Write Your Story

I wish every human could be seen through closed eyes.
It's what you see when you are not actively looking at hair, skin, lips, that tells you who they are.
Confused? Judging me? Let's try it, as an example.

When I look at my husband, I see beautiful blue eyes, a whitening dyed beard, a fresh haircut, and at our home, an old t-shirt and the sherpa slippers I bought for him.
When I close my eyes, I see a man. He strives to do his best in his work and his home, but most important to him is to be a good father to his two children. He's tired. He works hard bringing home our only income. He plans and hopes for our best future, but isn't entirely sure what that will look like. Still, not knowing, he keeps his pace. He does all of this for our family.

You see?
I try to see people this way as often as I can. Seeing another requires a calmness in my breathing. I need to be baseline happy at minimum, and not frantic about my to-do list.

Not too many months ago, I was all dressed up at a work party of my husband's. He waved another man over to introduce him to me, and I could see this man. It wasn't his plaid suit coat or his tie. I saw him through his face---and I couldn't tell you exactly what those details were, but I felt like I should hug him. So of course, I did, which was socially unexpected at that moment, but surprisingly not awkward. I think my husband used the word 'genuine' later.

Yesterday I returned from a writer's conference, which was less about the writer and more about the biz, but still a good time. The woman who was tasked with cleaning my hotel room---I forgot to get her name!---was thorough and friendly and kind. I don't think she knew how appreciative I was that she had mopped my floor and cleaned my bathroom. I opened my room door and smelled cleaning products, saw the floor shining. I turned back to the hallway to thank her. I don't think I thanked her enough. It felt like she had done this for me. One of the reasons we go to conferences is to get a break from our lives, to grow appreciation and love for those in our circles by having a little distance. I had rented this space to be mine for just a few days, and I think she did more than she was being paid to do. On the morning that I left, she and I talked for a while out on the sidewalk. She told me a bit about her life, and I asked questions, wanting to know more. I offered to edit and publish her story onto Amazon, which is what I am doing currently for my friend Kate.

Everyone has a great story. At times, reading their stories let's you see into their soul.

I got the idea from my excellent friend Brenda, to write stories for women who could use a little  posture, lift, strength, validation. In this case, though, these people would be lifting themselves by testifying. I'll proudly stand behind them.

She Shops

The title is just the first thing that popped into my mind; I may change it later.

Imagine a world where if a woman just was stressed and over-worked, worried about her family perhaps, or studying for midterm exams and needed a physical and mental reset to relax---a world where, next to the nail salon in the strip mall next to Publix, she could stop in for a quick orgasm. Maybe the shop takes appointments, but walk-ins are welcome too.

This world of sexual and gender equality came to me after waking from a dream. Rated PG.

I, (if I'm entirely honest) a frumpy unfit yet attractive woman, am out for a girl's night with three beautiful women. One of which is Sandra Bullock, who is almost exactly my age but is not frumpy or unfit. Just to be clear. So you have the visual.
In my dream, we are in a maze of stages, cafes and bars separated by cozy lounge areas. We're not really there for the music, but for each other. We talk and laugh and drink and eat. Throughout the night in a private room, when each woman is ready, she is given an orgasm by another in the group. I am unwilling to be a giver, for childhood abuse reasons, so I watch and wonder at the female human body. It's all very friendly.
My turn is last and Sandy is my giver. I stop to freshen up, and go back to meet them, but I get lost. There are all these aisles dividing these separate areas, definitely not designed on a grid system, and though I am diligent in my search, I cannot find my way back to them.

I don't wake up disappointed. It was a fun dream. Not just fun, but relaxed and open. The four of us had a space to be whole and complete women.

Which brings me to the she-shop idea.
Men have been catered to at saloons and baths throughout history.
Imagine a world where women were given the same opportunity.

Maybe when you imagine it, you see male sex workers mixed in there as well. My imagination didn't allow for men. Again, being honest, but as I was first sexually abused at four years old by a man with a penis, you'll forgive me my bias. I'm not gay. I wasn't ever allowed to be gay. I have no idea what being gay would even be like.

...and back to the she shop: midterms, lunch breaks. The thirty minutes before picking up the kids from school, instead of parking in a line of cars a quarter-mile long, you stop in for a quickie and then pick them up when there is no line. Self care list: hair trim, nails done, orgasm. Then stop at the grocery store for some dinner ingredients. Maybe there's a cell phone friendly online booking menu: giver preference, scent preferences, music choices, lighting. Maybe even a warm couch area, or a bed choice, or a full one-hour bubbly bath. Not like a cold doctor's table covered in paper. For an extra charge, they can give you flowers on your way out. Or a balloon.
Gift cards available for Mother's Day...