Daily Haunts

22 November 2011 at 9:18 pm (Education, Entertainment, Internet, Journal, Multilingual, Music, Plinky Prompts, Roleplaying, Sex, Writing)
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The internet is my home as much as the brick-and-mortar construct is, and the time I spend in either proves the fact. So here are the places where you're most likely to bump into me (without creeping me out and making me cry stalker, that is).

Funny Picture of Nun Religion

1. Elliquiy (http://elliquiy.com/forums/). If sites were places where we could actually live, upload our consciousness or whatever, that would be my home. An adult roleplaying site and wonderful community, which has been my largest gathering of friends, information and support network, and purveyor of creative fun times for over three years. I wouldn't get hung up on the 'adult' part of it all, if I were you; I get my kicks out of writing elaborate storylines which happen to include adult themes, not mindless smut. There are also countless books I wouldn't have read, movies I wouldn't have watched, sites I wouldn't have visited, without recommendations from there. I've raked up over a year's worth of online time there, and I'm not leaving any time soon.

2. World Enough and Time (http://worldenoughandtime.net/forums/). The 'little sister' of Elliquiy. Smaller, quieter, more literary. It was created by a magnificent, inspirational woman who, sadly, passed away about half a year later. Me and a handful of others are doing our best to keep the place alive in her memory. RIP, Nightbird.

3. WordPress (http://.wordpress.com/). I've been blogging since 2006, first on Yahoo360, then on LiveJournal, Multiply, Blogger, and finally WordPress. Blogging, as a form of writing, is a compulsion – I've posted a few thousand entries, both composed by myself and reproducing material by others that I find inspiring. I'd find it extremely hard to live without a platform to put thought into words, as longhand doesn't quite do the trick for me. Especially during the month of November, with its big writing projects.

4. Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/). Yes, it's an open resource that anyone can edit, and therefore as open to spreading misinformation as can be. On the other hand, there's a staggering amount of information there, not to mention endless links to more credible resources. A wikisearch is always my first step in any kind of research. If anything, it allows me to get my terminology right; as a non-native English speaker, I can be wildly off the mark when I try to translate something I know in Greek, but even the most approximative initial search has led me to what I really wanted to know, in very few steps.

5. Last.fm (http://last.fm/). On top of all sorts of radio stations by user or genre, it allows me to create my own radio station, mixing actual preferences and suggestions and synchronising my Winamp with my music library, so that everything I listen to, online or offline, is logged and added for never-ending refinement. What more could I ask for, especially when I want to stream music I enjoy for hours without having to choose albums all the time or when I can't use the external drive where I store my mp3s?

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Knowing Me, Knowing You

14 November 2011 at 11:49 pm (Family, Insight, People, Plinky Prompts, Relationships, Self, Sex)
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I bet that a lot of people would take it for granted that their mothers know them best. Well, no.

Masks 9

To be brutally honest, my mother stopped knowing me around the time I moved from my teens into full adulthood, and I'm not sure she was the one who knew me best even before that. I suspect my father understood me better, although he was a man of few (and to the point) words. He died when I was 17, and my mother was sucked into her own crumbling world and missed me actually growing up. I don't think she fully understands, even now, how the child she raised became the woman I am. It wasn't overnight, but one still needs to look.

No, the ones who really know me best are the men who have partnered me, for relatively short periods, considering, but got to depths of connection that my family never reached with adult me.

I have only been in two relationships in my life. The first lasted nearly five years, and even after calling the couple thing off, we remain best friends. We are in different countries now, so we don't have nearly as much contact as we would like to, but a lot of the old companionship remains. The second started as an internet friendship, grew into a long-distance affair and finally marriage and family. Seven years into it, neither of us is seeing the partnership ending any time soon.

I think the key is that I've been real friends with both my partners. We've connected beyond dating – with long walks and talks, gaming, sharing social and personal landmarks. They've both seen me at my most unglamorous – ill, distressed, angry, crying, dishevelled first thing in the morning, the lot. My ex supported me after a bout of mono, went along with me as I was tested for lymphatic malignancy, shouldered my fear, let me vent over being laid off, over making do with a crappy job and crappier people to make ends meet. My husband held my hand as I gave birth, took me to A&E writhing in agony, was by my side when I had surgery, held me at night when all my fears surfaced, during our long months of unemployment hell. It's not like my mother hasn't nursed or comforted me, but neither the worries nor the ailments of my childhood got anything on those I've been facing as an adult, away from family.

Yes, sex is a big part in getting to know someone, and the one thing one can't share with family, but you'd be surprised how minor it can be, compared to all the other ways two real partners can connect and understand each other.

Or perhaps you wouldn't.

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Sex and Chocolate

15 December 2010 at 11:26 am (Food, Greece, Sex, Women)
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Chocolate is not a substitute for sex; sex is a substitute for chocolate! After all, chocolate guarantees satisfaction every time, unlike any man alive.

Of course, things are never as bald as aphorisms like the above suggest, but the bottom line remains the same: Chocolate packs some serious satisfaction potential, and so it’s no wonder I, like millions of women worldwide, have it at the top of my sweet treat list.

Unlike many other women, though, who are picky down to the percentage of cocoa they want in their chocolate, I only demand it be milky, or occasionally white. (Yes, I know that white chocolate is not really chocolate at all, more a slab of flavoured cocoa butter and milk. It’s still wonderfully creamy, tasty and comforting, so get over it, already.) Within those broad limits, I run around and sample everything I can. Dairy milk? Sure. Fruit and nut? Gimme. With fruit fillings? Oh yeah. Caramel? Definitely. With biscuit? That’s pushing it a little, but I’m not going to say no. You get the idea.

It’s not that I don’t get occasional flights of fancy for a particular kind of chocolate bar. On one day, I want Galaxy Cookie Crumble. On another, I want Bounty (or the Sainsbury’s version, but it’s still coconut-filled chocolate). I still think Lacta is the finest milk chocolate out there, but I won’t stop buying Cadbury while I’m in the UK. I always contrive to bring back some Pavlides filled slabs (with cherry, strawberry, pear or banana) when I go back to Greece. And, for the times when the need strikes but there are no cocoa solids to be found at home, the tin of Twinings hot chocolate powder is always on hand. Thank goodness we don’t run out of milk.

So I’d rather not have to choose between sex and chocolate, if you don’t mind. I’d rather enjoy both. Just separately. Because laundry just isn’t fun, no matter the trappings.

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No Means No, Mr Wrong

28 November 2010 at 9:11 pm (People, Plinky Prompts, Rants, Relationships, Self, Sex)
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This is a curious twist of thought. I’m not looking to date; I’m married and, in all, I haven’t been on the market for a partner in nearly ten years, so all these pointers are rather irrelevant. Before that time I hadn’t dated much at all, so I’d never have figured out all that in advance. So what I’m about to do is basically put together a list of what my millennium self would have been looking for (or, in the particular case, looking to avoid), if she had my present self’s experience.

Being late
I’m usually late for a date, not too much, not even fashionably – perhaps five minutes or so, because I go about by public transport, which is not entirely reliable. I don’t like to keep people waiting, but I don’t like being made to wait either. A woman waiting at a public place is downright embarrassing; not to mention inviting unwanted attention. I can understand being held up, but in the days of mobile phones, I appreciate being warned about such misadventures in advance. If I’m left waiting on the first date, there won’t be a second one. In an ongoing relationship, I give a bit more leeway. But only a little.

Not being consulted
I like being surprised with dating activities or gifts, but surprise cannot be the standard treatment. I want to have a say on what we do and where we go. I like Chinese food, but I may not be in the mood for Chinese on the particular occasion. Not giving me a choice and then expecting gratitude on top of it all is not the way to win me over, guys.

Demanding what you won’t offer
I’ll come keep you company when you are ill, but don’t grumble about plans messed up when I’m laid up. Don’t expect me to sit through a ball game with you if you’re not up to suffering through Dancing With the Stars with me. And so on.

Insecure or jealous clinginess
I’m not going to be available for a date whenever you call – I have a life and plans of my own, thank you very much. I’m not going to stop seeing my friends or doing things I enjoy before you don’t like so-and-so or you ‘don’t see the point’. Don’t bombard me with calls if I don’t pick it up immediately. Everyone I talk to isn’t on my tail. You don’t get to vet the length of my skirts or the drop of my neckline. And I’m not going to say those three words until I’m ready, so you can stop trying to guilt-trip me. I don’t do whiners.

Pressure for sex
You want to call me a prude, I’m totally fine with it, but I don’t put out on the first date, nor on the second, not even on the third. I need to get to know people before I can get intimate with them. I’m not into the ‘friends with benefits’ culture, so I have to decide that you’re more than friend material, and that can take however long. If you can separate sex from emotion, more power to you. I don’t. Look at the bright side: You won’t have to worry about me getting all emotional the day after, because I require the emotions to be already present the night before. If you can’t wait (without fooling around to ‘release pressure’), feel free to go your merry way, because you’re not what I’m looking for.

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The Night Parade: Damsel in Distress

29 September 2010 at 11:16 am (Plinky Prompts, Roleplaying, Sex, Writing)
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Another bit of challenging roleplaying: creating an antihero – a lead character who would better qualify as a villain. Lasciel (a nod to Jim Butcher) is a succubus. I’ve tried to make her attractive and desirable, but without downplaying the depravity of her demonic nature. No Georgina Kincaid here.

Lujuria / Lust: Sabores

She hated daylight. No matter how long she got to walk the earth, that was one thing not likely to change. It wasn’t harmful, just… embarrassing. It made her feel like people could see through her. Or rather, her, herself.

Of course, that was not the case. Nobody had run away from her screaming. But she still felt kind of vulnerable. And that was why the Night Parade was the most suitable place for her to blend in… and hunt.

Lasciel, as usual, had done her daily practice in the open, under the main tent. There were no sequinned outfits or breathtaking props in sight – no snakes, blades or fire. But the Parade’s most exotic dancer was no less exotic for that. In black harem pants and crop top, arms, feet and midriff bare, a mass of fine ebony braids lashing around her face… No wonder she always had spectators gawking at her; the same ones who would return in the evening to see her perform, their souls reaching out to her through their eyes.

The one who’d chatted her up after practice had the look of a lager lout. What he really wanted was more than obvious, and he could hardly believe his luck, too impatient even to get to her trailer. Lasciel wondered briefly who would miss him. His soul was rather stunted, but it would have to do. She had more need for it than he ever would.

***

(Lasciel is solicited for sex by another of the Parade’s supernatural denizens, and complies, but with more sinister ends in mind.)

‘And here I thought I was the only one you were interested in getting into contact with,’ quipped Lasciel, gliding silently into the backstage area. Sacks, sawdust, and comforting shadows. No other was lurking there at the moment, although that might change later. Not that she minded, or that she needed the dark either.

She shed her clothes matter-of-factly, and stretched. The shadows were not really obscuring her; her kind were meant to be seen even in pitch blackness. And there, away from the mundane world, her true nature was readily visible behind her disguising glamour. Only her hair was the same, and her sleek, generous curves. But those were covered in smooth mahogany skin here, accessorised with tiny horns and a whiplike tail, leathery batlike wings and gleaming yellow eyes, sharp little teeth and a forked tongue. Completely alien, but still viscerally desirable, in a way that bypassed thought entirely.

‘Show me your best, big boy,’ she purred. ‘Close, personal and interesting.’

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