Stripped. Down. Raw.


“Tell me everything I’m not but please don’t tell me to stop.”

Sparrow never did, never once asked me to quit stripping.  All I ever needed was someone to love me for exactly who I am and for what I did in order for me to walk away.  That was always my intent, never had I expected it to be so consuming, forming such a blood thirsty attachment.  Nourishment to feed my greed, vanity and lust and depleting my self worth, compassion and light.  My attachment formed a shadow, a painted vail of an interpretation of what I thought I was. . . this pleasurable fuck, this beautiful mind fuck, a specific clarity.   I had become an empty shell, hollow, hard and shattered into jagged pieces of glass.  A reflection so jarring and completely fragmented it was only a matter of time before it swallowed me whole.  My mind, my dignity all was beginning to blur.  Who cares I’ll fuck him for two thousand dollars  . . . and then I would have been a whore.  The blur got bad, I needed nobody. . .nothing, just the money.  Then he showed up, asking me out for a cup of coffee after an Ana Forrest workshop at our yoga studio.  I liked him, he seemed nice, but no . . . not now. . .no way, I was all about the money and I was not having another man come by and throw any kind of wrench in my game . . . my rules.  I continued to not call him for a few more weeks then I gave in went for a coffee and didn’t give a shit . . . I wore glasses.  We hung out and talked for hours, he was like this long lost friend that I had know my entire life, he understood me, I didn’t have to say much.  He liked me for me, not for my job, but he didn’t not like me for my chosen profession.  It was just that . . . something that I did.  I found it interesting when I first told him what I did for a living, usually I don’t (nobody gets that close) we were sitting on the floor of the yoga studio before Saturday morning practice.  We were cross legged, facing one another, I asked him what he did.  He then said he was not working at the moment he was on a disability leave from his corporate america job.  He said he was just finishing up rehab and he was a recovering alcoholic.  I think he was waiting for a reaction, I replied with,  “I only work two days a week and I am a stripper.” We both laughed . . . I never felt judged, ever.  He had a tattoo of a sparrow on his ribs with a banner that read “freedom” . . . freedom, freedom from it all.  Just like that it was just us two.

Attachments, we all have them some more so then others, my attachments  have defined me.  My attachments have negatively affected my life I walk around with them heavily.  My stories navigate my ship to sink or worse keep me anchored and cemented in fear.  Slowly ever so slowly I am seeing that I do not have to be something, my occupation does not define me, my long hair does not ensure me my beauty.  I just am.   Approaching things with a bit of ease rather then plagued with anxiety . . . my mind says I should be able to do that handstand NOW, everyone expects it . . . look at you, I am reeling with fear and nervousness, now I can’t breathe, now for sure I can’t do it.  In reality no one expects anything.  My story, my fear of weakness physically because mentally I am debilitated.  Here’s the thing, you have to be able to mentally approach it. . .handstand for example, with breath and grace.  Seems to be working, I think it is seeping over into my life.

Sparrow walks into the bedroom, I am there already, my hair is slicked back tightly into a bun, my eyes are cole rimmed black and smoked out.  I am wearing a purple latex crotchless bodysuit,  I start fucking myself with the purple dildo.  I am fucking myself so good and hard. I take Sparrow into my mouth sucking him off, my eye make up begins running down my face from deep throating so hard.  I come on the dildo, Sparrow comes in my mouth.  “Was that a dream?” “Nope.” “Didn’t think so.”



~ by applejaxe on May 1, 2012.

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