Woke up with my brain soaked with words from last night's blazing hot, dangerous, reckless, and powerful reading- Femmes Go Dirty South at the Center for Sex and Culture. It amazes me that I got to share the stage with Jen Cross, Allison Stelly, Daphne Gottlieb, Blyth Barnow, Nomy Lamm, Virgie Tovar, Carol Queen, Tori Adams -- and the special amazing guest star, Alysia Angel, in the Bay Area for one whole week! 




So grateful for the night, still feeling the onslaught of all of that fierce energy and also a little let down that it's over. I want to go back and listen all over again, take the words in all over again. I'm holding on to all that energy- greedy and tight-fisted and I'm finding myself feeling overheated. Brain and cunt both over full of words. I never knew I could stuff words by the handful deep inside my cunt and let them roll around together churning up my insides. 


I'm still feeling naked and over exposed from that reading where I read first person, actual me, non fiction for the first time.  I also read excerpts from this blog. I stood, at a mic, reading aloud about my masturbation practice. I'd like to tell you it was hot. It wasn't hot so much as raw and hopeful. When I wasn't immediately booed of stage, when I didn't get rocks thrown at me and the sky didn't open up and a lightening bolt strike me dead I got hopeful. Maybe this was okay. Maybe I am okay with my raw words, old wounds and love of the microphone. Maybe this exposed naked masturbation and my words about it are okay too. 


***


And this is another very packed day. Between ten and ten thirty I made breakfast, ate breakfast, handled some social media for people I support and masturbated. It had to be quick. It was ugly in how I got there and I don't have the time to tell you about that- about how it feels to be practicing this conscious awareness of everything I do, look at, read, think and fantasize in order to hit that orgasm quickly. I don't know how to tell you even if I did have more than five minutes before I have to run out the door and into the city for a writing workshop. 


I don't have the words, have never had the words to even explain to myself, let alone another person, not a partner, a therapist, a friend or you- whoever you may be who come to read these words. It's dark places with sticky walkways, it's putrid and decaying leavings from another time. All the names and faces have been changed to protect my sanity but it's way back when bogeyman men things that I can't shake. That's what takes me over the edge. 


The good news is once over the edge it was a long sweet round buzzing ride to the end and all of those good hot words and fat full feelings from all those words, from the rush of the energy in the room, from the rush of the microphone and being received by that room was there- that's what gave this orgasm it's flavor, not the ugly way I went in. It was a long spasming clit centric lovely ride till the very end and I could have gone back for seconds if only I had the time. And that second time in wouldn't have been through an ugly door.