“shut up and dance with me”

The world spun as he whirled me with him. His fingers gripped my wrists.  Perhaps I was feeling dizzy, or perhaps it was the momentum of being spun, my pulse raced as my heart hammered in my chest.  He shouldn’t be affecting me this way, I thought wildly. Yet he was.

He was laughing as we tumbled onto the grass, grabbing me close. He lifted the corners of the blanket and rolled us until the blanket covered us both.

Breathless, he braced himself onto his elbows above me. Wedging himself between my thighs. I swallowed hard, the intimate precarious position allowed me to feel the muscles of his thighs. The ridge of his erection. An odd delicious sensation surged through me.

Staring down into my face, he smiled. His breath fanned over my lips. Hot. Slowly he smoothed the tangled tendrils of my hair from my face. The touch of his fingers made me shiver. Fill me with a restless ache. A yearning to feel his mouth on mine.

His laughter died, his smile slowly faded. As if he sensed the moment between us became more intimate. His finger slowly traced my jaw, his thumb nudging my lip. “I will always be here. To protect you. Keep you from harm.” he whispered. His head started to lower.


-a slice of heaven from a dream I had a couple days ago. Two good things about dreams? They inspire. They are always great fodder for a story. one bad thing? How the hell do I write it into a story? so I just wrote this little drabble.


me: “He is too controlling. too micro-managing. I don’t like that.”

“That is ok. You’re dominant. A perfect match”

a conversation about my dislike for control-freaks.

Maybe its true.

I am shy and sweet like a creampuff, but my personalty leans towards Dominance.  Perhaps I am too much to handle. But when I laugh and I sing, and I feel the wind in my hair, I want someone to see that. I want someone to see the facade I put up. To break down the walls I put up. Hold me when I am sad. Laugh when I am being goofy. Confide in me when they want to.

I don’t want anyone to submit to me.

I don’t believe a man needs to be controlling or feels the need to micro-manage me.

Is he confident? He knows what he wants and how to get it, yes.

and he wants me. Loves me for who I am




I have no companion but Love, no beginning, no end, no dawn. The Soul calls from within me: ‘You, ignorant of the way of Love, set Me free.’ Rumi



I must be feeling better.

After a restless night, I had strange dreams that connected together.

The first one was very erotic. Something out of a novel. There was a man on a bullet motorcycle, with a woman. They were driving down the highway late at a night. Rain pounding down upon them. The woman was in front straddling the man. She was wearing a skirt, hitched up to her hips. The man had his fly open.

UNF! The slow undulation of the woman’s hips as she was riding this man’s cock, she was doing all the work.  the slow thrusting of her hips. His cock sliding in and out of her, her juices glistening long the length. her clit rubbing on his pelvis. When he came, his cum just oozed out of her as his cock pulsed inside her.

It was one of the most sexiest fucks I ever dreamed.

However my dream-self was not having it! “Fuck that! There is no way a woman and man can fuck like that on a bullet bike! While moving!”

Suddenly the scene changes!

That scene had been written by one of my childhood crushes Clayton. We were in a writer’s group. He is amused that I dont find it realistic enough. He points out my writing is never realistic, but it is always steamy and sexy enough to get him hard.

I blush.

“Maybe she is jealous you werent writing about you and her” sneers another writer. This guy is so smarmy. He thinks he is God’s gift to women. I give him the Bird.

Clayton laughed. “She is not jealous. She already knows she can have me whenever she wants.”

I stick my tongue out at him

And thats how the dream ends.



"Dreams breathe life into men and can cage them in suffering. Men live and die by their dreams but long after they're abandoned, they still smolder deep in men's hearts."

Never give up on what you hold dear. Your dreams. Your ambitions. Love.


I'm just floored. And angry right now.
I can't understand how so called Christian people believe in God but pick and choose what to accept.
He creates everyone, He knows their plan their destiny.
Yet for so called Christian's they can't wrap their brain around the fact our sexuality is who we are when we are born. We do not chose to be straight or gay. We do not chose to be a young man trapped in a young woman's body.
We are created!
Therefore God knew who we were before we born. He had a plan! He already accepted us!
LGBT are not evil. The Devil did not tell them who they were supposed to be.
All everyone wants is to be accepted. Everyone!
Christians just can't say "you aren't worthy. you're not going to Heaven!"
Only God can judge.
My niece told my mother she could be whomever she wanted. Trans or lesbian!
My mother's response was to tell her she was going to hell
I was angry.
A young person had just committed suicide because her family wouldn't accept her, and my niece was acknowledging the young person. Acknowledging her existence, her decision her right to be whomever she wanted.
I told my mom if she ever talked like that again, I would never forgive her.
"That's ok God will never forgive K or that young one" my mom said
"That's right because you don't know what's it like to be depressed to the point of suicide. Having no one care for you" I hissed " that poor kid was suffering! And it's people like you who make them feel so helpless and alone! Don't think you are a Christian!"
"Satan is telling you these things!" She went on a spiel
"No, He is telling YOU these things!"
I was pretty sure my building could hear my argument.
I was so heartsick and heartbroken already over this young person's death. having my mother call me telling me she would never support my niece in any kind of decision enraged me. Then she had the gall to go the funeral?!

I didn't care who heard me.
People need to be accepted for who they are.
-just my opinion