Friday, March 13, 2009


Talent from just called. I'm booked for April 7th. Holy shit. I'm gonna be a bondage model/ bdsm "performer"!

That's a helluva thing to come home to on the last day of your previous job.

Hell fuckin' yes!

Black Phoenix 3/7/09- Rope Mania!

Who has two thumbs and got three consecutive scenes with David Lawrence?

That's right! This girl!

This occurred last weekend at Black Phoenix. The evening began with Master_Tombstone and I meeting with David for dinner at Applebee's. It was a really fun and interesting dinner as David introduced the poor bartender to his "line of work"... and also introduced Tombstone and I to his newly released book reBound via his iPhone.

Then we made our way to Black Phoenix. David stopped me and told me I had one job—to carry in the bamboo that would make it’s way into my bondage scene. I did so, obediently and dutifully. After all I *am* known for my obedience.

The beginning of the night had me in the dressing room with Vanessa where we drank champagne and made her VERY, very sparkly. She was prepping for her collaring ceremony between her and Markart. The end result was this beautiful woman virtually became an angel. She is already gorgeous but between the semi-virginal (it was practically see thru) white dress and the glitter overload—Vanessa looked positively radiant.

The ceremony was gorgeous, the candlelight that surrounded them highlighted her seraphic features. She was stripped naked and crawled with the collar in her mouth to Mark. They then exchanged vows. Even I started to feel happy tears coming. You can read more personal accounts of this beautiful ceremony on Vanessa’s blog.

After the champagne was popped open and the Mark and Vanessa were duly toasted it was time to get down to business. David pulled me to the small little bamboo pyramid and he commenced to tie me first face down. I wish I could remember the specifics of his ties, perhaps he can comment later on the logistics, but all I know is that I floated from the second the plain hemp touched my skin. And once I became suspended- I no longer floated but FLEW.

The second suspension was on the same rig. This time he did a semi-inverted backwards… thing… that had me in an almost diagonal position, head towards the ground, and upside down. All four of my limbs were tied to each of the bamboo poles. This gave he and Tombstone direct access to all of my more sensitive areas, which they both thoroughly took advantage of. At the end, as I lay panting on the mat, ropes still attached to random parts of my body, I remember his appreciation of the state I was in. Rope does something very particular to me, and he seemed to be able to bask in my glow, just as Tombstone does. It was an amazing moment.

The third suspension was a completely inverted suspension and was on one of the higher rigs… and was a one-legged no less! As if that wasn’t enough, he had secured the suspended leg to one of the notorious bamboo poles. I, unfortunately, couldn’t hold this position long enough for them to drive me as crazy as they did in the other positions. In fact, at one point while disentangling me, David produced some sort of cutting instrument and commenced slicing the rope, to my astonishment. I’ve been around a lot of rope guys, you see, and their rope is their *baby*. So to see him casually cutting his rope (he cut a BUNCH off) was surprising to say the least. I must’ve said something or made some audible noise, because he looked at me and said “The rope is my medium, but you, you’re my art” or something to that effect. At that point I was simply in a daze, but that sentiment gave me all kinds of warm and fuzzies.

Three restrictive bondage scenes, pain via spanking and single tails, and enough vibrator action to give me significant practice for, left me bone dry, exhausted, hoarse from screaming—and extremely content. I even experienced some heavy drop the next day. But I’m still carrying around the pieces of rope he cut in my purse. Creepy? Maybe… or maybe I’m too lazy to take them out. But it sure does help with the drop….

Cherries popped by David Lawrence with the assistance of Master Tombstone:

-First ever fully naked public scene

-First ever Hitachi use in public

-First ever one-legged suspension

Needless to say, it was a helluva night!

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Mmmm David Lawrence

Who has two thumbs and got to have 3 consecutive bondage scenes with David Lawrence on Saturday night???

This girl!

Blog to come...

But just wanted to make a quick note about his new book reBound. The entire book is available online so be sure to check it out. And I highly suggest you purchase a copy NOW at the discounted price. It makes a great addition to your coffee table book collection!

Friday, March 6, 2009

A Strong Dose of Perspective

OK, I can make this vewwwwy easy on you. Skip to the bottom, to the "Quick and Easy Version" if ya just wanna read some fortune cookie type advice.

Otherwise... have fun readin' wha' goes on in mai head!*

I thought the day was going pretty shitty. Things had been kinda-- less colorful-- since Monday and my experience with my ex (aka the General Manager of the NJ branch of ****ers Inc.-- the company I work for) which led to my resignation. I mean, having to go in for these last 2 weeks (ok, actually twelve days as I don't work Sundays)... it's killing me. It's been two days and I'm getting more and more depressed. I love my fucking job. I mean, I maintain the structural and financial center of an entire company, I work with truckers all day, I can wear pajamas to work, and I can fuck around on Fet all day without fear of reproach. This is a gig to kill for. And yet, one person, who happens to be my boss, who I happened to be VERY in love with at one point, sullied it so much that I need to leave because I feel as though I am mentally and physically in danger.

Today sucks worse than Monday... I have to get all of my stuff out of the warehouse, where I'd been storing it since, what, July? I mean, me and P had been going around these last two days faking it until we made it. As if I wasn't leaving. It seems like it's the way everyone feels like dealing with my exodus...

Except Alv**.

"Naw girl, don' tell me dat. Naw, you playin'. Stop playin." I get a huge hug as the man wrestles with emotions ranging from anger, anxiety, and sadness

Ohhhh Alv--. Alv-- the skinny African American from North Carolina who repeats the same thing over and over, who got real excited over the "crystal clear" picture of a T.V. a customer had given him (I mean REAL excited), and who thinks won-ton soup is some kind of strange, foreign delicacy. He's so special. But he's the only one who showed emotion when I said I was leaving. who was the only one out of all the members of ****vers Inc. to willingly enter the Delancey Street Foundation where all of the workers of this company met.

Oh yeah, I probably forgot to mention that, not only do I work with truck drivers all day, but I work with reformed (reformed with the exception of my ex) drug addicts and ex-cons. The stories you hear, the things you learn when you work in an environment like that... well it should probably be considered a part of your benefits package


So moving out kinda sucke. It was another blow of reality that I really wanted to ignore. Thank goodness I had the help of Christian Davids and ElisabethDavids (who will always be "Ismene" in my heart). They kept me in good spirits and that they drove 2 hours to help me means the world to me. These kind of friends are VERY few and far between.

I took them and Master_Tombstone out to dinner and we were shootin' the shit and then I got kind of bothered. My mom had called me earlier and said something about a house fire but that everyone was ok and she'd call me later. It didn't really sound all that bad, something like a cooking accident that destroyed a cabinet or something. But at dinner with these fond friends, something hit me, in the gut. A feeling. An "ohmigod". I suddenly felt the need to get in touch with someone, anyone who could explain to me what the fuck happened.

I called my mom, my granddmother, my stepfather, my brother, and my sister. None picked up. They complain that I distanced myself from the family-- argh. Finally get my brother. While I thought his voice was the least likely I'd hear, it was a pleasant surprise to talk to him. Still, he's also the most likely to know nothing beyond the pot smoke within his college dorm room.

Then my mom called back. Actually my stepfather did, from her phone. I used to hate the man. 8 years ago, before they got sober, him and my mother, he used to terrorize the household with empty-- and full for the matter-- threats of bodily harm and anguish. But tonight, I was never more relieved to hear his voice.

He started to tell me what had happened but he was slurring a bit- while he'd given up the sauce, I know he was probably on his second dose of Percocet, whether or not his back really hurt. So I was really happy when he put my mom on the phone. I may think she's an ever-loving cunt and a "douche-cannon" (thanks Eric) but she's still my mom and at that point I was ready to start taking laps around the parking lot, I was so nervous.

I started going into shock when she recounted the events of the previous night. As an empath I could feel how it felt when C**, my 7 year old brother came in to tell her the TV stopped working and how terrified she was when she walked in to see gray smoke pouring out of the outlet. I felt what it was like to grab the kid- to scour the immediate surroundings for what you should be taking in case the place goes completely up in flames. I felt what it was like to have your husband of five years (although she has shitty taste, it is love after all, and love-- I understand-- see excerpt above about loving a toxic asshole) battling the blaze for 25 minutes while you impatiently wait for the FRIGGEN firemen to arrive to save the day. I felt the terror as the firemen went to leave and my fairly high husband asks if they checked the basement and as they open up the crawl space (no, NOT DFP's) and watch as smoke BILLOWS* out. The anguish as the hoses the inept firemen used only pushed the fire farther into the house and destroyed more of the precious irreplaceable stuff that one stores in the basement...

And what's the kicker of it all? My mom, the person who, in my angry adolescent angst years used to positively hate, the woman who beat several HEAVY addictions and continues to fight against rampant co-dependency (AKA wiping my douchebag stepfather's ass all the damn timer-- ok well he's not so much of a douchebag now either)... the woman who sold herself and her kids for drugs, who very nearly lost her identity as a human being... she said that we (meaning her, my stepfather and my little half [whole in my heart) brother] were blessed.

No one got hurt, not even Lucky, the dumbass chocolate lab. And within 24 hours, her connections within Alcoholic's Anonymous found them a "home". Not a hotel. 2 bedrooms, every amenity you could imagine. And the insurance company is paying for it. A home. Within 24 hours A place to stay until the damage was repaired. And this ex Meth head, who has no other faux "silver linings" was able to see the positive.

I tell ya. If ya met me a year ago you'd know I fucking HATED her. So to admit that I love this woman and that she taught me a lesson today is rough... I'm so happy for them and the energy they give me over the phone. Even if it took her other 3 grown kids from previous exploits and her making a new life with the ex-psycho, now somewhat reformed husband and the kid they made.

The only thing that is still making me feel these intense JABS-- yeah, they're fucking jabs... and they need to stop-- of depression is that she made me give her a bin I had taken mistakenly when I moved the fuck out. It had all of my dad's stuff in it and my old report cards, art from art shows I did (holy SHIT, I used to do art shows. And poetry contests. And speech and debate and fiction writing... wow I am a person. And not just someone who likes to be tied up... Sorry just need to remind myself sometimes because I really do love to be tied up) in it. She made me give it back. Luckily, I planned to do a scrapbook for my siblings (the one that share the same Daddy) and I had swiped a lot of his pictures, his wallet, his school term papers... and other random things. So something was working with me there.

But still. My past. A lot of it. Is gone. While it's not my dream home, like that house was to my mother... my past, the happy parts I like to hold onto... are gone.

shakes head vigorously

This blog was SUPPOSED to be about perspective. But yeah, if ya haven't figured it out yet, skip to the Quick 'n Easy Version at the bottom:

Quick 'n Easy Version My parent's house burned down. My past is missing. They don't have their dream house anymore but still feel blessed. So... yeah... how the fuck are you blessed?