{ I believe } Galadriel of Lord of the Rings shows women with Asperger/ autism are highly attractive

“From her earliest years, she had a marvelous gift of insight into the mind of others but judged them with mercy and understanding.”
on Galadriel
The Unfinished Tales, J.R.Tolkien
.

I ve been studying autism for a few weeks now, and I ll save you the story why I know I have autism. Or why it will take until 2020 (if ever) before I get a diagnosis.
And I ll even save you the story of why I don’t believe a psychiatrist agreeing with me on this, is nessecary before I can start improving my life, remodeling my life by autism guidelines.
Well, there is no one-size-fits-all autism guideline, for sure. But exactly because all those on the autism spectrum are different, THE guideline is a very useful one:
“Know yourself and tailor your entire life accordingly.”
People with autism often have a poor understanding of who they are, and of how they’re feeling. So a professional to help you figure all this out could be useful.
Striking example of me entirely missing my own emotions:
I usually miss I m in love!
I have examples dating from my early teens, when it took me years. Even though the signs/my thoughts about him were sooo obviously those of someone truly smitten!
But being in love is perhaps not a relatable example since most people I know do not fall in love that often at all. And if they do, they start obsessing if it’s reciprocal (in a practical sense: will they get into bed/ relationship/marriage) before they “allow” themselves to feel that.
Now that’s a situation where my bullshit alarm goes off left, right and center, but since I have not been able to connect my relatively high frequency of falling in love, and my (dare I say) impeccable relationship skills, to having autism, I will leave that alarm out of this conversation too.
Although I m sure I ll know how to tie it in, one day.
So this is not a scientific piece on diagnosed autism and its traits.
This is quite the opposite.
This is an article written from my personal perspective where I, a self-diagnosed woman with autism, shares her thoughts about one specific statement that I keep encountering in literature on girls and women with autism. And that I have a very hard time believing because from my personal experience, from my observation of other women with asperger/autism AND based on what my common sense tells me, it is not true.
That if there is any difference in being attractive between women with autism and non-autism, it’s exactly the opposite.
What I m talking about is the wide-spread assumption that women with autism are less attractive to men, because they act weird or don’t know how to behave sexy.
Hold.
Your.
Horses!
WHAT?!
The first reason I couldn’t believe what I was hearing was because I have exactly the opposite experience. Throughout my life, I have been able to get any man I wanted. Which doesn’t mean that I went after them, or that they all immediately dropped what they were doing (or “who”), but I ve always been able to feel the Yes between the lines.
Often people don’t understand how I know that a man likes me, even though he doesn’t choose for me, usually because he’s in a relationship.
That’s very simple:
How would I NOT be able to feel that?
I have my own thoughts on how autism, and in particular male autism, has been wrongly interpreted as in that we wouldn’t be able to connect with other people.
I disagree.
We ONLY know how to really connect with other people.
It’s the grey, fuzzy, non-confrontational way of communicating that people then want to cover up their feelings with, that we don’t understand.
And don’t particularly care for either.
To me the way normal people have sex is so not-erotic because it’s sloppy. Like, you’re both naked and oopsie! Your Sunday morning shag.
And there are these jokes about when someone cheated “his dick fell into her pussy”.
But to me, that really resembles sex in the neuro-typical world.
Sex is done on the fly.
I need it to be premeditated.
Not: “Oh we ran into each other and accidentally ended up at her place”
Or: “If you want to date me, just say so.”
I mean what’s that? Are you implying you’ll do me a favor if I get the uncontrollable urge to date you?
What he (whether a friend or a lover) can say:
“Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?”
or even better:
“I d love to see you! Would you like to go out?”
And compliments – if any – can never be made with the assumption I ll now rush over, or roll over onto my back with my paws up, in absolute awe that someone even wants me.
That’s not how this works.
But I digress!
Or then again – maybe this is all very relevant!
Because this whole rant about how I want to be addressed certainly illustrates I m not easy to get along with. And that “even” being that picky, even being that difficult, I ve felt desired and wanted.
That any difficulties came from me not wanting them.
A one-sided sexual interest from their side, was the reason the conversation was freaking painful to say the least. Not that I had autism.
I was, and am, often open to be just friends. And I have small circle of highly appreciated friends with whom I “just” date.
I put quotation marks on “just” because finding someone to have a great time with is a quest in its own right.
So, all in all I had already made myself the temptress- exception within the sexually struggling autistic community, when the second reason to seriously doubt the common knowledge on autistic women being less attractive hit me in the head:
The autistic women I see in the media, and know in real life are extremely attractive.
The most well-known women autistic stars are Daryl Hannah and Courtney Love: Both attractive women.
Courtney is of course known for being rebellious and for speaking her mind. Just watch this interview to see how absolutely captivating it is, to hear someone talk so candid!
She’s enchanting.
And here’s one of Daryl Hannah talking about autism, and she’s a bit intimidating but especially because of that – hot !
If I were a man, I would love to date Daryl or Courtney.
And I would know that after her, no woman would meet up, compared to someone so INTENSE!
Both Courtney and Daryl are women with whom you are immediately awake, you can feel they’re not going to sugarcoat it or tiptoe around your feelings and needs.
Their presence is an experience – and I like that!
But then I started thinking:
Well maaaayyyybe, Daryl and Courtney, and all autistic women from YouTube and the Dutch women I know with Asperger are not representative.
Maybe I just don’t see, all those unattractive women with autism.
Yes, that must be it!
I’m terribly biased, only look at the stars, and in my personal life I only feel drawn to exceptionally beautiful women.
So there I was again:
Totally ready to embrace the idea that females with autism were not as appealing as neuro-typical women. Despite my personal experiences and despite everybody I knew who had Asperger.
But then my brain started to go over them, one more time… And I saw it!
That although from a cognitive perspective I still had no other option than to conclude that women with autism were more attractive, that I could now see why you could also say they were less attractive:
Because they are dangerous.
And I immediately got the analogy with Galadriel from Lord of the Rings:
We can read people’s mind.
We don’t do small talk.
We are all-knowing, but we are not of this world.
We have our own realm.
I have often wondered how Galadriel’s husband Celeborn felt, next to what seems like an almighty wife.
Would he still feel needed?
But on second thought, he was very needed!
When the fellowship of the ring, a group of 9 companions, arrive in Lothlorien, they are brought before Celeborn and Galadriel.
And Celeborn does the talking while Galadriel stays silent, meanwhile reading everybody’s mind. And they are all shook by it, they can clearly feel she sees right through them.
That is what women with autism do: they see right through you.
I m convinced it is this trait that has given women with autism the status of presumably being less attractive:
Because men do not want to be known.
They don’t want to be seen.
This is also explained in Lord of the Rings, with Boromir.
Galadriel sees that he will one day steal the ring from Frodo. She can see right through him, and knows this before he does.
Just like I often have the feeling I know people better than they do themselves.
Months before I knew I had autism, I had conversations with many friends, about something I noticed, but didn’t understand:
That people can have very extreme reactions to my presence.
It’s like they can feel their entire life slipping through their fingers, like a delicate balance is suddenly rudely disturbed.
As if everything they thought they knew about themselves, suddenly drops to the bottom of some pit they thought they covered years ago.
And that’s before “Hello”.
The only thing I can do to prevent this, is to dim the light inside of myself. Which is actually a term within autism, it’s called “masking”.
So I ll tell you what my friends came up with, but first I just want to share that what I was basically trying to figure out, was what it was that made people respond so extreme to my presence.
I m not a guru, or Jesus; But I am no criminal either. I m completely honest and open, and I was certain that it was something fairly simple, and not some spiritual or Chosen One explanation.
I don’t know if autism is that simple, but it sure makes a lot of sense that people could immediately feel it, if I forgot to wear my neuro-typical mask.
Which brings me to the best explanation I received back then, on what happens when people see me:
You can only connect with someone’s true self, if you are connected to your own true self. What happened, was that these people had been cut off from their deepest feelings for example because they had to in order to function. And then they saw me, and just looking into my eyes, into my self, immediately connected them to the feelings they had been hiding for so long.
The part of themselves that they had lost, or had even deliberately tossed into the pit and then covered it.
So even though they obviously didn’t intend to connect with my true self – it was because mine was so readily available, it reflected back and boom!
Inadvertently down the rabbit hole.
And I could see this was true, because there were a lot of often quiet, really easy going people who were completely comfortable with themselves, who didn’t have those problems at all. If you would tell them you would find me intimidating, rude or cocky, they would have no idea what you would be talking about.
People who would have met me once or twice, and who remember me as warm, caring, and extremely easy to get along with.
Nothing extreme or even notable had happened when they saw me.
So I adopted that as my truth: It was the fact that I had my real Self, so close to the surface, that drew out the Selves of others.
And now, months later, this makes even more sense, because I can now describe it in terms of “a mask” that everybody wears, but in particular autistic people wear it to fit in. Their identity is always a mask, a role. They re fully pliable.
But if you don’t wear a mask, your soul, your Self, is like a mirror to anyone who looks into your eyes.
Exactly like in Lord of the Rings.
Although there, the mirror and Galadriel are presented as separate from each other. But the same scenario plays out: Frodo sees his own fate in her presence.
And she can feel it happening and knows what happened:

Galadriel:
Will you look into the mirror?

Frodo:
What will I see?

Galadriel:
Even the wisest cannot tell. For the mirror shows many things. Things that were, things that are, and some things… that have not yet come to pass.

[Looking into the mirror, Frodo sees the Orcs enslave the Hobbits and reduce the Shire to an industrial wasteland; finally, the Eye of Sauron causes him to stumble backwards]

Galadriel:
I know what it is you saw; for it is also in my mind. It is what will come to pass if you should fail. 

In my studies so far, I ve read nothing but statements about women with autism being less appealing to men. But if we see these women as Galadriels, it suddenly becomes clear that if it is true, this says way more about average man, than about autistic women.
Because for noblemen like Celeborn, the kings of this world;
For introspective hobbits like Frodo, who have a deep understanding of right and wrong;
And for honest dwarfs like Gimli, who dreaded seeing Galadriel but fell head over heels in love;
A woman with autism, will soon be all they can think about.

Gimli:
Be cautious, young Hobbits.
They say a great sorceress lives in these woods.
An Elf witch of terrible power.

All who look upon her fall under her spell…

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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{ I believe } Galadriel of Lord of the Rings shows women with Asperger/ autism are highly attractive
is the tenth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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Think about you | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 3

It seemed to happen at exactly the wrong moment. Which might explain why I am so confused, and am still no clearer than 24 hours ago.
In fact I feel even more confused since I barely slept last night, and had my first workday at the publisher’s office.
I made a super quick salad, and here I am writing and eating at the same time.
I have a few hours before I really should go to bed, so that I m fresh tomorrow.
Originally I had planned on doing yoga now!
Made sense to do something physical since I will be spending the rest of my life sitting on my ass, now that I have entered working life.
I do take my work very seriously.
No more Sunday night’s sneak peek movie for me, for instance!
I never got home before 11 PM; Way too late.
But it wasn’t just skipping the movies. I had also planned on choosing my outfit yesterday night, and to get up extra early so I had time to prepare lunch and take that with me.
When in reality I didn’t do anything anymore, after The Guy left.
I was just there all afternoon and night, on my balcony smoking and staring or something. I don’t even know what I did!
Time stood still.
I didn’t pick an outfit, barely slept, got out of bed way before the alarm went off, yet still had to rush to get out the door.
I survived my first workday, but already dread going back tomorrow, because I forgot all the instructions I received on how to do my job.
Fuck, this really is messed up.
Oh, and then make matters worse, like I said, I still don’t have a clue on what to make of it, or what to do. I don’t know what was worse: Being haunted by my untold story – as if it could escape me if I didn’t bring it home safely by 6 PM. Or to still have no idea what the story actually was.
And every hour that went by, made that more painful.
So here I am.
Still not knowing.
I will just share all the thoughts in their disturbingly unclear form.
Yesterday, the bell rang. When I opened it I saw a man in white painter coveralls.
He had long black curls and he was wearing sunglasses that seemed to be so much a part of who his was that he didn’t take them off even though it was heavily clouded.
He had an odd way of speaking. As if he was shy, but then wasn’t. I don’t know, it was weird. Anyway, he said the landlord had sent him to paint the balcony, and this made sense because I had told them I had accepted a job and would not be present during the day anymore.
They have done a big renovation before I moved in here, but some things still needed work and now the landlord had sent a painter to my house on a Sunday afternoon.
He went back to get his gear from the van, as I waited in the doorway to prevent the cats from escaping.
I remember that right at that moment, my head was already spinning.
This was all just a little too close to what I had been dreaming of, more intensely than I care to admit.
A few months ago, I received a Bon Jovi VHS tape by mail, along with a fan fiction story that the seller had written.
We had been on the phone for what had seemed hours, and she had actually asked me if I cared to read it. It wasn’t the type of thing you’d send to someone uninvited, because this was hardcore pornography.
At one point it became too much even for me, but the character who had been written into the story to execute such cruelty, stuck to me:
Nikki Sixx.
It wasn’t that I desired my skin to be cut open, nor to be humiliated or bruised. But I did desire someone who would play with me, if I did want it. Or even someone who had to restrain himself from hurting me, because he was a medium-sized sadist underneath, who liked the idea of owning and abusing me.
That, was what I wanted.
Initially I thought that Bear might be willing to date more often, and bring us back to where we started over four years ago:
But I seriously doubt that now.
I think he is ready to go bigger and bolder: Just not with me.
Maybe he desires an older woman who can teach him and dominate him. I can only imagine being the one in charge, must get straining at some point.
Boring even.
When I asked him to become my lover, it was initially just to lose my virginity or maybe a few times more. But then, when he was sooo good being dominant, I realized I could develop myself with him. He had all the cookies in store, all I had to do was ask.
And I did.
But he? Has he really been able to develop himself sexually?
I really doubt it.
He carefully stayed within my limits, and now that we both graduated and our working lives have started and I am ready to invest in my sex life again, he isn’t there to pick it up.
I still think he’s seriously toying with the thought of settling down. That unlike me, he doesn’t rule out starting a family.
The only thing I think I can pride myself on, is that I don’t believe someone has approached him the way I have. With a business-like invitation over coffee, rather than a passionate or “couldn’t help ourselves” love affair.
It was premeditated, and that made it so erotic.
An unorthodox arrangement that once made him confess he was surprised girls like me really existed.
Yes, I exist.
But after four and a half year with Bear, I need more.
First to get my sex life back to the level where we used to have it, before months could go by without seeing him.
And after that, I want to go further. The Nikki Sixx route: To have him lead me to a point where I say: “No, please. I can’t take it anymore.”
Just like I had to quit reading the story.
I just couldn’t take any more.
And it was all so real to me that I half expected a Nikki Sixx-like man to come rocking out of the bushes “Tadaa!”
As if I was summoning a genie, instead of looking for a lover.
But a Slash-like man ringing my doorbell was close enough to send a shiver through my spine, and to make me nervous. I couldn’t afford to fuck this up. I really couldn’t.
And I don’t think I did.
It’s just that over 24 hours later, I still don’t know how to proceed.
Or maybe I do…. just that I m afraid of rejection or pain. Of losing Bear. Losing myself.
As determined as I was when I folded that fanfic story away, to go out and make sure I would be challenged in my love life again; that’s how nervous I am now.
If all my dreams come true and he’s my new lover, will I be able to take this?
Will my aids phobia come back?
My general fear of STD’s? Will I dare to give him a blowjob without spending a week in bed in shivering, cold anxiety?
All questions that were already running through my mind yesterday, when I should have been focusing on getting to know him. I was so nervous I didn’t even look for a wedding ring. And he actually may have told me if he was in a relationship, but that I would have missed it.
Being together was totally strange but he was also impossible to look away from and it was so promising. I broke off the conversation to go inside and leave him to work.
Not because he made the impression he wanted that, but because we just kept grinning at each other. I thought we would be able to have a conversation, as he was working on the balcony. But instead he kept looking at me too, and grinning!
It was idiotic, fun, but sooo strange!
People don’t do this!
They look away, pretend it to be casual.
But it was as if the air between us was already filling with what we wanted, even tough we said NOTHING sexual! Absolutely nothing!
And like I said, as far as I remember nothing about if he has a relationship, nor if I have one. Nothing.
All in all I spent time with him three times.
Once when he was setting up his things. When the grinning became too uncomfortable I excused myself and went inside.
Then after an hour or something, I asked him if he wanted coffee, and he did. He drank it black with a lot of sugar (my favorite type of man!) and we both smoked, chatted and drank our coffee.
This was our longest conversation.
I asked him about the sunglasses. Why he was wearing them, and that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to. Strangely enough, he took them off immediately when I asked, and gave them to me!
Why, right?
It seemed more like an instinctive thing.
Just like I instinctively put them on, and tried them out. I looked at him (grinning some more) and he said they looked good on me.
They were aviators, and way larger than the small round sunglasses I usually wear.
I gave them back.
And oh fuck I so wish I had seen the color of his eyes! It went by so quickly! I guess I also failed to take notice because the moment he had his sunglasses off, I had put them on. Either way, I have no idea. Most likely brown, I m almost sure they were brown.
Also because his hair is black and it’s not dyed.
So anyway, he said he had sensitive eyes, and that he had barely slept because he went out last night. I asked where, and teased him saying:
“You probably go to The Star, or something.”
The Star is a hardrock cafe but it’s mainly for old people.
He laughed and said: “Noooooooo. I go to Warhol’s usually. Ever go there?”
Warhol’s is by far the coolest place around. I used to go there when I was still in my teens. And in my first college years too.
Firstly because I was living straight above it, but also because none of my peers went there. Not even Bear.
Warhol’s was no place for college students, and that had been its appeal. It was my own little bubble of coolness.
“Used to go there a lot,” I said. “You probably sit at the bar in Andy’s room. With a Black Label on the rocks.”
He grinned again.
“Maybe.”
I didn’t really know what to make of that, if he was inviting me to meet him there, or not.
But maybe that was the whole point? That he didn’t want to make this too easy for me.
One hell of a way to start a relationship, but it definitely fueled my thoughts on his dominance.
The third time we talked was around the time he left.
He was bringing everything in and closing the door.
The balcony he painted is in my study, where I also have my stereo and music collection. We both seemed a little reluctant to part, although we both tried to hide it.
Before he left he said:
“I saw you have some good music,” and nodded to the albums. “Death Angel. That’s impressive.”
I laughed (oh God, I really could just not stop grinning!) and answered:
“I know!”
He said: “There are weird things on that Iron Maiden cover. Did you know that?”
I said I didn’t, took it from the shelve and handed it to him.
We both studied it and were standing really close, side by side, as his fingertip traced the hieroglyphs on the pyramid.
“Here’s a little man.”
It was one of those drawings I used to make in high school, from a bald man with a big nose peeking over an edge. It said: “Wot? No Guinness?”
There was a reference to Indiana Jones and a Mickey Mouse.
It was like I was holding my breath.
I knew he would be leaving in minutes and there was nothing I could do. It was as if any hint or flirt would hurt my ears. It all seemed so blunt and ugly, as if it would stain the entire afternoon. Ruin it all.
I just couldn’t make myself.
He had said he went to Warhol’s, and with that he had already told me where I should be spending my Saturday nights, if I ever wanted to see him.
It’s 24 hours after and I already know I will do anything to see him.
If only to be rejected, I don’t care.
I ll be there.

~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.
The idea of this retro series is that they are erotic stories, but this is just an introduction so I called this 1994 one just a story – not erotica 😉 
You can read episode 1 and 2 here:
A letter from a stranger | “1994” fanfic inspired erotica episode 1 
Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2 

For the real current-day me: 
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Think about you
is the nineth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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
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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.

I m in love and this letter caught me JUST in time!

Jon Bon Jovi was with Diane Lane for 13 months, before he returned to his now-wife and high school sweetheart, with whom he’s together to this day.
Dear God:
I ll take the 13 months and look this happy.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara.
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

This message got stuck, started rotting and had the potential to become the most depressive shit I ever wrote.
I had already come to terms that I had no other choice than to show you the raw mess of a disemboweled and dismembered artist life, when suddenly it hit me;
I was NOT lost!
Not at all!
Just Saturday, two days ago, I had gotten an epiphany that had brought me great clarity and changed my life around.
It’s just that somehow on Sunday I forgot.
Maybe because it was all so embarrassing?
I seemed all too eager to forget Saturday’s insights. And was so successful at it, that I honestly  believed I was on the right path trying to build a life from all the neutral scraps and pieces that had nothing to do with Tha Embarrassing Thingy.
Which is (Tadaa!)
I m in love.
Sara – will you please, if I EVER present myself to you in a state of falling apart, ask me if I have been denying being in love? Or if it is otherwise tied to a man?
In 2018 (in hindsight) I believe that everything was caused by my lover having someone else, something I seemed to be picking up on energetically.
I tried soooo hard to look for solutions and explanations inside of myself, when a large part of the reason I felt so messed up was because our affair was in trouble.
I was losing him.
I m not saying that I didn’t have a part in it. After all I do believe that when I m doing really well, he will automatically be drawn to me like a bee to honey and that I will not even care if there is someone else.
So it is a two-way street.
But nevertheless I made the resolution to never look inside of myself for the deeper reason for depression or anxiety, without answering the question:
“Is this about my lover? Am I picking up that he’s with someone else?”
That’s the thing with people like him and me, isn’t it?
Because our attention, our love, is so strong, people can feel it from miles away if you stop doing it. Sometimes I think even Madonna must have felt I stopped being a fan after 25 years. Because I m now back with Bon Jovi.
Who knows.
Maybe we should ask her, if she can feel fans dropping in out of fandom.
Either way  – all just to say, that when I m not doing well, the first explanation could be my lover having his mind with someone else.
Or (option two) I m in love and not acknowledging it.
Or I acknowledge it one Saturday, but then refuse to live my life honoring this inspiration, and set myself up for a Monday where the suicidal thoughts return.
The despair of feeling such a loser for both NOT seeing myself in a normal job – but also NOT seeing myself as an entrepreneur!
The only thing I clearly see is that I don’t belong in society, because I lack basic human survival skills of wanting to fight for your place here. Wanting to make an effort.
I don’t want effort.
I don’t want shit sandwiches (as defined by Elizabeth Gilbert) that come with client contact, work floor dynamics, contract obligations. I even had a severe wake-up call last Friday when there was friction around the yoga studio and I just said:
“I m not going to have this conversation. If this is not acceptable to you, just put your objection in writing and I will leave the yoga studio, because I no longer have it in me to deal with complicated dynamics like this.”
In a way it just felt like a real accomplishment, that I no longer acted like an adult entrepreneur who fought for her yoga studio.
I was simply like: “If you re going to make this difficult, I m out.”
I felt really bad the entire Friday, but then I saw how it had actually helped me. That knowing that you do not want to eat the shit sandwich tied to something, means that it is just a hobby. It’s something you do for fun.
Suddenly it became clear why my undefined, or at least not-acted-upon, plan to get enough private clients to earn me an income – had remained just that.
Undefined.
Not-acted-upon.
Because I don’t want it.
I ll give up the studio in the blink of an eye if needed.
I love teaching the walk-in classes for old-students, but I m sure I could find some other space to give them. As I could for teaching the privates.
But I don’t want to work on my business.
I don’t want to sell people on my yoga.
And from that came a CLEAR vision that “even” for yoga, my work will not be a business model involving client contact.
It will be writing.
It will be YouTubeing.
It will be sharing everything I know for free, and just seeing where it will lead.
Although I still don’t see myself a writer, performance is my true art. But I do see that I am way more a writer than an entrepreneur.
And that writing comes sooo natural to me.
So maybe I AM a writer after all.
Even without trying to be one.
But isn’t that the characteristic of a true identity?
That you don’t do it, you just are?
So where was I?
Okay Friday – shit sandwich studio. Realization I don’t want to give my all to make money teaching yoga.
Saturday: D-Day
Aka the day I realized I am in love.
So if I feel shitty option one is I feel my lover is doing other things.
Option two is: I m in love and not allowing it.
Option 3 – and for future reference I do want to stress this is the most likely scenario –
BOTH!
In other words: me falling in love is linked to him turning away.
If for a longer period of time, I feel I m not getting attention or (just as important) that I can’t give him my attention and love; I survive by falling in love.
In 2018 this was with Christopher. Which took me two months before I had figured that out. Two months in which I lost my company because I kept trying to do something magical with it, that would make the pain go away.
Same way I still try/tried to do something magical with my yoga studio the last couple of weeks, AND the same way I tried to get psychological help Sara!
I now see that me going after a diagnoses was because I was in love!
Wonder if their test would have brought that up, to be honest.
Falling in love, and especially not knowing I m in love, has been the cause of the most painful periods of 2018 and now 2019, because I keep trying to fix the wrong thing!
My finance.
My business.
My studio.
My mental health.
It’s none of those things!
Which isn’t to say that those things would not benefit from some attention, but I can’t fix my life by fixing the symptoms.
I need two tattoos,  Sara. Two things I should never forget.

Tattoo number ONE
Do not eat shit sandwiches when doing PURPOSE WORK

Real purpose work is by definition shit sandwich free.
This does not mean you get a happy end.
You may end up on the cross like Jesus.
Or poor and miserable like Vincent van Gogh.
But eating shit sandwiches is what you do to try to avoid that.
I ve made a really drastic decision Sara… and it has to do with part deux (my second tattoo) too, but I want to drop it here.
Sara.
As much as I respect people who can be artists as well as have a normal job that brings in the money, I will no longer pretend I can do that.
Because I can’t.
The reason I get suicidal thinking about a job, is because I don’t see how I can protect my own mental space to create my art, and fulfill my own destiny (which takes all of my time and doesn’t allow for a job) while doing a job I hate.
This is not because the job is no good: It’s because everyone who feels responsible for a gift, a talent they got, and for bringing their message into the world, would hate any job ever invented in the history of mankind.
You just can’t be separated from YOUR LIFE for 40 hours a week, expecting it to have a pulse when you come back at 6 o clock.
Which means that in the upcoming weeks I will be working like a mad woman completing my books, my legacy.
And that after that I will cease to exist as an artist, unless and until, I can afford to be one.
Giving up on the idea that I will make an effort to stay creative, to stay alive spiritually, once I am incarcerated into work life, has been such an incredible relief…
But the reason I could do that, is because of the second tattoo:

Tattoo number TWO
It’s always about a man

This is the thing you should remind me of, when I feel really bad.
That I probably feel bad because I m either not in love, not acknowledging it, or because I feel bad about what is happening in a love relationship.
Like in 2018 and 2019 when my lover had other women on his mind.
But I have another example.
In 2007 I had a job for a couple of months for a horrible man, but because I was in love I could deal with him effortlessly.
Yet, the moment things got rocky between my then-lover and me, the situation exploded within 24 hours.
As long as I m in love – I can do anything.
I need being in love more than art, Sara…. I really do.
That is also why I could choose to stop being an artist:
All I need to do to enjoy life, is have a good love life.
Which is – of course – my true art.

But who is it Lauren? Who is it?

I had almost finished this letter without mentioning who it is! Ha ha ha.
Well, it’s someone I met weeks ago. I haven’t looked it up, but it may have been 5, 6 weeks.
That’s how long I was in resistance.
I haven’t seen him since, although we texted to wrap things up. He doesn’t do social media, so I don’t have pictures or video. Therefor I can’t be be a hundred percent certain about my feelings, because it’s been so long.
But then again…. how often does this happen?
– he was really good at keeping his cool
He didn’t flinch! Reminded me of the one time I was with my lover and we ran into this beautiful blonde on a mountain bike. They chatted a bit, but they were both totally cool.
She was so stunning that any man would have overplayed his hand trying too hard, especially with me next to him.
He didn’t try anything.
In fact, he didn’t even mention her afterwards.
If I would have a conversation with him now, reminding him of it, and asking who she was, I m a hundred percent sure he would not even remember.
THAT is how cool this guy was too.
Didn’t flinch.
– he was professional
We  saw each other professionally, and I was the client. That is all I can say about it. So this also means that if I want this to work, I might have to be the one who makes herself more available/ hints at this, because he obviously cannot be “caught” that he’s harassing me, or coming on to me, because that would be totally unprofessional.
And yet: I don’t want to be open about this at all.
And he has at least one chance in the future, to see me in a casual setting, maybe more. I’m not going to do anything until I see him using that chance.
– he was kinder than he needed to be without being flirty
Which is another accomplishment. Maybe it’s too close to keeping his cool, but he was giving me a lot of space to be myself and to share what I wanted to share.
Which brings me to the last:
– he told me a secret
It was a slip of the tongue, when he talked about his personal life, a past relationship.
It went by so quickly, I think it startled us both a little bit. And it was so intimate, that I didn’t discuss it, because it was obvious that he had not been wanting to share that.
But the fact that he did, and that we both just seemed to fall through the rabbit hole automatically?
That was magical.

Oh and as sort of a PS?
He looks like Slash from Guns N Roses.
Yeah, I know.
Jackpot baby.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

{ scroll down for interview Slash and Nikki Sixx! }

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I m in love and this letter caught me JUST in time!
is the eighth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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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)

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.

Slash on the radio show from Nikki Sixx:

Woman in Love | how a Bon Jovi concert turned me into a better lover

I went through my notes about my lover and me.
Most of them have been written into a retro-erotic story situated summer 1994, but I had not done anything with the parts that were related to my Bon Jovi concert.
Because when the story takes place, in 1994, the l
ast time Bon Jovi had played The Netherlands was April 1993.
It didn’t make sense that the protagonist would compare an encounter with her lover, to a concert she had been to the year before.

So I didn’t use that story line.
Until this morning, when I went through the notes to migrate them to my diary. I realized the insights were already starting to fade and I wanted to relive them,  understand them the way I had after the concert, and after the encounter with my lover.
For me the best way to deepen my understanding of something, is to write about it.

So that is this blog post.
.

My love life

Early 2015, I got involved with a married man, whom I call Mr.Big.
Like most mistresses I assumed the situation was temporary, and that he’d leave his wife for me.
When that didn’t happen, I found myself not just adjusting to the situation, but actually thriving on it. I discovered my true sexual identity, thanks to this relationship. Which was that I
am a real mistress;
Someone who is deeply in love with one man, but wants him to have his own life and have other women too.

I understood that my longest relationship (14 years) had not failed because I was getting restless being faithful (which I was), or because I had been yearning for adventure (which I had), but because I was with a monogamous man.
It didn’t provide the excitement I needed, from other female competition and having to work for his attention.

I had broken up the relationship because I could feel it didn’t fit who I was sexually, but in all those years of being single I had never been able to pinpoint it.
Now I did.
It really had never been him. It was me. I needed something different. My affair with Mr.Big made it clear what that something was.
I have been seeing other men since then, but those are platonic friendships.
And I ve also fallen in love with someone else in 2018. With Christopher.
So just once.
Twice if I count Jon Bon Jovi.

Thrice if I count Nikki Sixx!
But as you can see, I have a strong preference for unavailable men.
And although Christopher was no rock star, he proved equally hard to get.

Falling in love with all of them, were no signs of my feelings for my lover fading. If anything, they have only gotten stronger.
And this year I picked up being a Bon Jovi fan, and went to the concert June 13, in the Netherlands/ Nijmegen, where I live.
It was the best day of my life and Bon Jovi has inspired both countless posts on this blog, as well as an entire
series on YouTube
Three months after the concert, I m still learning how the concert experience and encounters with my lover, are similar to each other.
And how one inspired the other, and vice versa.
.

Ain’t no woman, like a woman in love

As I m writing this, I m listening to the Bon Jovi album Keep the Faith, and the song “Woman in love”.

There ain’t no woman
Like a woman in love
Ain’t nothing she can’t rise above
She can part the water
When the seas get rough
Ain’t no woman
Like a woman in love

If there is a part of my success which can be conveyed to others, an explanation why I am so content with both my love life as well as the Bon Jovi concert I went to, it’s the fact that I am in love.
And that I don’t need validation for that.
It’s not a case of:
“I am your fan, but now you have to give me a great concert experience or I will be heavily disappointed.”
or
“I am in love with you, but now you have to choose for me, because otherwise I look silly.”
No.
Being in love is MY business, and the gift it brings is the being in love itself. When it exists it is unconditional, and if it no longer exists nothing can bring it back.
Least of all conditions being changed for the better or terms being met.
If there is a secret to my life, it is that I take full responsibility for my own feelings, and I honor them. I live by them. My heart speaks the ultimate truth that I will live by.
And by nothing else.
.

Preparation, presence and postpartum

In the days before the concert, I was hyper aware that I was leaning heavily onto my experience with my lover, in order to get the best concert experience.
That I would not have been so certain of my moves, not have the awareness that what I was doing would contribute to the overall experience, if
 it hadn’t been for the fact that I had done this countless of times.
The big difference between being a lover and being a normal girlfriend, is that although my lover and me do not always have sex when we see each other, we do always have a good time.
It is very dense in quality.
We are fully aware of the other one being there.
This is – I think – why most people are both unfit to be a lover, as well as to have a lover: 
This is a peak performance that “requires” your full presence. The moment you start hiding, it’s over.
Just like Jon Bon Jovi had 2 hours and 20 minutes to make a lasting impression, my lover and me only have a few hours to enjoy each other.
So that is the easiest thing to explain the difference between being lovers, and being in a normal relationship:
It is very pure.

If we’d go away for a weekend, we would already have to tone down and get into energy save mode, because you can’t keep that up for 48 hours, anymore than Jon Bon Jovi can be on stage for 48 hours.
Peak performance and peak awareness are key assets both parties have to possess in order for it to work out.
That’s why I credit my lover for this as well. Most men would not be able to deliver a few hours of affair, anymore than they would do well being on stage and entertaining 50.000 people.
It’s a craft.
But before I was even consciously considering how being (mentally) present at a rock concert was similar to being with a lover, I noticed how the preparations were the same.
The looking forward to something, and mentally tuning into what is going to happen.
Sometimes I think it is because in recent years we (in the field of personal development) have put way too many eggs, if not all, in the basket of being present in the now.
The basket of mindfulness.
Peak experiences demand preparation time, which are not in the present time. They are about bringing the energy of a future experience towards the now. Not in the way that you can say:
“You have to do this and this *checklist given* and then you will have a great sexual experience slash great concert”
No.
This goes way, way further than that.
This is about literally tuning into the energy, the emotion of what is about to happen. This is about ritual and mental preparation, much more than a physical one.
Sure.
I shower, shave, groom, and carefully select my clothes.
I know where we are going, buy tickets, visit the venue and make sure I know any additional and specific information that could come in handy.
One fan from New Jersey who was following the tour for ten days, whom I helped out with a rubber band and plastic foil to cover her water bottle, because our caps were confiscated at security, called me:
The best prepared fan she had ever met.
I know all about coming prepared.
If you see your lover only occasionally, you have a routine of not leaving anything to chance.
But still!
It wasn’t in the plastic foil or the rubber band, anymore than it is in the lube or the condoms I bring. I could lose them halfway, or forget to put them in my bag. The real effect comes from the thinking it through beforehand.
So in preparing for the concert, I recognized my routines from preparing for my lover.
And when I was there at the venue, without checking my phone for the entire day and totally present during every minute of the show, I knew this was so familiar to me, because this zoning out of reality and tuning into a whole new world, was what I had been doing for four and a half year with my lover.
But there was one thing that happened, that I did not expect.
Just like my affair had prepared me for a great concert, the Bon Jovi concert in turn, learned me to be even better at my affair.
Firstly, my experience to absorb energy was heightened.
After the concert, my gums were tingling. Something I only have after an orgasm. It made me aware that even without sex (I wasn’t even aware I had a body, during the concert), and without physical proximity or touch, I can collect, receive and generate, energy.
And at my next encounter with Mr.Big I used that.
Because I knew I didn’t technically need the sex anymore, to get something overwhelming out of it I started soaking up the energy at a much earlier phase.
During the concert it had been during the song “Lay your hands on me” when I had surrendered even deeper.
Now I play with that.
Knowing there is always a deeper layer of surrender.
You just have to dare to let go and drop into it.
Until your gums are tingling and you come out shaky and emotional.
I cried in his arms after, and with the Bon Jovi concert the postpartum cry came as I was doing the dishes around midnight.
It’s not even grief: It what comes after the beauty of being overwhelmed.
The second part where the Bon Jovi concert has altered how I am with my lover, is in the time afterwards.
What I need to unwind.
Before the Bon Jovi concert, I was unable to function in the normal world, basically for weeks, but the last 72 hours it was hopeless.
So I “just” postponed everything to the day after the concert: For sure I would be able pick it up then, right?
Wrong.
What the Bon Jovi concert taught me is that just as I needed time to build up towards it, I needed at least half of that time to cool down.
I wrote.
I made videos.
But most of all I did nothing, just processing my thoughts.
I was already starting to forget about that, but when the day after I saw my lover, I was suddenly really tired, I remembered:
Rest.
Take your time.
As long as you need to.
Don’t rush from one peak experience into the next mundane thing on your calendar or your to-do list.
That taking time afterwards, weeks if needed, is another key to having peak experiences.
I will never forget that.
.

Great pleasure comes with great pain

At the concert and at my last encounter with my lover, I had not yet started looking for help with my mental health.
Now don’t panic – I m okay.
It’s just that compared to other people I m a bit extreme.
It’s kind of a my way or the highway situation here, where I just don’t understand how most people can work so hard, in real jobs.
How can you give 40 hours a week to a job without losing your mind?
As someone who has supported her freestyle writing “career” teaching a few yoga classes a week, I just couldn’t get my head around it. Not even now, when I don’t teach group classes anymore and haven’t figured out where the money is going to come from.
Just that I don’t feel like parting with my whatever-the-fuck-I-want-to-do creative lifestyle.
After many frustrating weeks and conversations with professionals, I finally got a couple of preliminary observations that were worth checking out.
The most remarkable one, and one I had actually suggested myself, is autism.
Autism would explain why I hang on to writing and fear having it being taken away. Because writing can then be seen not so much as a tool for personal development (which I ve always considered it) but as a coping strategy to deal with life in general.
A survival thing.
Autism would relabel writing from a passion into a necessity, which definitely feels closer to the truth.
But an autism diagnoses would also put my sexual preferences into a broader perspective: As an autistic woman, it would make total sense that I find sex and a concert overwhelming, and something I need to recover from.
It explains both the intense pleasure, as well as the pain afterwards.
I had a meltdown the week after the concert, that was so bad, I don’t even want to think about it. Ultimately I wrote about it (Always, a concert inspired story), once I got my head straightened out on that one. 
Autism would also offer an interesting neurological perspective to why I m monogamous. And that although I will never exclude having two or even three lovers in the future – providing I m madly in love – it certainly explains why I prefer to keep it at one and rule out one-night stands or short affairs.
Unless it would be with Jon Bon Jovi himself, I guess.
Monogamy as a neurological disorder where I poorly handle change, offers an interesting perspective on why I like this mistress thing so much.
But the pain…. oh the pain!
Unbelievable.
Every time I think I know what’s coming, I don’t see it coming.
There’s the meltdown after the concert.
But I also remember the meltdowns of having my heart broken, once in 2008 by my first secret lover and once in 1989 (by a boyfriend who looked like Jon Bon Jovi)
Damn, they were ugly meltdowns!
With my current lover too:
The first months, I felt absolutely horrible the day after.
Like my heart had been ripped out and stepped on, from not being “his” woman.
Becoming a mistress who enjoys herself was not something that came easily.
The penny started dropping years ago, when I was still single from 2007-2015, and it was not an easy lesson to learn:
With great pleasure comes great pain.
The sorrow the morning after is linked to the pleasure the night before.
You can’t avoid one, without the other.
The meltdown in the week after the Bon Jovi concert, was similar to the meltdown after my first lover, in 2008.
And when I met my current lover in 2015, the fear that I would get my heart broken and end up crawling over the kitchen floor in tears was still omnipresent.
I honestly didn’t know if I would survive that another time.
But in the end I risked it.
I think with the Bon Jovi concert too, I would get better at it. That falling as deep as I did, is not necessary. But you have to train it, you can’t fly immediately.
And some pain will always be there.
Just like I have with my lover, even now, over four years in.
I m still jealous, and feel uncertain. It’s just that I now realize it makes our time together all the sweeter.
In the notes I read something I have used in the erotic story, I wrote earlier:
That I climax easily from penetration.
In missionary or when I sit on top.
It’s just that when we turn around to doggy style, it almost immediately becomes excruciating. Now since we both know this, it has its own charm.
Because sometimes you want it to hurt.
And he knows it, and he plays with it.
But nevertheless, it is strange to have such a position predominantly being about pain, or fear of pain, when you have another position that for the majority of women would never be enough to have an orgasm, and yet for me it brings pleasure.
Pleasure that I can surrender to, deeper and deeper still.
But if you turn the pleasure around, you have the same amount of pain.
You can learn to cope with the pain and even play with it.
But ultimately you can’t have pleasure without pain.
You can’t be a woman in love, without coming to terms with being hurt.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Woman in Love | how a Bon Jovi concert turned me into a better lover
is the seventh chapter of
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My diaries en erotica are available at 

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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)

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.

Bon Jovi Nijmegen:

#ActuallyAutistic

Sara is my creativity coach.
And after a year of working together, I have news that’s going to put a whole new perspective on anything and everything we ever talked about.


Dear Sara,

Last week, when I sent you a “midterm update” as I called it, giving you a heads-up on my mental health.
I sent you that extra message, because I thought today’s email and our call tomorrow, would be about something different.

I assumed that I’d be back to my normal levels of content creation.
With all of my video channels, blogs, personal site with cartoons and yoga classes:

ALL of it attended to on a daily basis because life would be back to the way I have lived it for the past 5 years or so.
Which is me getting up every morning, ignoring all of my plans and to do lists, and doing whatever the fuck I want. Resulting in the highest turnover in creative production that I know.
However.
Little did I know, that at this moment I am still days, perhaps weeks, from getting back into the grind.
But that I do have something extraordinary to share:
I am actually autistic.

It is not certain yet, I don’t have a diagnoses and this could take months and months. But there is not a hair on my head in doubt about this.
Because it would explain for everything.

Do you remember half a year ago, when I stated that seeing myself as a highly gifted and even highly intelligent person, already explained everything?
I still stand by that.
But what I see now is that – although an IQ test or other tests which could estimate “giftedness” would almost certainly come up with things that set me apart – my talents are rooted in a neurological diversion called autism.

On a very practical level (which is probably autistic in itself to refer as “not committing suicide” as “very practical”) it explains why I associate having a 40 hours a week job with so much stress that I don’t want to live anymore.
It were these episodes of deep despair over having to go look for or accept a job, that ultimately got me to seek help.
I even thought: “Maybe if they hook me up on Prozac, I can actually do it.”
On a soul level I would die then.
Just that on Prozac, at least I wouldn’t feel it.
So maybe I wouldn’t have to kill myself and just live on as a walking dead.
Which I thought was a fair price to pay to be part of society.
The other scenario was, if I didn’t get some magic pill which would allow me to work, that getting a diagnoses would maximize my chances of becoming successful as a writer/ entrepreneur OR if my art asked the ultimate price – my life – at least I would know which mental health condition was to blame.
“Whether you call it my madness or my calling – I want to know what this is,” I wrote you.
Again:
Little did I know what “this” was.

Autism.

I feel some of the biggest breakthroughs of the past year, can be explained looking through the filter of autism:

Things we talked about as signs of autism #1
fear of a normal job

Makes total sense. Me immersing in my own world every day, thinking, writing, creating videos, is my way of dealing with reality.
My art is both my purpose as well as my coping.
Like many autistic people I am one with my work, you can’t separate the two.
I ve joked before, that unless my employer is Jon Bon Jovi himself, meaning an embodiment of one of my passions, normal work is never going to work. I need hours with my passion every day. And the few hours left after a workday are never going to suffice.

Next to that social interaction costs me much energy.
This is because I put on a face, a mask. And I can wear the socially-acceptable-me mask for a few hours, but then I zone out. And if at any time someone can call, or tap your shoulder, or send an email that requires immediate answering, this means I have to wear the mask the entire day and will snap.
Being autistic explains both my dread of losing having the day to myself, as well as the fear of being in a workplace.
It explains the non-negotiability of my purpose work.
Which brings me to:

Things we talked about as signs of autism #2
my maniacal working hours

I ve said it before and I ll say it until the day I die:
I don’t feel affiliated with normal writers.
From what I hear they map out their books in advance, experience writer blocks, second guess their work and so on.
Most write a few hours every day and carefully plan those hours.
“When is my best time of the day to do my writing?”
Whereas this is me:
I.
Devour.
It.
No matter what I plan, no matter what I m supposed to be doing for my finance, or to build a business, or even whether it would be a good thing to do something with daylight or exercise?
Too bad.
The last couple of weeks my production has dropped to 20% of what I used to create. Due to stress over having to figure out my finance, and also the constant worrying of having to choose between taking a job possibly taking my life on one hand, and choosing for my art on the other.
This is also something where I can see autism:
My mass production can only exist thanks to monomaniacal focus.
So before this monomaniacal focus got disturbed by worry, I ve spent years where I just woke up, jumped behind my computer and wrote.
If at 3 PM the doorbell rang for a package, I was still in pj’s.
Embarrassing? Yes.
But I knew how lucky I was!
Lucky to have such an all-consuming work drive, where other writers were bothered with things like startup time, concentration problems, and needing an ideal working environment. I have experienced during the renovation here, that I write just as well if they are drilling next-door.
You could shoot a canon next to my desk and I wouldn’t even notice.
That’s called zoning out – typically autistic.
As is working till late at night, and starting again with your breakfast in hand –
Autism at its finest.

things we talked about as signs of autism #3
Cluster B (narcissist, borderline) repellent

First the downside of having autism:
My reluctance or sometimes flat-out inability to have superficial conversations. I can see the true nature of the other person immediately and often feel like the little girl wanting to yell that the emperor doesn’t have any clothes on. Every time I see someone covering up what they really want, I bite my tongue because I understand that lying your pants on fire is normal social behavior.
I am perfectly capable of having functional small talk.
For example when I buy a ticket to the movies. But the moment there is no goal, I stagnate. And if I get dragged into a non-functional conversation where I can clearly see that the other person is an insincere jealous bitch?
Call me autistic, but that just doesn’t gel very well.
So having social super powers does not mean that I can deal with a variety of people in a variety of situations. But I think no autistic person can do that-
However!
I do know the ones who can!
And this ties in nicely:
A person who excels at “normal’ social skills is actually named within the autistic community, because we love them and they love us.
They’re called the Super Neurotypicals.
So autistic people are neuro-atypical.
Normal people are the neurotypical ones.
And the Super Neurotypicals actually excel at social interaction. They are empaths who immediately feel how the other is doing and they can change the mood of the other. I think all men I fall head over heels in love with are this – but I m not sure. They could also be fellow autists, since autists are really good at giving you attention.
To be courted by an autist is similar to being love-bombed by a narcissist, but without the danger of ending up in an abusive relationship with a narcissist.
So now I have introduced the THREE personality types which are linked to each other like Pokemon cards. Or like rock-paper-scissors.
The Super Neurotypical can understand (“beat”) the autist.
This empathic caring person, can be fascinated with an autist! I ve read somewhere that Super Neurotypicals “can become a true magnet for women with Asperger”
Asperger is a high-functioning form of autism no longer in the DSM, but still used. I have the impression that the term Asperger is starting to get used as a laymen term, for autism that you can’t detect at first glance.
So a Super Neurotypical person, the one with excellent people skills, can read and understand the mind of the autist.
However! And this is just a theory but I already find it fascinating – the Super  Neurotypical person is absolute toast if a Narcissist or a Borderliner gets his or her hands on him.
Super Neurotypicals are so emphatic, they have no defense mechanisms to deal with Narcissism (or the Borderline).
But here is where the Autist comes in: They can deal Narcissists and Borderliners.
Again, it’s just a theory! But you know that I ve been fascinated with “bad guys” and “difficult people” right?
I see them rarely, but every now and then I hear of someone behaving in a way that strikes me as someone with a personality disorder, or I overhear a toxic conversation. And to then see or hear much space they get…
It’s not that I don’t see that what the violator is doing is wrong. They’re known for being good at mental abuse/ gas lighting, and they can make the ground shake with their outbursts.
It’s more that I m like:
“Come on! You let him (or her) get away with that?!”
Narcissists and Borderliners are dependent on your presence. If you’re not there, either because you walk out, or because you zone out, they are powerless.
I really believe that Autistic people are practically immune for the emotional appeal the Narcissists and Borderliners place upon you, because they just don’t respond to manipulation by emotions.
I am an empath – and I think all autistic people are.
It was long thought that autistic people cannot feel what others are feeling, but there is a tendency to start seeing that different: That we are so emphatic that we just can’t look people in the eye without feeling the same thing.
It’s what I told you about me teaching a general, heterogeneous yoga class (this does not apply to the last two years of my teaching career, which were homogeneous classes).
But I knew exactly what everybody was feeling, and yet I couldn’t address it because there were too many people there, and had to give some sort of average-one-size-fits-all class.
I learned to zone out.
So my theory is, either because autistic people can’t feel the emotional appeal on them (as classical autism suggests) or because we are actually so sensitive that we have to zone out countless of times on a daily basis in order to not get overwhelmed- We cannot be touched by the Narcissist or Borderliner.
Making autists among the few who can have relationships with them without having to write entire books about it afterwards.
Again! Just a theory! Maybe I will revise it, but for now it makes perfect sense, that not responding to emotional submessaging, has its advantages.
Bringing us to the last one:

things we talked about as signs of autism #4
Experiencing it as the whole

This is a difficult one to describe, but we’ve talked in different terms about my how my personal experience at the Bon Jovi concert, was an entirely different reality from what the other 50.000 people saw.
Or how the time I spent with my lover, cannot be simply reproduced by another woman having sex with him “because he’s so good”:
I bring something myself.
We’ve called it performance.
We’ve called it becoming one with something (a vision) or someone.
We ve called it creating reality, by elevating yourself to the where you want reality to be.
Ultimately we settled for: Experiencing it as a whole.
I don’t stand there just listening to the music, nor do I go to my lover with my arms crossed defensively:
“Well let me see, what he has for me.”
Everything I do in life that has meaning to me, has my full attention and I ve prepared for it.
Everything is an all spirit, all body, all mind, all vision experience.
The Rock Star Yoga I started is not “there” yet… It keeps fading in and out of focus, especially the last few straining weeks.
But at least I know (at times) what it IS and what it DOES look like.
I know the essence of it. Or I know who I AM, in the essence of it.
Even when it does require some extra searching and digging.
This morning I saw a video of Courtney Love talking about her autism, and that is my current “click”. The other women I tried to elevate and solidify myself and my Rock Star Yoga identity with, were all brunettes, so they were not ideal.
So I ve currently taken Courtney as my Rock Star Yoga inspiration. And it feels really good.
Taking it is as a “Hole” then it is.

This was my extremely long email. I ve also picked up working as a volunteer in a theater, on the floor so no desk work! 
The light and sound boards had a great appeal on me, and everybody was really friendly.
Maybe I ll start a second life as a techie, who knows!

I look forward to our call Sara.

.
Warm regards,

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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is the sixth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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If you check your cart, you can select your store
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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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Van Nice

In the early 90s Jon Bon Jovi was also really tired

Sara is my creativity coach.
Before our calls I always update her about grateful I am for having such a rich spiri- . You didn’t buy that right?
I talk about boys.
.
Hi Sara,.

I m here behind my computer late at night on a Monday, wondering (again) why I keep postponing this until I m tired as a dog, got a total mess in my kitchen waiting to be cleaned up before bed, and I m attacked by mosquitoes all the time.
I don’t want to use repellent because my cats hate it, and treat me like an untouchable if I put it on.
So now I m suffering from bites, they even sting through clothes.
My skin looks ravaged, it’s a good thing I m not a sex worker because this wouldn’t sell.
.
I always try to write these reviews without checking what videos I made, or what blog posts, or even checking my calendar.
This is because I will remember the important things!
Everything I forgot was not a good fit.
So let’s go!
.
I ve got bad news and good news.
Bad news first:
I haven’t done my finance nor figured out where I m going to work/ went job hunting.
And both are pressing matters.
Having said that, I know both will just drop into place like magic, when the time is there.
That’s how it always goes.
Other than that, I had two amazingly productive weeks that made me very happy.
.
First I lost four days to a heatwave but after that it was game on. .
I churned out a lot of videos for My Life in Bon Jovi songs
and a really cute story The Little Mistress who turned into a Baby Koala,
about a little mistress who was every man’s dream,
but if you had a normal relationship with her, or held her too long,
she turned into a baby koala.
The little mistress sets out to solve this riddle and visits Richie Sambora, Jon Bon Jovi and Nikki Sixx, to find answers.
.
The second accomplishment was that I wrote my first erotic story in two and a half years.
It was in my 1994 series, about a 22 year old Lauren, who’s trying to figure out her life as a graduate, certified yoga teacher and having tons of ambitions for her sex life. Ambitions she’s reminded about by a fan fiction story featuring the notorious Nikki Sixx.
In an attempt to savor the still extremely potent affair she has with Bear, she starts writing about her sex life again, based on her diary.
And it’s a gorgeous story that made me very happy!
.
I also started (real) diary writing, because 22 year old Lauren doesn’t blog, she has a paper diary. And I m also inspired by The Heroin Diaries from Nikki Sixx, to keep a normal diary.
It’s still an on and off thing, but I feel good about it. And it helps me with the retro-vibe.
In the audio book of The Heroin Diaries, Nikki Sixx makes most of his entries in a location which sounded like “Van Ice” or “Van Nice”.
Because we Europeans are used to Americans pronouncing European names differently I assumed – and I take full responsibility for this – that he was living in Venice, California.
Venice? Van Ice?
Until I noticed the track list of the soundtrack to the book (YouTube link to playlist). The second track was called:
Van Nuys
So I thought: “Oh THAT’s where he lived!”
Van Nuys was a village, settled in the early 20th century, named after Isaac van Nuys. His name traces back to a Dutch settler by the name of Auke Jans van Nuys, who came to America in 1651.
In all likeliness “Jans” was his real last name and Van Nuys was added in America.
Van Nuys refers to the little village Auke came from:
Nuis, in the North of the Netherlands.
And the “ui” or the “uy” as it is spelled in Americanized versions, are so difficult to pronounce that it drives anyone who needs to learn Dutch, to absolute madness.
On second thought the pronunciation Van Nice is brilliant and I would support giving the village Nuis in the Netherlands, a name change.
To Nice.
.
The final news is that I ve officially started Rock Star Yoga:
The home yoga practice as well as the blog.

I m unsure if this was after, or before you and I last talked.
Rock Star Yoga is a way to inspire people to start doing their home yoga practice by making it so much fun, that they can’t wait to get on their mat.
Yoga at home should be like sex, or the way writing is for me:
You must only do it if you can’t not do it, don’t care how much sleep you lose, or how much you have to give up in order to create the time.
It’s like being hooked on heroin, but then with yoga.
Problem was that my yoga addiction could not be summoned, I dropped out and didn’t feel like practicing. Meanwhile I was overflowing with inspiration as Lauren Harteveld, including writing my first erotica in two and half years.
I just wasn’t sharing my real self at Rock Star Yoga because I was embarrassed that it/yoga/blogs
were not proper. 
Cleared that.
Now I write my Rock Star Yoga blog about whatever inspires me, which are currently Nikki Sixx and Jon Bon Jovi,

And I practice yoga listening to Nikki Sixx reading the Heroin Diaries audio book, or watching An Evening with Bon Jovi (MTV 1992).
I make it a real party to be on my mat and to write the accompanying blog post.
And it’s working.
.
I have to go now, a new shift of mosquitoes has arrived. If 1994 Lauren gets half a chance at new material for her erotica, she can’t keep sporting this polka dot pattern.
.
Talk soon! I m looking forward to it!
.
Warm regards,

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
Van Nice 
is the fifth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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.

Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2

I haven’t written like this in over two years, but this story is NSFW.
And for when you re (to be on the super safe side) 18 years old or older.
Sorry.
Or “You re welcome.”
.

The heat wave is finally over.
Not that that ever stopped me and Bear from having sex, but it was almost like this time it did.
My notes from the last time we made love are still untouched. They’re a curse: I know he won’t call until I process them.
After receiving the fan fiction, the dozens of copies of handwritten pages, sent to me together with a Bon Jovi VHS, it made me realize how important it is to start writing about my sex life again.
That I can’t just let 1994 go by, the way I did with 1993, and to a lesser degree even 1992. I can’t just hope and pray our sex life will magically pick up, and become the debauchery it used to be. When I know perfectly well which part I used to put in (not punned) that I stopped doing (not punned either).
My diary was the sacred place where I shared that the meeting with Bear went well, in December 1989. He had agreed to be the one I would lose my virginity with.
And that the cuddling, the oral sex, the getting to know each other was just as pleasant as with Jonathan, even though I was definitely less in love with Bear.
(or was I?)
That I had planned my deflowering, but that he was the one who had smoothly led us through it.
Afterwards I started crying, while he was still inside of me. I was so relieved I had finally gotten what I wanted. It made him slightly disgruntled, as it still does every time I cry. He knows it’s not a bad thing, but he’s clearly uncomfortable with it.
Anyway, it’s such a strange idea that in my entire life, my pussy only had his dick in there. Yet I don’t feel like a woman who’s been with only man. Perhaps because he has been with other women?
There were girls before me, girls during, and there will women or girls after, if there actually ever comes a time when we stop doing this.
I m still not sure what to wish for really.
But I do know that those first years I wrote in my diary about our adventures and all the things he learned me, or did “to me”, were the best. And that me quitting writing about our sex life, went hand in hand with it getting a lot tamer, and his visits less frequent.
Hand in hand with worry.
A nauseous sickening feeling, right beneath the surface that I just don’t want to think about because it stands for everything I don’t want to happen.
And for everything that I don’t want our relationship to be about.
If we’re growing apart, catalyzed by me finding a job (I didn’t do any job hunting during the heat wave), and the spark goes out, then so be it.
But I don’t want it to be because I am too embarrassed to put pen to paper, afraid that my diaries will be found. It’s almost as if it required the unbearable stress of having all these sex stories inside of me, before the consequences no longer intimidated me, and I wrote them down.
When our encounters became less frequent and less bold, I didn’t need my diary anymore. There was plenty of time to digest in between dates. And there wasn’t really that much to digest to begin with.
Maybe I did let the flame die out.
The fan fiction stories I received in the mail – male/male pornographic stories  – reminded me of what we used to have, and of the dreams and fantasies we never fulfilled.
They reminded me I want back what we have lost. And more.
During the ten day heatwave I spent a lot of time thinking why I like reading about men having sex with each other. I just knew there was something about me, a trait, a preference, that was revealed simply by the fact that I liked reading about two men having sex.
What could it be?
What I ve deducted so far is that for me reading about two men having sex, is how I like to see myself. That underneath my submissiveness, my love for pain, especially during fucking – Oh god, who can resist that excruciating blow of pain when his dick hits something deep inside, especially in doggy style – I like to think that Bear and me are completely equal.
I am that other man.
Male-male porn is not burdened by a history of sexual oppression of women, and allows for fantasies about dominance and non-consensual sex.
Which are my favorite.
But I feel exposed because of it.
Other men than Bear scare me, yet sometimes I long for a new lover.
The more extreme chapters of the fan fiction, made that clear to me. They were about a dominant Nikki Sixx. His dark, threatening sexuality excites me.
I m ready for more.
Yet my fear of being seen as “easy” because I am submissive, is holding me back.
Having said that: Bear, my current lover, may already be the man I m looking for.
He has always matched me, always given me what I was ready to experience. If I want more he may want to give it to me.
The second reason I like the male-male fan fiction is that at the heart of it, is love. It’s never about hookup sex, not even when it’s a one-time thing.
And the stories which were too violent to my liking, had moments when the dominant made sure the other one was alright.
Exactly the way Bear used to do when he play raped me, or when we played a more subtle form of abuse, where I had to spread my legs and let him do whatever it was he wanted.
Which is how our first time consent-play happened.
The first time all my buttons were pushed, and the core of my sexuality became known.
It was all shortly after we had my first time. I was no longer a virgin and Bear was shaving off all my pubic hair.
It started out as a mutual thing, something we had both wanted. Or at least I wanted it, and he played along. I never know if a fantasy is his, or if it becomes his because he knows it’s my fantasy.
I also wonder if it even matters.
It’s not that I worry that he’s doing things he doesn’t want to do (I don’t) but it’s more that I m curious.
Because if these are my fantasies, then what are his?
Considering how much shame I feel, for wanting to be dominated, then how must he feel if he thinks about dominating women?
Assuming his mind is full of unspeakable things, does make it easier for me to share my fantasies.
The pubic hair shaving, was the first.
It started out as two teenagers experimenting, but soon turned dark and delicious. Lying on my back, with my knees pulled up as if I was at the doctor’s office, was pretty charged in itself. But I also had to lie still, because of the shaving.
And I think the idea of cutting me, must have made him snippy. I liked the roughness in his voice, lying there completely vulnerable.
I wasn’t allowed to move.
Between strokes he would clean the knife in a bowl of water. The cool air between my legs, water dripping on the towel under my hips. The occasional swipe of a washcloth.
I had my eyes closed.
Then instead of putting the razor back onto me, I felt his fingers slipping inside of me. It took my breath away. Before I had decided if I wanted to open my eyes, I heard his voice.
It was not the harsh voice, it was soft. If I had looked into his eyes they would have been compassionate.
I know that now.
“You’re wet,” the whisper said.
I smiled, I was no longer scared. He was normal again, the bubble had burst and the fingers between my legs suddenly felt unpleasant.
“Do you want to go on?”
Of course I did. But I felt like crying for already having lost that special thing. It had been there for the first time since playing doctor in my childhood. Before I recognized it, it was already gone.
“It feels nice,” I said.
There was a pause I did not expect. He cleared his throat. And he spoke again, neutrally.
“If you want to stop, just say it,” he said.
I didn’t understand what he was making such a fuss about, and hoped my closed eyes hid my tears for the lost fantasy.
The fingers slid out of me, and he said still in his everyday voice, matter-of-factly: “I m going to sit between your legs.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. The position I was in, with him on the edge of the bed, and me in patient-mode, had been the last element that had made it special. Well, and that he was still fully clothed.
I didn’t want him on the bed.
He ignored my disgruntled look as I watched him moving the bowl of water onto the bed, the razor between my legs, and my body shifted from his weight coming onto the mattress.
“I m not done yet,” he said.
Coolly.
He shot me a glance with his piercing blue eyes and then picked up the razor. “You can cry all you want, doesn’t make any difference. Do you understand?”
I nodded, trying to find him. Just one sign of recognition. He didn’t even blink.
“I may have to do things you don’t like.”
Now I really felt like crying, but this time it was for the right reasons and my hips inadvertently wiggled. Hot tears started running down my cheeks.
“Please don’t,” I sobbed.
He completely ignored it, and gently pushed two fingers inside of me. Concentrated face, staring between my legs.
He completed the shave, methodically working from the outside, to the middle.
Every time I heard him clean the razor in the bowl, I knew he would start by fingering me.
Sometimes he waited before he went in, and then my protesting moans were clearly more directed at getting more, than at him stopping. But in general I managed to make my No convincing enough for myself to get a kick out of it. And as he worked towards the labia it got more intense. Having his fingers there, on the outside, pulling the skin tight, stretching it:
It was uncomfortable, humiliating, and terribly hot.
He must have understood, way before I did, what it meant for me to be this passive. That this passivity, was not only fully intertwined with my sexuality:
It was something that didn’t have a place in real life.
I was taken somewhere I had not been since childhood, and he was there with me. This was what would bind us, we must have felt it. Although to this day I do not exclude the possibility that he has something similar with other women.
After all, he was the one who knew how to make this work.
A caress over my knee, my leg. A squeeze.
When I opened my eyes he was looking at me with a friendly face. His fingers buried inside of me, stroking slowly.
“Would you like me to touch you from behind?” he asked.
I was scared he’d reject me. I said No.
“Okay.”
I don’t really no what happened after. The shaving was done, he must have fingered me some more. And I know that just like the earlier interruption, it took a while before I felt the vibe of it again.
I guess it was just so hard for me to believe that he actually got this. That even if he stepped out of it, he would go back and pick up our play. That I didn’t have to fear he’d leave me, or reject me mid-sex. But that will always be my thing I guess. At every sign of him wanting to stop, I get this urge to pretend I want to stop too. Or that it didn’t happen.
I can’t remember how we got back into it, just that at one point he got a mirror.
“Look. You’re done.”
My pussy was cleanly shaven, the lips swollen, the entrance wet, lips wet. Again, I felt embarrassed with my legs spread like this, and the mirror between them. I wanted to break the spell, but before I could, he took over.
“Lie down,” he said briskly.
I did what he said. Happy that he was so decisive and that he had snapped me out of my embarrassment. He started fingering me again, and this time he did it in a blunt, greedy way.
“I m going to fuck you hard and deep. You got that?”
I nodded. Maybe it was the burn from the shaving cream, and the tenderness of the skin that had been shaved for the first time. Or the rough, unkind way he had filled me up with God knows how many fingers.
But I literally felt on fire down there.
Not to mention that I had loved the bald, shaven, pussy.
I had lost my virginity a few weeks prior to that, but this felt like my real initiation. I was now a real adult, ready to be taken.
Hard and deep, just like he said.
He didn’t bother to take of his clothes, which excited me because it added to the aura of superiority. And to my status as the one who would be victimized.
He put on a condom, climbed on top of me, and entered me in a simple missionary. It was otherworldly experience. I wonder if I ve ever been that wet since. If the buildup has ever been that long.
I must have cursed, begged, wrapped my legs around him. He kept his cool, his dominance, I remember that much.
And then my fantasies and reality start melting together. From back then, to current day, to everything I hope we ll start doing again. Damn, I ve got tears in my eyes, just from thinking about everything we may have lost.
But maybe it’s not too late.
I m taking my notes, wait… I want to make this right. And don’t want this to end with the realization that we’re over, and that I need Nikki Sixx to beat me back to life. I can’t accept that.
[….]
I’ve read my notes.
Our last time was a promising, intense experience. I knew that, but because I never wrote them out, I was starting to believe something was wrong with it.
Nothing was wrong.
This is what my notes said.
.
It was a really hot day and we cuddled on the couch. Ate ice lollies. We suggested putting one in my vagina, notes don’t say why we didn’t.
Perhaps I refused because of the stickiness of the sugar.
We didn’t discuss the sensations. The pain of the freeze, or how we were going to handle that. We acted as if it was all fun and games. But the real appeal to me, and the reason I was kind of sorry we didn’t pursue, was because it would not be a nice feeling at all.
And he would do it to me.
.
I verbalized that I found his body so attractive. That there was something about it that just makes me want to eat him. The longer we re together, the more I start to believe this may be love, but that it’s definitely a physical thing too.
Or maybe “an energetic thing” is a better way to put it.
It’s like his entire body is this huge fridge filled with my favorite food.
He’s exactly right.
.
He mentioned something about women who have children, and I asked him, if he had been with women who have children.
I d already heard rumors that he’d moved from the familiar pond of our peers, to women older than us. But when he said that he had, it was still a surprise. Also because we rarely ever talk about his other lovers.
But to hear him say it, was so mature.
“You ve had sex with women who ve had children?” I repeated.
I still couldn’t believe my luck.
Bear laughed it off. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s quite normal for women to have children, you know.”
I couldn’t let go and must have been staring at him with a permanent jaw drop.
He said:
“You want to watch some time?”
I wanted to say No. It would be awkward to be with another woman there. But as I opened my mouth to decline, I felt a rush of heat going to my loins.
“Yes.”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“And then what?”
As if it was a question that didn’t need answering.
And maybe it didn’t.
.
Our foreplay, right after eating the ice lollies, was so hot. We were fully clothed, rubbing our bodies together but it was as if our genitals were talking to each other through our clothes.
It was insane. Our bodies liked each other so very much.
I was so grateful that he was on my couch, see also the paragraph about his body being so juicy. And I said something about that, but I can’t make up from my notes how it all went exactly.
However the rock group Rockbitch came up, and that they trow a golden condom into the audience and whomever catches is, can have sex with a band member on stage.
I said to Bear I was so happy with him, and grateful for any way he wanted to share himself with me. And he said:
“Even if I tossed a golden condom and you had to fuck me on stage?”
“Any way you want to,” I confirmed.
We kissed deeply, and that must have been about the time we went to the bedroom.
.
Our sex was insanely simply and insanely hot. Just two positions, starting with me on top. I lowered myself onto him, and almost immediately climaxed. 
My body was so high-strung, it was as if it could break at the first thrust.
Naturally Bear didn’t thrust. He gave me time to adjust, catch my breath.
Does every penis have this?
Does every penis fit exactly right, as if your inside and his outside, are based on the same blueprint?
I started to move, and almost immediately collapsed onto his neck, chest, in despair, pleasure, grief. I have difficulty to put a word to it, in all likeliness it was all of those things. We talked (oh, I like the talking sooo much) mostly fantasizing about what we would do if we’d be living together.
Not that we have any plans to, since I just got my own rented apartment, and Bear is happy where he is, until he can buy an apartment.
But we fantasized about having sex all day, every day.
And he asked: “Anal too?”
Which drew an: “Oh God yes.” from my lips.
Adding to the already intoxicating mix of my body in permanent stage of climaxing, talking with Bear and his husky voice, and my emotions being all over the place.
It was far too much, and I took it to full orgasm at least two times. But I also remember being so overwhelmed by sensations and emotions, that I stopped an equal number of times.
“It’s so much, it’s so much,” I said, as I leaned forward, and let myself be hugged.
.
I was the one who asked it to be switched around to doggy style, with which I have an ambiguous relationship. Physically, it’s a nightmare. Bear can hurt me so easily. The way around it is to penetrate me shallowly, but we hardly ever stick with that.
I don’t have bad memories of Bear hurting me when I wasn’t ready for it, and if he did, it must have been by accident so that explains why I forgot.
But the problem is, that I choose doggy when I want it to hurt.
And Bear knows that.
I had already climbed off of him, and he was getting up to his knees, when another fantasy came into play.
I didn’t introduce or explained, but just said:
“I had way too much pleasure on top. You’re not paying me for that.”
We kissed so deeply, and the pleasurable hell that was doggy style awaited me.
I turned around on hands and knees, he pushed and instructed me further down. I protested but lowered, face and hands buried into the pillow.
It was unclear what excited me more:
The sitting on top, being in full control of what happened and having so much pleasure I had to stop and be comforted because of everything that brought up.
Or being face down in the pillow, knowing that the only thing what awaited me was to be fucked, in a painful, demeaning manner.
He slid in smoothly, but I was expecting it to hurt so much, that it only made it worse that I couldn’t immediately feel what I knew would happen.
He started fucking me, slowly building it up. Talking to me – got to hand it to him, he knows how to take the sharpest edges off – and then when he did hurt me and I groaned in pain, it wasn’t because I wanted him to stop.  
He’s always careful not to give too much.
Even when we both know we’re in doggy because I want it to hurt, he doesn’t pound away. I get enough time for the sharp pain to fade, while he’s fucking me more gently.
Maybe I was crying again, all I know is that I had this strong sense of arousal, of wanting more, or wanting my limits pushed.
I reached back to the hand on my hip, his thumb was pressing into my flesh already. At the first touch of my fingertips reaching his hand, he withdrew, taking his hand to the small of my back.
I followed it, touched it again,and this time I pushed it back where it came from, just closer to my ass. As I was doing it, I remember I was moved he had been so quick to respond by backing down.
He couldn’t know that I wanted the exact opposite.
When I took my hand back, grabbing the pillow under my face with both hands, I could feel his thumb sliding in smoothly.
And I groaned, with pleasure this time.

..
It’s tempting to stop the story here. A real erotica story should have. Because I don’t have any more notes. There’s no real anal sex, or anything. This really is as far as we dare to took it the last time we were together. And it was the first time in a long time, we actually did that.
Our final year has been so straining. We seemed both weary not to break what we had and ended up largely avoiding each other.
Our time abroad for our internships and the stress of our theses wore us out, but we suffered alone. Connecting based on everyday things is not our style.
But our stress played out in the bedroom, and I m still unsure if by blaming it all on our studies, I m not missing more clues on what was wrong.
And maybe still is.
But what I want to share at the end of this story, is a paragraph in my notes, written in the third person.
I had forgotten I had written it, but it is such a clear description of what I feel. Regardless of the doubt that sometimes gets to me, with regard to his other women, our future, and the option that maybe I should find a Nikki Sixx and reboot this sex thing at a whole new level.
This paragraph explains why my deepest desire is still to be with Bear. Regardless of how incomprehensible or even fucked up our relationship might seem to the outside world. Or how strange it is that I ve only been with one man.
This is what I wrote:
“She could feel how everything had shifted, and that there wouldn’t be an end to what it was they could do together.
That this was the man she wanted to make love to, for the rest of her life.
The thought of how many sexual adventures they could be sharing was overwhelming.”
.
Maybe that is the whole thing with this fan fiction thing: It’s not about the sex, regardless of how twisted it all seems. Or how ruthless.
That in the end all those stories are romantic in nature.

And so am I.
..

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

For more on Lauren’s fan fiction story, her sexually troubled teens,
and her love for Jon Bon Jovi, read part 1
“A letter from a stranger”

OR PART 3!
Where Lauren meets a potential lover who looks like Slash
“Think about you” 

subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

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Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica
is the fourth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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.

The Little Mistress who turned into a Baby Koala

Richie, Nikki, Jon
..Once upon a time there was a little mistress who had a great lover. They had been seeing each other for over four and a half years, and they loved each other very much. They were twin souls, who had been united and reunited over the course of many lives.
But they didn’t know that.
And if they had known it, they wouldn’t have cared, because they were not that interested in other people.
Not even if those other people were themselves, thousands of years ago.
So the little mistress and her lover were having a good time, and sometimes sex too. And if they did, it was the best sex little mistress ever had. She never wanted to have anybody else, and she never wanted her lover to stop having everybody else.
Everybody?
Well not everybody but it was important that he kept his mind dirty, and that he never said No to an adventure.
Little mistress on the other hand, hated adventure.
She was a scavenger: she could only enjoy adventures that had already ended.
But she did need these remains of what once were living, breathing things. 
His past adventures were her meat and bones, and her lover provided them to her. Medium rare, with a beautiful pink heart inside. But without the rawness of the flesh.
Just thinking about it made her mouth water. 
But there was one problem: Little mistress could never bind a man to her.
As soon as a man committed to her, and even if he just pretended to commit to her? Yes even if he just held her a little too tight, for a little too long?
She’d turn into a baby koala, climb onto his back, wrap her wee, furry arms around his shoulders and snuggle her cheek onto his warm upper-back.
And if she was steady, she’d let go of one hand and put her thumb into her mouth, and fall asleep.
Baby koala would never climb down, she needed to be fed, and if you tried to reason with her that she needed to start living her own life, her black eyes would fill with tears and she would sob for hours on end until you said that she could stay the way she was.
The little mistress had given her lover explicit instructions, that whenever he could feel that happening, he had to pull her off IMMEDIATELY (there was a time-window in which she could still morph back) and put her on the other side of the room.
“Unless you’re ready to carry me around like a baby koala, for the rest of your life,” she said.
That they could never choose for each other without ruining everything they had, made them both very sad. And the little mistress had decided she was going to look for answers.
The first place she went to was the beach house of The Light King, Richie Sambora.
He was known in his kingdom for being able to light up the entire room with his presence, and that was before he had said a word or played one song. The Light King was known for having a great appeal on women, and had been in a wide variety of relationships and with a wide variety of women.
And this included women with a strong sexual identity, which was why he was the first where the little mistress sought council.
She hoped he had encountered this himself, and knew what to do.
The Light King lead her into his mansion, and gave her lemonade at the bar in his kitchen and listened to her story.
When she was finished the Light King said that he had never encountered anything like her.
“Are you sure?” the little mistress asked.
If there were women like her, he would have known. If he didn’t know them, it meant she was all alone. Which was not an appealing thought.
“Not even Cher?” the little mistress asked.
But even Cher had not turned into a baby koala, when things got serious.
Little mistress thanked the Light King for his council, and left.
The next person she wanted to see was Jon Bon Jovi, because she thought there might be similarities between him and her.
Thinking about a fairy tale name for him, the first thing that shot to mind was:
Prince of Pain, because she thought she felt deep suffering.
Maybe she was misinterpreting!
She sure hoped so.
But what she felt was depth, emotional layering, roots than ran deeper than anybody knew or would be able to track down.
And she wondered if anyone would bother to track them, because the Prince of Pain had a gift of making everybody feel really good. He had a way, not so much to light up the whole room, like Richie did, but to light up you.
Whether it was one on one, or with eighty thousand people: Jon could lift you out of your seat, back on your feet, and fill your heart with hopes and dreams.
But just like little mistress was an X-rated joy to be around with for a few hours, but transformed into the very opposite of that, once you got too close –
she expected the same thing would happen to Jon if you just stayed around long enough.
And that his was probably worse. If she was correct, he would be in actual pain. With the only remedy to go on tour so he could make other people feel good. In those hours on stage, he would be free.
Jon turned out to be on holiday in Israel so they settled for a Skype call.
He greeted her with his sunglasses on and his stupendous smile, and got right down to business:
“What do you got?”
Little mistress explained her problem, and asked him if he thought there was a way to avoid turning into a baby koala. Or if he knew someone who was really good with baby koalas.
“Well, I dunno….” Jon tried to choose his words carefully.
“It helped when I had Richie there. The lows were not so low.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” little mistress sighed.
And she explained how her lover was providing something, the second-hand adventures that she couldn’t go get herself.
“I was hoping for something better,” she said.
But Jon said that he hadn’t found it yet.
Little mistress only had one man to talk to. She had deliberately made him her last resort, and she had hoped that she wouldn’t have to use it.
She was going to ask Nikki Sixx.
Now, she didn’t give Nikki a fairy tale title because how could she possibly outdo someone who had already given himself an epic name, decades ago? Including an XX porn star extension, or at least that’s where she had learned what the X stood for.
Nikki was having a super busy day, and his wife could go into labor any time now. But if little mistress was okay joining him for a walk with the dogs, she could meet him at the beach.
She explained to him her problems – after talking to Richie and Jon she had realized it wasn’t one but two.
The first was that she didn’t like being dependent on her lover for her dose of medium-rare adventures with a juicy pink heart.
And second was that if she would bind him to her, she would turn into a baby-koala and forget all about her purpose and her life.
Not only would she not be a mistress anymore – she was afraid she’d also lose her creativity. That she would no longer write for all her blogs and her different accounts, no longer make YouTube videos, also for two channels.
She would no longer wake up on Monday morning with a craving to write a modern day fairy tale.
It would all be lost.
She would be a thumb sucking little baby koala, incapable of carrying any responsibility or being of any use to anyone.
Nikki heard her out and said he could not help her. That no one could help her.
And he said it in a casual way, just as they were walking alongside the sea. He didn’t even look at her when he broke the news!
“No one can help you,” he repeated, looking over the ocean.
This was even worse than Richie and Jon!
At least they had tried to help her!
“Do you even care?” the little mistress spat out.
“If your daughter would come to you, and ask you this, what would you say then?”
Little mistress was sure she had him cornered. No way that he would brush it off this lightly, if it had been anyone he’d actually cared for.
But Nikki Sixx was not the type to give in, or be swayed from his path.
He smiled and assured her:
“I d tell her the same thing. You know, just this morning I was wondering myself, about the use of pyro. You know what pyro is?”
By now little mistress was almost exploding with anger and she couldn’t care less what pyro was. But Nikki just continued as if he didn’t notice the angry baby koala next to him.
“Everybody is using pyro these days. It makes the show really rock. But at the same time you don’t want to be dependent on it and become a one trick pony.
So far, I haven’t find a way around it. Maybe there isn’t any.”
Little mistress could see how this related to her, but that nothing was solved, was still highly unsatisfactory. That even Nikki Sixx didn’t have an answer, meant all hope was lost.
“Often you don’t need an answer,” Nikki said.
He was now clearly enjoying himself.
“Just sit with the question.”
He pushed his sunglasses up into his long black hair. His tattooed hand, heavy with rings, the strong wrists covered with bracelets.
He was giving her a long stare with his light green eyes.
The little mistress swallowed and then manned up.
“Is this one of those stories where no one has sex?”
He bared his perfect teeth in a wide smile.
“Now that, is a good question.”
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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The Little Mistress who turned into a Baby Koala
is the third chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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
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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.

Message from a Rock Star Yoga Teacher

He aged well, Sara. He aged well.

Sara is my creativity coach.
Before our calls I always update her by email.
Sometimes without mentioning sex, men and Nikki Sixx. But this time I was doing great.

..
Hi Sara,
.
I look forward to our call tomorrow, and although on the surface (read: money wise) nothing has changed,
below the surface everything has changed.
And that’s a weird thing for me to say, because I m still crushed by guilt I didn’t do any of the things I had set out to do:
I did not organize my first rock star yoga classes (group). And realized I don’t want to. 
I did not update my finance, which is behind for months
I do have all expenses automated so it’s not like things don’t get paid.
And I also did not go looking for a job.
But maybe that’s because I know none of those things matter as long as I don’t have the full vision of what it is I m aiming for.
And that’s the big news:
I got it.
I GOT IT!
.
First other good news:
Two days after our last call, the second and only other employer to whom I had sent an open application, responded to my Facebook message!
I wasn’t counting on that anymore.
This really would be my dream job, because it’s sexy , creative, it works with peak experiences, and performance art.
I knew he was really busy at the moment so I wasn’t surprised when he asked me to send him a normal email, so he had my address, and that he’d contact me after.

Saying No to the non-creative job earlier, which had been a difficult decision, seemed to be immediately rewarded by the Universe.
.
Last week I had my big break under my pen name, which is starting to turn into a stage name, LS Harteveld.
As you have once suggested, I m beginning to see LS Harteveld as the workshop side of things.
It’s extremely important that I don’t put any strain on that with regard to whatever it needs to be, and to go fully with what I want to do.
Last week this resulted in two in-depth Bon Jovi analyses which in turn lead to the most clicks I ever had on a non-sex blog post. The articles were appreciated by many fans.
Even men! 😁
.
And I got the format for my erotica as well.
Do you remember I told you my autobiographical erotica 2019 was going to be an offline thing?
That I didn’t want the erotic diary writing to haunt me, now that I was going into the real world, either with my message under my real name and LS Harteveld, and/or because I was working for someone else.
But I also noticed that the offline writing of the erotica wasn’t exactly taking off. No aliveness.
My notes were still in their rudimentary form and I couldn’t even be bothered to write them out, in my diary.
Oh!
Before I can tell you how I hacked that erotica problem, I forgot a very important element:

Somebody sent me fan fiction.
Now I have no idea if you know what fan fiction is?
And especially (you know I m the girl for the big guns) slasher fiction?
It’s erotica, but you could also say pornography, based on existing characters or, apparently, on rock stars.

I spent a day and a half in a totally different Universe, where even Christian Grey would have had no idea what hit him – and after this binge reading I had not finished it.
But I quit reading and ideas how to incorporate fan fiction into my work started taking shape.
I also kept wondering: Why had I let myself go that way?
And I noticed that one of the story’s antagonistic heroes, Nikki Sixx, had stuck to me like spe- I mean glue.

It was his dominant male energy (have you seen him current day?! Suffice to say he aged well!), combined with my 36 hour smut brainwash and all the things that had been bothering me writing about my own sex life, that gave me the idea for:
“1994”: fanfic inspired erotica
click here for episode 1
It’s about a young Lauren, who turns 22 this month and she’s living in her apartment with her cats, a Master’s degree, a yoga diploma, and without any clue as to what to do with her life.
By mail she receives fan fiction, from a seller of a Bon Jovi VHS tape, where she falls for the Nikki Sixx character.
The story and Nikki Sixx’ role in it, make her wonder about her own love life. Her lover Bear does date other women, but has been her sole lover for the past 4,5 year.
What does she need to do, to get their exciting sex life back? 
Or should she find her own Nikki Sixx?
.
So in one week I had that part of my creative work entirely up and running.
The Bon Jovi Metas (those are deep analyses at meta level) made me realize that my true magic still is, and always will be, in writing.
And the retro-erotica series gave me the perfect hook!
Then today I also did The Thing I Should Have Done Weeks Ago, under my real name:
I finally started Rock Star Yoga, properly. The whole shebang.
I was kind of doing it, have been for months. But I wasn’t owning it.
But now I have it all:
A Rock Star Yoga website, a blog, a Facebook page, YouTube.
It’s all about owning your practice and not taking shit eh I mean directions, from anybody.
To fully create your own yoga practice.
And this IS what I will be known for. 
The Rock Star Yoga blog is meant to be a mixture of sharing my own yoga practice and stories with regard to Rock Star Yoga mentality.
I want to create those blog posts into a book(s)
The Rock Star Yoga Series part 1 to…? 
.
So now I can connect the dots:
My art and my yoga, my work under both names, are artistically free and do not include business models that make me do things I don’t want to do.
Ultimately, revenues will come from Rock Star Yoga books and lectures, one-off events, and so on.
And under my pen name income will come from books and maybe lectures or something;
But I don’t intend to push that.
LS Harteveld needs to spend as much time as possible inside her own head, unavailable for the outside world. 

My work as “LS Harteveld the Mistress” feels behind me.
Lauren Harteveld is now the 22 year old, figuring out life and Nikki Sixx’s sex appeal, in 1994.

That experience will be the workshop where the wisdom of Rock Star Yoga comes from.
Until I have my income from books and talks, teaching yoga could my income. Mostly private yoga.
Or another job, preferably a steady one and even better, a creative one. So that I know that I have a baseline income.
.
So those are my findings!
I m a Rock Star Yoga teacher but I am not aiming for teaching private yoga to be my ultimate business model.
In the end teaching private yoga will “just” be a hobby. Just like my current low-key group classes to former students.  
My purpose in the real world, is to be a public speaker and author, a Rock Star Yoga Teacher.
My purpose in my inner-world, is to be the performer and author Lauren Harteveld. 
.
It took us a year of working together, but I think we can say:
We finally nailed this.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the second chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
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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.

A letter from a stranger | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 1

Lauren immediately understood no one could ever read this letter.
Or letter?
Dozens of double-sided photocopies from a handwritten story. A story she had said “Yes” to, when a call to the seller of a Bon Jovi VHS tape, had unexpectedly turned into an hour long conversation on Guns N Roses versus Bon Jovi.
A topic Lauren knew everything about, since she had deliberately been ignoring Bon Jovi for the last five years. It wasn’t until a Bon Jovi day on MTV that she’d been inspired to get back on the Jovi train.
And then the woman asked if Lauren would like to read some of her fan stories.
Lauren knew those!
Back in the eighties her two friends had taught her. She didn’t really had anything in common with them, but was accepted into their friendship as a third wheel because she liked Bon Jovi too.
It had been a strange, uneasy friendship for many reasons. But what had struck Lauren, and what she had also found refreshing, were the romantic stories the girls would write about the band members.
Lauren could not remember if she had actually ever participated, but she knew she was witnessing something that the girls in her higher education (the girls were not from her school) would never do.
That her other friends would either never have those types of feelings for celebrities. And if they did they’d be too embarrassed to express their love for these idols so openly.
The two friends dreamed up entire scenarios, for no other reason than that they were pleasurable. Lauren had liked that.
So when the woman asked her if she cared to read what she called “fan fiction”, Lauren had said she’d love to.
Hoping these stories too, would connect her back to her time with Jonathan, the boyfriend who had looked like Jon Bon Jovi, sung like Jon Bon Jovi, and wrote romantic songs for her on his guitar. Just like Jon Bon Jovi.
Before the ground was swept from underneath her feet, and he had left, before they had real sex and she could lose her virginity with him.
And he with her.
Although she had appreciated him, not for being inexperienced but because he had been a wonderful lover. Probably because he had been sexually active with oral sex from a younger age.
He had won Lauren over, playing songs on the piano at a high-school party she had been attending. From yet another friend from another school.
It had been the month after her Bon Jovi concert, and she had still been on her Bon Jovi high. Which by then had already lasted for two years and had been intensified seeing them live.
And then she met Jonathan, her own Jon Bon Jovi.
She was convinced she had a competitive advantage over the other girls, since she had been looking at posters of Jon Bon Jovi for two years.
She was used to being with that kind of beauty.
But because things had ended so sour with Jonathan, she didn’t understand why she was so eager to regress back to her 16 year old self.
And her life was directionless as it was.
She had her Master’s degree, a yoga teacher certification, her own apartment, and she owned two cats.
Without any clue on how to support them or what she wanted to do with her life.
This was her first house to herself. The first where she could have cats. For four years she had been living in a strange student house, in the city center. The top floors of all the cafes and bars below had been connected to each other, creating a labyrinth of hallways and staircases. Although all thirty students technically shared the same address, since there was only one front door, they had been living in ten different buildings.
The chaotic building, with the fire escape balconies and ghostly alleys below, had been no place for cats, but her room had been one of the larger ones.
She had been taken care of by her mother.
Lauren’s father had passed away in the early 80s, shortly after their family had returned from Africa.

No one had been sure what had caused his sudden passing, but in hindsight Lauren believed that his unexpected death at the moment when the first reports of aids came out, were the cause of her sexual education going wrong.
She was phobic to get aids, and the only one who understood what this meant was her lover Bear.
It wasn’t that Lauren had been trying to hide it from other people. Not at all. Her anxiety attacks had been so violent that they often needed an explanation, and she wasn’t shy about any part of her love life.
At least she had not been until she actually started sharing it.
That’s when she realized she was all alone on this one.
Responses to her aids phobia fell into two categories. Either they were of the brush-off variety, stating that if she would get tested, she would have peace of mind.
Or they were of the worrying kind, and this included her mother, her doctor and even the therapist she had been referred to. Lauren had been very frank with the therapist.
She told him that she was so phobic of contracting hiv that if she had oral sex without a condom, she would get an anxiety attack. First she would start feeling really cold, and then the trembling would start.
It could last for days.
And she told the man that this was a problem because she really liked oral sex, but was ashamed to ask for a condom just because she was phobic. She also told the psychologist she liked gay men, or bi-sexual men. And that they liked her back. Making her fearful condition even more problematic.
The only thing she didn’t tell the therapist, but that was because he proved to be so unqualified that she had not gotten the chance to get to that part, was that she was also very interested in anal sex, but that she knew that was particularly risky because the condom could break.

Before Lauren had been able to share that part of her concern over how she would ever get this ambitious love life back on track after virgin-clean Jonathan had left, the therapist was already trying to convince her that she had no phobia at all. It made sense to be so careful.
She had been terribly disappointed with him and decided she’d solve it herself.

That’s when she hooked up with Bear, a boy her age who had a reputation for being a womanizer. She had laid her cards on the table.
That she had not been having a normal sex life since Jonathan, the boyfriend who looked like Jon Bon Jovi, had left her and with whom she was going to lose her virginity. Jonathan had stayed in touch for a while, and had been hinting at picking up their oral sex, but Lauren just didn’t want that anymore.
He had betrayed her.
And she could have forgiven him any misstep. In fact she had found womanizing one of his most charming characteristics. But to walk out on her, and crush her dream of having a condom-free first time with someone she was deeply in love with?
That was unforgivable.
And one year after the piano party jam where she had met Jonathan, she found herself in a cafe talking to Bear.
They had not even been friends, and Lauren had been surprisingly business-like about it. 

She told him sternly that she needed to get rid of her virginity, but that she was getting nowhere because she had not been in love with anybody and she had panic attacks after oral sex.
She was the world’s worst single.

Bear had listened patiently, and had asked her a few questions.
He’d also made her laugh multiple times and there were other signs that Bear was the right man for the job. Recruiting him was still something Lauren was proud of.
Over the years she had gotten attached to him, although they never held family introductions nor did they know each other’s friends.

Bear had stayed in his hometown for his studies just like she had, but they had managed to avoid each other and had no overlap in their circles of friends.
The impersonal living space with the 30+ student rooms and the endless changing of its inhabitants, had definitely helped keeping their affair a secret.

And Lauren had plenty of male friends who visited her room because her study was almost entirely male. No one thought much of Bear being there every once in a while.
And if they did, if they heard that they were having sex or if they saw him in a bathing robe hitting the shower, they still didn’t know they had been doing this since December 1989.
Sometimes she didn’t see him for months. She assumed these were when he had a girlfriend he was faithful to. But she didn’t ask and he didn’t tell.
All in all she had been very happy with their arrangement.
Not only had Bear been extremely concerned for her safety, both physically but in particular mentally.
But the thing she was most happy about, was that Bear had proven to be a true sexual asset. He was a full match to her sexual taste, although she assumed he was a full match to any woman’s sexual taste. That this was his skill, to mirror exactly what a woman wanted.
But whatever it was, it worked.
Initially Lauren didn’t really appreciate it, as much as she did later, because she didn’t really know that her sexuality demanded a particular type of partner.
That 99% of the men, scouted in the role Bear had, would never have been able to make it so enjoyable or last that long.
It wasn’t until Lauren started to share her sexuality, in terms of what she liked, and really just in casual conversation because to her it wasn’t a big deal, when she discovered other people didn’t think that way.
Her curiosity for anal sex and all other acts that dangled somewhere on that delicious spectrum of pain and pleasure, were either brushed off or met with disgust which was only slightly more pleasant than the worrying her aids fobia had been met.
It were all annoying responses, and the year she started speaking about it openly, which must have been 1990 their first full year together, was also the year she quit. She would never speak to others about her phobia or her preferences again.
With Bear things had kept evolving.
She had lost her virginity with him, and her anal virginity too. But her favorite thing were their shared fantasies, of domination and abuse. He actually became her favorite sexual fantasy himself, which she thought had kept all other suitors out of her life.
She had not had any feelings for any man, ever since Bear was in her life.
His adventures with other women only made him more attractive to her, and gave her a sense of allmightiness. Especially because she had heard rumors of the hearts he had broken, and girlfriends he had betrayed.
Although she had no formal status, and did not rule out that he would lock himself up in a marriage in order to be saved from himself, she felt their bond had become almost unbreakable.
Because they had to conquer each other time after time, and there were never any rules or guarantees when they were together. Aside from their only rule which was an unspoken one. That they always had full attention for each other.
She was convinced it could not end.
The option that they would start again, at another time and most likely the same place, would always stay there.
Lauren had been convinced that Bear and her would make the transition from their student lives to their working lives, and that nothing would change much.
Although she did realize that by opening up the can of memories of Bon Jovi, she was pulling the door open for Jonathan to come back in.
Maybe she wanted that, maybe that was what she was looking for.
She didn’t know.
But she knew a hell of a lot more, when she read the countless A4 copies the seller of the VHS tape had sent her. A hell of a lot more, about the direction her life was going to take.
The good news was:
It wasn’t Jonathan.
Reading the fanfiction stories made it clear to Lauren that her Bear was a lot closer to what would be her ideal partner, than what Jonathan had ever been.
But the bad news was, and maybe that was good news too Lauren didn’t know, was that although she didn’t know precisely what the fanfic story was telling her?
That it was dark.
Darker than she had ever thought of going.
And that the fanfiction story had brought her on the brink of disgust, an emotion she had only felt once when she had picked up a discounted copy of 120 Days of Sodom from Marquis de Sade.
It had been in the first year she and Bear had been together, and he had given her an erotica book by Anais Nin. Which had been an epiphany, and they had read from it to each other in bed, frequently.
Hungry for more where that came from, Lauren had picked up the classic work on what she thought would be a form of sexual play.
But there was no play, it was just murder and torture.
The fanfic story she had received was not that brutal, far from. But it had a deceptive build up, where you became so invested in the vanilla, overly romantic story line, that it became almost unbearable to read the bdsm scenes.
If these scenes had been in 120 Days of Sodom, Lauren would have stored that book next to Nin and keep it forever.
But after the romantic scenes of Part 1, which ended in a breakup, the rough sex of Part 2 and 3, were so hard to take.
At one point part 2 did begin to make sense to Lauren. She overcame her first impulse to stop reading, or even to throw the story out, and she saw how these scenes had something to tell her.
First of all, the protagonist. Or maybe “antagonist” was a better word here.
This was Nikki Sixx*, the singer from Motley Crue. The writer’s taste for rock bands had apparently not been limited to Guns N Roses and Bon Jovi.
Lauren had never been into Motley Crue, but even she could see this Nikki character was a priceless one.
Nikki Sixx*, as the story wrote about it, was like Marquis de Sade done right. Yes, he was a cruel dominant who used knives, whips, ropes, and most of all distance and a played or not-played disinterest in the sub’s well-being.
All things Lauren despised in bdsm.
There had been a time where her fascination for rough sex with Bear, had made her curious about local sex events and bdsm. But she had soon discovered she didn’t like it there.
The moment things were outspoken as dominant or submissive, she stopped wanting them. What she wanted was Bear’s full attention, and him making bold suggestions, or gently setting up a scene where she would be abused, but he would have such a good way with it that she never had to ask anything.
Hell, she didn’t even have a safe-word. He was so with her, there on that boundary of pleasure and pain, he knew what she wanted before she did. And what she didn’t want.
In the brief period she had been a visitor in the bdsm scene, the people there had tried to convince her that what she and Bear did was unsafe. But she had found their dressed up plays and especially the Yes Master stuff, repulsive. She liked Bear’s intimate mental presence, as he was “doing stuff to her”.
The bdsm terminology has something called “subspace”: a mental state of being where the submissive only has the pain to concentrate on.
And all other thoughts are forgotten.
Lauren didn’t want subspace.
Instead, she and Bear created a reality together, and were never apart.
After a few conventions and local parties, Lauren gave up looking for connection there. Maybe that flawed experience, of trying to name her sexuality by bdsm and reading De Sade, had made her extra sensitive to yet another disappointment that despite the first part of the fanfic being absolutely compelling, in part 2 and 3 Nikki Sixx* came to fuck things up.
And yet, this time something was different.
It really was.
First of all because the fanfiction reminded Lauren of her love for seeing male-male pairings. In highschool Lauren had read as many gay literature as was allowed, and she had found it exciting. She felt that inside her female body, there was obviously a gay man, because it felt like it was all written just to please her.
Lauren had forgotten this strange preference, and the fanfic reminded her.
But there was more here, that made her realize this piece was not another bdsm scene adventure gone wrong, nor was it another book tossed in the trash can.
And that was because she realized she liked Nikki Sixx.
She liked him a lot.
She, who had only been the submissive one, the play-raped one, the one who had been blessed with a dominant lover who carried full responsibility for their time together and who watched her well-being like a hawk;
She was falling for the cruel and unpredictable Nikki Sixx*.
Especially because the writer had put in enough scenes that explained that ultimately Nikki was just playing a game. That it was about the pleasure of his sub.
The same way Bear had always taken care of her.
Lauren folded the A4s with their explosive content back into the envelop. No one would ever be allowed to see this. Part 1 had been her cup of tea.
That reading about male-male sex turned her on was not that much different from simply liking porn.
But it was part 2 and part 3, that she just didn’t want to have to defend to anybody. She didn’t want to take the fall for something that had not turned her on.
Except for the black haired rock star it featured.
It had started to make her think about Bear. She appreciated that he had stayed within her limits, all those years. But at the same time she was the first to see that her limits had been severely messed up, from the start. A frightened virgin, who had managed to get herself a lover in the midst of having been dumped and suffering from anxiety attacks no doctor could cure.
She was proud of herself, for having picked up her sex life, for sure.
But the sadistic rock star with his knives and his cruelty, had sparked a fire inside of her. She felt like she had been lulled to sleep by how careful Bear had been with her. Rough sex dated years back. She wondered if he had other women with whom he was doing that.
She wondered if he had fantasies of his own, where he dominated her. If he had been aching to get back to taking her so rough, just like he had done in their first two years.
The final year of their education had been taking its toll on the relationship. They had even been living abroad, as he did an internship in London and she did one in Australia.
But the downfall had started earlier, much earlier. The last thing she heard with regard to other women, was that he was currently dating a woman, probably in her thirties, who had children.
Maybe this was the time when she would lose him to mundane family life. At least for a while.
She felt awake and sexually restless. She had been placing her fate in his hands for too long. She wondered if the time had come to put herself on the market again, in order to get the type of sex life you could write fanfiction about.
Or you could have, if it had been a celebrity.
Or had she already hit the jackpot with Bear?
And was he then ready to do the things Nikki did? Share her, abuse her, rape her, hurt her?
Or did she need to go out and be her own woman?
And find herself a Nikki Sixx.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Click here for part 2, Mutuals

In this YouTube video refer to this story (A Letter from a stranger) as being the one where I (wrongly) describe Nikki Sixx as unpredictable.
However, the word unpredictable is not used here in this post.
My apologies. 

It was most likely one of the many other ones, or in a post under my real name. 

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the first chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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