I still have hope.

I have been sick for most of 2016. It began in January with a fever of 103 and is ending with laryngitis and tight lungs, the diagnosis of which will be determined this afternoon in the doctor’s office.

I am exhausted.

I have lost my muse, my cat, by many accounts even my dignity — let’s not even discuss the White House — but I haven’t lost my hope.

I hope 2017 is better than ever.

I hope that little ember I feel continues to grow.

I hope my heart continues to swell with love and light.

I hope to grow my bank account.

I hope to build stronger bonds with my loved ones.

I hope we fight to keep the world progressing.

I’m not hiding anymore pretending to have it all figured out. I’m struggling, working hard, fighting back. Everything has burned to the ground, but there is new life. It’s the way of things.  I’m still alive.  I’m still doing the things I love.

I gripped the balcony railing on the 21st floor as the owner of the condominium buried his face in between my cheeks. The city lit up below me and the cold breeze swirled around us, his wet tongue and puffs of breath hot on my skin. His moans of pleasure matched my own.  I imagined it was Luke and smiled.

I enjoy men in new ways, brighter ways now. There are no ties which bind, no words that bond. I am free as a bird and light as a feather.  This is fun again and without the stench of desperation flogging me on.

He had me keep my boots on when we came inside and made sure I noticed the sliding closet doors which were mirrors when I undressed and laid down.

He was hard and felt good; he loved my pussy, came quickly, and promptly fell asleep. I did too.

Just before dawn I crept out of bed and opened the blinds which faced east and watched the rose gold light spill into downtown like phantom lava. The reflection on the buildings sparkled and where the light met the night was a beautiful dark hue of blue, like my eyes in the dark I imagine.

I redressed and woke him up to say goodbye. “I have to take care of the dog,” I explained to his unasked question.  He’d mentioned earlier in the night that he wanted to have champagne and brunch with me.

In the long elevator ride back down I looked at my reflection. I saw a woman who never stops looking, who never gives up. I saw her hope.

I also saw a woman who lives her life as largely as possible.

This year may have tripped me up and beat me down with all its curve balls, but it hasn’t erased the core of me: an artist, a lover, a good woman.  I am tougher than 2016.  I am still here and I’m not going anywhere.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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37 thoughts on “I still have hope.
  1. Yes! Yes, yes and more yes. This is what I want to hear from you… the positivity, the hope, the being stronger. Because, dear Hy, you are. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are powerful! You never give up and fight for what you want. 2017 is going to be a GOOD year.

    Hugs & kisses
    Rebel xox
    Marie Rebelle recently posted…On The Rocks (6)My Profile

  2. Hy, this was a wonderful encouraging post to read! Thank you (again) for sharing it and I applaud you in your decision to “…not hiding anymore pretending to have it all figured out.” HAH! Welcome to the club… with 7.45+ billion of us, some doing the same, some not so active, and others deluding themselves that they have no membership card to the club! ;) Hehe
    Professor Taboo recently posted…Human & Atomic InteractionsMy Profile

  3. I hear you. I hear your obstinacy, our sheer bloodymindedness not to fall back into the place you came from. The place you find yourself in is no easy place but is yours for the taking. I see a woman who won’t give in every time I look in the mirror. I prefer her to the defeated one I used to see there. Looking forward to seeing you in March. I will buy the wine this time x

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