Notes From a Small Cottage

These paragraphs are taken from my paper journal, written over the eight days Apollo and I were on honeymoon in May 2006. They seem to sum up our experience as a whole.

21 May

I’m sitting here with a glass of Chilean Gewürztraminer (given us by Robin, our celebrant), feeling the slight chafe of my ring as I write. There is no sound except my pen, Apollo’s pen, and the occasional startling crackle from the fireplace.

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Ancestors

Because I’m a curious person, I get to wondering about how sexual the previous generations of my family were.

(This isn’t as weird as it sounds. My parents are dead. All grandparents bar one are dead. And the greats? Long gone.)

Obviously they were sexual enough to reproduce, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. That goes for the ancestors of most everyone on the planet. But were they happy? Did they smile, or ‘think of England’? Did they have relations because it was part of marriage and  expected of them, or necessary to survive, or did they take pleasure – and give pleasure – and feel joy in coming together?

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Don’t Dream It’s Over

I’m sitting upstairs in my small apartment on a Saturday morning, eating brunch at the formica table that sits just off the kitchen. The view from the window is sunny and clear, and I’m enjoying the Spring warmth. There’s a knock on my door, which is down the narrow wooden stairs, and I go to answer it. My mother and her friend Pinky bustle in, looking excited and pleased to be there.

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Nutty Like a Fruitcake

I was randomly noodling through my computer this morning, and stumbled across this post – written exactly 11 years ago today, in 2001. I’d been writing online for a little under a year at this point, and I was 24 years old…

Some explanations / clarifications after the post, for those curious. (The post is exactly as it was written and posted – no changes have been made, much though I’d love to!)

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First Kiss

The first guy I ever kissed just friended me on Facebook. Which I actually think is pretty cool, so I friended him back.

It’s been a long time since that first kiss. He was first of many things, actually – first kiss, first oral (both me on him and him on me), first really heavy serious petting make-out session. And my first outdoor sexual experience. There are lots of memories there, all spanned over the period of about a year and a half, and I haven’t thought of them for quite some time.

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Three in the Bed

This article was originally printed in the January 2012 issue of Cosmopolitan (Australia / New Zealand), sealed section – my first professional publication! See the image below to read it as it was in the magazine. However, I prefer the version with the words unasterisked, and with my original usage of cunt, rather than vagina, so you can read that here as well. 

I should tell you, before we go any further, that my first threesome wasn’t awesome. It was good – they were excellent kissers, the oral was great, and there were orgasms for all involved – but it wasn’t what you’d call awesome.

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The voyages of Dionysos

For those of you come part-way through the tale, let me tell you about Dionysos. He was part of this story right from the very beginning, as together we discovered what kink was – he from the top and myself from the bottom.

Over the years, we experimented with rope and chains and orgasm denial and pegs and flogging – all sorts of wicked and wonderful things. With him we learned swiftly that I adored having photographs taken from every conceivable angle … and somehow that it was extra funny when ducks were involved.

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Don’t Be Afraid of Your Freedom

Does anyone else have their own theme-song? You know – the one song, that whenever you listen to it, feels thematic/resonates with your life? And cheers you the hell up to boot!

Me, I most definitely do – which is good, as it means I have something to write about.  I’ve had a theme for as long as I can remember, and while it has changed a few times, I’ve had the same one now for the best part of twenty years.

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Family

I am the keeper of my family history.

Four people, sharing a house and a life and making a family together. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son.

All gone, but for me.

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Spunky and Slippery

The sex education I had growing up wasn’t too bad. Not that it was terribly memorable either (unlike finding and devouring my father’s Playboy cartoon books. Which I now own).

What do I remember? I remember making rockets out of tampons at eleven. I remember being amazed  at sixteen when I found out that spunk (a term we used for a sexy guy) was slang for sperm. I know that I was taught about condoms and spermicide and the pill – and early enough that I used all of those things. Just.

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