"Of Butterflies & Near Death Experiences"

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

Shortly after awakening one morning in 2006, my sons came bursting into the room at 110 decibels.  M was tripping over C in his haste to make it to the bed first. C was so distraught that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying aside from the occasional Mama and NO-NO! I pulled them apart and finally established enough peace to see what was going on. Turns out that gently held between M’s fingers were the wings of a little brown butterfly…C’s little brown butterfly that he had been in love with ever since the poor thing flew into our house and couldn’t find its way back out.

I removed the creature from my kiddo and explained to him that you can make butterflies sick by holding their wings. The butterfly fell over in my hand, not even having the strength to stand which I attribute not so much to the picking up as to the lack of food from its natural habitat. M was instantly remorseful while C glowered at him with barely concealed violence. With a burst of what was probably sheer terror, the insect wobbled off my hand and fell on the floor.  Every time we came near, it made a heart wrenching attempt at escape. Finally, at its end, we were allowed to place it in my son’s tender hand for the picture you see now. I should have recognized it as a portent of what was to come.


Funny, but that bug probably saved my life that day.  For those of you who don’t know, I have a really rare blood disorder which is the polar opposite of hemophilia.  In laymen’s terms, my blood clots too much.  We found it Aug. 4 of 2005, shortly after I gave birth.  What I thought was a stomach ache, turned out to be a 6 inch clot in the vein that supplies blood to all your major organs.  I was given 2 hours to live without immediate treatment as well as a will to fill out.  They handed me my baby to nurse for the last time as I sat on that X-ray table and told me I might not wake up from the surgery I was about to undergo. Death chose to spare me for some reason that day.

Now, I can live a fairly normal life minus the martial arts and potentially dangerous activities.

After musing all morning over how to explain death to a child, I started taking stock of my current health. I realized that I had been weak and aching the past few days and had awakened with a nose bleed that morning which is something that had never happened before.  In fact, the only time my nose had ever bled that I could remember was from sparring. I placed a call to my doctor, who after testing my blood told me that my medication was off to the point that I could essentially bump into a wall and bleed to death internally. Thank God/dess I listened to my body. The only reason I slowed down enough to pay attention to what was going on with me started with trying to explain the death of that butterfly.


After my experience in Aug., I was a changed person. At that time, I had grown out of the invincibility of youth, but for some reason, always thought I at least had tomorrow.  Now I know that I may not even have today. There have been a million movies made where the main character finds out in an emotionally shattering moment that…


 (insert    here) 

their time here on earth is ending. They then set all the wrongs they have accumulated throughout the years as well as all their unfulfilled dreams to right before they go and everybody leaves the theater with a tissue. I’ve got news for you if you’re one of those theater goers.

At this very moment, second by precious second, you’re in the process of dying too and not as an actor in a movie…you’re dying FOR REAL. From the moment of conception, we are on a journey out of this world and onto the next great adventure. I lay there on that surgical table not knowing if the bright lights and scrub endowed strangers would be the last thing I saw, but I remember clearly resenting the fact that I had so much unsaid and undone and wishing with fervor that somebody, anybody had told me in time that I could fix it.


^ So do whatchu’ need to do and say what you need to say already!! ^

Thoreau had great insight into the subject when he said,

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life and see if I could not learn what they had to teach; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."


Let me be that voice today that awakens you to live your life with purpose. Sit for a moment and ask yourself honestly,


"Are you living well?"


I pray when your time comes, you will be able to look over your shoulder with the satisfied grin of one who has fully experienced all things and whisper to those left behind as e.e.cummings so poignantly stated,

"There’s a hell of a good universe next door.  Let’s go."

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

 

Love & Kisses,


Empress Magnificent

The night the Irish got lucky….and so did I.

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

It was April, which made me barely 15 yrs and 5 months. I remember looking at a clock on the side table of the INCREDIBLY feminine bedroom that my poor mother decorated in pink ribbons and lace (likely in self-defense) thinking,

"I’m going to remember this exact date and time for the rest of my life."

I didn’t.  The years have blurred my memory to the sounds of cicadas,

the smell of lantana,

a boy with the darkest hair, mischievous white smile and eyes the color of the sky creeping in through my open bedroom window,

the memory of the month and…

^ Not sure why I thought this was such a great musical choice. ^

the sound of whale music?

Yeah…I lost my virginity to whale music, on strawberry shortcake sheets.

^ The exact sheets. ^

J was 18 and a smiling yet mercurial imp of a man/boy. My parents were out of town, having left me in the care of my truly amazing aunt who happened to be at a friend’s house because she mistakenly trusted my over-hormonal ass.

He parked his old silver Camero down the street. I sat on the bed, staring toward the window, fidgeting impatiently, finely getting up to light some incense and turn on some music. 

I heard the light padding of his soft, leather boots on the grass and could smell him before I saw him. Those who know me, know that next to a gorgeous smile and someone who carries themselves well, almost nothing does me in like someone who smells good. J ALWAYS smelled and tasted wonderful.  Come to find out later, it was because he was hiding the fact that he had started smoking again, lol.

He crept in my shadowed room and sat down on the bed, tilting my chin up for a kiss, which I returned with fervor…until it registered that this was real.  I was REALLYREALLYREALLY going to to do this.

So I did what every normal, Type A, Scorpio would do when she wants her lover to feel awesome.

I flipped on the light and made him show me that he knew how to properly put on a condom according to the directions I was reading.

^ Public Service Announcement ^

If that’s not a foreshadowing of my bdsm leanings, I don’t know what is.

He did, Goddess bless him and satisfied that I wasn’t going to have any mini-me’s running around in the near future, I flipped off the light.

He nipped my bottom lip, traced my collarbone, covered my mouth with his and we breathed each other in; laying backward on the antique bed. Panties were gently tugged down with one warm hand, while his other slid up my shirt to cup my breast.

My breath caught when he reached between my thighs, sliding one finger inside, knowing I was already wet for him. I will never forget his face as he hovered over me, skin Irish white from winter; eyes sparkling blue in the candlelight with expectation. He held himself up on one elbow, stomach hard against mine, hard cock waiting at my entrance.

"Are you ready?"

he asked with a look of concern.

"Is it going to hurt?"

I stammered breathily, torn from needing him inside me, craving this foreign experience, wanting to please him.

"I’ve heard it does…a little. It all depends on the person."

he honestly replied.

"Then kiss me."

I said, pulling him close and as his tongue invaded my mouth he slowly sank inside.

I remember this stretching ache, my eyes tightly clenched closed and then he stopped, unable to go any further.

"Take a deep breath, baby."

he whispered against my mouth. I did and he pushed past the barrier.  

I tell myself that I didn’t scream, didn’t cry out, but honestly I don’t remember much but the burn when he pulled out slowly and then pushed himself back in.

I had never felt so connected with another human being before. It was like I had been made for this, for two hearts thundering hallelujah, for sweat slicked bodies crawling over, under and into each other; so many sensations at once.  It felt like I came home.

He shuddered into me and I stared at him in wonder.  That night we took each other on the bed, on the floor, and up against the bathroom door.

I kissed him goodnight after and when he left, I gathered the sheets from my childhood, now stained with the evidence of my womanhood. I dumped them into the washing machine, wearing the smile of She who Knows, secure in the thought that no horror movie villain would try to sacrifice my sweet, virginal soul.

We spent the better part of the year exploring each other insatiably. One of our favorite places was hidden at a park deep into the trails under this flowered shrub. Even now, I adore making love outdoors. My parents found out that I was no longer a virgin and J and I ran away for 3 days, staying with a friend, before finally coming home to face the music.

It was the height and depth of young love at it’s fullest and it ended when I moved to Colorado later that year.  We were heartbroken. We tried to keep our relationship alive, but the distance and my age at the time, killed it.

Years later we reconnected and to this day we are friends. I conclude this blog with a thank you to him.  You never get to repeat your first and I am so grateful that mine was with you. I’ll never forget how safe I felt with you buried deep inside me, smug smile and shining eyes. I hope you’ll never forget me either.

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,


Empress Magnificent


I’m selling my child on ebay, no reserve.

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…


 Unfair.  I had just spent the past hour trying to buy a few things I needed (ok, I say needed and it is really more like wanted which is probably why fate decided to slap my hand for being so stupid as to take 3 little boys to Target for no damn good reason.).

My mama has a very apt saying for taking my hyperactive testosterone buckets anywhere.

She says it’s like herding cats.

^Wet Pussy^

Anyway, in a period of 15 minutes, my youngest had gotten into my purse and amateurly applied mascara ALL OVER HIS EYES, which I was able to remove with spit and my thumb.

I was so grateful to finally have reached that checkout counter when…

Oh my fucking god…Oh my fucking god…Oh my fucking god….

I ripped open the supersize toilet paper rolls in my cart and frantically swiped it over my son’s tiny fingers; vehemently glaring at his new MOHAWK styled with half a bottle of dove extra moisturizing hand soap.

If that were not enough; as I was lifting the rest of the stuff out for the checkout lady, he busted his lip open on a box and LEPT out of the cart covering both of us with blood and dove hand soap.

Mind you, his fingers were still covered with the above mentioned soap. 

Have you ever tried to keep a hysterically sobbing toddler from rubbing his eyes when he is…you get the picture???    sigh

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,


Empress Magnificent


Anybody know where I can get a good voodoo curse???

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

 Anybody know where I can get a good voodoo curse????

Cuz’ that bitch at Blockbuster has it coming. 



"Is it a crying movie?", I said, "Because I have a strict policy AGAINST crying movies."

I should have known better at the first sign of that faraway expression of longing. 

I should have known better when she got that glazed look in her eyes and murmured, “Oh no, there are some sad parts, but it’s a great movie with a happy ending.”



Switch scenes to a picture of me huddled in a virtual fetal position (neck up view only, of course) surrounded by the lukewarm water in my bathtub with my laptop flickering on the toilet… 

I sat there HYSTERICALLY SOBBING crying game style for approximately 2 hours, 5 minutes and 48 seconds while watching P.S. I Love You “The best romantic comedy in a very long time.” 


^”Sometimes there’s only one thing left to say…”^

Yeah? Well all I have to say is, “Fuck you and your stupid enticing review, Bill Bregoli from Westwood One”.


I have a hazy memory from when I paused said movie to add more hot water and wipe my poor abused eyes in self-defense. It went something like, “If I die from a grief induced heart failure, I am SO going to haunt that woman. I will make sure that for the rest of her days every sweet, benign movie she brings to the counter is switched to…

I dunno…

like the funk nastiest porn out there….and I will laugh my ghostly ass off at the checkout counter
EVERY….
DAMN….
TIME.”


I’m not bitter or anything.


Well, maybe a little…

If you’re looking for me; I’m headed to Ireland looking for the end of life as we know it. (sniffle)


If you want to understand what I just said…

watch the movie. ;-)

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent

"George Stephenson’s Mother"

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

Tank Girl

I was the barely 18 year old who would show up to snipe the shit out of the college boys in the laser tag arena where he worked, clothed in fishnets, booty shorts, a half shirt and platform shoes (Yes, I was fully aware this gave me an unfair advantage and I was not above using every weapon in my considerable arsenal.). 


Blue Eyes

He was 23; an Italian college boy with eyes the color of a serene glacier, who looked down on all of us, working laser tag as a second crap job for the flexible hours it afforded him to finish school. He had a bored sneer and was completely immune to my charms…which meant of course that I had to have him.  Something about the chase intoxicates my Scorpio nature. 


Q Zar Laser Tag

^ This is the actual laser tag place where it all went down. ^

I clearly remember sitting in a booth at a favorite high school pizza hang out (which happened to be his second job) with a close friend. We were talking about how adorable he was and it was decided that between the two of us, that I saw him first, so he was mine. I felt the best strategy was to get a job at the pizza place and to continue to flirt with him outrageously at the laser tag place.

Snow


It was Colorado Springs, CO and cold as a witches tit in a brass bra.  Yet another storm was coming in fast and hard. I stood looking out the glass at the driving snow and had an epiphany.  Popping a cherry Blow Pop between my high glossed lips, I sauntered over to the desk, twirling it around my tongue and stared him directly in the eyes. I slowly removed it from my mouth and offered,

"It’s coming down pretty hard out there."

Blow

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a crooked grin, plucking the sucker from my fingers and putting it into his mouth.

(Before you ask, YES, I almost came.  Sexy bastard.)

I gulped and (coughwipedthedrooloffmychincough) regained my composure with a

"You live really far away and I’m house sitting for Jill’s family.  You can crash with me if you want."

I wrote my number on a piece of paper and slid it over to him.  He looked me up and down, glanced at it, BIT DOWN ON MY FUCKING LOLLIPOP, handed me the stick, then crumpled up the phone number and trashed it with a dismissive,

"I’ll keep that in mind."


I was taken aback and slightly appalled. This didn’t happen to me.  By God, I was superfuckincute.  I had boys lined up for days and this man didn’t want me.

To make a long story short, I developed a genuine respect for him and we became close friends.

P.S.  Turned out he has a photographic memory, so I was shocked to receive a call from him shortly thereafter.


The F-Word Book

Anyway, fast forward to New Years and I was at his house.  We were drunk as lords, reading aloud a book called ‘The F-Word’ and laughing our sweet inebriated asses off. Somehow we ended up on the floor, wrapped around each other, kissing like the future survival of our species depended on the warm melding of our alcohol laced tongues. We made it to his twin bed, wherein I attempted to fuck him cross-eyed. Being the gentleman that he was, he whispered,

"I can’t. I need to know you really want to do this. Let’s wait till you’re sober."

Love

Looking back, it was probably that second that I fell for him so hard that I’m shocked I didn’t skin my knees.

I DID sober up and we were lost in each other, moving in together shortly thereafter. The months that followed were filled with lots of laughter, making out on pool tables, Counting Crow’s ‘Anna Begins’ being sung against my clit while laying on hard floors in Georgia, learning that if you’re flexible enough (I was.), it’s actually possible to make love to someone while he is driving cross country.

Sex & Driving


We were young.  We were passionate and we were desperately in love.

We were also TOO young and passionately OPINIONATED.

A year later, I couldn’t justify the dysfunction of our dynamic. After a particularly nasty fight one evening, I followed him into our bedroom and he sank into me for what I knew was to be the last time. 

When we finally pulled apart, I stroked his curly hair until he fell asleep, kissed him gently on the lips, quietly left our apartment, wrote I Love You on his windshield in lipstick and drove to California.

Goodbye

Years later, we spoke on the phone.  I had been married 5 years and had just had my second child. I told him that I waited for him for what seemed like forever on my wedding day, but he never came. He told me that he had never loved anyone like he loved me. It was a beautiful and bittersweet conversation.

That man was my first great love and there will be a part of me that will never quite be over him. I wrote the below piece when he told me he had found an amazing woman and they were to be married shortly. Freshly out of a miserable 9 year marriage, I was devastated at my missed opportunity, but so, so thankful he had found happiness.

I wrote the below poem that night.  You get extra credit if you can tell me why I would be grateful for a stranger named George Stephenson’s mother.

Waiting for the train

"George Stephenson’s Mother"

I still remember what your thighs look like…

and how I’d want to bite your stomach because you smell like oranges after I fuck you cross-eyed…

and that…

you hated your “nappy Italian hair”, so you’d shave it close.

I always secretly wished that you would let it grow into this wild fro…

like maybe if you did—-that tight control you hid over every detail of your life would just let go and maybe then…

you would let me in….

that maybe we could run away somewhere to live permanently “in sin”…

on a clothing optional, secluded beach where we’d rock together in the waves with salt water the only barrier between us…

only not the kind of salt water that soaked into my shirt the night I watched you sleep, then kissed you goodbye.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say…

I’ve always wondered how you managed to look so damn peaceful…

if you really ever cared while the heart you said we shared was fragmenting into shards so sharp that I’m sure I almost bled to death on the way to California…

I think my leaving was something of a dare to the Universe, but worse…

Something like, my soul never got the whole…

“If you truly love something, let it go.”…

Of course, I’m older now, so I know…

I must’ve checked my rear view mirror a badillion times, damning the fact that every car passing by…

blared Pearl Jam.

This is all your fault, you know…

Or at least that was the mantra I whispered against his mouth long ago…

wistfully imagining citrus permeating the air.

I felt like I was having an affair while playing Solitaire the whole time I was with him….

I must’ve checked the hallway of the church a badillion times, damning the fact that every person passing by…

wasn’t you.

So I said, “I do”…

even though I really didn’t.

And I loved you…

even though I really shouldn’t.

And I told myself I’d get over you…

even though I knew a piece of me…

wouldn’t.

And I desperately hoped I’d forget the “F” word…

even though I really couldn’t…

because unfortunately for me New Years comes every January 1st.

So, I’ll continue to pay for my sin until the gods are completely reimbursed.

All that to say, I’m happy now with where we’re at.

I guess I just wanted you to know…

Although you don’t realize it, you helped me grow past the child I was and into the woman I am…

And…

even though I’m agnostic, I’ll still grin and pray for the Steelers to win.

And that your wife makes a killer spaghetti…

And that we’ll always be friends and you’ll never forget me.

But I’ll still remember how your scruff would scrape my tongue when I sucked on your bottom lip…

and how you would grip my hair and wrap it around your hands like you could golden rope us together forever…

and how to this day I can’t hear a train roaring past without re-living how fast you had my back up against your Bronco and my legs around your waist…

& how I could taste myself in your mouth before it was our turn to go…

and I hurried back to my car knowing how fucking grateful I was for country roads and George Stephenson’s mother.

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent

1 Notes

Sweet Dreams in London

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

Driving

I wrote the below poem a few years ago (the reluctantly die hard romantic that I am) to my future someone, but the inspiration behind it came one day when I was driving down the road. Dave Matthews’ “Crash Into Me” was playing and I suddenly was caught up in memory. 

I was 15 years old; he was 18 and British.  Both of us were children of prominent evangelists. We were in London for a conference and both his family and mine stayed with the Dutchess. I remember padding downstairs in footie pajammas like a mini-Lolita.

Lolita


He sat at the table; appraising blue eyes caught somewhere between a leer and a smirk making smart ass comments to see if I was the wholesome good girl he had heard about. I returned service with a polite fuck you smile. We were fast friends, exploring the city.  He showed me where he went to school at the palace and kept me from getting caught for picking the Queen’s roses. He dared me to make the Queen’s Guard smile and I obliged.

Queen's Guard


I can be very charming, or so I’ve been told.

Our parents kept us in two rooms separated by french doors.  More the fools they. He’d move the dresser blocking the doorway and we’d talk until all hours, sleeping when we heard Big Ben strike 4am.

Big Ben

One particular night, I awakened in strong arms being carried to his bed, somehow ending back in mine where I was slowly stripped.  He massaged my entire body with vanilla oil, then proceeded to show me what it was to have a lover lay between my thighs until the light streamed in signalling morning. He was the first to taste me.

Taste

The following day, he wrapped me in a soft leather jacket and taught me to stop fearing PDA by pushing me against the wall of the London Underground; kissing me until I would’ve happily ripped his clothes off right there. We scandalized the sweet older couple at the sandwich shop telling them outrageous stories of how we were working on our 5th child.

He held me in his lap, playing the piano and singing to me at night. I laughed until I cried when he dropped to one knee in front of God/dess and everybody with resounding proclamations of love because it freaked me out completely (the bastard, lol).


One knee

I convinced him (his story) that it would be a good idea if we both got tattooed. He convinced me that we would endure our tattoos much easier if his tongue was in my mouth.

He was SO. RIGHT.  :-)

To this day, I have never had a lover and rarely a friend who knew what I would say before the words left my mouth.  He could see the deepest parts of me and regardless of the fact that we stayed in each others presence for only a couple weeks, years could pass and when we spoke, he was instantly in my head.

In my head

Our chapter closed as most young love does…that is to say it came to an end when I returned home to the States, but to this day we are friends.


Chucks

Funny enough, we had a chance meeting a few years ago, he with his family and me with mine. I was on the escalator in jeans, a snarky t-shirt and my black Converse when I looked up to see a man looking at me in jeans, a snarky t-shirt and black Converse. It was comical and amazing how much can be said with absolutely no speech involved whatsoever.

All that to say, Past Love, I will always be grateful for who you were in my life. To this day, I cannot smell vanilla without a small smile in my mind. I wish you and yours health, happiness, love and laughter…the kind that shakes your entire body in a joyful resonance and hopefully one day mine will echo, traveling from person to person to person until someone giggles with you and you know it’s from me.

Here’s the poem.

Lightpost

"Sweet Dreams"

MMM…MMM…MMM…

and every time that song comes on I’m a thousand miles away hanging on dreamer sway,

tangled limbs and hitched breath, dying a beautiful death under your hands.

I get so lost in the words that all the world is midnight. All emotion is the feel of the light post digging into my back; it’s an all out attack on our senses.

Add the light scrape of teeth…

underneath…

my wrist held above my head while light and thunder wed and I’m drowning in sublime. 

Makes me want to smile and sob all at the same time. 

My only coherent thoughts are that you are a criminal of the worst kind. You stole my mind and left me…

musing.

You love, are my favorite alibi; the firefly dancing over the water and I am merely your reflection.

I’m a genuflection in awe of the sacred act of taking your pulse…

with my mouth…

when my lips traveled south scattering kisses that would make Lucifer blush.

If the power of death and life is in the tongue, then you make me a believer.

I am a blissed out over-achiever because you’re the north star of wet dreams and darlin’…

                 I’m finding my way home.

And when you take a slow dive between smooth thighs, I’ll whisper spanish lullabies to your secret places after I’ve kissed them buenos días, Sunshine.

                      Y mi español es muy malo, pero…

                                                       you know you like it.

Shit, I’m going to learn all the important things one should whisper in a lovers ear in every translation so I can love you in every language until your moan…

                                                                           is synonymous with my name.

I’ll paint you with my tongue until you’re the picture of fresh spit game and we’ll engage in full contact origami. My knees bent over your shoulders, 

your hair twisted in my fist, our bodies contorting amidst the rain into some kind of…

orgasmic art form, unforgettable…

something that we can take out and run the fingers of our minds over; tracing moans and grinning at sighs when the space between my breath and your body is too distant.

But tonight?

Tonight I’m craving lips I’ve never tasted.

I’m wasted on a memory I’ve not yet experienced wishing

you would hurry up and find me because all in all, I miss your voice…

and how it has this funny way of slathering itself like the darkest honey all over my skin and melting me in a hot mess of happy,

or it will..

             you know…

                          when I finally hear it someday.

So, although I know it’s not yet our time, I’m going to climb to the roof of my house soon to blow a wish to mother moon who will then hand it to the breeze who promised to whisper in your ear that I’m here.

No, you are not alone, and yes…

                                   I already love you.

                                                 Sweet Dreams

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent

15 Notes

I have a confession…

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

Naughty slave

So, something you may or may not know about me is that when I was training to be a phone sex operator, I specialized in BDSM.  Why did I choose this area with all the fetishes available is complex as the facts that:

A: I’ve a tendency to be bossy as a mother fucker and it’s nice to have an outlet for it wherein I don’t overstep boundaries with loved ones who don’t yet realize that I know best.  ;-)

B: I love the psychology of reaching into someone’s mind using my extensive hypnosis background and creating an alternate reality where their hidden needs are met.

&

C: I’ve got 3 little ones to take care of with no child support and people pay GOOD MONEY for the talent and skills necessary to help them enter that head space.

Yum

That said, I struggled with it at first because my core belief system is to love, support and protect. This is why I settled on being a gentle dom.  Would I flog a disobedient slave? Absolutely. People interpret sensation differently and there is a very fine line between pain and pleasure.  What hurts one is fulfilling and pleasurable to another.

Sanctuary

^ Partial view of Sanctuary’s dungeon in Dallas, TX ^

Disagree?

Describe pain to me.

PRESSURE             THROBBING             TINGLING               ACHING

Now describe pleasure.  ;-)

I wrote this piece when I finished my phone sex training.

Good boy

"White Knights"

I think it was the fourth time she was shown white knights are a figment of her imagination that she finally believed it;

finally received deep within, the epiphany that love is her little boys who sleep in earplugs so mama can slide on soft, black leather gloves,

mold psyches like clay

change her name from Mommy…

to Mistress.

See?

Life doesn’t come free, so she answers their plea to take control from the ones who need it, digs into their deepest fantasy and bleeds it.

It’s really sort of a balance, an oddity that the voice that sings soft lullabies can elicit cries with equally soft words.

Words heard only by the one whose ear they’re whispered in.

Whisper

Many people have read that above and commented on the cynicism that I must have as it is dipped in the pain I initially went through as well… and I have to agree.  Pain was one of the strongest motivators that pushed me to take the first steps along this path, but I found that it fed a dark part of me as well. 

Where many women complain about a loser of a man who doesn’t do anything for them and think foreplay is being told they’re pretty; I have wealthy, successful men on their knees calling me Empress while begging to taste me with no thought for themselves.

I should clarify that there is no sex involved.  These men are paying for an experience, which I am more than happy to provide them. I would take my “sex life” over most any woman I’ve ever met any day of the week.

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent

5 Notes

What do multiple orgasms & Gandhi have in common?

 

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

That said, this is not going to be a blog….

It’s more of a statement….

a cry for peace, if you will.

All that to say that repetitive things have a tendency to make me ridiculously happy sometimes….

particularly numbers.

As of this moment I am 33, which is 6 years longer than the doctors thought I’d make it & my mama’s favorite numbers are 22:22.

I always make a wish at 1:11 or 11:11.

11:11

I was thinking about that and started wondering….

who would knock multiple orgasms, right?

That last statement has little relevance to the subject, but I like to say multiple orgasms as much as possible and there is a logical reason for it.

Logical reason———-> I figure that every guru since the beginning of time has said…

"What you think about, you bring about."

Even Mahatma Gandhi said something along the lines of,

"Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits, and your habits determine your destiny".

Something to consider huh? So, I have determined that every time I see a repetitive number, I am going to think about something I enjoy repetitively, which in this case is ORGASMS…

Gandhi was far more intelligent than I, and really you should all join me in my new past time because….

If people were busy “bringing about” their own multiple orgasms, there would be

WORLD PEACE

World Peace

because people would be occupied with either…

1. THINKING about multiple orgasms (which is happy, if I do say so myself :-)

2. TALKING about multiple orgasms (which is far more enjoyable than talking about cultural differences)

3. Taking *ACTION* to ensure their multiple orgasms (aaaaand I have a decidedly difficult time believing someone is going to interrupt themselves in midst O-O-O-O to go shoot somebody)

4. Developing the HABIT of achieving multiple orgasms (Oil? The Wrath of God/Allah/Pat Robertson? Fire, Doom & Mayhem? Shhhhh…baby, whatever the problem is, we’ll work it out. Now come back to bed.)

So I conclude with this statement in my best matriarchal voice of your choice. (As long as she is over 60, slightly cranky and waving a finger in your face)

"Don’t even tell me that there is a higher destiny than world peace brought about through love and understanding, because I refuse to believe it."

—————-> AND NEITHER WOULD GANDHI FOR THAT MATTER. 

Gandhi

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent


1 Notes

So about last night…

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

And we begin…

Have you ever had one of those mornings wherein you awaken and silently say to yourself, “Christ on a cracker!  I am excited to see the pics from last night….. if only to be reminded what the fuck I did and who I should apologize to?

You almost have to do minor detective work to piece together the events.  

Apparently, I had a REALLY good time because I looked at my phone this morning and saw the following text sent to a friend.  It said, 

"Wish you were here.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m recovering from the Community Punch Bowl, my face is painted, I’m not wearing a bra and I just found my shoes."

See, I perform almost ever Monday evening at this phenomenal place that is kind of like if Moulin Rouge and an open mic had a baby. It’s a fantastic venue and the people involved are my family, not of blood, but the family you choose.

I did the below spoken word piece.

Wine

"Hero"

You…

are the very last drop of an exquisite, full bodied, crimson wine.  

And it’s time.

It’s time that you know,

that like a kiddie book; I love to read you.

I love to drag my fingers softly down your soul,

close my eyes,

          decipher weight,

                    measure substance.

Your tortured moan is my sustenance.  

The cadence of your voice alone guides me home and the butterflies in this stomach fill me with a frenzied brush of downy wings.

Mmmmm…

you tend to make me think all kinds of irreverent things. 

Those petite tumbling wonders dip and soar literally intoxicated on the unspoken promise of your rapid heart beat, which in itself is a feat because when you touch me I can barely stand on my own….

two feet that is… 

            without your palm to the small of my back that is…

                             and my cheek hard up against the wall…

                                                                  that is…

Your hot breath stirs sensitized skin, I’ll take you in. And in return for this blissful haze I’ll spill out formal words for days.

While midnight’s sharp inhale at the impending morn lets fall her ebony gown in foreplay with the sun I’ll grasp calloused hands so tender, your lips part with a secret smile. Our bodies will tell the story that our lips shall not defile.

Because your half-crooked grin makes me dizzy and sears straight to my center. You’re like my very own personal satisfaction mentor. 

So let me be the voice backed by the dawn that drips unspeakable beauty right on down your awakening sky before sleep start sucking gently on our brains and we lose our how, our where, and our why.

And darling, I am spun, spun, spun like a rogue planet out of orbit, dazed by your brilliance and set alight. I am wound up so tight 

that if I were a bit more brave I might say,

“You’ve given my heart a stutter, branded each and every one of my hidden places with the name that I utter while whispering and whimpering into the shadows of our room.”

So baby, baby, let’s spoon and I’ll tell you about how the smug in your smile begs for the tracing of my tongue, in a while I will light your insides on fire.

I will lift you up higher and higher and higher until finally…

we glimpse comet glow and I know you are the only man I would follow.

The only man who will ever fill this aching hollow…

      with the heart of a hero…

                        and the patience…

                                         of a saint.

Glow staff

 From my super sleuthing skills, I have deduced that it was shortly after that, I became cheerfully 3 sheets to the wind and went around spinning a staff, hula hooping like a dervish with a wine glass in my hand as random people came up and kissed me like my goofy state could rub off on them. All that shiz to say that after I sobered up, I walked a friend to her car. (I’m a gentlewoman like that, plus I used to teach martial arts and have serious napoleon syndrome due to the fact that I’m 5’2 when I’m lying about it, which defaults me automatically to the scariest person in that parking lot.

Seriously, piss me off and I’m like a rabid chihuahua. I may not be big, but I will jump up and bite your kneecaps off.)

Grrr

^ No means, no, biznitch! ^

On my way back to my car, there was an EXTREMELY inebriated man laying on his side along the sidewalk on his cell phone speaking with a woman who (from what I could tell) was trying to help him sober up.  I was facing to the right, passing with him on my left and he offered me a commiserate, “Hey, you know how it is, right?” I turned toward him and grinned my painted Cheshire sex panther smile.  

Sex Panther

^ Sex Panther, 78% of the time, All the time ^

At this point, I think his fuzzy brain tilted as fantasy merged with a reality wherein sidewalks are down mattresses and blue cats drive white hondas. He slurred into his phone,

"Oh, Shelia.  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet."

and collapsed onto his back.

I waved as I drove away and laughed my way home. 

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent

"Glam Rockstar Casual Smitten Nonchalant"

WELCOME TO MY BLOG, guaranteed to be just like breaking into the ol’ panty drawer and reading my diary…only with pictures!

Within its confines you will find stories of scaredy cat vampires and the woman I couldn’t have sex with because she smelled like a ghost. You’ll hear tales of love, loss, and what hopefully equates to a form of wisdom tossed with a significant dose of belly laugh (usually at my own expense). :-)  So, click follow and grab a glass of wine.

Today I have a poem for you. And we begin…

Bite

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you’re lonely as I am…

leaning there all Glam Rockstar Casual in your tight black t-shirt.

An amused smirk on your high glossed lips makes me think of honeycrisp apples.

I can taste them from over here…

while I lean all Smitten Nonchalant in my bedroom hair & ripped up jeans wondering would you cause a scene…

if I walk over and check to see if reality…

is as sweet as my imagination because

I’d pay a pretty penny for a kaleidoscope dream and spin gleaming quarters out of wishes…

I’ll gather the leftover grains and melt the silvery remains to harness the turbulent slide of my hands while I flow over throbbing sands tasting your break, it’s time to stop giving, just take. You make me lose…the witty thing I was gonna’ say right here.

I’ll whisper in upper case that your face is golden while I run fingertips over each one of your freckles like rosary beads; my supplication to whomever made you decide to crash your sugar river lazy, wind it crazy through me…

so just put your honey where my mouth is and I swear that I’ll make you forget his. Capturing every gasp, honoring the hands tightly grasped around headboard by shattering you into a million suns.

I’m not saying I’m “The One” but I would love a rowdy tumble in a cowboy hat and you. I wanna’ taste the wine running down your chin while your laugh rattles the dust off the moon like some wicked satisfied goddess playing tantric chess.

And this is just a guess, but I’d bet you want me too because you and I?

Well, we may as well be an 1800’s tintype swiped from an antique store…

Unsmiling…

Faded…

Jaded…

Staring at the FLASH of our lives dashing by while surveying our landscape…

so withered…

so parched that we’re practically begging for a naked rain dance.

I’ll take that chance if you will; you can use my mouth to keep warm.

I hear the lightening calling, my love.

Are you ready to summon the storm?

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to click follow.

Love & Kisses,

Empress Magnificent