  I’ve been struggling to find a balance and I’ve achieved a place of non-guilt, but I truly don’t know what to do next here.  The apathy I’m experiencing is intense and sticky, pervasive.  I feel mired down, like when that beautiful stallion drowns in the swamp in Neverending Story.

I have jizzed all over my blogging life in big, pearly globs I am satisfied, scared, tired, lost — and above all else — bored.

When I wrote before about new goals and new summits I felt somewhat energetic.  Today, I feel depleted.  All I want to do is curl up in Luke’s arms and purr my happiness into his delicious skin.  Close my eyes and feel him press his heat against me, hear his voice, feel his lips, consume his very essence.

If I take a break will I have anything to return to?  My five-year anniversary is creeping up as quickly as my numbers of visitors are dropping.  You guys are sick of me, too, apparently, and I don’t fucking blame you.   I am no longer viable, no longer interesting.  Nothing is happening!  Do I care??  Does it matter??  Why do I write?  Who am I writing for?  I don’t even know anymore.  So many questions…

I am lost, yet calm.  I’ll be ok, you’ll be ok.  I’ll figure this out one way or another.

Suggestions welcome as always.

 

e[lust] 86

Elust 86 Header
Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze

Welcome to Elust 86

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #86 Start with the rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Self-Objectification

Female Orgasms – Addressing Women’s Sexuality

Migraine – A Sexual Spiritual Explanation

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Can You Train a Sub to Orgasm on Command?

Rupert Campbell-Black and me…

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Yes I’m a Sexblogger and No I don’t care about your dick

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

BUTTER FOR LUBE… Salted or Unsalted?
KOTW:Static on the line
Control Queen
Well, That Didn’t Go According to Plan

Writing about Writing

A BDSM Vignette from Two Viewpoints

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex Negative

Erotic Fiction

The Cure
sports

Erotic Non-Fiction

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT – with a twist
Iris
A Polyquad Squad Orgasm
Beautiful Birthday Fuck
Purpose of Tasks
Do You Trust Me
The meanings of “good girl”

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

How Long Is Enough
The Virgin. Unlocking Feminine Power.
The Other Day
Communicate! Communicate! Communicate!
addressing doubts one step at a time
How D/s has taught me to stick up for myself

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Against All Odds

Poetry

Where I’m From

 

 

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I don’t feel like writing.

It scares me, this lack of enthusiasm for the blog.  

I just wrote about making new goals and striving to achieve them and instead of inciting me to action I feel pushed away.

I think I’ve indentified part of it: it’s less fun for me, more stressful.  My standards for what I put here are extremely high and it takes me up to 5 hours to write a thoughtful, moving piece when it used to take me an hour or two.

I could blame life changes for that, but I don’t think that’s it; I’m more easily distracted and I don’t feel as welcome in my own space.  

I’ve gone and fucked this up somehow.

To combat this, I’ve decided that I will write more, not less.  Lower my standards for a post and fucking play here again. 

Play with my words, my body, you.

 I used to post lots of nothing — lots — and it felt like a playground, like swinging high above the treetops, spinning faster than a top.  I could do anything I wanted, have any voice, share my thoughts and ideas without worry that there was a hole in my argument.  

I want that back.

So, to kick that off here’s a random nude pic of me.  Raw, real, and [barely] exposed.  Just like I used to be, just like I want to be: playful and seductive, playful and here.

I don’t know what to do next.

I began writing because I had to.  Words crawled against the underside of my skin like so many marching ants, less like blood flowing and more like an itch that had to be scratched.  And so I did.

I began an anonymous sex blog on Blogger and wrote about the intersection of motherhood and being single, but I quickly realized I didn’t want to talk about my child in that iniquitous arena.  I morphed it into what I really wanted to talk about — my sex life — and wrote with an openness as wide as my legs.  Too wide, as it turned out, because I naively shared the URL with lovers and friends and soon felt the pinch of the gag in my mouth.  Semi-anonymous is not fun, y’all.

I decided to shut it down and regroup, but not before I somehow I caught Rori’s eye way back in 2011.  And thus began my journey to not only continue to write but to improve upon it.  I wanted to create content that was beautiful, yet compelling, thought-provoking yet welcoming and above all else entertaining and A Dissolute Life Means… was born.

Earning the top spot on the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2015 list is what one might consider the pinnacle of my blogging “career.”  It’s what I ached to reach and worked so hard to achieve.  Its subjectivity humbles me, but the position also creates a welcome pressure to prove to everyone that I indeed earned that top slot.  I don’t want anyone to wonder, “Why the fuck did Hy get #1?”  At the very worst, I’d at least want someone to think that I’d worked hard to get there and at the best think it was well-deserved.

But with attaining a goal comes a strange dark side of achievement, the side of the mountain I couldn’t see as I was climbing the other: Now what??

Looking at the seven past #1s I find a variety of things ranging from a continued vibrant internet and writing presence to none at all.  One #1 disappeared shortly after her nomination under a dark cloud of allegations of illegal activity and another #1, Pandora, seems to have disappeared for nearly two years.  The other five #1s (Sinclair Sexsmith, Dangerous Lilly, Guy New York, Molly Moore, and Girl on the Net have all done exactly what I hope to do: grow.

They grew as writers, artists, and activists; they kept going, wrote books, gave talks, plugged in to the community of which they’re such a big part.  Some have even taken over Eroticon such is their dedication to all of us.

There’s a silence here in my life right now; I’m catching my breath.  Maybe I haven’t actually summitted anything.  Maybe I’m only half way there. 

This year has been a strange mix of unbelievable highs (Eroticon and London) and radical lows (health, finances, shitty anniversaries, continued heartbreak) and I have been bereft of my normally easily tappable imagination.  It’s not that writing feels like a chore, it’s just that I can’t seem to carve out the sacred space to allow it to happen.

And I have no shortage of stories to tell: Charlie the “Italian” waiter in Bristol, Poppy, Peter, George with the man bun, the many sub males with whom I am exploring my dominant side.  The men flow like the wine in my life – fast and continuous – but my creative juices not so much.

When I think about where else I want to go here a few things leap out at me: I want to convert this blog into a book, I want travel to London to attend and/or present at Eroticon 2017, 2018 and beyond if at all humanly possible, I want to keep advocating for body positivity and feminist sexual freedom.  And most of all, I want to keep writing.

I want to fill the world with my silly words that connect me to all of you.  I want to make art with these little black squiggly things pretty much for-fucking-ever since I can’t fathom my life without them – that’d be like eating food that tasted like nothing but chalk — but there’s a vacuum that my small success has created and I feel adrift.

I need to look more closely at my surroundings; there’s so much more beauty left to ascend and consume.

In lieu of a creative emotional space I have fallen still on my mountainside.  My exhausting summer of mind, body, and spirit must come to an end; fall, my most favorite, is oh so close.   Things will change because they must, but they’re going to change in the direction of my choosing.  I will regroup and refocus, double-down on my efforts because I’m not done.  Not even close.

I now know what is next for me: More — more art, more community, more Hy — and I will look at my achievements as flags staked along the way, not as stopping points, because I have higher to climb.  Hopefully, a lot higher.