I suppose I should call this post the Twilight effect, but that might be a put-off for some readers. Personality, I call it the Twilight fingerprint, and (regardless of its appellation), you see it all over modern erotica post-Fifty Shades.
And, truth be told, most of my creativity seems to spark fire in either March or October.
Then again, my first husband, “average Joe” and MRME were all born in early October.
Apparently, I have a serious sweet-tooth dirty-down jones addiction kick for Libras.
And my favorite brother was born in late September, which makes him a Libra too.
It makes no sense. Astrology is illogical and ridiculous and wasteful and stupid.
So maybe I just fall for guys born in the Fall? Winter too, since my second husband and father of my child was born in December, and my father was born in January.
Still, not into BDSM as a sub. As a dom, well… I wrote a poem called Manhattan, in part because MRME would look wild and excited and confused and lovely when I was angry.
Truth: men who follow the rules always lust after a woman who lays down the law.
And so, yes, I have a dark dominatrix dye to my denomination. But only with consent.
But let’s see… where did I start this post? Something about… okay, yes, Seattle-Tacoma.
Basically, there is a disproportionate skew towards setting sex stories in Seattle due to the fact that the majority of the Twilight series takes place in Washington state, and if the story is a pull-to-publish file-off-the-serial-numbers twific, then it is easiest to just keep the geographical locations and change the names of the characters to untwific it.
I think I have invented a new word: untwific. Very handy, but very limited usage.
Of course, I have nothing against Seattle or the larger Seattle-Tacoma metropolitan area.
In fact, it is one of the places I have considered relocating to, after my prison term in Arizona has ended (i.e. when my daughter turns 19 in 2022 and I can move anywhere with her, as per my divorce decree).
I have a best friend from high school (with the same first name as the next) who lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, who says I’d really like it there.
I have a best friend from college (with the same first name as the previous) who lives in Portland, Oregon, who says I’d really like it there.
I have a best friend whom I won in my first divorce (and, yes, you win friends and pets in a divorce just like you can win heirlooms and furniture and artwork and houses and cars and investments) who lives in Seattle, Washington, who says I’d really like it there.
I have a best friend from my years of gut-punch wandering after my second divorce who lives in Houston, Texas, who says I’d really like it there.
But I do love Arizona, and New Mexico, and I don’t feel like leaving either just yet.
So here’s another poem. Someday I will figure where I belong. Until then, safe journeys.
jars of jam, apricot and strawberry,
labeled and sorted and stored tight.
jerky from a rabbit caught in a trap,
and mushrooms harvested at night.
hard cider, whiskey from the copper pot:
brewed to spirit away sorrow.
tobacco, not paw-paw, cut fine and pressed:
for today, and for tomorrow.
stacks of staples: leavenings, flour and fat,
plus some various foods in can;
a loaded rifle with barrel set true.
now all I need is a good man.