Anti-erotic Life Updates

Pleasant lashings of Vancouver rain beat down on the new city I call home, while I ineptly put together homemade pancakes (got the texture wrong because I eyeballed it and experimented with cake flour) and my long suffering roomie wrestles with their cold on sick day number two.

My body is a disgusting PMS mess, dry and oily and swollen, over sensitive and blotchy. Although, in theory, I see Brick this weekend I feel as erotic as a mud filled pinata. My mood, due to stuff not related to sex, is ok, but mostly I am just looking in the mirror and seeing one breast a D and the other a perky E, and feeling more prickle than warmth in my cunt.

Of course, dear reader, that was more honesty than titillation, and were this a viable commercial endeavor rather than a collection of curated truths and writing exercises, my supervisor would be having a talk right now.

Luckily for me, I am allowed to be honest, so you get bloated and itchy femdom eating flaccid (but surprisingly tastey) pancakes. That is probably someone’s fetish?

Life has been, largely, not about sex. It involves career chasing, and learning my new home and worrying about sickly family and adjusting to a climate where the air is mountain dry and ocean wet at the same time. Most of the commentary I have is how much I like the misty temperate parts, despite everyone warning me how challenging the endless rains of the North West are.

Assuming I don’t plunge into a cold, I will go to the US to spend time with my boyfriend, and we will probably not have especially good sex, because my body is being more concerned with a tantrum over my lack of pregnancy than getting more dick up in my cavities.

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1 Comment

  1. V.

     /  June 17, 2018

    Miss Pearl, I’ve been thinking over what you wrote in your retrospective piece on June 6th. The bit that started: ‘It is still very hard to find a contextual niche…’ (crap phone won’t let me copy/paste the paragraph).

    It made me think of the ‘channelling the inner Goddess’ idea. That might sound a bit new-agey but it’s not all just fluffyness, there’s a school of thought that’s all about embracing the Dark Goddess, and it’s not that sterile sex-tolerant-at-best ‘lightworker’ stuff.

    Anyway, just thought I’d mention it. It may be a way in which a woman’s FemDom consciousness may be exercised in a way that doesn’t necessitate a man being present. Nor would it rely on male approval for validation. The Goddess is just Herself if the male worshipper is present, then his subsequent admiration and arousal is the inevitable consequence. He bears witness to her magnificence but She doesn’t need him to authenticate it.

    Just a thought anyhow.

    Hope you kept the cold at bay!

    -V.

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