Anything goes, Unfinished book on Consent Play | “1994” episode 6

In October 1994 I wrote my experience with consent play, in a notebook.
With the intention of publishing it one day.
I never finished it, as explained in the previous episode.

This is what I wrote about my consent play and my affair with relationship with Bear.

contains erotic elements
NSFW, not suitable for work
triggering

Monday 21- Tuesday October 22 1994
0.40

I don’t know how many words will go into this journal before it’s full. How many pages before this ballpoint is empty. How many stories I need to tell before I have said what I ve come here to say. But I do know the limited resources will work in my advantage.
On top of the boundaries set by the material, there is the slowness of it.
The thoughts that just drip onto the paper word for word.
A little pause at the end of every sentence.
And I ve set myself a time limit.
Not because I m in a hurry finishing or publishing it. But because I believe this unspoken confession is what is blocking the pathway to what it is I desire.
Or who.
All of them. The men.
But above all else: Not writing this out is blocking my way to becoming the person I would be in their presence.
The lover who calls herself, yes, what?
What is it, this unnamed role? Both “girlfriend” and “submissive” are equally misplaced. Neither one is what I want to be and at heart already am.
Just without words so far.
How do you name a woman who desires to be in a constant game for her consent?
Not just in the obvious, the play rape.
I did think that for a while.
That the most defining characteristic of my sexual preference was to be dominated during sex.
But now I know this consent is always played for, and withheld unless I feel I have his full attention.
And then we play.
Then I surrender.
Then he can dominate me.
But that my desire for power play is weaved into the bigger picture of two lovers only seeing each other for sex.
Or for a date of some sort
My sexual preference cannot “just” be defined as power play or rough sex, because that would imply that you could be married and have this type of sex at night and then discuss whose turn it is to stock the fridge.
That is not how consent play works- let’s call it that for now.
Consent play would ask: What fridge?
What tomorrow?
There is only the now.
It is like a perpetual tango. A game of attraction, where you hope you ll dance again.
There are multiple men I would like to tango with. But currently I m dating none of them.
I don’t have to answer to anyone right now. I m alone with my thoughts and with my desires. Between what was and what can become, who I can become.
And when I do the right man will come.
Plural, maybe.

Tuesday 22- Wednesday October 23 1994
Create the Truth
0.05

I tick off the things I want to do each day.
Cuddle enough with both cats.
Masturbate.
Yoga.
Some things are harder than others.
Writing in this journal is also on there and it’s one of the things I don’t want to skip. Not even if it’s after midnight before I start.
The reason I want to do this is because this activity is called “create the truth”. I know that by writing I want a dominant lover, I will create him.

I need to feel like I am the perfect match and then next to me, like magic, a vacuum will be created that will draw the right man and only the right man, in.
This man will automatically, when we make love, force me down, pin me down, restrict me, push me, command me, open me, enter me, hurt me, fill me, and it will be under that weight that I lean in and let go.
And that I am home.

Wednesday 23 – Thursday 24 October 1994
0.15

On days like this it’s so good to have this diary to come back to.
I didn’t do yoga, didn’t see friends or a movie. The only thing I did, which was good for my sexuality (or maybe it’s more a prerequisite than an aphrodisiac) is deep cleanse my house.
I feel thrilled by this.
I intend to do yoga AM! The PM thing is not working for me. I hope that a sexy yoga session every morning will keep my spirits up for the rest of the day.
That I ll keep identifying with my sexual ambitions, of who I need to be.
Right now I keep forgetting it until suddenly I remember after midnight, when I pick up this journal.
I need to start doing a hell of a lot more to straighten this out, than writing this book.

Wednesday October 30 1994
A League of their own
09.30

First day working from home, and immediately I take this journal and go to the cafe instead of spending the day behind my desk.
Don’t worry.
I ll make it up.
It’s just that I ve been in such a dark place that I m thrilled my desire to journal has returned.
The story has returned.
And it’s not the story I thought it was.
Maybe they were related: The story of consent play and my meltdown.
Consent play is a lot more complex than just a variation to SM.

And I am a lot more complex than just a college grad stuck in her first job.
I might have needed the meltdown in order to do justice to the story, as well as to myself.

Over the past week I ve discovered a really big chunk in my identity that didn’t seem to have a purpose.
Except as a place of strength.
Yesterday I was talking about this part to a friend and she said:
“Oh my God, you’re sitting just like her.”
She was referring to Catherine Tramell, Basic Instinct. A movie I ve seen more than any other.
Just this summer they played it at the discount theater and I added 4 to the list.
And I m thinking of getting a VHS.
What I mean with my identification with her being this big piece of a puzzle or chunk of my identity that I didn’t know where to put is well… literally that!
Where do I behave or feel like Catherine Tramell, if I m submissive in bed?
If I make myself as grey as possible at work? Not that I ve been very successful at that and I m glad I can start working from home but nevertheless.
I didn’t recognize myself.
I think cutting my personality in half was the biggest cause of me having suicidal thoughts over the weekend.
Not as an act of despair but as a happy thought. A comforting one. One I d rather thought of than how I was going to solve this.
But the signs that life was slipping though my fingers, had been earlier.
In no longer masturbating. No longer writing.
Cancelling appointments.
Quit eating sugar, which was the first moment death entered my thoughts. I wanted to lose weight because I wanted to bring my body back to its pre-college thinness before I died.
And there it was there: The thought of suicide.
I felt dead on the inside already and felt it needed to stay that way not to disturb the others around me. The only one who didn’t require me to be half-dead already, was Bear.
I have not heard from him in weeks, if not months. But I ran into him and he invited me over or suggested we should see each other soon.
But I rejected.
If he doesn’t want to see me, I don’t want him to feel pressured to invite me. I really believe he has someone else right now.
And the idea that we would meet up at my all-time low was out of the question.
On my way home I kept wondering why I had been so determined to reject him helping me. He had literally offered: “Maybe it helps to talk.”

Yet I knew that the moment I accepted this, it would not only ruin what we had-
but that it was also dangerous. Because I would become dependent on him.
I would be meeting him from a place of needing him when I want him to want me, not to pity me.
And suddenly I snapped out of it.
I saw why I felt suicidal, why I was so happy with my love life and could even bare the thought of him having someone else.
And where that giant chunk went!
I saw why I had seen Basic Instinct so many times, and why I should be buying a VHS.
And most importantly: I saw why my submission during sex was rooted in strength.
My relationship with Bear has been the only place, in all those years, where I have been able to show myself as a badass Catherine Tramell.
He never blinked.
Not when I asked him to become my lover and deflower me.
Not when I asked for anal sex.
Not when I asked for play rape.
Playing doctor.
Applaud him for staying sexually active with other women.
Watch him with great love, appreciation and understanding as others around him crashed into his stubbornness.
I saw that we had something that we couldn’t have with others because they needed it to have rules, form, agreement.
When we had none of those things.
We had a deep understanding and appreciation of each other’s strength and independence.
We saw each other as solitary beings.
Not as half of a couple in need of amalgamation.
My relationship with Bear had been my Catherine Tramell Sanctuary.
And the reason I had been starving myself, denying myself, creatively cutting myself off and ultimately the reason why I wanted to kill myself:
Because in all other aspects of my life I had not been Catherine Tramell.

Sunday November 17, 1994
Epilogue

I just typed out these notes on consent play, and I was right.
This really was, and is, all I can say about it.
Sometimes I think my depression and the current trouble we are going through are the effects of leaving university, and both of us trying to find our place in this world.
I m convinced we’ll stay in touch, over the course of our lives.
But right now I need to start implementing what I learned about who I want to be.
It’s almost 5 years ago that we started our affair. We were both still in high school when we met.
I have become an adult and stepped into my power, but only in my relationship with him. So therefor it was very limited.
You could say I m only half adult.
Or a part-time adult.
The rest of the time my own power scares me. Or the response I get from people is starting to scare me. Now more than ever, it seems.
My studies were filled with male friends, but at the publisher’s it’s mostly women.
I have definitely not been coping well with that. And I avoid their company, mostly.
With Bear out of sight, the only place where I ve felt good in my own skin, disappeared. No wonder I feel I m losing my strength.
Growing up is like shedding skin, isn’t it?
You can’t enjoy your new identity, if you keep paying attention to everything that has fallen off.
My old life, my student life, is over.
And maybe my relationship with the boy who grew into a man, at my side, is over too. Maybe our affair is part of the dead skin.
But maybe it’s part of the strong, vibrant beings that we became. And maybe we’ll always keep reinventing ourselves, together.
It reminds me of the final scene of Basic Instinct.
Nick and Catherine just had sex, and Catherine is unsure how they’re going to have a normal relationship. She seems terrified and confused, but you can’t see if she’s having relationship skitters because she’s so used to killing the people she loves. Or if she’s scared because everybody she loves ends up being killed.
After playing a game with the viewer, where you think she’s going to kill him, the movie seems to end in a passionate kiss, indicating she was never the killer.
After a fade out, Nick and Catherine come into focus once more but this time the camera moves under the bed, where you see an ice pick. Indicating she did intend to kill him, and she’s the killer after all.
I always thought that last shot was cheap and I didn’t buy it.
Not even the first time I saw it.
I didn’t buy it that Nick and Catherine would not stay together, since they were a match made in heaven. No one was playing at their level, and they both had enough experience to know that no one ever would.
Things like that don’t end.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Subscribe to this blog (subscription button somewhere on this page – most likely on the right) for the next episode of 1994.
You can read episode 1 to 5 here:
A letter from a stranger | “1994” fanfic inspired erotica episode 1 
Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2 
Think about you | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 3
Out ta get me | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 4
Rocket Queen |”1994″: fanfic inspired story episode 5  

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Anything goes, Unfinished book on Consent Play | “1994” episode 6
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7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: “1994”: Consent play

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Back to Basics

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara( Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

Have I ever started a letter with:
“Dear Sara, I fucked up?”
Because if I haven’t, then I would like to open with that now.
And it’s not because I was “on the wrong track” or anything like it. More that the right track brought things I did not expect and wasn’t ready for.
But good news first!
My hunch to FULLY go with the Basic Instinct/ Catherine Tramell vibe of things, was right and is very fulfilling. I know I m on the right path/ was on the right path during our last call when you exclaimed:
“You’re sitting just like her! You see?”
Fully leaning back, arms dangling loosely on the sides. I see it, Sara!
I ve been sitting like that a lot.
And I ve extracted my notes on consent play from a notebook I had been keeping, with the intention of writing (manually) a book. But I m going to type my consent play notes out, and put a new perspective on it.
Write a new ending, or perhaps a new introductory chapter.
Where I conclude that I can’t write a book on consent play, because that is not what I have with my lover. Or had maybe, because I haven’t seen him in months.
What we have is so special, not so much because of the power play or consent play during sex;
It is in the complexity of our play when we’re not in bed.
Exactly the way the relationship between former-undercover-agent-turned-detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas) and million dollar writer with a double major in psychology and English lit, Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone), is way more about how they interact outside of bed, than about the way they behave between the sheets.
And there’s so much nuance to their performance. So much complexity.
The major mind-fuck of Basic Instinct (1992) is that there are two coexisting story lines, both with a different killer. Like the drawing of the young girl and the old woman: They’re both there.
One doesn’t exclude the other.
Yet the director Paul Verhoeven insists the movie ultimately portrays Catherine as the killer. That for him it is totally clear who did it.
And all the critics echoed his perspective, without further investigating it, but 27 years later I rewatched this movie a couple of times and I see three things.
1. God, Michael Douglas is hot.
Every time he has seen Catherine, he walks taller, he’s totally self-assured and absolutely irresistible. And he plays his cards with her well, too.
He likes talking with her, because she plays him at his level.
But it’s especially his tooth pick chewing smirk, after he has spent the night at her place and now meets his friend Gus again, that is absolutely golden.
“You fucked her!” Gus exclaims. “Goddamn dumb sonofabitch… You fucked her! Goddamn, you are one dumb sonofabitch –”
Well, he’s not of course.
A dumb son of a bitch I mean.
He’s very smart to have recognized that she’s the only one who can give him the thrill he had working undercover, combined with being the fuck of the century.
As is his explicit appreciation of their encounter.
Which brings me to Catherine.
The second thing I saw this time around:
2. Catherine’s so kind and sweet
Go watch that movie in 2019 and tell me you’re not taken by her sassy remarks, her broad honest smile and her intense sorrow when her best friend is killed.
Sure, she’s ruthless with the five cops who try to interrogate her. She makes them uncomfortable to the bone. But she does it by lighting a cigarette, not wearing underwear, and correcting them when they ask her why she needs a white scarf to tie people up, if she liked men to use their hands.
Catherine: “That’s not what I said.”
cop: “No?”
Catherine: “No. I said I liked Johnny, to use his hands.”
She outsmarts all of them. Which brings me to the last thing I saw.
3. She’s too smart to be the killer
Paul Verhoeven said she did it. All the critics said she did it. Every page or blog dedicated to Basic Instinct will say she did it. But she didn’t do it.
It wouldn’t make sense.
Why would someone who likes to play games, and likes to manipulate people, get her hands dirty with something as blunt and ugly as killing people when they’re harmless?
There is no fun.
And I think this interpretation of Basic Instinct is made possible because Sharon Stone herself, gave the role its intellectual baggage. Back in the 90s, she was the first one I heard of, who came out as highly intelligent and a member of Mensa.
I think what happened is that although she stuck to the script, you could feel the depth and intelligence of her. The intelligence of Catherine Tramell became so real, that although the script had intended her to be the killer:
It doesn’t make any sense anymore.
In a way, they hired an actress that was too smart for their own good. To this day Paul Verhoeven and everybody else might say she did it.
When I tell you: Every Mensa member will see that movie, and know that she didn’t.
And if only, IF ONLY, I had spent two weeks doing nothing else than analyzing Basic Instinct: But I didn’t.
I went on a different path as well.
And I will like “management-summary” you through it, although that’s technically not a verb, but here’s what happened:
I am still convinced that my meltdown, and current problems are related to what others would call, and what “science” calls:
Autism.
This means that I have no interest in an entire layer of communication, which the majority of the world’s population requires in order to be able to interact with you, and that I wear a mask interacting with them. A mask which I switch, depending on who I have in front of me.
Now I had already determined that agreeable, cooperative Lauren, would be replaced by the Catherine Tramell mask, for one-offs, and all short and medium sized interactions with the exclusion of friends and family and people I wanted to be nice to.
Not just to save me the energy of bending over backwards, but also because my ice queen mask was a much better representation of what people tend to feel in my presence.
A white coat and platinum blond hair, would be a better mirror of the discomfort they felt, than my “normal person” mask.
In an ideal world I would go for koala imitations and third person Elmo language, but I think this would be even more confusing. And only fellow “autistics” would be able to appreciate having communication take place on a whole different plane of reality.
So Catherine Tramell would just have to do.
But this fine tuning on my masking strategies, wasn’t going to solve my problems with regard to not being able to work, and my suicidal thoughts and possible other mental health issues.
And in my search for answers, I was sucked deeper into the diagnoses. Every day there was a deeper understanding, that I qualify, perhaps even over-qualify, on the criteria for autism as they have been defined in the latest DSM in 2011. Before that, I would have Asperger’s. Which in common tongue no longer qualified as a psychiatric condition, but as pleasantly mad and interesting.
For 25 years Asperger’s had a special position within the realm of mental disorders, and so did the patients who had it.
But ever since Asperger’s has been dropped, and only autism remains, everybody newly diagnosed should say (correctly): “I am autistic” or “I have autism”. Not “I have Asperger’s”
Now it’s not that I have a problem with calling myself autistic. But the trouble is: Others do.
The stigma surrounding autism is so heavy that the mental burden that comes with it, is for me, a sensitive undiagnosed Aspie, who knows she’s an Aspie because she loves to go out and have fun with other Aspies, is just too much.
Especially after two years on an erratic slope downhill.
I wrote an indepth piece on the matter, it’s like my “meta” as we geeks call such a thing, on the entire history of Asperger’s from the 30s to current day.
And my declaration of why I can’t keep going on.
Why I have no choice but to cut myself out of the autistic loop.
If you want to read it:
Goodbye to autism. Plus a new way to greet each other.
Now what I did not say there was what I am going to do to get better. And to get the best help. And Hans Asperger the discoverer of Asperger would have approved because 50 years after his research on autism which included feisty little boys who constantly challenged him, and whom he called Little Professors;
Asperger confessed he made a mistake.
That these boys didn’t have autism, they were highly gifted.
EXACTLY where I am going to start.
How do I move from here if I am highly gifted?
I had a conversation with an amazing researcher and therapist, whose singular mission seems to be to save people from getting an autism diagnosis, and getting them to a therapist or coach specialized in highly gifted people instead.
Because I recognize myself in the complex, imaginative, play of the highly gifted Little Professors. And in Hans Asperger’s observation that the only way to tell them to do something was by addressing them like equals, show no  personal interest in the result, and separate the message from the messenger.
For example, you could ask:
“What’s on your schedule today?
Not: “I want you to do this and this.”
The moment the boys could sense that Hans was emotionally invested in whether or not they did something, they would start taunting Hans with it.
I fully recognize myself in that dynamic.
You have to intrigue and seduce me.
Like my lover intrigues and seduces me.
And like Michael Douglas intrigues and seduces Catherine.
The parents and school teachers of the Little Professors had not been able to do that. They thought they could get away treating them like normal kids.
They were wrong.
Men have thought they could keep my interest without making an effort to intrigue and seduce me.
That never worked.
And the five cops in the interrogation room thought their presence would intimidate Catherine Tramell. And instead she wiped the floor with them.
A few days ago Sharon Stone received the GQ woman of the year award, and she gave a speech commemorating her life changing moment when she crossed her legs.
It was not an easy to follow speech.
And just like the movie there seemed to be multiple ways to interpret it. But one sentence stood out, because of its simplicity:
“We have every right to be powerful, in whatever form of sexuality we choose to have.”
The times that I wanted to know the “truth” about autism or my mind are over. All the wandering in the dark, thinking about what is wrong with me. Getting lost into the cave searching for the truth. Behind every corner a new one. Just one more and I ll be there.
Just one more.
I will never be there.
And with every corner turned, I lose more energy, I lose myself. I lose.
Two weeks after finding myself in Catherine Tramell pose, video chatting with you on our coaching call, I had managed to entirely fuck it up and lose it all.
The video from Sharon Stone was like a gift from heaven.
It was Friday, a friend sent it to me.
And it felt like a little nudge from heaven:
“Hey Lauren! Put on your white dress, pull your hair up, and go find that man of yours. All this heaviness, it just ain’t you.”
Maybe that’s the ultimate reason I know I will never go down that path of getting an autism diagnosis, ever again. Because although this didn’t bother me the first few months, over the last week I just couldn’t find my sexuality anymore.
I had lost it looking for the truth on autism.
Sharon Stone added something, after telling us we all have our right to our own unique sexuality. And it was the thing that brought it home, just in case you managed to miss it.
She said:
“We have every right to be powerful, in whatever form of sexuality we choose to have.”
And then:
“And no one is allowed to take that away from you.”
No one, Sara.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Back to Basics
is the third chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: Consent play

My diaries en erotica are available at 

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If you check your cart, you can select your store
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Goodbye to autism. Plus a new way to greet each other.

{ it was really hard for me to write this post. It’s the result of four days of deep thinking, a lot of crying, studying, and fortunately I had three friends who all took me out. Which was a blessing.
But I got this one on paper and never looked back. May contain more mistakes than usual. Feel free to not read it. }

This is not going to be an easy read.
If you re one of those people who believe autism was, is, or ever has been, an objectively identifiable disorder, where the people with whom you felt disconnected in conversations were the only “real” autistic people?
Do yourself a favor and stop reading.
If you re one of those people who thinks it is inappropriate that I study autism in order to understand and heal myself, in the months I have to wait for help?
And would rather see me waiting patiently until “a doctor” comes and determines if I “have autism” or not?
Don’t ever say that to me in person.
And also stop reading.
I wouldn’t want to be the one who makes you lose your faith in the Holy Church of Mental Health.
And I do believe everybody is entitled to their opinion about autism. Although it is exactly this widespread incomplete view of what autism is, where public opinion is that autism in an individual problem, to be solved by the autistic, that is resulting in my high levels of stress.
But like I said:
You’re entitled to your opinion.
Just stop reading.
But to me the “But you’re not sure it is autism, right?” makes it impossible to have an open conversation about why I believe the answer to the problems I have been experiencing the last few years lies in neurodiversity.
Neurodiversity is a neutral label that sees all autistic, ADHD, ADD brains as healthy, and natural variations. And it puts into perspective the “special needs” and limitations of autistics, by stating that all humans have needs.
It’s just that society is directed to the needs of the majority.
And also all people have limitations AND are dependent on other people.
It’s just that for autistics we blame their limitations and dependency on their “condition” and for non-autistics we call it:
Being human.
Needless to say, this entire discussion also goes for physical disabilities as well:
Your level of disability is not related to what you can or cannot do. But to what you can or cannot do, compared to those around you.
In the same way being poor is not related to what the average income worldwide is, but to what your neighbor is spending.
All problems and conditions are contextual.
If all children were born disabled, then from a social perspective, none of them would be disabled. There would be plenty of ways and practical solutions to make everybody participate in society.
It is important to acknowledge the social perspective is much stronger in the way we see mental or physical disability; than the medical perspective.
In my opinion the reason we keep changing the DSM is not because we know more about the disease in the pathological sense, but because society changes and therefor what we see as unwanted behavior changes.
That the definition of autism has broadened since the DSM, causing many more people to be diagnosed, is therefor in my opinion, valid:
It is valid not because there is something medically wrong with all these new “patients”; But because society has become increasingly intolerant towards atypical social behavior.
The neurotypical demands in order to be successful in society have increased. Meaning that even for a normal job and running an average household in the way nobody gets hurt and everybody is taken care of, a skill set and also an interest and a motivation is needed, that greatly exceeds what most of us are capable of.
Us means everybody.
These are the “normal” limitations I was talking about.
But what happens from an autistic perspective is even worse.
Because the higher demands cause a higher need for social interaction. There is a constant need for staying in touch, in tune, with each other, in order to let things go smoothly.
And this is exactly where the autistic, I woudl say “struggles” but that’s not the right word. Among autistics the accuracy of communication equals those among normal, or neurotypical people.
Both groups understand each other perfectly, within the same group.
It’s when the autistics and normal people have to communicate with each other, that communication suffers. With the normal people being the majority everywhere but the IT department?
And with society meanwhile moving forward at dazzling pace?
Autistics are thrown off the wagon left right and center. Except from the IT department.
I have been a yogateacher for 15 years, and part of the reason I am sick, is because that profession, in particular in a crowded market place which yoga has become, requires an exceptional set of neurotypical skills.
Your people skills need to be impeccable in order for your yoga studio to thrive.
Mine weren’t. I have no intrinsic interest in small talk.
Yesterday I went to see Maleficent 2, in which Maleficent practices small talk. Without showing her fangs, also.
She has to go to a dinner with the king and queen, her future son-in-law, but despite the preparation things get awkward right off the bat, because she really can’t do small talk.
“I take it you had no trouble finding the castle?” the King asks.
She stares at him: “Why would I have any trouble finding  the castle?”
To me the social demands of teaching yoga felt like constantly finding creative ways to ask (not even answer) the question:
“I take it you had no trouble finding the castle?”
I was so good at it, I think if an autistic tried to take my classes he might not have recognized me as one of them (which they do now!).
But it wasn’t just the social conversation that made me ultimately unsuccessful and unsatisfied teaching it.
My involvement in yoga was never rooted in the same needs or interest as my fellow teachers had. Nor was it similar to the desire of people who are looking for a yoga class.
Right now, I still teach to friends. And even the final years of my studio things had settled and classes were pleasant for everybody.
But especially the first ten years, I practically erased who I was, so I could teach. I was playing I was a yoga teacher. When I was not a yoga teacher.
I was an autistic.
I know this word autistic and the blunt way I say this will bring shivers down the spines of many, but that’s the whole problem here. That’s why the diagnoses is making me sick.
Because the word autism is so triggering, loaded, political even.
Not to the people who are now fighting for our human rights as autistics, for the depathologization of what we have, and who are offering the neutral term NeuroDiversity instead.
But to the people who think of their autistic sibling, which will be dependent on their help for the rest of their life.
To the people who have worked in health care in the 70s and 80s, or who have simply grown up in this era where there were no people with autism that didn’t diagnose as odd or strange, from the outside.
The earliest diagnosis of what has been called Asperger Syndrome, a high-functioning for of autism, were late 80s, but it was based on research Hans Asperger had done in the 30s.
Asperger syndrome went on to become a household diagnosis for about a quarter century.
In 2011 Asperger’s was dropped from the DSM in favor of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASS); A disorder with a set of characteristics on which the patient could each have an independent score.
“If you know one autistic, you know one autistic.”
Is a phrase often used to describe how varied the spectrum is.
An autistic could be funny and therefor in connection with the world around them, yet communicating through a voice computer because he or she can’t speak.
Lots of autistics are social, and when they’re not mute, they can easily become unrecognizable as being autistic. This has lead to a counter movement that wants to work with a more strict diagnostic tool, and not the loose settings it has now. It is against pathologizing these sometimes called “high-functioning” autistics, and basically advocates going back to the stricter pre-80s definition.
The time between Hans Asperger’s research, and the 80s when it was brushed off and the new group of children was brought in, and labeled Asperger’s.
So there is a “medical model movement” who thinks it’s time to go back to the 70s.
There is the neurodiversity movement, who wants to drop stigma of all neurological conditions and promotes acceptance within society of what we now call autism (in all its forms), ADHD or ADD.
There are The People Formerly Known As Aspergers, who have been “brought up” with the idea that their condition is something completely different, and that they can have a place in society. As opposed to people with autism.
This is why Aspergers have been called Super Autistics: they used to have sort of an elite status. The good news is that it has worked, in the sense that you can see that these people have become the most successful of the bunch.
They are proof that if you tell people:
“What you have could work out great if you play your cards right,” it just might.
The price of this was that those with Asperger Syndrom who have not been able to become financially independent (usually because their interest was not building their own computers) could suffer from feeling they underachieved.
But even in everyday language, an Asperger’s diagnoses almost equals “nothing wrong”. If I had said to people:
“I think I might have Asperger’s”
No one would have drawn back in shock and have asked:
“Noooo! But really? I mean, you re not sure right?”
Asperger’s was no biggie, was the word on the street.
But now that the diagnosis Asperger’s no longer exists, and the “high-functioning” autistics formerly known as Asperger’s are closing the ranks with their fellow autistics, including the non-speakers?
The tables have turned.
“We”, the “high-functioning” autistics who refuse to give themselves the more likable, less political label “Asperger’s” in order to be accepted and successful-
we are now in the line of fire.
The normal people want us (the autistics they like hanging out with) to stop calling ourselves autistics, because it makes them freak out.
The psychologists want to stop diagnosing us as autistics, because they feel the latest version of the DSM contains a watered down definition.
The therapists and lineages within psychology who are convinced we are ill and disturbed and that the neurodiversity people are delusional and that we, modern day mutants, need to be cured?
They don’t want us smart sassy badass autistics “in there” (the pool of autistics) either, because we are not going down without a fight and we are the ones defying their paradigm and ultimately… ultimately….
Suffice to say I understand why 50% of the X-Men can no longer be bothered defending hostile humanity who has done them nothing but harm, and chose to be villains instead.
If I had the energy for this, I would become a neurodiversity fighter!
But I am absolutely exhausted, from doing all my autism research. I tried to find the truth, and the key take-aways for autistic people.
And I found those too.
A lovely community where we understand each other.
But just like The Moren where Maleficent lives, it is under threat. Which makes everyone who wants to live there under threat.
The thought of being under siege just because I have a medical diagnosis that is so political, is what is wearing me out. I just can’t go on.
Not because I think I m not autistic.
But because it opens such a can of social injustice, it would be a life’s work straightening that out.
I myself am developing anxiety around the word autism, when I was entirely neutral a few months ago. I was even very happy that, together with a few specialists who helped me figuring out a starting point, autism had surfaced as most likely explanation.
I was convinced it would be helping me so very much to investigate this further.
Instead it sucked me into a warzone.
Just a few months ago, I though I was suffering from burnout and a midlife crisis, and now I realize I have the choice between getting proper diagnosis, and with that the chances of the best treatment;
Or refusing diagnosis and stay out of the battle and limit my access to services.
The word autism is so triggering to everybody. I m already losing friends not because I have autism, but because I write about my process.
I lose about one friend a month.
And I m already decreasing my chances on the workplace because I openly share undiscovered autism as part of my explanation why I have stopped my studio.
This is important:
To me – an undiagnosed autistic- telling the truth is extremely important.
The neurotypical or normal desire that I please stop writing about my mental health and “not wake the dogs” “until it is certain”, is so incredibly sad to me.
I understand it.
They want protect me from the bad in this world.
From the people who would judge me for my autism.
But they are like people who are telling you you shouldn’t wear short skirts because there are bad people in the world.
That’s why I lose so many friends. Among other reasons.
But because I can ONLY be open and honest? This leaves me no choice but to erase the entire option of getting an autism diagnosis altogether. The only way to ignore I m autistic, is by reprogramming my own mind. Forget I have it, and honestly say, share, admit:
“Yes, I toyed with the thought of getting my diagnoses during a difficult period of my life. But I didn’t.”
That’s all I can afford.
Popular opinion will remain, at least for a few more decades, that “real” autism is something you can notice and that should be prevented. When in reality, autism could not be seen it at least 50% of the cases.
Right from the start.
Hans Asperger studied two groups of children. Two types.
The second group (in the article I read they were called group B) were notably different. What they said didn’t make sense (to Hans) and they were not particularly intelligent or gifted (to Hans).
They were in their own little world and it was unclear what they were doing there (to Hans).
But the first group were boys, in the research they were called group A, were highly intelligent. They constantly got into trouble at school and with their parents, because they were simply a lot smarter than everybody else.
Their disconnection from the world around them was so they could stay in their own little world and come up with bright and original ideas.
And occasionally they would come out, just to gaslight Hans.
“Why do you do that?!” he would yell.
And the Group B boy, the little professors as Hans called them, would smile and say:
“I do it, because you re so funny when you freak out over it.”
Both Group A and Group B had what we now call autism. And what Hans called autism right then, from the start. The capacity from half of all people with autism to gaslight the people who study them, because they are a lot smarter, has been there in the 30s.
And it still is there today.
Because ultimately disorders are not a medical; They are social.
Both the ones living in their own world without us knowing why, as well as the ones encountering severe problems in the real world, but occasionally coming out to tease them:
We are all autistic people.
And we are allowed to present ourselves as such.
But the past few months have been absolutely horrific to me, from a personal perspective. Like I said, every time I write about my mental health and autism, I lose friends, and relationships become tensed because I refuse help in the form of pity. Just like those little professors I don’t want any help. I want to talk about common interests and have fun.
Just like those little boys, I am fighting for my independence.
And the moment I go into testing and put my faith in psychology to help me, I will get That Label Everybody Dreads.
And if I don’t want the label, but do want to appear if I comply. I would probably be able to come out clean and unautistic. It would feel like a fun challenge, to come out as unautistic.
Just like those little boys who had fun in ruining Hans Asperger’s testing results.
Some say the reason the definition of autism has become watered down, is because high intelligence has the same traits as autism/ Asperger. And there has not been done any research that can separate the two.
In that sense the neurodiversity movement should really go all in, and include highly intelligent from the start, as a neurological variation just like all the others.
But it will be without me.
I will stay with the few friends I have left, and rebuild my life without ever knowing want went wrong. And playing with them, in the way we always have.
By creating fantasy worlds.
Creating our own language.
And using film quotes in casual conversation.
And I will propose a new greeting to them. And I encourage you to try out how this would feel for you. It’s the one I took from Maleficent.
How about every time you meet a good friend, one of you says:
“I take it you didn’t have any problem finding the castle?”
And the other raises his or her eyebrows, and offers a puzzled smile:
“Why would I have any trouble finding the castle?”
That would be a world worth living in.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Rocket Queen | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 5

If I tell you what I ve been up to, you will just laugh your socks off at my ignorance.
That I ever thought fall 1994, would be the time when I would write a groundbreaking book on consent play within unconventional and highly exciting relationships between dare I say “superior” minds?
I haven’t heard from my lover Bear for ages, and I would not be surprised if he is with another woman. Probably a less problematic one.
So suffice to say, I ve already been punished for my arrogance of calling us superior minds.
On the bright side; Since I m already in pain, this does entitle me to start speaking my truth. Because I m not exactly promoting a success lifestyle here.
I
t immediately illustrates the drawbacks of being so demanding in your love life:
“Yes. If it works, this relationship style will bring you the best thing you ever got, the best thing he ever got, and in all likeliness the best thing anybody going back three generations on both sides ever got.
But most likely it will not work and you’ll end up totally alone and everybody will believe you totally deserved it.” 
And I probably did.
You know what the problem is, aside from having pictured life differently than feeling old and terribly underused at age 22, is that once you’ve gotten used to playing at that level Bear and me did, there is just no way you’re ever going back.
If he wants a normal family life with someone else, or a woman who will inspire him to be monogamous?

Then I will not get in the way.
And I ve already proven that because every time he fell out of communication or put me on the back burner like now (and we see each other once every three months or so), I stay exactly where I am.
I don’t approach him to see where we stand, or more precisely: “Where I stand”.
I don’t make plans to end it and get someone else instead.

The only repeating pattern is that his absence makes me realize it would be better to have multiple lovers, because it’s just not ideal to have so little sex.
But owning my Miss Arrogance Catherine Tramell Basic Instinct persona:
Who says other people have sex this good?
Or a relationship this exciting?

Whenever I think not hearing from Bear is my cue to take action and start dating, or at least actively entertain the thought of getting a second lover (one equally good) it doesn’t happen.
And when I started writing this book on consent play, I originally thought it was limited to what Bear and me did between the sheets. Consent play would define as sex where
I play I am the victim of some sort of abuse.
To put it bluntly.
And I don’t think the word “play” does it justice, because it’s best known as a term in S&M, which is something entirely different from consent play. For multiple reasons none of which I will get into.
But “play” also makes us sound like really bad actors.
When in reality our words – each and every one of them – are improvised and meant to arouse and increase pleasure, both of ourselves and the other.

We are at different levels of reality, and we play/talk/act on these different levels, at the same time.
There is our real life selves, who are the main thing. Our normal conversation is still part of what we do, especially for quick check-ins. 

Then there is our play connection.
This can be mono – where we really deliberately play out one fantasy. But more often it’s an improvised scene, something one of us initiates. And then two or more concepts of consent play could be covered in one session.
Finally there is the connection based on our past as well as our future selves. Memories of what we did in the past, or things we’d like to do in the future. Fantasies. “How would you like it if one day..”

These multi-leveled sexual encounters were absolutely mind blowing compared to anything I ever had ever done with any other man.
But because I was still a virgin when me and Bear started out, I didn’t think much of it. I assumed that all people must be doing this. 

It wasn’t until after a few years that I began to understand how lucky I had been when I asked Bear to make love to me, just once. Because I knew he could do it (he was a player) and I was a virgin and wanted it to be done right.
When someone like that sticks around, it takes a while before you understand most men would not have been comfortable being asked so directly for sex, nor
would they have stuck around to discover your sexuality, and find the magical match where you (the girl) likes to be taken against her will and he (Bear) likes to do that.
So because of my relative inexperience, it had taken me a while to realize that Bear was worth his weight in gold.
A few weeks ago, I decided it was a good time to write the consent play thing down, since I didn’t seem to have a sex life anymore. It could serve as a guide for others but also for myself if I ever wanted a new man.
Having a manifesto on my first real relationship, would make sure I preserved what I had learned. Make it my own. Even if Bear would no longer want to see me, I would live on as the woman I became because of him.
Which was not the sexless, worker bee shadow of a woman, I currently was.

Late at night, before I went to sleep, I started writing in a journal.
It wasn’t the best time to write, but at least it was the last thing I did before I went to sleep. It was something that nourished me on a soul level.
Regardless of how bland my life was.
Things turned sour when I started discussing my relationship with friends. Or better yet, my preferred relationship style.
Why I appreciated Bear so much, and found it difficult to picture myself meeting someone that was “up for it”.

In these discussions I found a discrepancy between what I want from a man, and what seems to be accepted as normal.
And I realized it was impossible to explain what Bear and me have, without challenging limiting beliefs.
Here are some of the beliefs I encountered in others when I tried to explain my current (or perhaps past?) relationship with Bear:

1. A belief that monogamy is a trade-off

There seems to be the misconception that because Bear has other women “I can do whatever I want.” Implying having sex with other men.
Yes: I can have sex with whomever I want.
As can you and you and you and everybody in their right mind.
However: I don’t like men touching me with whom I don’t have a long-term understanding. I would find one-offs a nessecary evil for example because you desperately want to lose your virginity and don’t want to claim him. 
But the reason Bear is my only lover is because he is currently the only man I am in love with and with whom I have matching sexual preferences.
My fidelity is not because I feel I owe it to him, nor because I believe monogamy is the morally right thing to do. It just comes as a natural consequence of the current situation and my preferences.
As does the other side of the coin:

2. They believe someone who cheats/ has multiple partners is not serious and uncommitted

The reason I often let this pass, is because I don’t want to come off as if I m trying to prove that Bear loves me. I don’t know what I mean to him. And maybe he is uncommitted and not serious.
Who knows. Who even cares?
I think my biggest problem with this insatiable need to know if someone is serious, as in aspiring a life-long monogamous pairing, is because I find it of no value.
What I value is:
What does someone do to make our time together unforgettable?
And I do not mean any pre-planning going out for the day, which is by definition a disconnect from what feels good in the moment itself.
I mean:
Bear and me both show up clean, interested, funny, laid-back. Trusting, good-humored. To me to then start investigating if someone is serious, is as if you’re pissing in your own drink.
Don’t piss in your own drink.

3. They believe a good sexual match is either irrelevant compared to the other parts of your relationship; That good sex is sheer luck or that (last option) good sex is a natural consequence of liking each other. All wrong.

This was really the point where I stopped working on my book about consent play. When I realized that it all starts by making sex the main event in your relationship, in your life. Something you are going to facilitate and make a top priority.
Something to be taken into account with every move you make, and every decision as a couple:

“Is this beneficial, or detrimental to my/ our sex life?”
That it is absolutely impossible to aspire having a normal looking relationship on the outside, and enjoy meaningful, layered consent play in private.
Consent play, as it turned out, wasn’t a sexual preference at all.
It was a relationship style.
As in: the game we play when we’re not in bed.
The constant tension of not knowing if I will ever see him again, was what made me such a big fan of our play. Any man wanting to know where our relationship was going, or wanting me to take responsibility for his feelings, for his life, was not going to get anywhere with me.
To me, our mysterious undefined relationship, had been a prerequisite in order to do the consent play I intended to write about.
If I wanted to write a book that would serve the world, it had to be on the relationship style itself. Which I found a totally boring topic, I didn’t want to write an entirely boring book about.
But it was this relationship style, which me and Bear had accidentally invented, which was the basis for the great sex life.
The consent play had been the most remarkable aspect of what we did. And it was the aspect that got confused with S&M a lot, and partly because of that I had been so motivated to write an entire pleasure guide on consent play and how to do it;
But our consent play would never have existed without that Catherine Tramell, Nick Curran, Basic Instinct relationship style.
And with Bear gone, not a lover in sight, and my self-awareness reaching new lows after every workweek – there was nothing left to write about.
I need to get my act together and start doing what I had set out to do, the moment I started writing in that journal late at night. The real reason behind me claiming the level Bear and I had reached, was so that I would be able to keep it, long after he had left.
I had hoped the writing would help me to become the strong woman I used to be. But I was wrong. It was never in my writing.
It was in me.
Or it had been, because “it” wasn’t anymore.
I need to start remembering. Start becoming. Start embodying that bold virgin that asked him for an encounter over coffee, at a cafe December 1989. The young woman with whom he went to the movies, seeing Basic Instinct, in 1992. Several times.
And how we somehow knew we’d be the only people in that audience who would understand that this wasn’t about if she had done it.
That Basic Instinct was about Catherine Tramell’s and Nick Curran’s desire to live an exciting life. A life no one would understand.
Bear may have returned to his normal life.
But that should never again be a reason for me, to stop being Catherine Tramell.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Subscribe to this blog (subscription button somewhere on this page – most likely on the right) for the next episode of 1994.
You can read episode 1 to 4 here:
A letter from a stranger | “1994” fanfic inspired erotica episode 1 
Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2 
Think about you | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 3
Out ta get me | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 4

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Rocket Queen | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 5
is the second chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: “1994”: Consent play

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1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
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Being Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct)

I didn’t even have to upload a photo.
I could pick one from the previous posts because I ve been writing about Sharon Stone’s woman in white (directly inspired by Hitchcock’s Vertigo) for as long as I can remember.
And it’s like this thing where an insight, a certain knowledge about yourself, just keeps sinking in deeper.
Ever since 1992.
I saw the movie countless of times in the 90s already, because a few years after its release they started replaying it at a discount theater.
I own the DVD and recently bought a new copy of Basic Instinct 2, because I had lost the first one. That’s how important Catherine Tramell is to me; I need that collection in order.
My identification with Catherine Tramell has turned out to be this exponential thing.
In the beginning, it seemed like not much was happening. Like a flat line where I just “hit” the mark, every time I went to see it. But without seeing much development.
Then I started dressing like her.
The 90s were the first decade where I bought white, khaki and camel clothing, including turtle necks and over-the-hip woolen coats.
But it wasn’t until the release of Basic Instinct 2 that the graph started taking off.
Fourteen years after I had been a university student in her early twenties captivated by Catherine Tramell, the thought that there had been more than just the clothing that had kept me glued to the screen, started evolving.
Something that she did. With men.
With the world.
Their fear.
Her power.
It had been a deception that there were no similarities between us. And they were rooted in feeling vulnerable rather than powerful.
Because I am an emphatic, loving person.
I can’t pass a beggar without giving money or a starving bee without feeding him. I over-deliver, give immediate refunds and I don’t steal in any way, shape or form. I cannot remember I ever tried to hurt someone by being unkind without (from my point of view) that person starting first and it being self-defense.
I consider myself an emotional pushover, bound to her inner moral compass. I simply laugh when someone wonders if they can trust me, because my own moral code will exceed any expectations set by society.
My mistake, the reason it took me for over a decade before I understood that the similarities between me and Catherine Tramell were greater than a love for white coats, was that I assumed my own moral compass was something the world could see.
I still don’t know why they don’t, but very few do.
And the ones who do are usually very easygoing, friendly people.
Who say: “You’re so sweet, thank you.”
or
“You’re so social, you really see people.”
They’re the very people who (I think) should have been afraid of me, if there had been anything dangerous or ill-willing about me. They’re the ones who see my goodness.
And then my heart just breaks open.
Because no one ever says that.
I feel I’ve been criticized for everything. From the shoes I wear to how I express myself, to the way I handle criticism then conveniently called feedback.
Yet because of the inner-compass I didn’t identify as the strong woman Catherine Tramell, who was mostly only referred to as a serial killer.
Not a saver of Californian bees.
What I failed to see was that to the outside world I was Catherine Tramell.
The hostility, impatience and determination to find something wrong with me has been such a perpetual part of my surroundings, I cannot remember the time I didn’t try to offer some kind of excuse for myself.
I ll probably be diagnosed as autistic in 2020 which is great but I m just happy that something will come out of that psychological testing.
If I can hold up a label “autistic” or “borderline” or “narcissism”?
People will feel satisfied that they “felt something was wrong with me” and move on.
I hope I don’t have a high IQ because that will be useless in getting on people’s good or even neutral side.
If all they find wrong with me is being gifted I really have no other option than taking “the Catherine Tramell route”.
There is genius in what she does.
In both of the movies we don’t actually see her (identified by seeing her face) killing people.
It is implied, but everything could also be explained as being an accident, someone else impersonating her, or otherwise wanting it to look like she did it.
As much as part 2 (2006) differs from part 1 (1992); That is identical.
You don’t know if she really did it.
And in both movies she plays with people’s fear for her and messes with their minds. Where I have spent my entire life trying to defend myself, to fit in, explaining myself – and getting absolutely nowhere with the whole thing except in a state of not-belonging;
She just lets them have it.
She successfully passes lie-detector tests, turns ten-to-one interrogation scenes around, gets her psychiatrist to break all his own rules and drives men into obsessively and compulsively wanting her.
The creators of the movie, never questioned that ultimately she was the one who did it.
She was evil.
When in reality, 27 years into living in a defensive, non-Catherine Tramell way, I can testify that she didn’t have a real choice.
That even if she wasn’t a serial killer at all, had excused for herself, and for the impact she had on people?
Even if she had carefully tiptoed around every ego of every psychiatrist or every detective?
They would have found something wrong with her.
A way to put it all on her.

psychiatrist:
“Washburn thinks that you slit Denise’s throat.


Catherine:
“Me? You’re the one that hated her.

Maybe I’m acting out your unconscious impulses.”

psychiatrist:
“Stop it!”

Catherine:
“Do you think it’s possible that you want me to be the killer?”

We don’t know if Catherine really did it. And we don’t even know if she might have been saving bees or gave money to the homeless.
All we know is that people saw her as being guilty.
And she never made an attempt to prove them wrong.
Saved her 27 years.

.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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The Paradox of Lust and Gender

Eric Roberts by Robert Richard

Can we women openly lust over men?

Just because you could not, would not, say the same thing about a woman if you were a man with a sense of boundaries and decency;
Does this automatically mean we women are not allowed to say them about or to, a man?
Today I responded to a post, which gave like a 101 reasons why a famous person was incredibly hot.
After my initial enthusiasm, I backed out and deleted all my comments because there were so many negative responses on the original post, and I was getting some on mine, I was like:
“This is not my battle.”
I can perfectly live the rest of my life, not objectifying men.
Yet the thoughts on it kept coming up in my head.
And they all pointed in the direction that I was still of the opinion that this protective, uni-sex approach was wrong.

To clear my head, I initially started writing this post on Facebook because I considered m
y thoughts not yet worthy of a “real” blogpost.
They weren’t clear enough.
So I just typed them into the box and didn’t even risk 
any Facebook credit by using Eric Robert’s half naked H&M underwear photo with this post.
Instead I chose a fully clothed one.
It wasn’t until I realized that only five days ago, I had already made a similar post here on this blog.
It wasn’t a part of any of my other series or projects. And it was so unaffiliated that its category was “uncategorized”.
Just now I relocated it to a new category “feminism”, just like this current one.
And it basically shared the same conclusion:
How judging women with the same standard as men, is just another form of sexism.

That single blogpost (or so I thought) was about Europol making a gigantic mistake by outing criminal women, knowing perfectly well that most of the criminals were men.
Criminal women were not the problem, in terms of numbers.
And it was with this realization, that I was writing on the same topic as five days ago, that I saw a pattern. And that this was worthy of a real blog post.
Because as tempting as it may seem:
Judging women with the same standard as men, is not doing anybody any favors. But it’s particularly detrimental to women.
That’s what I was feeling this morning!
I kind of knew something was off. That despite the fierce and eloquent push back on the lusting over a man post, I felt like I was on the other side.
Although I could not understand where it came from!
But now, with my own 5 day old post in hand, I understand:
Just like I oppose Europol outing the wrongdoings of criminal women;
I m against shaming women who objectify men.
And now I know WHY.
.
The threat men propose when they objectify women is not in the objectifying. Not in the sexism. It’s in something else.
And that “something else” is not present in the women who lust after men.
The threat men propose to women, is not rooted in their sexist remarks.
It’s rooted in the power inequality that lies underneath.
Men are stronger than women because they are stronger:
– physically
– financially
– legally/ by their status or position
And this can be an either/or. Or an and/and situation.
Further more the context men make their sexist, objectifying remarks is entirely different to the fangirling in social media.
These are some of them:
– the remarks by men are made in real life groups in bars or at work, to establish their social status, their ranking.
– the sexual interest is presented as something the woman should be impressed or flattered by. Rather than as something that was entirely the responsibility of the man who felt it.
.
And as an elaboration on the previous observation of power inequality:
– the objectifying, sexist remarks are made by a man on which the woman is reliant on for money, housing or access to other resources.
– the objectifying, sexist remarks are made by a man who is physically, legally, or financially more powerful and can hurt her in any of those areas pretty much without consequence. She’s therefor in no position to respond freely.
.
There wouldn’t be a problem with men lusting after women if we were all rich, independent, badass bitches in positions of power. None of us could care less about what any man said about how absolutely gorgeous we looked.
We would KNOW that nothing would happen, unless we were equally interested.
.
The problem is, that we don’t.
Our physical, financial and legal integrity are not guaranteed. We have to play our cards right not to cross the wrong person who can harm us physically, or by hiring better lawyers, hacking our computers, shaming us by exposing private videos and photos.
It’s a jungle out there.
.
We all have our personal ways on how to contribute to equality. And mine will be that every woman who wants to lust after a rich, independent, badass of a man in a position of power looking absolutely gorgeous?
Will have my blessing.
.
And in all likeliness: His too.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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What my instincts tell me

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara( Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

This is what I wrote last time, about the happy ending I foresee, that was, and still is, freaking me out. 

It’s no longer a question of whether or not I will have a redemption arc. I will get back on my feet and start making my own money again;
It is no longer a question if me and ALL of the men I am in love with, will one day have a heart to heart and confess this to each other;
It may not even be a question if I will rise to fame both as LS Harteveld as well as the first and only Rock Star Yoga teacher. My current calm and soothing life style will actually be more appealing to the masses than my tapped-in, turned on, full volume style which is my usual self.
None of those things will come as a surprise.
Instead, just like in Star Wars, the only real question is:
Will I live.

And I added Disney might as well finish me off, because just like Kylo Ren, whose redemption and survival of Star Wars episode 9, has been heavily speculated on, I was never born to settle for happily ever after.
But having said all that, my new calm and soothing life style (that will one day kill me!) has kicked in. And it’s spreading to all the branches of the Tree of Life.
However the order has changed a bit.
Where I had initially focused on autism-friendly work, a frustrating path that cost me weeks and lead to The Land of Nowhere, I have now decided to focus on making my finance autism-resistant first.
Without the protection of official reintegration course or an autism based specialization I am going to need all my mental bandwidth to make my working life a success.
I can’t handle the responsibilities, risks and insecurities that would come from (also) still being an entrepreneur, and complex money and capital issues.
Right now my finance is so complicated, my bookkeeper needs me to get legal advice before we can submit my tax forms. And my bookkeeper is not even autistic!
So streamlining my finance, which will probably include ending my business January 1st, is my priority this week. Ideally I want to be able to have everything automated and do my own tax return in 2020.
The activities I did for my company however, I will keep doing. But they could be limited. For example: Having a company allows me to bill clients, if I m giving a talk somewhere.
Not having a business and in particular not having a VAT number, could very well mean I can’t charge money for my yoga class, private yoga class, talks or other services. Or maybe just super limited.
So aside from losing a couple of weeks trying to get a job first, everything is according to plan.
With finance and job sorted out, the real quest will of course be:
Get my sex life back on track.
Being my main suppliers of excitement, adventure, and even growth, men are my raison d’être. And with a schedule which will contain a real job for the first time in over 15 years, how will I keep life juicy?
I still don’t have real answers for that.

The movie Instinct (2019) which helped me prioritize on what’s important in life. Including in my new boring predictable as fuck life as a normal person

I went to a Dutch movie, Instinct.
And it was about a psychiatrist who is sexually aroused by her charismatic patient Idris, who has been convicted of rape.
In one scene where she tries to make love (not to Idris), she doesn’t even function properly.
It is so obvious that she needs him to be dominant. That she needs all responsibility to be taken away from her, so that she can surrender, submit, lose herself in an encounter without consent.
The story made me so sad.
In a way for myself of course: It’s been so long, since it’s been this good. My lover has not come back to me so forcefully as he once was.
My desire for the new man, the Slash lookalike, is ever present but it is quiet between us… Sometimes I don’t know if it’s still before the storm, or if our love is stillborn.
The second reason I was sad, was because I would have loved it if the film had portrayed two lovers who had went down that path. Instead of only dipping their toes in the water basically. And then messing it up because they got so scared. They couldn’t allow for it to unfold, maybe they were not strong enough.
But I would have loved to see them succeed.
But the third, and maybe the most important reason the movie made me sad, is because this is my theme. This is my quest. In January I went offline in order to write a book on consent play. It was called:
Playing No.
A pleasure guide for women with rape and other consent fantasies
And it drove me mad. Writing took hours of my day. It literally consumed me. And meanwhile even back then I did not know how the money was going to come in and what I was going to do with my life.
I was eaten alive on one side, and trying to escape on the other.
Ultimately I quit writing, I gave up.
The thought of having this book out, on such a sensitive topic, when I soon might be returning to a regular job, scared me shitless.
I wasn’t like Idris and the psychiatrist Nicoline; I wasn’t afraid of my own feelings.
I was afraid of putting pen to paper, and sharing with the world what I knew. In particular since I might soon be working in that same world, seeing the same people every day. People whom I did not want to interact with based on my controversial book topic.
And here I was.
Nine months later, I saw the story played out of people perfect for each other and both in the dark about this aspect of sex. Consent play. It was as if the universe called me back to my writing table, and fear caught me by the throat.
Either I start doing what I came here to do, and write the damn book.
Or I’m going to watch the same story of a misunderstood sexual preference, over and over and over again.
Sara, hold my beer.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Let the past die
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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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Europol’s Most Wanted List: Every word in that sentence was wrong


Atomic Blonde on Europol’s Most Wanted List: “A beautiful Italian girl once said to me: David, you can’t unfuck what’s been fucked”

Enfys Nest in the movie Solo on why she’s stealing galactic fuel: “And what would you use it for?”
The same thing my mother would have used it for if she survived and still wore the mask. To fight back.” 

There are so many movies to quote from, to roast Europol’s unscientific, fake, yet globally released Most Wanted List.
If it had been an actual representation of most wanted criminals, of which 18 out of 21 turned out to be females, I would have let this pass.
If those ladies really were Europe’s Viper Squad, decimating the males – after quartering them – they earned it.
But this fabricated list of lies and its propaganda tagline: Crime has no gender?
No.
Crime has no gender would only be correct as deadly sarcasm. Not as a catchy phrase to justify Europol placing a disproportionately large number of women on their most wanted list, suggesting females are just as likely to commit crime as men.
There is no research, no statistic, no observation by anyone with two functioning eyes and an even half functional brain, that over the entire population, women are equally criminal as men.
However we ARE far more often the victim of crime. Not because we work in crime, visit places high in crime, or are otherwise thrill seekers. No, because we are sought out because of our gender. We are selected to be attacked, raped, abused, exploited, stalked, and murdered because we are female. And in many of those cases by a male we know.
However, what does Europol do?
Come with a fake list filled with female criminals, hammering the point home in their tagline as to how criminal women are and an official press release that opens with:
Are women equally as capable of committing serious crimes as men?

The female fugitives featured on Europe’s Most Wanted website prove that they are.
They LITERALLY state their list proves women are just as capable.
Now, for clarity’s sake, let’s do what Europol should have done immediately and omit the horrific tagline Crime has no gender. Let’s pretend we’re a researcher and interested in facts.
What does Europol’s list then tells us?
Let’s look at the press release how they came up with the list.
Oh.
Uh oh.
Christ this really looks bad, but let me just quote it, so you can see for yourself:
21 EU Member States have selected one of their most wanted fugitives to feature in this campaign.
and
Europe’s Most Wanted was initiated by the ENFAST community in January 2016 with the full support of Europol. 
I looked up ENFAST, and just like Europol they seem legit. If it had not been for the questionable Most Wanted List I would have actually believed ENFAST was a European organisation for the international search for fugitives. Although in the light of this list I m concerned by their interpretation of their mission;
Why does ENFAST look for criminals by shaming the entire female gender by misrepresenting them on the Most Wanted List?
And instruct countries to come up with female fugitives, not with their most wanted criminals?
And yet despite ENFAST best efforts? If you go through the actual list, you will find a high number of females who cooperated with a man, a disproportionally large number who committed financial crimes and drug trafficking, an unspecified accusation only suggesting child abuse merely because the child was present drugs trafficking, and the one time you think,
“Jesus? What the fuck?”
It’s a man.
I studied the profiles Austria until Hungary, and I clicked Netherlands, but I was already so extremely angry, I just couldn’t go through the whole lot.
Suffice to say, I had seen enough propaganda and manipulation, to realize we already have enough to debunk the entire Most Wanted List, on name alone.
Europol‘s Most Wanted List
The list is not from Europol. It is from ENFAST, and they asked EU countries for their entry. Each country has one entry. There is no name for such a list. Even Europe’s most wanted list, would be incorrect, since the most wanted criminals on a European level would never be evenly distributed over the countries.
A correct way to define the geographical area of this list would be:
Most Wanted List in 21 European countries
The term List, in combination with most wanted, suggests a ranking.
If it had actually been Europol’s or ENFAST’s Most Wanted, the list would rank the 25 most wanted fugitives. Based on how long they had been on the run, or whether or not they were still active, if they propose a threat to citizens, that sort of thing.
Since there is no ranking, we need to ditch the word List.
Leaving:
Most Wanted in 21 European countries
Since countries were instructed to preferably come up with women, these are not the Most Wanted. Since it’s not exclusively women either, it’s not Most Wanted Women either.
You could even wonder whether they’re that wanted.
Drugs trafficking?
Real estate fraud?
Murder, but you’re on the run with your new partner (specified as male), and no mention of you as the evil genius behind this plan?
These 21 are not Most Wanted, they’re Wanted.
The only thing the 18 women on Europol’s list are MOST wanted for, is to create a list that shames women for being criminal, and to increase the chances of these lighter criminals to be caught instead of the real 25 most wanted.
The eye is on what women are doing wrong, not on who is doing the most wrong.
There’s a word for that:
A witch hunt.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Luke Skywalker’s famous last words on Europol’s Most Wanted List:

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Let the past die

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
(Sara’s Fb page)

Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

In the new Star Wars, which will be released right before Christmas, Kylo Ren has his/a helmet back on.
It’s a slightly different design than the one he smashed in VIII, but from afar it looks the same.
I assume they gave him a new helmet, to explain a vision from VII; A flash forward of Kylo Ren with his mask and with the knights of Ren.
In VIII the mask was smashed and no knights of Ren were to be seen.
So if Star Wars IX The Rise of Skywalker contains a scene of Kylo Ren with his helmet on, standing in the rain with the knights of Ren, it will be a surprise to absolutely no one.
That is about how predictable and boring my life has become.
It’s no longer a question of whether or not I will have a redemption arc. I will get back on my feet and start making my own money again;
It is no longer a question if me and ALL of the men I am in love with, will one day have a heart to heart and confess this to each other;
It may not even be a question if I will rise to fame both as LS Harteveld as well as the first and only Rock Star Yoga teacher. My current calm and soothing life style will actually be more appealing to the masses than my tapped-in, turned on, full volume style which is my usual self.
None of those things will come as a surprise.
Instead, just like in Star Wars, the only real question is will I live.
Because just like Kylo Ren I may very well just die.
If he does, it will most likely be because he has to sacrifice himself to save the galaxy. In reality, I think it’s because he’s bored shitless at the thought of living happily ever after with Rey. If you’ve been supreme leader of the First Order in a war-torn galaxy, you d rather just leave before it gets too dull.
I think what I have been trying to do the past weeks, is to be realistic now that I knew I was autistic. I no longer allowed myself to just dive into anything, head-first.
And for my job I realized that it would have to consist of one meaty task and minimize unnecessary socializing.
I would make a great supreme leader in a war torn galaxy.
But since demand for those are limited I made a brave attempt to reintegrate in the workforce, based on my autism. It made so much sense, to look for a specialized job to fit my autism, and reintegrate slowly. After 15+ years of working largely from home, this required planning.
However.
ALL coaches and businesses that were specialized in reintegration were aimed at clients who were funded by welfare or by an employer who was obliged to help them get to back on their feet.
So far, none of them was been able to offer me anything. I need a suitable job, not an assessment on what I can or cannot do. Nor do I bring a bag of money from some sort of organization who is legally obliged to make me reintegrate.
It was an incredible waste of time.
I m absolutely back to square one.
So I have decided to drop the entire Asperger diagnoses, stop writing about it, ignore I have it, and embrace the fact that a happy ending, where I work part-time in a job tailored to my needs, sleeping enough and spending my free time doing yoga to keep the sexual and creative flame inside of my body, was never going to work anyway.
It would be like Kylo Ren being redeemed and then his happily ever after or not, becoming a matter of taste because he is no longer essential to the story.
That’s what would have happened if my plan for a suitable job, while moderately working on my writing and dutifully doing yoga everyday, had actually worked out.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I had lived or died, because my life would be so boring Disney might as well provide me a heroic death saving the galaxy.
In a way, my journey served a function.
I tried to do the right thing, take my reintegration seriously and put my plans for fame and an empire on the back burner. An autistic person reintegrating to normal work life after 15+ years of working independently, should take it easy and not ruin it by overextending herself.
That was a great theory, but unfortunately it is getting me nowhere and I m thoroughly done taking into account any human limitations, of any kind.
I m burning the past, and going back to the one thing I always wanted. And whomever still wants to see me in the future, will have to join me there.
I m going to rule the world.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

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Let the past die
is the twelfth chapter of
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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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My Year with Kat – How one woman can change your business and your LIFE. For free.

Katrina Ruth. Click the photo to go to her book store or Amazon.
It will be the most exciting thing you see today.

This post was originally sent out as a newsletter 8 December 2017. This repost is to celebrate Kat’s 40th birthday!
Check her amazing VERY temporary offer
HERE https://thekatrinaruthshow.com/40
And follow
Katrina Ruth on Facebook.

 

post:
My Year with Kat – How one woman can change your business and your LIFE. For free.

If I have regrets it’s that I didn’t know Kat Loterzo 18 months earlier, which was when I first stepped onto the marketing path.
But maybe all those other freebies, coaches, paid programs, books, and spending hundreds of euros on Facebook and Google ads were necessary to truly appreciate Kat.
Maybe it really takes throwing away one and a half year of your life, and wasting a king’s ransom rebranding your yoga studio, with marginal results – zero if you compare it to the costs I made to get those results – before you listen to the message of someone as LOUD AND OUTSPOKEN as Kat Loterzo. Who says it comes down to one thing.

And one thing only;
You being YOU.
A message so radically different than anything that calls itself marketing, no one will believe it.
Not unless you have hit rock bottom and learned the hard way that being the good girl, doing your studying, mapping out your packages, and knowing your ideal clients “better than they know themselves” (I m not making this up!) – that all those things are going to do absolutely nothing for you.
Let me type that again, Kat style!
Ab.
So.
Lute.
Ly.
NOTHING!
That it will only result in the way I spent last year’s holidays, decluttering my expanding collection of marketing materials. I almost overlooked the few things I had in there from a new coach. Kat Loterzo. 
Or Katrina Ruth, which is her new name. She rebranded herself about a month ago. 
This new coach Kat Loterzo, was just a few A4s in my marketing folder. And at that time she was so new, I didn’t feel I had to make a decision on her.
So I stored them, and more or less forgot about it until I watched a two hour YouTube video called 
2017 Manifestation Training
And I was mesmerized.
In retrospect it was the moment I fell in love with her. Although unwittingly.
One year after giving her my email address, and the Christmas sorting my marketing materials, I can now see how important she has been this year.
And that I ll spend this Christmas confidently clearing out the entire marketing folder, except the material I got from her.
Unsubscribing for all newsletters and leaving all communities, excepts hers.
And Kat will change your life too, before the year is over if:
1. you start feeling rebellious the moment someone tells you something should be done a certain way in order for it to work
2. you either have your own business or you would love to have one
3. you know which activities light you up from the inside
If you score three out of three (no cheating!), then Kat is your woman.
You can join her Facebook page here, or subscribe to her YouTube
Last week I made a few important decisions.
To focus on yoga, to write for yoga, to message for yoga, to make a living out of yoga, and to keep my LS Harteveld writing as a hobby. And had the two most focused, and satisfying weeks of the year. And two clients returning to me.

But it’s not the money that was coming in that made me so happy.
Kat was allowing me to be me. To listen to my heart and to speak my true message. I could feel that energy flowing through me.
Needing little sleep.
Being fully confident.
Then something incredibly sad happened in her Inner Circle. She posted a video about it, as she always shares what’s going on in her life. It was about someone I didn’t know, but I felt for her. She gave us an account, so we could donate money for a gift, if we felt inclined to do so.
I hesitated.
It was not someone I knew and I didn’t have a budget for expenses like this.
Then I said to myself; 
“If I get a new client, before the day is over, I m going to donate to this gift Kat wants to buy for their friend.”
I wrote three different blogposts and hustled my ass off.
When I came home from teaching I found an email from yet another returning customer, taking me up on the offer for the yoga studio.
I just wired the money to Kat.
She earned it.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

I write erotica and stories in my series
7-figure Rock Star Writer
You can subscribe to this blog for new episodes

..

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.