Archive for the Polyamory Category

Once in a Blue Agave Moon: (unk. chapter, out of sequence, tbd)

Posted in Economic Redistribution, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, Once in a Blue Agave Moon, Polyamory on June 1, 2017 by dreamlanddancing

 

Jed Drummond awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. It had been a long day’s journey to reach their camp; a temporary outpost so far off the beaten path as not to be discovered, it afforded safety in its isolation and a hidden underground larder of fuel and other supplies that would be needed for the last leg of his journey.

It was one of many FBO’s (fixed base of operations) that he used to conduct his business ventures.

By the time he had pitched his tent and set up camp, he was exhausted. Thankfully he slept undisturbed for longer than he could remember. It was so quiet that the dog had not even barked once.

He had slept most of the night in the “dreamless sleep of the dead,” as he called it, and it wasn’t until early morning that he began to dream of earlier, simpler times so easy as to be taken for granted; so much so that they were more conspicuous in their absence than when their luxury was everywhere amidst a sea of humanity drowning in its discontent.

As he slowly awoke, like a fish coming to the surface from the bottom of the sea, he heard soft feminine voices in hushed tones and the occasional clink or clatter one would associate with breakfast’s preparations.

This alone was such a luxury as he had not known for a very long time. He was usually the first to awake, and until recently, more often than not, alone. Although rarely wanting for company, he had chosen to live alone ever since his divorce, more years ago than he cared to remember.

Phrases like “familiarity breeds contempt” or “absence makes the heart grow fonder” had been his guiding principles in times when the ambience of loneliness wafted like a heavy musk amongst the desperate souls trying fill a void that could not be displaced by money, security, or objects.

In the process, he had lost contact with all of his closest friends, mostly women, who grew weary of waiting for him to “seal the deal” despite the fact that he believed that somehow, circumstances even he could not foresee would bring them back together again.

He believed they all needed time and space to mature and learn life lessons they would never experience willingly at each other’s hands within the smothering, stifling influences of either marriage or even monogamy.

More than once, he had begun to doubt those beliefs, but there was no way to turn back the clock, and he already knew that the only thing worse than the pangs of solitude was the suffocating tandem loneliness bereft of privacy or independence that two resentful souls, each a prisoner of the other’s misguided and fearful intentions could inflict upon each other in the name of Love.

He was right that there was no way for him to turn back the hands of time, but the Armageddon Virus had effectively stopped the clock of Western civilization dead in its tracks.

A misguided, digital, binary Jihad launched by opportunists who invoked the name of Allah to distort the teachings of Islam, fed by the endless provocations of those who would use the names of their gods to fuel an endless spiral of hatred and violence on both sides, it had seemed the End of Days was upon them all.

Yet beyond that, it was pure chance that had brought them back together.

As he awoke this morning, finally realizing how much he now cherished this Here and Now moment amongst newly reunited old friends brought together by circumstance and common cause, this gratitude he felt was so overwhelming that he sighed deeply, eyes still unopened as he felt a lump grow in his  throat.

For years, he had not allowed himself the luxury of tears, whether of joy or sorrow. “Men don’t cry.” He had been raised to believe their was something wrong with him, even as a child, when circumstances too sorrowful for words had prompted him to allow his weakness to show, until early in his twenties, when his mother had died and his father, the toughest, yet kindest man he had ever known suddenly wept like a baby in front of him.

It so unnerved him that they never spoke of it again, until his father passed away, leaving him overcome with self-contempt over the most basic of human emotions.

Now, years later, in a world of chaos, loss, death, and despair, it had become the Tears of Joy that had been the hardest to suppress. Ironically, it had taken the collapse of Western civilization to put him in touch with an abiding sense of gratitude that permeated every blossom, or cool breeze, sip of clean water, or kind face he saw wherever he looked.

But old habits are hard to break, and as The Three Winds (as he called them) parted the flaps of his tent, bringing with them coffee, breakfast, and cannabis, he laughed and shook his head, coughing lightly to mask how glad he was just to be alive, right here, right now.

Chazz Vincent

05/31/2017

 

She Wants to be the Other Woman

Posted in Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Much Too Good For Children, Polyamory on February 9, 2017 by dreamlanddancing

(This is a re-blog of a previous post; it occurred to me that if it was appropriate for me to remember and re-visit this idea, perhaps we could all use the reminder.

Polyamorous or not, our significant others are often too easily taken for granted; we forget the thrill of Infatuation…The Crush that we once experienced with them.)

This post is dedicated to Suki.

She Wants to be The Other Woman

(There is an old Italian proverb that asks: If your wife and your mistress are both drowning at the same time and you can only save one, which one do you save?

The answer is your wife…because your mistress will understand.)

*****

She said

she wants to be

the other woman…

the one I yearn to see

when I can slip away

for a clandestine rendezvous.

Furtive hours

of stolen kisses

that must remain our secret

between we two.

The one who gets excited

to know I’m seeing her.

Mia Cumare.

Mia Innamorata.

Mia Fidanzata.

*****

I said

“I guess that means

that you won’t be telling me

how we should spend our money

or argue how to raise

our children

or forbid me to buy a motorcycle

if I should choose.”

“It also means

you can’t wake up

in bed with me

each morning,

or sleep in late on

Sundays long past noon

or be seen together

in public places,

or watch our children

accepting awards at school.”

But my dear

such is not the case.

You already know.

You understand.

In our perfect world

together

in our

House beside the Sea

you get to be

The Other Woman

as you may please

and still come home to me

or

better still

to share

another man

another woman

perhaps their spouses, too…

The circle grows

but remains unbroken…

unflinching fidelity

no lies

no excuses

no regrets

or apologies

required.

And yet it all begins

and ends

with

Me and You.

Namaste

Chazz Vincent

Favorites #5

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone on May 14, 2016 by dreamlanddancing
Our Seventy-Two Hour Honeymoon
Elope with me for a weekend
together at my villa
in Dreamland,
built on the grounds
of an abandoned test range
for nuclear sex toys,
dangerous dildos,
poison plastic peckers from China,
toxic-waste jellies
and flammable lube.
(…don’t worry, it’s safe now…
the Night Porter told me so….)
Besides,
who wants to live forever?
We can consort in feigned anonymity
like secret agents
in a room so dank with the scent
of our co-minglings
that if it could rain indoors
we’d be drenched
in a spooge monsoon.
Be my bride on Friday,
my lover on Saturday,
my Slave-girl Sunday morning
my Mistress in the afternoon.
I’ll sit on a footstool
at the end of a giant bed
as you sit there naked
on a great silver tray,
like a glorious helping of wedding cake
in a banquet hall
while I stick my tongue
between the layers
to lick out the icing
‘til my face is covered
in frosting
and you are but a puddle
of satisfaction
reflecting the Moon.
Run away with me for the weekend.
We can visit historic Key West
as seen from the inside
of a forty-dollar room.
We’ll drink rum and tequila
straight from the bottle
like smugglers
and pose for each other,
taking
pornographic pictures,
brandishing guns and knives,
wearing bandoleers
(maybe even take a hostage or two…)
We can howl like coyotes
in love with the Moon,
then blame it all on the peyote,
or maybe the ‘shrooms….
Where we will be going,
there is no room service,
leaving us
to service each other
at will.
Anything is possible at Hotel Dreamland.
I have a suite of rooms
reserved there always
and the doorman
already knows your face,
but not your name.
We can paint on the walls
like primitives
sharing stories and visions
and Satsang
and the smoke shall carry our words
straight to Heaven,
so that there shall be no lies between us.
Cum with me to Dreamland
for our honeymoon weekend.
Marry me for one weekend,
Three days of one body
one mind,
no guilt, no shame, no sin,
and no fear.
No expectations,
no disappointments.
We’ll divorce on Monday
(‘til next time.)
The Villa at Dreamland
is always right here.
It shall be my honor
to serve at your pleasure.
I’ll leave the light on
to await your return.

Jacob’s Ladder

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Letting Go, Love, Polyamory on June 18, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Know this…

You will regret

the things you didn’t do

at least as much

as you will regret

the things you did

you wish you hadn’t done.

Each rung must be stepped upon

as we climb higher

and when you reach the top

You realize you are back

at the beginning.

Indeterminacy.

There is no up.

No down.

Only just this.

All life is in motion.

In motion we confirm

that we are still alive

within the Drama

of our Dharma.

Just never look away.

It is not allowed,

and so it is

that even this must be allowed,

for it is only forbidden

to forbid

In My Perfect World…

And in that one thin moment

when I loose you

as you look away

still determined not to allow

yourself this unbridled bliss

even then

we both know

I will still be here

when next our eyes should meet.

This is our loving

challenge

of truth or dare.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

06/17/2015

Who Am I? (revisited)

Posted in Bardo Thordol, Letting Go, Polyamory, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, Zen on May 23, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

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Who Am I? (revisited)
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
All is Impermanence.
All is Folly.
Even the coming and goings
are an illusion
created within the mind.
No inside.
No outside.
No mind.
Before ideas,
before thoughts,
before words
there is only this.
Just this.
Only this.

Just like this.

Who am I?

What is the Truth?
Twice daily
water flows
in and out of the lagoon
where fish swim.
Is this the only truth?
You already know.
Before thoughts,
before words,
put everything down.
The comings and goings,
Inside and outside,
All is illusion,
All is Impermanence.
Dancing in a dream of the past.
Dancing in a dream of the future.
I ride the three-hundred-mile-per-hour train
in the ever-present
never-present
present moment.
I look outside and all is a blur
but inside the car only I move.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is my one true face
before my parents were born?
I am the truth of one mind.
Of clear mind
Of no mind.
So simple and perfect
staring back at you
as you gaze into the mirror,
yet if you
speak one word
to describe it
you shatter the stillness
that drowns out all the words and wisdom
of all the great teachers.
Already you know.

The truth is on the tongues of every blade of grass
singing harmonies
to the wind in the pines
and waterfalls,
the sounds of lovers
or the din of traffic
and industrial motor noise alike.
More eloquent than words,
more profound than all wisdom.
Seeking the truth or enlightenment
through thoughts or words
is like trying to hit the moon with a stick,
like a dog that chases its own tail,
that wouldn’t know what to do with it.
even if it should catch it.
If you open your mouth to speak
you are only another talking monkey.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is the true way?
North
South
East
or West,
all paths come back upon themselves
if only you travel far enough.
If all things return to the One
where does the One return?
Zero.
The sound of the wind in the pines
and the crashing of the waves
upon the shore
are singing
a song of Selfless Love
as shadows grow longer
while the sun moves westward.
See your one true face in mine.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am All.
I am One.
I am Nothing.
The sound of frogs
singing at night
comes in through my window.
So simple.
So true.
How did I not hear it
for so long?
Listen.
Smile.
Give.
Love.

All the wisdom
of all possible worlds
is within you now
if you will but listen.
Everything you need
you already have.
Everything you need to be
you already are.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
Be here now.
Be nowhere.
Be now here.

Birds swim through oceans of fire,
while stone angels fly
and
fish dance
to songs
sung by
the rocks
as mansions of sand
crumble in the sky.
Just this.
Only this.
Just like this.

Who are We?
I am I
You are You.
I am You.
You are Me.
We are One.
We are All.
We Are Nothing.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
05/22/2015

On Letting Go, Part II

Posted in A Womens Flower, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Letting Go, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, NSFW, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone with tags , , on May 12, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

On Letting Go, Part II

(Love)

When they first acknowledged their mutual attraction, he had described his feelings for her in a poem entitled “Pandora’s Box”. Although he already feared they were crossing a point of no return, neither of them ever intended to upset the delicate balance of forces that were necessary for both of their families to remain intact.

They knew it would be difficult to maintain sufficient discretion to avoid being swept away by emotion and passion. They loved their spouses and children too much, despite the longings they felt that had been ignored at home for too long.

They each had told their respective spouses of their friendship, and initially neither of them had gotten particularly alarmed, partly because both couples had been swingers long before the romance had fizzled, but Elvis had definitely left the building a long time ago.

He had once told her, shortly before she volunteered, that he supposed he needed to find a woman as committed to her family as he was to his. He did not wish to replace his wife any more than she wanted to replace her husband.

Neither she nor her husband were completely on board with polyamory, and at that point, neither was his wife. It was acceptable to screw other people (especially if they were together when it happened), but to express feelings of affection, let alone love was most definitely not, although it was she who first spoke the words.

They believed that the tender affection that was developing between them would allow them to trust the mutual respect and deference that would be required of them to nurture each other in a way that they could take back to their families, so as to inspire and energize the romances that had been so significant in their absence at home for too long.

Seeing himself as reflected in her eyes was spell-binding. Her admiration and love for him transformed how he now saw himself, and he suspected it was doing the same for her.

They knew it would not be easy but they had the highest and best intentions for everyone in their lives…including each other, and they believed in each other in a way that had taught them to believe in themselves again. They also believed that, no matter what or where it all might end, that they would remain close friends forever.

It didn’t matter that it would be difficult. The Pearl of Great Price is believed to be daunting to acquire, but they trusted in their hearts that they could accomplish anything together, although in the process they had unwittingly stumbled into The Kingdom of Heaven.

And when it was over, he only wished to be able to let go of her without letting go of the love he felt, or the feelings he had experienced…welcome to Hell.

Forget Pandora’s Box…it now seemed as if it would have been easier to put the smoke back in the cigarette.

It had been a year since he had seen her last. She worked in an eye clinic that was in the same building as his doctor’s office. It was also the location of his son’s eye doctor. He knew she was there, but had avoided contact with her. It had been much too painful for both of them when they were forced to stop seeing each other, and they really never had the chance to even say goodbye.

Although they never had any issues with each other, their spouses had plenty, and it had been because of them that they were forced to end it. It had started as a workplace romance, and she had been terminated suddenly and without warning, partly due to her alcoholism, of which he had only the faintest inklings.

Six weeks later, despondent, drunk, and unemployed, she tried to take her own life, and went into rehab.

They had been the most unlikely-looking couple one could imagine. He was short-statured, muscular, but a bit overweight, as well as twenty-five years her senior. He had been a charming rascal in his youth, but those days were far behind him and he felt dead inside. The greatest love of his life had become estranged to him, after two decades of marriage.

The year they got married, she was fourteen years old.

By the time they met, he had come to believe that he doubted he could even be attracted to anyone who would want to fuck him.

Not that his wife wasn’t quite beautiful herself (and also much younger than he), but it had been over four years since she had expressed any desire to make love to him. She had even told their eldest son that “…It’s just over…there’s nothing left….”

He had first noticed this woman destined to become his work-spouse when they were moved into adjacent cubbies, but she was six feet tall, blonde, thin, much too young and beautiful and had a sweet personality that matched her perfect figure. Although they quickly began to engage in playful banter, he did not even dare to hope that it would become something so intimate so much more quickly than he could have ever thought possible.

She said her incongruous Hispanic surname came from her black Puerto-Rican father to whom she bore absolutely no resemblance. It also turned out that she had in fact not married the father of her two children, although they had lived as man and wife for over thirteen years.

Their mutual senses of humor were uncanny. Despite the fact that he was often self-absorbed, complicated and irreverently intellectual while she was completely straightforward and unselfconsciously goofy, they fed off of each other like George Burns and Gracie Allen.

Even he could not explain how well she seemed to get him, despite his frequently obscure references and viewpoint. Their antics and repartee buoyed the spirits of everyone around them in an environment that was both stressful and oppressive.

Surprisingly, despite her beauty she had become somewhat introverted and a bit of a wallflower before receiving his admiring provocations. Her husband seemed to play upon her insecurities with cruel criticism and too little acknowledgement or validation, perhaps because he feared her beauty.

A friend of his had once confided to him that he had always regarded her as plain, introverted and shy before either their romance, or the blooming of her blossom. Everyone in the building noticed the change in her countenance, and attributed it to some heretofore unrealized qualities and talents that he must have possessed, which completely changed how everyone regarded him and caused no small speculation about where his talents had lain (or laid depending on how you speculated or conjugated), which helped explain why their romance was so graciously accepted by their peers.

They had worked together in somewhat close proximity for over a year before even he had noticed her at all before, but he seemed to bring out the clown and the extrovert in her, and she loved him for it.

Without her around he could be more than a little aggressive, critical, intimidating, confrontational, negative, and depressed. He did not do much to filter anything that came into his mind or out of his mouth. He shocked many of his fellow employees and offended almost everyone at one time or another.

A friend once described him as an “acquired taste…like Scotch Whiskey, Cuban Cigars or anal sex” but somehow when they were together his “big balls” and her good-natured sweetness seemed to make everyone smile…despite the fact that their scandalous mutual admiration and affection could not be ignored.

Although he was by nature more discrete, she unselfconsciously wore her emotions on her sleeve. They had the same lunch and break schedules, and everywhere they went she hung onto him as if she never wanted to let go. She towered over him and it was impossible to ignore their mutual idolatry.

It was odd to see them walk together, like watching a giraffe being escorted by a gorilla. Although they made the most unlikely looking couple, once you got used to seeing them, it made perfect sense.

He was quite the gourmet chef, while she on the other hand, could screw up hamburger helper. Once, when she had neglected to bring something to eat from home, he offered to share his meal. She had only tried once to make something for both of them….

After that, by mutual agreement, every day, he prepared his elaborate meals for both of them which they ate together on the patio.

One day a passing co-worker saw the pasta Florentine they were eating and said “How sweet…just like the Lady and the Tramp” whereupon she jokingly replied in a stage whisper to her paramour (as well as anyone within earshot) “Did he just call me a tramp?”

“…not unless he also just called me a lady” he replied.Their humor never seemed to miss a beat.

To look at him, he was in fact the picture of The Little Tramp, and he even had a tendency to walk like Chaplin’s most famous character. He had long ago abandoned the concept of “dress for success” for a telemarketer’s job where the public never saw him.

He jokingly referred to his wardrobe as “a walking clothesline” alluding to the first stanza of the Rolling Stones’ song Jigsaw Puzzle.

Cargo shorts, some kind of rock and roll tour t-shirt, sneakers, and either a Dickies work-shirt or a Florida (not Hawaiian) collared shirt worn open and not tucked in over the t-shirt like a sport coat and either a baseball cap or a Viet Nam-era “boonie hat” were his standard apparel yet it still was not ample warning for his sometimes outrageously unconventional personality.

It was originally only supposed to be short-term employment until something better came along…it never did.

In “previous lifetimes” he had been a chemist, a teacher, a film-maker and videographer, an audio engineer, a professional guitarist and recording-studio entrepreneur, a television repairman and cable-TV installer, armed body-guard, firearms instructor and general “gun-bum” before becoming a critical-care certified paramedic until Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder made even that impossible.

He never stayed in any field of employment for more than six years until he became a medic, and his romances and previous marriages were equally short-lived before he met his “Goddess” who had given him three children, two of which were his own.

Oddly, shortly after he had become infatuated with this Lolita (who herself was thirty-something) his sales figures went back through the roof despite a severely depressed economy.

As sweet and good-natured as she was, she was also a bit of a simpleton and all she desired was to be Eliza to his Henry Higgins.

Her name was Virginia but to everyone else (including her mother and husband) she was Ginger, although she confided to him that she thought it sounded too much like a stripper’s name. Of course, he called her Virginia, but much later, whether he crossed Virginia Avenue to go to work, or used ginger in some dish he prepared, or even when he drank gin, he could not seem to get her out of his mind.

Despite the fact that he and his wife had reconciled and renewed their own romance, there were only two times when he did not think of her at least once a day…when his mother had died and later, when his brother died. He neither tried to remember nor to forget her…but he had come to believe that it was inevitable that he would be forced to confront his attachment to their now-forbidden romance.

There would be other times, other places, other lovers for both of them, but their time was over. Like cut flowers that would either die unappreciated or be harvested and brought indoors to be admired, we are all here for just a moment, blossom and die.

Everything in between is a choice.

The last time he saw her it was impossible not to hear the catch in his voice as he watched her try to discretely brush a tear from her eye. They both realized they would never forget each other, nor would they ever be the same and that they would probably quietly carry each other in their hearts until the day they died.

As he stood there, he felt a distinct tearing sensation . It was like something was being ripped from his chest.

As he walked away, it was as if he felt the breath being sucked from his lungs, but instead of panicking, he just leaned into the sweet pain of his realization that it was finally possible to let go of his attachment for her without forgetting what their love had given them.

Somehow in the scheme of things, that was enough, and much more than he could have hoped for when they had crashed into each other so long ago.

On the long drive home, he tried to think of how to tell his wife about his revelations regarding their encounter without re-opening old wounds.

Nothing came to him until days later when he decided to write this story.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent 05/08/2015

TTWDWW: Define Your Purpose, Choose Your Audience

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Explicit Sexual Language, First Amendment Rights, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Post-Neo, This Thing we do with Words, this thing we do with words with tags , , , , , , on April 24, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

This Thing We Do with Words, a slight return.

Part Seven

Define Your Purpose, Choose Your Audience

Let’s face it, most of the great works of our civilization are now almost never read at all, and certainly would never have become famous or commercially successful today, especially given the “idiocracy” of our semi-literate cultural and educational system.

Much like the question “would you rather be right or happy?”, one may well ask “would you rather be famous and rich, or masterful and original?”

I am also reminded that even Literotica in and of itself is not my primary objective.

It is my goal to write creatively, imaginatively and never look away. As a result, I get my strongest support from my fellow travelers in the Kink/Fet community in general and Polyamory in particular.

Although I generally have come to believe that my lack of singularity of purpose as an erotic author has caused some to regard me as too esoteric, while the “serious” aficionados of Post-Modern Literature (or perhaps Post-Post-Modern) may find me too sexually preoccupied.

Sadly, as the practitioners of Post-Modern continue to age, it may all too soon become Post-Mortem. I prefer the label “Post-Neo”.

Most erotica has suffered from its narrow perspective. The fact that its primary intent is to sexually stimulate the reader is not a bad thing, it is just limited.

There is no reason one cannot be intellectually and sexually stimulated at the same time, and in fact for me, it almost has to be that way.

To me, Life is erotic. Mystery is erotic. Challenge and Adventure are erotic. “My advisors” tell me that criminal activity is also erotic, and Danger is most definitely erotic.

While the rest of the entire animal kingdom is dancing to a tune called “Let’s Fuck” Man alone tries to separate brains, hearts and genitalia into convenient categories, (despite whatever Feud may have had to say on the subject) as if they operated independently of each other.

There are few stories worth telling, let alone reading or listening to that do not have an undercurrent of erotica within the actualities of the entire story. As a culture, we are still so conditioned by embarrassment regarding sex that we think that there is no relevance to include it in “serious” works.

The film “Einstein and Eddington” is a perfect example.

Most people would not equate General Relativity, or Quantum Mechanics with the backstory of a man with both a family and a mistress, but then again, I personally find both subjects to be very sexy…but maybe that’s just me.

I was heartened to learn of his polyamorous history. I was already aware of his idiosyncrasies as well as his amazingly off-beat humor, but this just garnered more respect for him in me.

He was fearless in very fearful, judgmental times.

Although the film did not explore the erotic details of Einstein’s life, given the narrative, I believe that there would have been tremendous potential for truly erotic dramatic action.

After all, who knows what a man with enough imagination to come up with the Theory of Relativity might be capable of in the bedroom, or who-knows-where else? If they lived “in my perfect world”, they would have all gotten a house by the sea.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

04/23/2015

 

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Meine Lust am Leben!

Death, The Life Story

Tracing a life through stories of death. Sometimes funny, sometimes not.

Chaotic Shapes

Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll

Masturbation Monday

Where getting off is half the fun...

Lyfes Poetry

BLog Hard Or Go Home

stormy musings

Whatever, whenever

Nature Art

Photography, Creative Writing & Art by SAJIA AFRIN

Broken roads of Destiny

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou

An Obvious Oblivion Blog

🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃

Living to help other disabled people, and people in need, Change the sign!! And Earth

I been online since 1994. I seen the internet at its finest. Then the World joined and fucked it up

Blog Femme & Infos

"La mode sans vulgarité"

latinagrrl177

daily life in a family of 8.....

Felicity Johns

This site is rated for MA audiences only.

Peri şair karanfilli

Nefesime,hayatıma,aklıma esen her şeye dair.

Too much Too soon

Live rat race

cakeordeathsite

What would you choose?

The Over The Line Show / Podcast 42

The OTL Podcasting Network

CinnamonAndSparkles

If I had a power color, it would be sparkle. Landon Brinkley

Diary of a Married Woman

Power Exchange and Letting Go........

A Boy and Her Dog

Traversing the Border between Butch and Transgender

freeing excalibur

He who holds the sword, owns my heart

Analbarbie.de - meine Blogfavoriten!

Analbarbie - Bei diesen Blogs lese ich gerne mit!

Meine Musik^^.

Ich liebe Musik ... kann ohne nicht sein! Hier gibts alles über meine Favoriten.

Ingwerlatte reloaded. Leben und leben lassen!

(Vive et vivere sine)² - Leben und leben lassen!

The Chrysanthemum and The Sword

“Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage, and confidence in the doing.” “Even a sheet of paper has two sides.”

Molly's Daily Kiss

A Kiss is Just a Kiss -

olivia submits

...the journey continues

toraprincess

a married woman's journey into D/s

Christina Strigas

You can't break up with a soul mate

The Art Of Fearless Living

Being afraid is human, but staying afraid is a choice.

Milenanik3's Blog

Just another WordPress.com weblog

vinnieh

Movie reviews and anything else that comes to mind