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

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

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

contains erotic elements
NSFW, not suitable for work
triggering

Monday 21- Tuesday October 22 1994
0.40

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

Tuesday 22- Wednesday October 23 1994
Create the Truth
0.05

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

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

Wednesday 23 – Thursday 24 October 1994
0.15

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

Wednesday October 30 1994
A League of their own
09.30

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

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

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

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

Sunday November 17, 1994
Epilogue

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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

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

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Back to Basics

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

Dear Sara,

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
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Rocket Queen | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. A belief that monogamy is a trade-off

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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

For the real current-day me: 
subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

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Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
Rocket Queen | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 5
is the second chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: “1994”: Consent play

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.

What my instincts tell me

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

Dear Sara,

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

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

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

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

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
Let the past die
is the first chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: Consent play

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.

Let the past die

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

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

Dear Sara,

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
Let the past die
is the twelfth 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.

My f**k that shit moment *

( performance artist Marina Abramovic )

*The term F**k that shit moment was coined by Katrina Ruth (Facebook).

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

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

Dear Sara,

The good news is, my conclusion from our previous call is still valid.
I really do believe that I can “store” my creativity in my body, in my sexuality, the same way Voldemort hid his soul in horcruxes in the Harry Potter books. Or, as I later recalled, the way Sauron hid his spirit in The One Ring.
My body, like a horcrux or the one ring, has the capacity to preserve the spirit and my creativity in the form of an active sexuality. Staying in its coarse and tangible form, until better times when it can expand again into writing, into creating videos, into BEING Lauren Harteveld, where one sexual encounter can nourish me for months because I keep writing about it.
Like the hall of mirrors (thank you for that metaphor) where the sexual experience can be relived, again and again, through the art it produces.
But if I start working for an employer, or for whatever reason do not have ample time to create art, then I will get myself an action packed sex life to keep the juices flowing. Until better times.
That all still stands.
As do the two main conclusions from my previous letter to you:
To not eat shit sandwiches for purpose work.
And the second conclusion in my last letter: It (every problem) is always about a man.
So you see, all good news.
Lessons were not wasted, they were remembered. And if anything I have become MORE determined to live by them.
But.
However.
Oh no wait!
Before I get into the nasty bit, where I got bitten in the ass (and not in a good way) by an old “friend” I need to tell you the fourth big epiphany I got.
So we had the Big 3:
1. Use my body as a horcrux
2. Don’t eat shit sandwiches for purpose work
and
3. It’s always about a man. And when it’s not about a man, it’s still about a man.
The next one would be:
*drum roll*
4. Work like an autist
I can’t even remember how I put one and one together… Or why I didn’t already. But it suddenly became crystal clear that the reason I dreaded a job so much was because I wasn’t approaching it as an autistic person.
As soon as I started owning my Asperger, I knew what it meant for my ideal work environment, but also that a key element to me being such an avid writer was that it offers Flow.
Flow is a state your brain comes in when you’re totally absorbed by your work.
For me this is a normal everyday state, in particular since I started writing.
I completely zone out of the real world when I write.
To my surprise I have met little – if any – people who are so used to working in flow. Apparently it’s not something one can just summon to happen. Most people assume flow is acquired through discipline.
But since I ve never been disciplined in my life I sincerely doubt that.
When I took the time to design an autism-friendly job, working for an employer, I saw two things.
One: I want to work from home (preferable) or on a company work floor between other anti-social people who just bury themselves in their cubicle.
And two: I want to work on one project, much like a computer programmer.
This was huge.
Like I said, I cannot imagine I didn’t see this before.
The reason I get into flow when writing, is because it is only one single-minded thing. Flow is guaranteed.
And this one project could be really really big.
In August 2017 I published 10 books. I had been working on eight manuscripts over the years but in one month I brought them home, four plus four plus two bonus books. They were numbered and published in a chronological order.
I would not know a neuro-typical (=a non-autistic person) who would be able to “hold” such a big project in their mind space while working on them.
I suddenly I saw that I could also do this for someone else, for example for a publisher.
Or how I could dive into a large collection of files and sort them out, categorize them, deduct their most important story lines and information. Maybe join a research center, political party or the city counsel.
Either way the key to me is:
One big project at a time, that I can totally dive into.
As soon as I saw this,  I became very happy and excited to get to work!
Meanwhile I had also contacted a reintegration consultant who was going to fine tune this with me, and everything looked amazing.
It was Monday night, and after a couple of days where I had felt really miserable (because of rule number 3 – It is always about a man) I was now on top of my game.
And in bed on time.
I put my alarm clocks to test drive my planning the very next day, and fell asleep feeling hopeful and happy. For the first time the thought of getting a normal job no longer made me feel suicidal.
And then I woke up at 2 AM suffering from my undiagnosed heart problems and thought: “Fuck! I’d almost forgotten about that!”
And the whole thing fell to pieces.
As certain as I had been that I, with my autistic qualities, had a lot to offer to a future employer, that’s how desperate I became. It was such a setback to realize I had apparently no idea what my “heart triggers” were.
I had been feeling hopeful, and at that moment I was not bothered by financial stress (which I thought was my dominant heart trigger) because I was convinced I would get a paid job in time, and boom!
The whole plan had to go back to the drawing board.
I m working on a plan B, to finance the time it might take me longer to get a (full-time) paid job. And tomorrow I m going to see the GP to get a referral to the hospital or a diagnoses. I think the heart condition has to do with autism, and I m not keen on medication.
But on the other hand, I am far more willing than I used to be, to take my heart problems seriously.
So right now it’s Thursday night, and my house is the superlative degree of “as if a bomb exploded”. I m unsure why I didn’t tackle that first. I know cleaning and tidying my house, even though incredibly time consuming, is like a healing experience on its own.
I could just see myself sitting here at my desk, typing to you at 10 P.M.
In a beautiful serene atmosphere I like to call “Hotel Chic”. Maybe a glass of alcohol-free wine and I even heard classical music which surprised because I never listen to classical music.
Since I didn’t clean my house, but decided to write this letter first, the situation is a little bit different.
My desk is covered with papers from the past 7 days, with things which I should do, or note down, or not forget. It’s covered in notebooks tied to different projects and different administration.
I haven’t cleaned the floor in any way shape or form, in a week. There is sand from the balcony everywhere and toys for the cats, boxes for the cats and papers for the cats are scattered over the entire apartment. The kitchen is a mess, and I have two loads of laundry to fold. The bathroom is dirty.
All because of a man.
I once read to women a clean environment is like foreplay. That their minds keep racing at the sight of clutter. That is why they feel hot in hotels (hence the desired look “Hotel Chic”) but too anxious for sex at home.
I ve realized this is true long ago.
When a man would come over, and I would spend up to four hours cleaning up my house and myself. By the time he arrived he was almost an extra:
I already felt so good, just from making the preparations.
So I know this is all linked.
To let my body become the horcrux that preserves my sexuality while building up to making 40 hour weeks for an employer, I also need to keep my house in mint condition!
But ever since I had this weird thing with the new love interest, it’s difficult to see that happening.
Oh wow….I suddenly see it!
How could I not.
What if, yes what if, the heart problems were a delayed response to the difficulty with this new man? Because of rule number 3 It’s always about a man.
Yes…
That makes total sense.
So here was the story:
In our last call I realized that I needed to start prioritizing my sex life, in order to be able to “retreat” there. To horcrux myself so to speak.
But naturally, it takes two to tango.
First of all, I hadn’t heard from my lover Big in quite a while. That made what happened with the new interest extra sour. I have heard from Big again, so I feel better now, but last Monday that was not the case.
So I saw my new Slash-like love interest, on the occasion where I expected to see him. But he was a little distant and then he let another woman come between us. He didn’t invite her or anything, but he didn’t exactly object either.
So he was already kind of keeping his distance, sending mixed signals is a better way to put it. It left me feeling puzzled since I had not expected that – and then Poof!
Like a chess pawn, he just placed her between him and me.
So just in case I wasn’t sure if I had interpreted his distant behavior correctly, I now had this woman standing between us, literally.
I excused myself and talked to someone on the other end of the room, didn’t look at him once and left about fifteen minutes after.
The strange thing was, and I know this is going to sound idiotic, but the strange thing was I felt challenged. Not defeated. His disinterest felt like he was hoping for an easy way out, and at the expense of my self-esteem.
Doing this with the pawn-move definitely made me think he’s married or otherwise involved.
And you know what the crazy thing is? If he had said to me: “I’m in a relationship, I don’t want to fall in love with you.” I would have been the first to comply and respect him for that.
I actually did that with Christopher last year.
He told me he didn’t want to see me anymore because of his marriage, and I respect him greatly for that.
But if you put another women between us, hoping I will give up? Oooohhhh, I feel challenged! I will push it so frickin hard that the next time we see each other you will start wanting me with every cell of your body. You will come after me.
I will see him in a couple of weeks.
And to stay in the game with Slash – or at least for it to stay interesting, keep the dice rolling, and store my sexuality, in its purest, most dense form – I need to stop whining, uplevel, and start playing this game like a pro.
I need to become the sexiest horcrux in history.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
My f**k that shit moment
is the eleventh 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.

Out ta get me | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 4

For all of you who’d rather have this diary entry in pictures, I created this  visual representation of what I m about to tell you.
Here it is:
For those of you who prefer swearing:
“How the FLYING FUCK did I let this happen?!”
And for all those willing to endure reading how I managed to “lose” both my lover Bear (nothing is certain), as well as miss out on the most promising lead I had in years – a Slash-like house painter who was basically just tossed into my lap by God – I have to warn you:
There are no easy answers, let alone satisfying ones.
I haven’t got a clue, how I managed to make this happen.
Or better yet, not make it happen, but I ll try to explain it as good as I can.
First off, Bear.
My dearest, sweetest, lover for the past four years and nine months, and the man about whom I still don’t know what he wants out of life. What kind of future does he want for himself? What does he want from me?
I honestly could not be more clueless.
To me our sex life, his entire presence, and all the wonderful hours we’ve spent together have been more than I ever hoped I would get out of being with a man.
Initially though, I thought he was entirely normal. Maybe it was this beginners luck that saved me?
In 1989 I more or less “recruited” Bear as my lover, since acquiring a sex life as a single had proven to be impossible for me. At that moment I simply put one foot in front of the other, and was very pragmatic. The sex was good, even though Bear was the first man I had real sex with, and it was so good we continued having it even after the first time.
It wasn’t until the few females in my life shared what they had to, dare I say, “put up with” that I realized how lucky I was.
That any other man would probably have failed the test, and might even have failed to fuck me or make me come. Which is saying something, because my body is beginner-friendly.
But my faith in the average level of men’s love making skills was gone and I started cherishing Bear, even more than I already did. As long as he still wanted me, and wasn’t (yet?) in a relationship he wanted to remain faithful in, I would enjoy him.
However, I did notice that our dates were becoming less frequent
And this summer when we were both transferring from being college grads to working lives, I wondered if it was still enough.
If being in such a dry office environment wouldn’t require a little, or a lot, more juiciness between the sheets. I wouldn’t say that I opted for a weekly gang bang, but having sex only once every 2, 3 months would no longer be cutting it.
So when I opened the front door two weeks ago, and discovered a Slash-like painter who wanted to paint my balcony, I thanked the Lord for his swift moves. It was before my first workday, just in time!
The painter and me didn’t kiss, nor did we openly flirt really. But there was definitely a lot of chemistry between us. When he mentioned he went to Warhol’s every Saturday, I understood the hint.
But guess what?
The first Saturday – he wasn’t there. I felt like an absolute idiot.
But this was nothing compared to what I felt the second Saturday!
Because this time he was there, but he let the bar lady hijack our conversation deliberately. It was clear that some kind of loyalty issue was at stake here and I lost.
I lost, plain and simple.
Whatever she had to offer him, I didn’t. Maybe it were just quiet nights at Warhol’s that he didn’t want to sacrifice. Or perhaps they did sleep together occasionally, or planned on doing so.
It is hard to believe we had something, for those few hours.
When he came in for the last batch of his painting materials I noticed his tobacco pouch was still on my desk. I quickly picked it up, and because his hands were full I slipped it into his pocket. For a moment I felt the warmth of his thigh, through the boiler suit.
We smiled, both slightly uncomfortable. As if we had both felt it. At that moment I just interpreted it as nerves, or healthy tension.
But seeing how miserable things turned out, maybe I did overstep his boundaries and missed something important.
On a different note:
The neighbor just had a tantrum. He lives alone, so I m afraid it was directed at his cat. Heard something similar when he moved in, and then he literally yelled at the cat for being stupid. I hoped he was just a handyman, and not the new neighbor and owner of the cat.
But I must have suspected even back then, there was more to it. Because on my way to the city my heart started aching so badly, I cancelled my plans and dropped by at my mother’s because I was feeling totally miserable.
The heart problems have intensified last few weeks, now that I m working.
With the neighbor having his second tantrum, and working life stressful, I ve decided to go see a doctor for this.
My heart really does feel broken.
.

~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 was just a story – not erotica 😉 
You can read episode 1, 2 and 3 here:
A letter from a stranger | “1994” fanfic inspired erotica episode 1 
Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2 
Think about you | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 3

For the real current-day me: 
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.
Out ta get me | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 4
is the tenth 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.

{ 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

Subscribe to this blog
somewhere on this page – most likely on the right

or to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

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probably on the right.
{ 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

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.

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: 
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.
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
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.

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: