lamoureuse

I’m not always the most regular poster as sometimes things get busy, and sometimes we all just need a Tumblr hiatus.  I’ve noticed some new followers, and am enjoying combing through your archives and posts.

While I’m not always the most consistent blogger, I’ve been here a while and do have an extensive archive full of all sorts of themes, memes, and treats, as well as some more personal insights. Je parle aussi français :) 

So welcome to my open-minded, pervy and sometimes over the top spot on the web. Enjoy! 

(via helenofdestroy)

Paul Rader

(via gotankgo)

I haven’t been on Tumblr that much before the holidays or since, and I just want to take a moment to say that I really appreciate the comments, the reblogs, and the new followers. I’m not always the most consistent blogger, but I’ve been here a while and do have an extensive archive full of all sorts of themes, memes, and treats, as well as some more personal insights. Je parle aussi français :) 

So welcome to my open-minded, pervy and sometimes over the top spot on the web. Enjoy! 

(via incessantlystochastic-deactivat)

Heh. Which one? 

There were times when I was little where this was so tempting. The sadness and utter bewilderment overrode the anger, though. 

I’m *so* grateful that as an adult, I’ve realised when it was finally safe to mourn them, and those experiences. It took me a long time, I felt, to let go of the safety of being a ‘victim’. There was a small part of me that harboured the feeling that something had been done to me. It was the only way I knew how to cope with some profoundly shitty situations, and some hard losses. I realised that I needed to let go of the hurt, and of the victim role, but I wasn’t sure how.

I was in my early twenties when I began to re-frame the situation, to see how complex it was, and that it wasn’t my fault these things happened. I could see that, in both cases, the deck was stacked against all of the players involved.* I could finally see that things could have actually been much worse. It didn’t make it hurt any less, but it did allow me to let go of a bit of the pain. 

When I was little, I used to think it would be so much easier to have two dead fathers. At least then it’s finite; you know where they are, there’s no second guessing. There’s no waiting for all the maybes you hope for to come true, and no reckoning with the fact that, for whatever reason, they just don’t want to be a part of your life. Both my father and stepfather were estranged. I was lucky that, with my stepfather at least, as he got healthier, I could appreciate that he was finally living the life he had always wanted. As he continued to change his life and make healthy choices, we were able to repair our relationship a little. It’s unconventional at best, but, it’s what I have. 

Another thing I have is the ability, as I’ve gotten older, to decide what is healthy and right for me, relation-ship-wise. To explore, and to define my own rules. While my early experiences of relationships were coloured by my mother’s experiences, and my own, I’ve had to push beyond that. I have worked hard to move beyond a super-human self-reliance that can alienate others and a wariness of other’s genuine commitment. It has been a struggle. It has been hard. It can be done, though. Incredibly enough.

*Undiagnosed/untreated mental health issues for my father, a whole host of issues for my stepfather, capped off by addiction issues following a serious accident

I seek out and am grateful for the people in my life that allow me to take off the mask, and express the various aspects of my self.

(via obsequiousness)

To each their own. I grow it, I shave it, and I don’t want tO hear about it. When I see this picture, all I can hear is body snarking about ‘girls these days’, ‘expectations this days’, ‘men these days’, ‘you’re not feminist these days’ … Tumblr is at once a blessing, and a fucking curse. When I see this picture, all I can think of is how fucking good it feels when I’ve shaved or waxed completely. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl, none of this tokenism for me - fucking postage stamps or landing strips. I hate the in between. That being said, because of my make up, I’m fair and really not prone to growing much fur to speak of, so maintenance is minimal at the best of times. As a feminist woman with a full grasp of the biological purpose of pubic hair, I still love the contrast of baby-bottom smooth and bare. The feeling of being completely and utterly unfettered, naked and exposed is disarming and delightful. It’s not a visual thing for me, it’s nothing to do with fashion, or expectations (except when it is), or conformity. It’s because it feels fucking incredibly good. It’s not because I need to fulfill some porn-fueled dream of what women should be, it’s because it makes me wet. It makes me slick and silken with desire. It’s because the shock of difference, the complete exposure, causes my own body to turn itself on, and heat itself up. So when I see this picture, all I can think of is how good that would feel, and how soaked that mesh would be.

(via suckmypixxxel)