Addict

A loud sigh escaped her lips as the sound of a passing s\kateboard consumed the muffled music of the jukebox. A heavy breeze caught the smoke of an old cigarette, mixing it with the scent of wet asphalt and rotting leaves. Her painted fingernail traced the crack in the sidewalk while deep thoughts of love and life stirred in her mind. A low rumble sounded in the distance, warning of the impending storm. The heavy door scraped cement as one of the old regulars left the bar. He made a friendly gesture toward her as he walked away, leaving behind him a trail of cheap whiskey and beer. Leaves whirled in circles, she closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the first chill of Fall.

The first drop of rain landed on the bridge of her nose and stirred her from her daze, turning her focus to the coolness of the water as it traveled down her warm skin. The second drop landed on the edge of her eyelashes. What a strange sensation it was to feel something grab ahold of such a sensitive part of her. She laughed at the coincidence of it all as she lit the end of a new cigarette. The sting of smoke entering healed lungs was harsh, but she welcomed it. Another drop fell from the sky and sizzled as it grazed the end of her once lost addiction. The rain melted away all remaining traces of summer, taking her mind back to the day she met him. She stopped smoking that day, trading one bad habit for another.

Her dependance on tobacco was easily replaced by a longing for his kind eyes and bright smile. She paused, lost in the memory of the way his laughter made her feel beautiful. Their first year together was bliss-filled kisses and flattering words; the love high she felt was so much more than a simple cigarette fix. Soon, her fascination became her new addiction. Even after his gentle words turned to insults and then to physical abuse, she still desperately craved his attention. The smell of his sweat, the hint of gin on his breath, it all fed her habit. The physical pain he inflicted became the overdose that ended them. Her intoxication of him derailed her life completely and left her in withdrawal for years.

She sat in the rain for a long time, listening as the storm played a sad lullaby on the metal roof above. The sky was singing to her, pulling emotions she had held tight for too long. Finally, after the last drag of her cigarette she stepped out from the umbrella of the roof and let the rain saturate her clothes. Bathed in raindrops she tilted her head toward the sky and cried. The rain hurt, but only because she needed it to. She needed it to pull him from her veins, to detox the negativity he left swimming in her mind. She let the storm wash away all traces of him from her thoughts. When she finally opened her eyes she felt new, clean.

She never felt vulnerable like she did now. Maybe that was it, maybe the rain washed away the smoke covered mirror she had been so used to looking through. She was looking through unfamiliar eyes and for the first time she was finally able to see how broken she had always been. A chill swept over her body and the warmth from the bar beckoned her, offering comfort. The promise of a free drink offered by the man at the end of the bar teased her thoughts. She hesitantly dropped her new pack of cigarettes into the trash bin as the door scraped wet cement. The businessman smiled with kind eyes as she sat beside him. A fresh gin and tonic sat neatly on the counter in front of her. 

Beauty

I asked people on my social profiles to give me their opinion on dating a SG and/or a nude model and the responses are mixed. Here’s what I learned. It takes a really strong person to date a nude model. Being a model, in and of itself, lends to a lot of people being attracted to that person. You will never escape the fact that men are looking at your woman, wishing they had what you get to hold. You’ll never escape the fact that some men will pursue your woman regardless of the fact that she’s taken. An attractive girl who’s confident enough to model, nude or otherwise, is going to attract men everywhere she goes, every time she goes out and IT’S NOT HER FAULT. Women that model, women with confidence, they tend to be socially outgoing more so than others and are generally much friendlier than most because in the industry you learn to interact with all kinds of people and that carries over to and helps build their confidence. These women are rare to find and usually men don’t know how to handle a woman like this.

One response stood out to me more than any other, this is what I would like to find, what I would like the men I date to understand and appreciate.

“Men, what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve dated dozens of women, some models and some not, but their status as a model doesn’t and shouldn’t matter. I’m married to my beautiful SG and I love her beauty. I love that she finds beauty in herself, inside and out, and I love that she feels confident enough to share that. She isn’t doing it for validation, for dates, to accrue sexual partners, she does it because she values beauty and knows others do too. She does it so that other women with less confidence might be inspired by her journey and in that may find their own beauty. I love that other men find her beautiful and I love sharing her beauty with others. All of those men looking at her sit and wonder what it would be like to be with a woman as beautiful, smart, talented and amazing and she is. And you know what, every one of them wish they could know, but me, I DO KNOW. I get to hold her at night. I get to see the true depth of her beauty, inside and out. I get to experience her love every single day. She has thousands of men that would gladly be the one holding her, some better than me in every way, but she chose me and I can appreciate that and be proud that I get to hold the most amazing woman in the world. Those men don’t make her smile, they don’t make her laugh. They don’t get to hold her and wipe her tears when she’s feeling afraid and vulnerable. They don’t get to experience the little things that happen throughout the day that make her real. To them she’s invincible, a goddess, but I get to see the side of her that they never see. I see the side of her that’s raw, human, imperfect. I love it, every bit of it. I love that I’ve captured the heart of a unicorn and even though she has every opportunity to leave, she chooses to stay, through the good and the bad, because I’m worth it to her. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have her. I love sharing her with the world, I love knowing she is known and appreciated at such a high level. Those that feel the need to keep a woman like her to themselves are selfish and are robbing the world of true beauty. If you don’t understand how limiting that behavior is then please don’t pursue a woman like her, she deserves more.”

And that sums it up. I’m not a threat to men, even though they see me that way. I’m not trying to gain validation by sharing my body through images. I know whoever dates me, decides I’m worth keeping, is going to have to deal with a lot of pressure from other people. I know their friends will tease them or plant ideas in their mind that are false about me, based on my modeling career. I know that there will always be a fear lingering in their mind that someone will steal me away, but I’m not immune to those fears either. I’m just as afraid of being left, being abandoned because of their inability to accept me for me and instead project the image they’ve made of me based on my modeling and social profiles. It’s a rare thing to find a man that can see past those things and find the true person I am. I’m not my images, I’m not my posts, I’m not my snapchats or the filtered representation of me that they show. I’m a mother, I’m a pet owner, a best friend, a sister. I’m an artist, a poet, a photographer. I’m insanely humanitarian and would give someone my last dime, the clothes off my back, the food in my fridge or time I don’t have to spare if it meant it would better their life somehow. I’m a therapist of sorts and will always listen to your life story and learn to appreciate you at the human level, flaws and all. I will always spend too much time researching nonsense on the internet and laugh for hours on end at cat videos. I am the girl that talks to spiders when they show up in my house. I’m the girl that cries during Disney movies. I’m the girl afraid of heights, but still wants to learn to fly. I’m afraid of rejection and abandonment, just as you are. I am human, as we all are.

Sexy Selfies

This is something I’ve wanted to bring up several times and it’s very relevant to this group. I get a lot of shit for taking the pics that I take and posting them here in the group and/or other groups and I wanted to clarify some things. I’ve had people assume that I’m taking them to gain “validation”, that I want attention/sex/love, and by taking pics like that I’m devaluing myself and making me look stupid.

First of all I want to clarify, I’m not taking these pictures for you, I’m taking them for me. I’m confident enough that someone else’s opinion of what I look like doesn’t matter to me nor do I add any value to it. Do I like the compliments and attention I get from the pictures? Sure, but I don’t feed my confidence through it. I post because I’m proud of what I have, not because I want YOU to be proud of what I have. Sexiness can be “validated”  in so many other ways, why do we have to assume the only approval we’re getting is from sexy pictures?

I truly don’t understand how taking a seductive picture of myself makes me unintelligent. I’m currently in school right now, working toward a 6 year degree in social work. I’ve studied human behavior and seduction since I was 14. I know just as much as you in some areas and less than you in others. How could anyone possibly gauge my intelligence from a picture, and who in their right mind is shallow enough to admit they do that? Here’s a logical fallacy, I put my brain out in public and that means I’m proud of it, I put my body out in public and that means I’m insecure? Why can’t showing my body mean I’m proud of it?

I’ve also had people question my self-confidence, self-esteem and level of insecurity. Some  women may take and share their pictures for this reason, but to assume every person is taking and sharing these pictures for the same reason is narrow-minded and ignorant. No one truly knows another persons motivations for doing anything, including taking various types of selfies. More importantly, even if we do know their motivations, who cares? It is THEIR life, their story, their journey and they can do as THEY feels suits them. Your value system and moral fabric are not the same as mine, and mine doesn’t match anyone else’s. This dichotomous thinking that so many of us use is so limiting. I refuse to stay in the black and white and find it more comfortable in the grey area where the only person’s judgements I add any weight to are my own.

 

If you don’t like that type of photography why are you in a group that promotes it? Is it your own insecurity that causes your indifference toward it?

Shadows

It always starts with a slight change in temperature, as if he's walked into cool breeze during mid day when the sun is at its highest. The little hairs on his neck dance, sending a cold shiver through his body. On occasion the sound of rustling leaves will send whispers of secrets she long kept from him to his ears. He can always sense her presence. She's never long gone, merely hiding in the shadows of familiar places they frequented together.

She left him on a perfect summer day. He never knew why and she couldn't give him a reason. Their ending was like a sudden microburst running through a dry gulley. It stirred up everything he kept still in his heart. He never knew he had that much to lose and while he scrambled to settle the dust he lost sight of her.

Days after they buried her he noticed he spent more time looking at her pictures than he ever spent looking into her eyes. They looked so empty there, frozen in time. She always had this questioning look on her face as if she blamed him. It was probably his guilt playing tricks on him.

She was innocent and beautiful and it was his influence that brought her to the time and place that would end her. He felt so alive, the chemicals racing through his blood awakened his mind in ways he never thought possible. He brought that to her, but she lacked self control and soon it controlled her. Or maybe it was him, maybe he held the control all this time.

The chemicals, the colors taking over her thoughts, the overwhelming physical sensations, and the false confidence; it all ruined her. It ruined him too, but in a way he couldn't see until his reason for living was taken. Her heartbeat stilled and that day his world stopped. He always felt so alone, but he wasn't. When she left, she left her shadow and it haunts him even now.

New Foundations

I feel broken, shattered. I built so much of who I am out of who he said I was. Sometimes I stare at my reflection and all I can see are the missing pieces that he took with him. I’ve spent enough time trying to find those missing pieces in other people, alcohol, and money that I’ve realized that those missing pieces aren’t meant to come from someone else. Some say that one will come along and hug me so tightly that all my broken pieces will fit back together, but I think I’ll let the broken pieces stay broken and build something new from what’s left. I couldn’t go back to the person I was. It’s impossible to erase the experiences and changes I’ve gone through, and it’s those changes that will become the stronger foundation for the new person I’m becoming.

Right now I’m not okay, but soon I’ll be able to stand up and firmly say I am who I am because I’ve loved and felt the sting of the loss that often comes with giving yourself completely to someone who decided to walk away.

I wonder if the weaker parts of us crumble so we’re forced to build ourselves up with something stronger.

Clean

Chilling her skin as she sat naked on the edge of the porcelain bathtub, she reached for the chrome water valve taking caution not to spill the glass of red wine. She expected the knob to squeak and was relieved at the silent way it turned with little effort. Hurried moments of the day finally settled in the deep corners of her mind as water filled the basin. She lowered herself into the warmth so slowly it seemed she didn’t trust the water, but she was merely calming the wave of chills caused by the sudden change in temperature. Filling her nose and lungs with steam, she let the stress of the day release with her exhalation. She quite liked the slow fall of the water as it filled the tub as if its meeting was deliberate and careful, unlike the hurried way the day rushed to meet the night. The smooth edges of the water tickled her skin as it rose over her body, teasing the corners of her mouth into a smile.

Eyes closed she lay her head in the water, allowing liquid to trickle into her ears and wash away the moments of the busy day left lingering. She lowered her head more until water met the outer corner of her eyes, submerging her ears and completely drowning out all sound. She hesitantly opened her eyes to the calming white tile and soft white curtain; forming a box around her it kept her mind safe from noise and color. In here she could finally settle her mind and become fully aware of her existence. She welcomed the sound of her heart beating rhythmically, sending faint vibrations through the water. Here in the water she was stripped to her basic form, she wore no labels and held no titles; in here she was naked, she was human.

Pocket Memory

It was the silent moments with him that she loved the most. The bits of stolen time when the sounds of the afternoon lulled to a quiet hum and the fading daylight lit up the dust particles as they drifted slowly through the air.  With his eyes gently closed and his mind at rest, this was the perfect moment to watch him. Her eyes would trace the beautiful maze of lines on his face. He was undoubtedly handsome to look upon, but not to her, she found him to be so much more. In her eyes he was stunning and as close to perfect as any one person could be. 

He never knew she was watching him so intently. Her presence was so soft and light that even her touch rarely stirred him. He made it a point to be strong and proud, he would always walk tall and stand firmly with confidence. Lying next to her, feeling her breath on his neck swept away the harshness of the day and let his calm and gentleness shine through. Her eyes settled on the softness of his lips and how they fell into a small pout when he finally relaxed. Seeing him like this sent butterflies loose in her stomach. She couldn't always quiet her excitement and often a happy sigh would escape as she stared in awe at the silhouette of his face. Slowly his head would turn and his eyes would light up as he smiled. No words were ever spoken during these interruptions, she would simply smile back and gently squeeze his hand in adoration.

These are the memories she kept in her back pocket and used to wipe away any sadness left from having loved and lost. She painfully missed him, but she knew with life and love sometimes pain is necessary. All of the 'I'll never', 'I'll always', and 'you wont's' faded over time, but this memory was stubborn and sat permanently in the back of her mind, keeping her warm when she felt the cold sting of just being another option to men incapable of making decisions. She was safe with him there, and there he'll stay until someone comes along and slowly strips his memory from her mind, replacing it with another image of beauty and warmth.

Sirens Are Real

Quietly she perched on the rock, listening to the slap of saltwater. It wasn’t a sunny day, but it was a warm and beautiful day nonetheless. Her eyes felt at home as they scanned the grey clouded sky. She drew a deep breath allowing the humid air to fill her lungs and let out a musical sigh. She smiled as voices of young sailors floated through the fog to her ears. A ship was coming. She loved the ships, with their harsh wood hulls and soft white sails. Most days she would call to the sailors as she sat atop the rocks, but not today, the fog was thick near the water and she just wanted to listen to the muffled sound of men tending to their duties. Today she wanted to hear the sailors sing.

Grandpa loved to tell the children stories of great men that lived out their lives sailing across the sea. Most of his stories were nonsense, full of mystery and laced with adventures; others were his own interpretation of the history he had been taught as a boy. I always sat quietly with full attention as he made his way through each tale. When the sun hid behind dark clouds he would talk about beautiful women, sweet kisses and gentle love. All of his tales helped me find a sense of adventure within my spirit as a child, but only one story left me curious and that was the story of the siren. I knew they were real by the intensity of his words as he led my imagination through the sea. He would talk of the siren’s song and as he closed his eyes you could see a tears form in the corner of his eyes. Yes, this memory was real; it wasn’t until I was much older that I fully understood his reason for avoiding family trips to the ocean. I was never lucky enough to meet a siren, but as I aged I would tell my grandson the same stories that had been shared with me. It was as I lay in a hospital bed breathing in the last bits of my life that my grandson told me the tale of the modern siren. His eyes were wide and furious and his voice seemed to quiver as he spoke. This woman had changed him, she had broken his calm, set free his spirit and instilled in him a passion so strong that he could barely speak of her without shouting.

There was something intense, strange and beautiful about her. She drew the attention from men as she passed them on the street. Each of them were left with a puzzled but wanting look on their face, she stirred something deep within them with just her presence. Men wanted her, not in the usual way a man wants for a woman, but in a deeper and desperate way as if she filled their hollow spaces with music. She had a simple beauty and always smelled like a light ocean breeze on a sunny day. Her lips were soft and sweet and her smile drew you in, but it was her eyes that enchanted and trapped your mind. They were neither blue nor green, but the color of the angry sea throwing its waves at the rocks. Her laugh was light and playful, but you couldn’t help but sense something deep and mysterious hidden beneath the surface. Even without speaking you couldn’t help but wonder how this woman knew your deepest secrets. Her presence completely enveloped you and left you feeling as if you were the only two people on the earth.

Men wanted nothing more than to stay in her company forever though she never stayed for long. She merely floated into your life like a dandelion seed and as soon as the wind picked up just enough it would float her away, leaving you cold and hungry for her. Very few were lucky enough to hold her in their arms, even fewer knew the terrain of her perfect skin. Her kisses were gentle and her love was soft and strong. Many called her an angel and some thought of her as a devil, but she was neither of those things. She was a siren and she always left a sweet, but sad melody stirring in their minds as she left their beds. It was then he realized no one could ever have her, no man would ever call her his own. She lived to show others how to love.

The passion and intensity she had loved him with has never left. In a way it was her gift to him and in breaking him she was able to show that love can be passionate, deep, and intense. She loved him with all of her, she gave herself in every way and in turn she taught him to do the same for others. She wasn’t afraid to love, she wasn’t afraid to live. Even the simple things she did enchanted him. He spent hours just watching her, listening to her talk about nonsense. He loved the silly way she was always humming a sad tune or singing lullabies to the shadows. He desperately loved her and he always will.