Author: LS Harteveld

I spent the day of the royal wedding with the only gay men whom I knew would not be watching the wedding.
Well, that’s not true.
I have many gay friends and I can’t see any of them being remotely interested. Maybe it’s an Anglo-Saxon thing because I don’t know any Dutch gays interested in royalty. Except for a few royalty reporters.
Interested in sex? All of them.
Madonna? Fifty percent.
Musicals? A few.
I even know one who is a soccer fan. He kept that from me for years. I was baffled when his boyfriend accidentally let that slip.
And then you think you know someone!!

But I never detected an interest in royalty in any of them. And four out of five don’t care for weddings either. And neither do I.
I ve been declining wedding invitations for years. I would make an exception if it was direct family, or closest friend. Only for the ones I love most.

I always feel like Maleficent when it comes to weddings. Maleficent is the uninvited evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty. Except of course I don’t want to be invited either.

Now that I’m a mistress, it makes even more sense because mistresses and weddings are not a logical combination. Maybe one day, if we totally own our sexuality, mistresses will be able to rejoice in weddings:
“Yay! More married men!”

But not attending weddings has more to do with the fact that I simply don’t like parties, and I don’t like being reduced to an audience either.
Unless it’s to attend something that I find truly inspiring. For example going to a museum or taking a guided historical walk, then I can be audience. Even a concert with a support act would already be beyond my attention span. I would give it fifteen minutes tops, between handing in my ticket and needing the main show to start.
But I don’t care for weddings either, if I can watch Harry and Meghan from the quiet seclusion of my own home. So I didn’t watch.
And neither did my gay friends.
I spent the Saturday with them, and was asked about a certain person. If I thought he was gay or not. And I admitted that I had always assumed he was gay, but that it was getting harder to believe since he was now forty plus and married with children.

And this was a guy who could get anybody, any age, any gender, any sexual orientation, to make an exception for him (if necessary). He was absolutely gorgeous.
Which was one of the reasons I assumed he was gay.

Straight men are usually not that easy on the eyes, and they do not score that high on people skills either. One of the reasons male players barely have any competition, is because most other men are so uncomfortable talking to women.
This is local; Could be different somewhere else!
But in The Netherlands, if a man easily connects with people in general but that includes women; He’s either a player or he’s gay.
I still thought this one was gay.
“I have the impression he’s never coming out of the closet. He’s hiding even deeper.”
My friends and me all agree someone can stay in the closet for as long he or she wants. I wasn’t always like that but it’s one thing being a mistress taught me: to realize that when your sexuality meets opposition, you have every right to deny it, lie about it, or refrain from it. You have the right to setup a whole second life and marry whoever you choose, and to stay in the closet forever.
If that’s what you want.

At times I suspect the only reason I’m even in this relationship with a married man, is because I believed it was temporary. I wouldn’t even have recognized myself in that word “Mistress”. I believed it was temporary and that he would choose for me.
You can compare it to experimenting with someone from the same gender.
It’s stage one.
It’s an important step, but it’s only experimenting. You’re not making any decisions. 

To go from stage one to realizing you’re full blown liking it and never want to go back, can still take years. And maybe you will never allow for that level of accepting who you are. Regardless of how lighthearted you jumped into the experimental stage.

So my friends and me don’t out people. And I m ashamed to say that I once did press a friend, and took it personal I felt he wasn’t honest. I would apologize if I ever saw him again.
But I do still fantasize and wonder: Would he? Is he?
And so do my friends.

So we were wondering about this man presumably hiding deep into the closet of being gay, and things started to shift inside of me as well. My previous post, which cost me two days and one heart attack to write, was still fresh in my memory. I knew being so open about being a mistress, and actually advocating it to those who have similar preferences for secrecy, excitement, and unavailable men (wake up call! you will never be satisfied with something else!), was coming at a price;
ANXIETY.

Like being gay, a mistress can never be sure if she will not be molested or killed over it. I have so many “friends” who say they would kill their husbands if they found out.
I know better.
They’d kill me.
So that’s what I mean when I say I no longer out gay men. But that it probably took me until I was a mistress to really feel that choice. To understand why it’s sometimes practically impossible to honor who you are and speak up for what you believe in.
But the conversation, combined with my recent anxiety attacks, had stirred something in me; I wanted out.
Not out of the relationship – I never considered that a serious option.
I wanted to stop drawing attention to myself.
No writing, no books, no message.
No Twitter, no Facebook, no career.
I would just go back to being a yoga teacher and keep my thoughts to myself and my gay friends. Maybe I wouldn’t get killed, if I stopped speaking about my sexual preference. Maybe “they” would leave me alone, if I was “only” a yoga teacher..

And the pieces started to move, and the day went by and I didn’t write for this daily blog, and slowly my thoughts started to make sense.
One of the key insights into my own preferences was my need for secrecy. That I had lost a huge part of joy with my long-term boyfriend, when we made our relationship public after six months.
There was the initial excitement over being able to share it.
And then – poof! – it was gone.
Initially I thought it was because after a while you’re not in love anymore. But that wasn’t it, because I’ve been in love for over three years with my lover. I get more butterflies every time.
My fleeting interest with my long-term boyfriend was simply caused by our “coming out”. 

I was way more excited about us when we were still a secret.
And had lost something valuable, coming out of the closet.

If I would stop talking and writing about being a mistress, I could go back to having the perks of secrecy and stop having these anxiety attacks… It’s so difficult to say no to that.
It comes down to existential questions like:
Why I am here on earth?
How important is it for me to get this message out there?
Unfortunately: Very.
I don’t think there is a single area where I have a bigger contribution to make than here. Stopping now would feel like Marie Curie butting out of research before she discovered radioactivity.

I just Googled her.
What I didn’t know was that she too was a mistress when she was in her forties. Her husband had died and she had a lover who was a scientist too. He was married. At the time it wasn’t out of the ordinary for successful men to have a mistress, but she needed to stay in the background. The fact that she was famous and foreign, made her not eligible to be measured according to loose French standards. When the news broke she was scandalized and even had to go into hiding.

So although my work is far less important than Marie Curie’s, I do know this is it.
To stop writing would be a short term relief.
But I feel so strongly, that this is The Message. That some people, women, men, need this. To be a secret lover.
And some men or women need to have a second lover.
That’s how they’re wired.

You don’t accidentally end up loving two people.
If you love two people, there was a vacancy. It’s like those animals who have two penises: they’re built differently.

I don’t want to get too much on the field of people who have two partners: one legit, and one secret. Because I think that’s not my story to tell. But yes, they too are not heard. They probably don’t even understand themselves. They might even think they fucked it up.
It’s so sad. It’s ALL so sad.

If I think even further, about all those betrayed partners: They think it’s about them. That the relationship wasn’t good enough. That they shouldn’t have said such and such. Shouldn’t have been so difficult, or something.
Or that their partner should have left if they “wanted it so badly!”.
And so on.

The unnecessary sadness and suffering this taboo is causing, might be the most important reason why I don’t want to go back into the closet.
Not the closet of my sexuality.
I will persist, just like Marie Curie persisted.
And I hope it doesn’t cost me, but it did cost her. She died of an ailment caused by radioactive exposure. She paid with her life but her invention has been saving lives for over a hundred years.

But there is something else. Something I think I unconsciously let go off a long time ago. As if I already knew that standing up as a mistress, inevitably meant that I longed for more privacy in other areas.
I will no longer be writing diaries or erotica;
which has been my most important work since 2006.

I made this choice unconsciously. I can see that now, looking back on my last projects. 
Their content already shows me drawing back:
Reboot, started in August 2017, was about rebooting my body, but also contained a lot of sex.
The Hero’s Journey, started at Christmas, was only about yoga. Or about Not Practicing Yoga. The accountability of the blog had the opposite effect on me. I practically had four yoga-free months.
The Daily Hustle, started a month ago, was more about the daily grind, the yoga studio, and writing.
The only place where I m digging deeper into my soul than ever, are these posts, The Grateful Mistress Series.

In an effort to bring some of the passionate diary writing back, which I still had in my book Big diaries and erotica  I made countless note to selfs:
“Write erotica again!”
The last story was December 2016, which had been the published in Big.
But there will be no more erotic stories.
No more diaries.
No more speaking about yoga.
I know I ve shared all in the past, but I feel I need to draw back into the closet. That I have been drawing back for years.
Just that I failed to notice it.

I kept thinking my life was like an onion: That I could just keep peeling back layers. But when I saw the big picture, I realized that is a very dangerous way to think about self-revelation.
Ultimately, the onion will be gone.

It reminded me of a story about a sex worker. I think I saw it in a movie. She didn’t want to be touched in her armpits. Having a place on her body where she wasn’t touched gave her a sense of control, in a profession that required her to give up boundaries.
With The Grateful Mistress Series, I am already peeling layers, turning myself inside out.
But in order to keep being able to do that, I have to move all unrelated aspects of my life, or parts I am no longer willing to share, back into the closet.
Like an armpit; they may not be a particularly interesting part of me.
But as long as no one can touch me there?
I can share myself here.
Fully.

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

Books 

My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
is to subscribe to this blog.
Button on this page, probably on the top right.

Or follow my Facebook page
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I had a rough night, haunted by the thought this affair could get me killed.
This affair. If it was personal.
Or I could be at risk for my ideas about secret relationships.

I live in the Netherlands and fifteen years ago we had two political assassinations which struck me as a message that you must always be willing to die for your beliefs.
Because you might.

Like many times before I considered breaking it off so I could stop fearing the future. And it was this night and morning of feeling so scared that made me look back at the beginning of our affair.
Could I have prevented this?

When my affair with Mr.Big was still in the early stages, I had simply assumed it was temporary. And that he would choose for me.
What we had was messy and it wasn’t ideal, but things would sort itself out. Even if he wouldn’t choose for me, I considered it absolutely impossible that something as brittle as an affair could survive without evolving into something else.
Either he would choose for me, or it would die of natural causes.
I never believed I ran the risk of becoming a secret, long term – maybe even lifelong – mistress.

In retrospect I think I fell victim to a modern day myth that “relationships are a verb.” Ever heard that one, or something like it? It means that you can’t expect a relationship to last, unless you work for it. Ideally work means that both parties are communicative and emotionally mature but we all know of hostile or dull relationships that last as well.
Without anyone making an effort to improve the quality of it.
But in those cases the couple finds something  in the relationship they wouldn’t have if they were by themselves.
The relationship is to their benefit.

And even hostility is an expression of fear of losing something that is really valuable. This could be fear of loss of the perks associated with the relationship. But it could also be fear of losing the relationship itself, which they value.
So whether positive or negative it’s usually not that difficult to see which kind of “work” or interest is holding a couple together.
And this can range from excellent communication or shared goals and dreams, to being at each others throats or feeling stuck.
Being stuck is extremely stable, by the way.

The habit of seeing a relationship as a verb, gave me the impression that in order for my affair to be something that would pass, all I had to do was nothing.
To not put in any work.
Because we had zero relationship glue in terms of perks, and there even was a severe price tag. We were both risking to be socially outlawed and he was also risking his marriage. There were no forces holding us together except that we liked each other, and we all know that is never enough!
We all know relationships are work, right?

So I was convinced an unstable system like our affair would disintegrate and become a stable one. Of course I hoped and assumed he would choose for me, but never in my wildest dreams or my worse nightmares did I assume the affair could last on its own.
It was a scenario I had never held possible.

That was the first reason I didn’t say “No” to my affair with Mr.Big, all those years ago: I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
But there was a second reason, and I think this is what “people” mean when they get all accusatory and can’t believe the atrocity that I am in a relationship where someone is being lied to.
That I should have said “No”, I don’t want to kiss you, because you’re married.
No, I don’t want to have sex with you, because you’re married.
I understand that line of reasoning. I admit it: by everyday moral I ve been wrong. Although technically following the ten commandments I’m not the one committing adultery, nor can I be considered coveting “your neighbor’s wife”.
It never said anything about the neighbor’s husband. It was probably fully legit to have a mistress or a second wife at the time.

But still, I understand my position is not going to win anyone’s sympathy vote.
And yet, who hasn’t heard of all those people who once on their deathbeds, regret not going for the love of their lives?
I d much rather be morally questioned, like I am now, than to die with regret. Falling in love is rare. And what is even rarer is for it to be mutual. So every time I am about to condemn myself for getting involved in the first place, I let it follow by:
“And at what cost? What were you ready to sacrifice here?”

And this is his story too. But I think the world is even less ready for the version of the story where a man can love two women, and he does the best he can.
He too, doesn’t want to end up being the man on his deathbed who regrets not going after someone he had deep feelings for and who could possibly have been one of the great loves of his life.
Maybe even THE.
And yet at the same time he didn’t want to discard what he had with his wife.

This must be so difficult for people to understand, but the longer we’re together, the more I m convinced he deeply loves his wife. If they had one of those relationships tied together by things like perks, external benefits, and what would their parents say? He would have left her.
But he stayed.
Because he loves her and he loves me too. It’s that simple.

And if right at the beginning, I had done what eeeeverybody said I should have done: not get involved because he is married.
This also implies that I would be making a promise it would happen if he would divorce. Which comes down to giving a married man an incentive, a reward, for leaving his wife.
I find that a lot more questionable.

So when I look back at the early stages I say: No.
This was the only possible thing I could do, based on love. Not fear.
And even these nights, where I believe I could get killed over it, I think: Never decide based on fear, always choose love. No matter how difficult it is.
I still don’t know of a better choice to make.

But there is one thing that neither my lover nor me, will ever do. An unspoken agreement. The moment our affair becomes one of those things that won’t matter on your deathbed;
We end it.
There are no hidden perks, no reasons to keep this going, except that we are simply two people who like each other very much.

But who will never work, to make it work.

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes. This one was written in three hours and fifteen minutes, including selecting a mistress Sex and the City video, see below  }

Books 

My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
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Button on this page, probably on the top right.

Or follow my Facebook page
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No blog post today.
It was supposed to be about fears surrounding my status as a mistress, but I feel like I m going to have a heart attack just writing it.
One hour in, and everything hurts.
I’m going back to bed, and wait for it to pass.

See you tomorrow

The subscribe or follow button for this blog is somewhere on this page.
Have you found it?

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

Books 

My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
is to subscribe to this blog.
Button on this page, probably on the top right.

Or follow my Facebook page
/ Twitter: @LSHarteveld

At university, I almost exclusively had male friends. We were ten to one, male to female, so there was absolutely no reason for women to hang out together.
So we didn’t.
Which already gives you a clue who the mistresses will be when they grow up: they’re the ones who hang out with the boys.
And the wives are the ones who come out of nowhere to start hanging out with your boys.

By that time I had already selected my college sweetheart, and we would stay together until we were way over thirty. But every year at least one of my classmates would get into a relationship.
And we, I, would get to witness it.
Which was downright excruciating for me, because I couldn’t stand how those men gave away their power so fricking easily. They didn’t even TRY to stand their ground!
For Christ’s sake.

I know that whenever I tell women I am a mistress (don’t worry, I ve stopped doing that at least within the borders of the Kingdom of the Netherlands) I see women wonder, worry, go over in their minds:
“Oh my God, could my man be having an affair as well?!”
Short answer?
NO.

Not if you could barge into his messy bachelor cave, give his stove a proper scrub, clear out his closets, rearrange his furniture, and dump all his sports medals and souvenirs in the basement where he can go visit them on Sundays.

I did admire those women for their forwardness. My boyfriend was a little messy, but I didn’t foresee how bad it would get. Hoarding is a spectrum, and expresses itself by not having a system to manage your things, because you can still see the value of the object or how you might one day need it.

I met my boyfriend when we weren’t even twenty yet. He just came out of a relationship with his girlfriend from high school with whom he had practically been living together. At her place.
His room had not been used much until he became single and then became my boyfriend.

Initially he was very much into taking proper care of his things. He bought paint and new carpet. And even though he had to do everything by himself, and it was pretty hard to paint or put carpet in a small student room, when you have no place to leave your stuff:
He did it.
He really made himself a home.
He made it, not me.

So of course I was impressed and assumed that he could manage his life. And maybe his mental health did deteriorate later on, and that was the reason he started to create stacks of things and papers, unable to clear them out.
Or maybe it had always been his weak spot but didn’t become apparent until he was well into his twenties.
But no matter how bad it got, I never went through his things. And when we were living together I simply claimed my own room or my own desk, where he wasn’t allowed to put his stuff.

When our relationship stranded I confessed that it had worried me that our house or life would be taken over by his car parts, his tools, his old school books, his twenty ashtrays, and so on. That I had no idea if there was some kind of mechanism that would switch on if it got too bad.

Turned out that mechanism was called NEW GIRLFRIEND.

The woman who came after me was like a decluttering force of nature. I was impressed with how she handled it. This was a man in his thirties with a whole house to clear out:
It was completely next level compared to hooking up with my university friends when we were still in our early twenties and had few possessions.
This was impressive!

And right now I can so see that’s how it was meant to be.
“Those” women are such a blessing for men who drive themselves and others crazy by not being able to organize their lives.
And my boyfriend was very dutiful when it came to work, he had a stable income. He didn’t drink, he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t get into fights.
And he was a nice and fun person to be around with.
So it wasn’t like he wasn’t a wonderful partner: he was.
But he needed someone to take control over his life, and I had not done that in the fourteen years we had been together. Nor would I have ever done that if we had stayed together for fourteen more.
Because a mistress doesn’t do those things.

It’s so strange, because I didn’t know I was a mistress until I became one. But even this aspect, the way I behave versus the way normal girlfriends behave when handling a man’s stuff, speaks volumes on how we’re different.
Although I was emphatic, I never solved his problems for him.
The only thing I did was be clear on my boundaries.

Normal women see a problem they know how to solve, they take over that part of your life and do it for you.
And normal men let them and are probably very happy with it too. Giving up their sovereignty is a fair price to pay because together they can now achieve things they could not achieve on their own.
Manage a household.
Have children.

I was relieved my former boyfriend finally got someone who could help him cope with that part of his life. I saw she was asking a big price, for example he wasn’t allowed to see me anymore. But I didn’t take that personal.
If they ever breakup he knows he can contact me again. No hard feelings. Not at all.

She helped him out in an area where I had felt powerless. But the fact that she was jealous or suspicious of our friendship?
That was totally unnecessary.
Like I said: if you can barge into a man’s life and take over the wheel?
It’s not a cheater.

Now I do risk having to eat my words here, because “bad” men or “cheaters” are susceptible to women promising to save them from themselves…
And hand in their entire deviant life at the promise of being tamed.
But that is usually so short lived.

It is far more likely that a cheater is the one, who does stand his ground. Who didn’t get hitched in college but stayed single or swayed in and out of relationships until he was way over thirty.

The next time a woman wonders if her man is a cheater, I should probably ask:
“Would you dare clear out his closet without asking him?”
If the answer is “no” you should probably worry.

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes.
This one was written in written in 1 hour 45 minutes;
Plus half an hour of watching Sex and The City on Carry Bradshaw colonizing Big’s apartment by leaving her toothbrush and hairdryer. A story I ended up not using! 😀 }

Books 

My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
is to subscribe to this blog.
Button on this page, probably on the top right.

Or follow my Facebook page
/ Twitter: @LSHarteveld

In episode 11 of Season 2 Carrie colonizes Big’s apartment by leaving a blow dryer and a toothbrush. Which Big then casually returns to her!
lol
Anyway, I couldn’t find that one on YouTube
But this one has toothbrushes in it as well.
Pro tip: if a man keeps new spare toothbrushes in the house, he’s a player.
You should probably keep him 😉

“Number 1: he’s very handsome.
Number 2: he’s not wearing a wedding ring.
And number 3: he knows I carry a personal supply of ultra textured Trojans with a reservoir tip.”
This is Carrie Bradshaw’s voice-over when she drops her handbag on the sidewalk and a man, who we later get to know as Mr.Big, helps her pick up her things.

She just had a deliberate no strings attached sexual encounter to write about in her column. Which explains the condoms.
But Big doesn’t know that and he probably assumes she is a hooker because later in that same episode, he gives her a lift and asks:
“What do you do for a living?”
And when she answers she’s sort of a sexual anthropologist, he answers:
“What? Like a hooker?”
“No, I write a column.”

I grew up in the eighties and for me carrying condoms had nothing to do with sex work. It was the aids crisis and I saw messages everywhere that anyone, boy or girl, gay or straight, virgin or going steady, simply anybody over the age of fourteen, unwed, and in the possession of a penis or a vagina was completely irresponsible unless you were carrying condoms just in case.

Our sexuality was presented to us as something that could overtake us in the blink of an eye, and turn us into dripping wet or rock hard sexual predators that would not rest until they had come deep inside of you.
Or until they had all their holes filled IMMEDIATELY.
You never know!
Could happen!

Yeah right, in porno that’s where that stuff can happen.
That type of sexual zest is definitely rarer than any of the diseases or teenage pregnancies the condoms were supposed to prevent.

So although we were never programmed to think that condoms had anything to do with being loose in a negative way, we did get an unrealistic image of what our clumsy, insecure sex lives were supposed to look like.

Feeling clumsy and insecure, both physically and emotionally, and then try using condoms.  I don’t blame my peers for coming up with excuses why they didn’t need them.
But I was really scared of aids.
Sex education and everything government organizations taught us had gotten a hold on me.
Making me the only consistent condom user of my generation.

It took me decades to even give head without a condom, without relapsing into a panic attack. And even in recent years, the only time I let a man come in my mouth was because it was an accident. Or because he was a jerk.
I also had one lover to whom I agreed he could come in my mouth. But in retrospect he was a jerk too, so the story still stands.

I use condoms when I fuck.
I give condomized blowjobs.
And if I trust you and your medical status, I will give the blowjobs without a condom but you can’t come in my mouth unless you’re a virgin or a jerk.

This is how I ve been doing it for the last five years, and that’s me at my “loosest”. My most irresponsible behavior, ever.

But there’s also good news aside from me not getting myself infected or pregnant.
This strict, fearful attitude towards the dangers of sex turned out to be a one hundred percent match to my sexuality.

I never saw this powerful dark side of myself until recently, so I never realized that having so much fear attached to sex was serving me well.
Very well.
Because my sexuality in terms of needing power-play, needing really intense mental stimuli in order to get aroused, has been with me all my life. Even as a child. I have masturbated from when I was five years old or even younger, and those fantasies have always been a part of it.

The reason the fearful sex education of the eighties shoot root with me, and not with my peers, is that I had the foundation already in place. I had been building my dark, delicious dungeon of sex for ten years, by the time I got the official version of it which belched at me:
“YOU COULD DIE HAVING SEX!”
My subconscious yelped: “Wicked!”

I didn’t know that of course.
I was suffering from anxiety attacks, and tried to keep sex as safe as I could. But the older I get, the easier it is for me to fully own my sexuality.
And one of the aspects of it is that I need safe sex, protected with a condom. I am no longer ashamed of the fact that I ve always used condoms. In my long term relationships as well. It wasn’t until a condom broke with my current lover, that I had a man come inside of me.
And after that we just kept on using them, nothing changed. I got a morning-after pill and we both got tested to ease my anxiety, but otherwise things stayed as they were. For multiple reasons but one of them is:
I need condoms.

The thought of sex with a partner who you trust completely, a partner who’s clean and checked, and you could completely melt together as one, and have that natural feeling, of penis in vagina with nothing in between?
I cannot tell you how unappealing that is to me.

I need the tension, the possibility, that he might have been screwing around and that I don’t know what he’s been up to. That he could infect me with something. I’m still fertile, so for me it’s super practical to use condoms from that perspective as well. But it’s way more the safe sex aspect of it that turns me on.
I am with someone I don’t trust.
That thought is the corner stone of my entire sexuality. And that thought is wiped out the moment we’re not using condoms.

I told a friend I was no longer writing in Dutch. I have chosen English, and I’ve selected the topic too: The return of the mistress.
I will be concentrating on the British market.
“I m going to do for mistresses, what JK Rowling did for wizards,” I explained.
He replied:
“Oh, that could work. I once read something about British men not wanting to have sex with their own wife.”
Trust me.
I know exactly how they feel.

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes, but this one was written in 2 hours, plus half an hour of Sex and the City research. }

Books 

My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
is to subscribe to this blog.
Button on this page, probably on the top right.

Or follow my Facebook page
/ Twitter: @LSHarteveld