I'd rather clean the toilet

I don’t usually talk much about the writing process here at Donuts and Desires, but this blog entry is yet another exercise in procrastination. That’s why today’s topic is… procrastinating…

The truth of all truths is that whatever the task, it will expand to fill the time you have to perform it. I always work more efficiently when I have absolutely no time to get a piece finished. I’m working to a deadline at the moment, the pressure is mounting, and still I can’t stop myself from procrastinating.

Things I’ve done today because I didn’t want to work:

1. Cleaned the toilet (out damn’d rust stains!)
2. Washed my bedspread (it was pretty sexed-up – a story for another day)
3. Phoned my Sweet (who told me to get back to work)
4. Phoned my friend Monty (not home)
5. Phoned my mom (busy – I need more friends!)
6. Made a spinach and mozzarella quiche from scratch
7. Ate it (delicious, by the way)
8. Started writing this blog entry

It’s not that I’m blocked. I know exactly where this story’s going and exactly how to get there, but that’s half the problem. See, I have the attention span of a three-year-old at a discotheque. That means as soon as I’ve figured out what’s going on with a piece, I get bored with it. I want to move onto something else.

If it weren’t for deadlines, I would never finish anything over 5,000 words. 5,000 seems to be the tipping point for me. Under that word count, I can write it, rewrite it, reread it thirty times, and never get bored. Stories longer than that, or –Ganesh forbid!- novellas, grate on my nerves until I put them to bed in my WIP folder. Never to be seen again…

Better get back to work before I start rambling (or is it too late for that?)…

a scenic landscape is not a garbage can

This photograph, gorgeous but for that blemish of a bottle, was sent to me by my ex.

And there I was thinking his creativity didn't extend beyond the bedroom!

I love this image because I started to absorb that golden sand, those lush green trees and the emerald lake water before even realizing there was garbage in the shot. Then, of course, it's all I could focus on.

Like so much of the pollution that affects our lives and our health, it's hiding in plain sight. I can't see the pollution in my city's air (not today, at least. Ask me again mid-July...) but I know it's there because my throat's closing up.

So many of us concentrate on the symptoms and forget about the underlying cause. Let's see it, focus on it, and find ways lead lives that honour the planet instead of crushing it under our feet.

(And thanks for the image, X. Beautifully done.)

***

Programming Note: To celebrate next Monday's official release of COMING TOGETHER: WITH PRIDE, there will be an interruption in our regularly-scheduled broadcast of THIS IS NOT A GARBAGE CAN. Tune in to join the excitement!

The Big Reveal

The Big Reveal
or
Why I Never Wash the Floor

It’s frustrating, at times, to have a lover who lives outside the city. For me, it means a lot of staring at the floor.

When the sunlight hits the parquet at the right angle, my bedroom floor reveals the secrets of its past. All the little spots of precum rest like a matte finish against the high-gloss varnish of the blond wood beneath. They summon to mind all those delectable memories of the Sweet Transvestite kneeling beside my bed, licking my clit.

That was day for the scrapbook. It was the first time we got naked together. Correction: It was the first time he got naked with me. Once I’m comfortable with someone, the clothes just sort of fall away. That’s a combination of pride in my form and just plain loving the feel of a warm hand against my bare flesh. Oh, and deriving great pleasure from having my nipples sucked feeds the eagerness to get naked as well. There are lots of reasons why naked is good.

There was a definite excitement around seeing my Sweet naked, but it was balanced out by enough first-night trepidations to keep me from tearing off his clothes. I let him undress himself. What was I afraid of?

Honestly? It was the question of what kind of underwear he might have on. Not that it would have mattered either way. Men’s, women’s, whatever… I just couldn’t be sure how I would react at first glance of… what would it be? A lace thong? A pair of boxers? Granny panties? Spiderman undies? None of these options would have offended me in the least, but I felt, somehow, like I needed to brace myself for the big reveal.

There are different ways of undressing for that moment of first nakedness. There’s the striptease, which I would gladly attempt were I a more coordinated person. I’m more your everyday klutz, so I tend to go for that utilitarian method of just tearing my clothes off.

My Sweet Transvestite surprised me. Despite his usual air of confidence, he undressed quite bashfully. If I’d had one of those rice paper screens in my bedroom, I’m sure he would have hidden behind it. I got this vibe from him that screamed, “Please don’t look at me too closely! Please don’t judge me by flesh alone!” It was the first time since we met that I’d viewed him as vulnerable.

But that sense of defenseless exposure, of helpless vulnerability, dissipated with a kiss. One kiss and we were right back in the swing of things, only closer for our nudity.

And the underwear? Let’s just say I learned there are possibilities beyond the simple binary of men’s or women’s underthings. For instance, a person might wear nothing at all…

a bench is not a garbage can

This is a bench.
It is not a garbage can.
Some may be confused by the fact that it's covered in GARBAGE, and thus not a place one might feel inclined to sit, but I can assure you it is indeed a bench.

It all comes down to respect. When we leave our crap all over the place, we're inconveniencing other people. It's a blatant display of disrespect for our fellow citizens.

I was already in a rotten mood when I saw this garbage-ridden bench. On my subway, the jarring metallic voices of three distinct ipods were grating on my nerves. Noise pollution in the extreme. It's another instance of us city-dwellers having no respect for the millions of people we live with.

Can I offer a tip to anyone with a portable music player (myself included - I always have my earbuds in): When you turn on your music, hold your headphones at arm's length for a moment. If you can hear anything, your music is too loud. It's going to disturb other people, so have a little respect and turn the volume down.

It's all about respect, my friends.

Bright Blessings and Happy Victoria Day to my fellow Canadians. Enjoy the fireworks!

Extra Credit with the Cunning Linguist

Who’d have guessed the man with more quirks than an obsessive-compulsive pigeon trainer would turn out to be the world’s all-time greatest cunnilinguist?

Yes, the Best Head Ever Award goes to my new lover, the sweet transvestite. It actually makes a lot of sense that a man so in touch with his “feminine side,” as he calls it, would be so kick-ass at giving head. If a woman knows what a woman wants, a cross-dresser’s well on his way.

The last time he was at my place, we made out for an hour and a half. Lying on top of me on top of my couch, he whispered in my ear, “The next time I come over I want to feel your naked flesh against my naked flesh.”

Oh baby! The man always knows just what to say. So, he arrived at my door today dressed in a shirt embroidered with roses, which made me laugh because I feel SO butch when he wears his girly clothes.

“What do you like, sexually?” he asked me. “And you can’t say everything.”

“Dammit! That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“Nope, that’s not a real answer. A real answer would be, for example, I like oral sex but I don’t like bondage.”

I didn’t think I’d ever live down the claim that I wasn’t big on getting head, but strangely he said the same thing. We both like giving better than getting. Perfect, I’m thinking, we both love doing what the other doesn’t want! With a sneaking suspicion, though, that if he enjoys performing oral sex he might actually be kind of good at it, I figured I’d let him have his cunnilingual way with me. Boy, am I glad I did! After the out-of-this-world lip service I got today, to hell with the giving -- I’m all about getting!

He started off kissing my lips, my breasts, working his way down my stomach – nothing out of the ordinary – but when he arrived at my pussy things got wild! That man narrowed in on my clit like a stealth bomber. I don’t know how, but his tongue pulsed in such fast flitting motions that he was, in all seriousness, better than my favourite vibrator. I need to know how he was doing that! How can a man vibrate?!?

Oh my God, I have never come so hard in my life! I’m surprised my neighbours didn’t complain. I’m talking a wild, mind-blowing, screaming orgasm - to the point where he actually threw a pillow at my head to stifle my shrieks of delight. To the point where it was just way too much pleasure and I had to push his face away with my feet.

Of course, I’m doing the whole, “What do you want?” thing, like we’re talking about repaying a student loan. Nope, no repayment required. Do you want to know what he did next? He wrapped me in his arms because he figured I would be exhausted after such an intense orgasm. He was right! So we cuddled and kissed and talked and all that good stuff until he was ready for more. What came next? I did. He went down on me again!

Just when I was completely convinced there were no good men out there, he came along to salvage the reputation of his entire gender. Oh baby, the good ones are out there all right, they’re just dressed as women.

a mailbox is not a garbage can

Here's a sneaky one: See that Starbucks cup and other assorted trash shoved behind the mailbox? Somebody thought he was sooooo clever, hiding his garbage like that. Nope, you're not clever, you're killing the planet, but thanks for playing THIS IS NOT A GARBAGE CAN!

For newcomers to the blog, THIS IS NOT A GARBAGE CAN is a photo essay, updated weekly, depicting all the places people in my city throw their garbage, despite the fact that these locations are NOT garbage cans. The intent is to shame the lazy bastards into environmental friendliness.

Let's be clean when we're not being dirty!

Top ten great things about dating a transvestite

Everybody run and hide! Giselle Renarde is trying to be funny. (God, no! This is worse than the plague!) Okay, so David Letterman I am not, but here’s my desperate attempt at a top ten list.

Top ten great things about dating a transvestite

10. You don’t have to worry about carrying all your crap around town; just throw your wallet and keys in his purse.

9. It doesn’t turn any heads when you sneak off to the ladies’ room together.

8. When he says he’ll call you the next day, you can be damned sure he will. Not just that, but he’ll even ask how you’re doing and tell you how much he loved spending time together.

7. You need to choose an outfit? So what! He’s got to decide which boobs to wear.

6. It’s like sex with a woman, but no strap-on required! (unless you’re fucking him...)

5. Two skirts = twice the easy access for footsy under the restaurant table (or getting head on top of it, if you feel like being kicked out of the restaurant).

4. He loves, loves, loves to cuddle.

3. You can take solace in the fact that he’s making that whole Bridget Jones slimming granny panties versus sexy knickers decision too.

2. When he says he likes your underwear, you know just what to get him for his birthday!

And the number one great thing about dating a transvestite (drum roll please)…

1. No matter how much you’ve got to shave in preparation for your date, you can be damned sure he’s got to shave more!

a garbage can is a garbage can, but...

Oh, close but no cigar. Thanks for playing. Better luck next time.

See, you have to actually put the garbage inside the garbage can for it to work.
Enough said.

And now for something completely different.

I was chatting this morning with the authors from Lyrical Press when a Mae West quote in Jade Twilight's signature caught my eye:

"When I'm good I'm very, very good but when I'm bad I'm better." ~Mae West.

I feel ya, sister! If there's a bad Mae West quote, I haven't heard it. (Thanks Jade)

Date Night with a Sweet Transvestite

I’ve always identified as an “I date people” person. What does that mean? It means I won’t date a man just because he’s a man and I won’t date a woman just because she’s a woman. I date people I find interesting and attractive in some way or another.

That said, if you had asked me even a year ago if I foresaw myself ever dating a transvestite, my answer would have been a resounding no. Transgender? Sure! But a cross-dresser? A man who wears women’s clothes just for the hell of it? I would have said that seemed a little odd.

Six months ago I met a man with the most beautiful sparkling eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s a fascinating person. He’s witty and clever and well read and he’s a cross-dresser. There’s a sense of equilibrium around him, a balanced duality. He is two people and he is one. There’s a softness to his character that I haven’t seen in many men or woman. There’s a certain comprehension of the world and of humanity that I’ve seen almost exclusively in trans people.

Three weeks ago, the butterflies began. I don’t know what happened, but I started seeing him differently. Suddenly I found myself very drawn to him, wanting to spend as much time together as humanly possible. He came to me one day and said, “Something’s changed between us. Something’s different.” And something was different: I was falling for him, and he for me.

I don’t think he’s weird. He’s just who he is, and I love who he is. I’ll take him dressed as a woman or dressed as a man; it’s all the same to me. We had our first date this afternoon. We went for a walk in this cold and rainy weather, holding hands all the way. Every new piece of information I discover about him is a gem. When we’re together, I’m happy. I can’t stop smiling.

I don’t date people because they have certain sex organs or because they wear certain clothes or identify as a certain gender. I find myself drawn to people with a strong sense of self, courageous people with an appreciation of life’s beauty. Sparkling eyes help too.