The Baby Koala Relationship

video: The dominant, Christian, breaks.
All relationships inadvertently experience power struggle in the beginning;
An extremely stressful period when the couple gets to know each other and the bond is forged. In that way Christian and Ana are no different. 

One of the things I am extremely proud of, is that I now know what type of relationship I would “want”.
Want is a strong word, because if it doesn’t come along that is perfectly fine too.

Maybe that I found out which  relationship I “have to offer” is a better way of putting it.
This is The Baby Koala Relationship.
In 2006 I became single to experience falling in love and then making love, preferably with a variety of men.
Although I had been very successful at long time relationships, I had always found the honeymoon phase of it the most intoxicating, and the rest of it so pale compared to that first period.
I thought if that is the fate of having a relationship, then the least I can do is have some time off from it, and end short relationships when it is no longer working.
Or, perhaps, I would even find the holy grail of how to keep things exciting.
After ten years of experiencing a variety of relationships and dating situations, I discovered I was a mistress:
A lover can contact me for a date, and if we both feel like it we can let it expand to sex.
But I felt I was missing a piece of the puzzle, which was how could we move forward from that?
What comes after being lovers, if it’s not a normal relationship?
What was my next level?
That’s when the Baby Koala Relationship came along.
Because you see, The Mistress is not the only aspect of my personality. On the other end of the spectrum I am the baby koala.
I think we all have these extremes, and try to juggle between them to satisfy all of them.
And that the reason normal relationships get so boring is that everything is tailored to not upsetting each other’s baby koalas. But meanwhile the inner lover (including the inner mistress) is just starving.
So what I did all those years, is to focus on being the mistress. But this meant that I had to take care of my own inner baby koala.
The day after sex (it does help to go home/ sleep at home), or when I see a lover with another woman, or any other situation that you can just feel the ground drop from beneath your feet;
I cannot go to him.
I cannot “make this” on him.
And that is why it is so hard, and why almost no one, not even the most determined single who swears he or she will “take things slow”, can hold that up.
Why it always ends up being the exact same push and pull, and drama, that either makes it into a relationship, or (more likely) the lovers part because one of them thought the other one “good enough” for sex, but freaks out at the idea of calling this a relationship.
The relationship serves both as a way to avoid having to care for your own stressed out baby koala (the part of yourself that needs connection, unconditional love, and regular feeding times);
And the relationship also puts an end to the immediate stress the power struggle causes.

The essence of being a mistress or a successful single, is that you take care of your own baby koala, and refuse to take care of someone else’s baby koala.
This can be done bluntly, by simply not responding to day-after text messages or acting that it “meant nothing” and accusing the other person of “overreacting” and of being stupid because it was only one night, or a few weeks.
But a wiser and certainly more elegant way to avoid having to take care of someone else’s baby koala is to anticipate it, and give the other extra time to think it over.
In a way you are taking care of the baby koala of the other person, because you’re pointing out to the potential lover that you will not be there for them afterwards.
And that they have to think about that in advance.
It provides cushioning for the other person and it makes it easier for yourself to resist fixing someone else’s feeling of misery after being that intimate with you.
From what I see men are better capable of pushing away unpleasant feelings after sex, and women (and this most certainly involves me) are more likely to fall prey to extreme feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness even.
Sex – but this really is the right time to start to include dating, internet dating, any kind of conversation with someone you’re interested in –
is the perfect catalyst to bring everything up, that you thought you had dealt with a long time ago.
No wonder people try to project and attach these feelings of discomfort, to someone else.
And how he or she behaved, or what he or she should have done, or they blame themselves for being wrong or ruining their chances.
But when you are a mistress, or want to avoid getting caught in a relationship, it is so important to realize that these feelings are never about someone else.
They’re about you.
And an, I think, very appealing way to see that hurt, and upset part of you, is as a little baby koala, who did not feel unconditionally loved when you were with your lover or in that conversation;
And it’s in pain.
That’s when you have a baby koala regroup day.
A day where you deliberately take time off from figuring your dating life or your emotions out, and focus on your inner baby koala instead.
Because trust me: 
As long as that little fellow is upset, nothing will get done anyway.
Nothing will get figured out, until your little baby koala has had its eight hours of sleep, its Disney movie, three warm meals a day and a soft blanket to cuddle with.
In the movie 50 Shades of Grey, there is a scene where Christian shows Ana both his play room/ SM room, as well as the separate bedroom that is there for her, for after they have had sex.
So he is clearly preparing her for being alone after sex, but the dishonesty about it is that he pretends that she will want that.
He says, in the movie 50 Shades part 1:
“If you agree to do this, you’re gonna want your own room.”
When what he’s really saying is:
“I can’t deal with your upset baby koala, who will want infinite cuddles and unconditional love the entire night and beyond.”
Because that’s exactly what it is.
The average drama-free relationship, is organized in a way that neither of the two inner baby koalas gets upset.
And therefor whenever there is trouble, it is almost always an argument about holding the other person responsible for upsetting it.
Usually because the other person has done something, the inner baby koala interprets as not being loved.
And it’s usually right.
Except there is another way.
As long as you make sure the baby koala of your partner is taken care of, and feels loved, you can have more freedom to see other people, and do your own thing.
The reason the baby koala reacts so strongly to infidelity, sometimes even in very platonic forms of just giving attention to someone else, is because the baby koala has not been seen and taken care of for a very long time.
And it’s only when it is suddenly very visible where all that attention is going, that the shit hits the fan because the baby koala sees that it was not imagination, something is wrong.

So my next level relationship is one where a man I am having an affair with, wants to move up to becoming the caretaker of my baby koala.
And then he can still have other women, other interests, and so on;
Which will not threaten me because I know I am safe.
I know he’ll be back before my next feeding time.

The only thing I have not told anybody yet, is that I will do exactly the same thing for him.

How could I not.

An unexamined life is not worth living


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A Farewell to a Darkside Warrior

One of the things that struck me most, during this last month of the decade, is how I seem to have spent way more time processing The Rise of Skywalker, which presented me with the most unwelcome ending for the darkside warrior Kylo Ren, than I have processing the even more unwelcome breakup from my own darksider.

Which in itself, gave reason for endless analysis, but by that time it had become a meta question:
“Why am I so not okay with a fictional character not getting his happily ever, and not with me, not getting my happily ever after?”

Not being okay with the ending Disney had for us, bore the hallmarks of a dirty breakup.
All I could think of was: WHY?!
“WHY did you do this and that in (fill in Star Wars episode 7 or 8) and this and that in (fill in novelizations of 7 or 8)? And why did this and this actor say such and such about the movie; Only to have it end this way?”
“Why does the final 30 minutes of the movie not have any dialogue for Kylo Ren?
Was it really that last minute?
After three years of production, you don’t even have scenes with dialogue that support the ending of your male protagonist?
So you just mute them and copy past the entire ending to a 40+ years saga?”

Yet, I never asked any explanation to my lover as to why he did what he did. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.
If anything, I offered an explanation to him.
During our 5 years together, he liked what I did for him. But it was something extra.
Like sugar or alcohol, or even a la carte dining at the finest restaurants.
I was something that he would always enjoy and maybe even need at some points in his life, but he would never allow it to be the basis of his life.
So he never made the impression he wanted me to be anything more, because he didn’t see a future where I played a role he understood.

I don’t want to live together, nor get married.
I don’t want to be seen as a couple, unless it’s a super modern one, where people understand I am his equal. A woman who will win over his heart time and time again, and him a man who may spend time in your bed or your life.
If he stays with you, then good for you.
It was fair game and I lost.

But I m not going to pretend to be the traditional woman next to a successful man. I m not a trophy wife, nor a gold digger, nor am I half of a power couple who go to events together and are praised and admired by the other successful people around them.
The business man and his second wife, the writer.
Not going to happen, because then we become part of the people around us. We become owned, and I am free.

But I respect that he wants to play a bigger role, a more traditional one. He already had that when we met. I applaud that when he feels the time has come to focus on that, and he wants to leave his mistress.
“Goodbye. I will always love you, and miss you so much. But I understand, I really do.”
“wHaT tHe fLyInG fUcK dID yoU Do tHAt FOr?!”

As disturbed I was by Disney’s ending, and what it meant in the grand scheme of things – “Who was behind it? What purpose did it serve?” – that’s how easy I could let go when it was my own lover.
I have a couple of pages of notes next to me.
They cover a lot.
From all the plot holes in The Rise of Skywalker, to the symbolic meaning of The Emperor, the symbolism of killing off a dark and conflicted character who is loved by the female heroine.
The notes speak of ways in which Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo could come back, because the world where he died, Exogol, is part of the World Between Worlds.
The rules of life and death do not apply there.

There are many notes, but in the end I think the only purpose they really served was for me to understand we are never entitled to happy endings.
Not even if it’s Disney, let alone real life.
That people may or may not come back.
But that the most important thing is that you let them go, when they have to leave.
And never stop loving them.

An unexamined life is not worth living

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

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.
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I forgot how to breathe…

What happened between me and Mr.Big this week, almost got lost in pre-employment stress of Oh My God I Can’t Share This

I think I tried everything.
To stop diary writing.
To stop writing all together.
To write whenever the mood strikes and let writing take until the post was ready. Which usually meant it hijacked my day and kept me behind my computer for 6 hours minimum.
I tried writing for 30 minutes.
Which including editing, and finding a photo always turned into one hour.
Which turned into two.
Which turned into however long it took, and brought me back to:
Stop writing all together.
And the diary writing, the personal life: Oh, the things I ve tried and decided, to feel better!
In order to preserve the good, to enhance it, to create a whole world out of the times I saw my lover Mr.Big.
And then the moments of doubt and anxiety for feeling like oversharing. As if I would not lose him every time, if only I could conform to secrecy instead of writing about our time together.
As if my loneliness was a punishment for writing.
And then the coaching and teaching yoga!
From offering it, to not offering it, to offering it only under my real name (and not this one).
I have a draft of a yoga program (a two hours blog post +) and my coaching program for the Dutch market is still up, as well. Neither one I will be posting or selling anymore.
Because everything changed last Monday.
And then today it changed even more.
Last Monday the decision to stop making my living as an independent and get a normal job became final. And I immediately stopped my yoga channel under my real name.
There was no point in making yoga videos as promo material, and it simply wasn’t a part of my purpose work.
For the first day, it was just that.
But then yesterday night I went to a social event, and I received this powerful vision on my new life as a writer. And I was literally counting out the hours I would have for my purpose work, at the start and finish of every work day.
I had not drawn any major conclusions from that – because there was time to write and do yoga next to a job.
But then this morning I started a blog post, yet didn’t finish it.
And I also recorded the same My Life in Bon Jovi songs video four times.
Until it hit me what was wrong:
I felt vulnerable sharing my personal life, and in particular on YouTube.
I had no idea if I would be able to apply for jobs, or do my work, if I set the bar so high in my personal life (being a secret mistress) that I had to write about it, in order to stay standing.
Maybe, taking a job meant I had to stop doing that.
Maybe I needed to become normal in my private, and sexual life, so that I didn’t need to write about it.
But then this is who i am.
I know this.
And I know that especially if I have a job, I need to stay in touch with my inner world. To sit behind my computer and “breathe”.
To let whatever comes out, come out, typing away on the key board.
So after the fourth take for my YouTube, I decided to quit YouTube entirely, and focus on my writing.
My real purpose work.
To stop wasting time (over-) sharing myself in YouTube videos, when it would already be hard enough to do my writing AM before work, or at night time.
So I made that final YouTube video, my farewell, and thought I had “solved” it.
Until the stomach ache, the doubt, and the anxiety that I would go down the rabbit hole of my inner world every morning, AND THEN – face the world.
Would I even be able to do this?
Was it really just as simple as deleting YouTube, to focus on my purpose work, writing?
Then why was I feeling so, so bad?
Why did I title this blog post:
I forgot how to breathe?
And then during the typing of this blog post, something that my coach Sara has said to me months ago, popped back to mind.
The job is there to support the creativity!
Not the other way around.
I repeat: NOT the other way around.
Months and months ago, when my insights in wanting a job were far from the firm decision that it is now  – Sara already pointed out not to fall into the trap of compromising my art, in order to fit into a job.
And here I was, feeling shaken after my “big” YouTube fall out at the thought of still having to share myself on this blog..
I felt daunted, by the idea of doing the only thing I love without question. Without payment, without recognition, and with a message that just oozes from my pores on a daily fucking basis;
To write.
Getting personal.
Going DEEP.
I genuinely thought that in light of getting a job I was forgetting how to “breathe”, how to write. Afraid that I would not be able to do it because at 8.30 I would see people.
But no, Sara was right.
Aside from the sheer impossibility that I would forget or could skip, something that comes as natural as breathing – I DO only have room in my life for a job  that still allows me to do the art.
This post was me writing myself into a solution.
Remembering Sara’s message is soothing, and I will keep it in mind. Somewhere in the front.
But I also want to share here, right at the bottom of this blog post, hidden almost, what happened between Mr.Big and me, when we made love.
The story I tried to tell in this morning’s draft post and four times over in the video that I did not post, and deleted all versions of it: The story how we got back together.
It had been two months since we’d last seen each other. And it had been one of those times where I had been uncertain if he’d even want me back.
Or if he’d just let our affair die out..
I knew this was part of the agreement, part of what we had. That I put up with the periods of silence, but it seemed as if this had become a new normal.
As I remembered it, in our first year, it never happened.
In our second year it may have happened twice.
In our third it became frequent and ever since the final 18 months all I remember is dropping into that zone of not knowing, every time again and again, after seeing him.
And every time I promised myself I wouldn’t buy into my stories of drama.
I would sit it out.
I would trust.
And yet every time I had to break word with myself, and worry. Worry so much that it would be over.. Until we saw each other again, and I was happy.
Most people understand that this pattern leads to a better, more exciting sex life. Something we did have in the first two years. Very much.
I never fantasize about sex with other men, because Mr.Big is tied to my deepest darkest fantasies, in a way that I m beginning to think no man will ever be.
Even if I m in love – I m beginning  to doubt my ability to enjoy being with another body than Mr.Big’s. If another man’s attention, focus, and love making skills will ever be able to satisfy me.
Is it ever fair, to make love to someone else, as long as I m in love with Mr.Big?
The older I get, the more I m leaning towards:
“No, that is not fair. Your body and mind only respond to Mr.Big.”
So most people understand that this pattern, where I have to keep the faith for months on end sometimes – influences our longing and our sexual desire.
But what they don’t understand, and maybe that’s also because I have not verbalized this explicitly – is that if the test has been this heavy, the time period this long, and if I have missed him so much and have been on the point of believing he will never return?
You don’t just hop back into having sex.
You are not crazy with lust for each other, and my body seems to carry all the mental scars of feeling lonely and rejected.
Of feeling abandoned.
My mind can survive, and I know I need a terrible amount of stress and strain, in order to even feel something, sexually.
Rationally, I understand I m better off having this problem, than having the same man sitting next to me on the couch for nights in the row.
But the body cannot be reasoned with.
And Mr.Big understands that. That despite me accepting that I don’t see him as often as I would like, that he needs to start from scratch with me, physically.
He excels at comforting me, making me feel safe.
He asks me, what I need to relax.
If I want to hug, we hug.
If I need to cry, I cry.
If I want to spoon naked in bed together, we do so.
And he will do all of those things without initiating more. He will never press for anything, not even the remotely sexual: All he wants for me is to feel good.
And if that means we won’t have sex, we don’t have sex.
As uncompromising as he is, not attending to my needs in the weeks and sometimes months in between, that’s how devoted and patient he is, when I m there with him.
He can give in two hours, what I would get from a normal man in two weeks.
So this week’s reunion was not a sexual, pushing-the-boundaries-of-civil, adventure where we could tick things off our bucket list.
It was sensitive, emotional and deeply satisfying both on an emotional as well as on a physical level, because I came multiple times.
My orgasms just came effortlessly.
And he had one but just like always, he waited until he could feel I was fully satisfied, and it was in a perfect melt-together moment of union.
Those were all things I tried to share in the video, which ultimately led me to the decision to cancel my entire channel.
Those were the things I didn’t want to write about, because the thought of sharing myself like this, suddenly scared me, in the light of my future career.
But writing this blog post has brought me so many insights.
That Sara was right – the job will be there for me, to support me creating art.
And also, and unfortunately for everybody perhaps, my sexual relationships but even more so my internal world, will always be this complicated.
YES, I will always need writing to balance them out.
NO I can’t stop, because I cannot live in this dark, and often very lonely mind, without releasing into this blog.
And there was a third thing I started realizing as I was writing this blog.
That this is sacred.
This is when the magic comes through.
A leaving of the world, into another. And with my time with Mr.Big being so limited, and my suffering so deep, this writing is therapy.
Writing this blog is a daily one, or a two, or a six hour release.
And it’s a bare necessity.
Just like breathing.

An unexamined life is not worth living

About this blog

Is the fifth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 3: Submission

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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
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.

Sex in the world between worlds

I was going to see him two weeks ago but I cancelled because of personal stuff going on in my life. Things I didn’t want to burden our date with.
To me our time together is sacred.

Yet I informed my lover Mr.Big on what was going on, the reason I was cancelling my date.
Which was a rarity already!
We never speak to each other about what’s going on in our lives.
We don’t have to. I usually share everything with the world, through these blog posts. And he just keeps his thoughts to himself. Sometimes I inquisitively poke his mind, knowing very well he’ll kick me out.
So two weeks ago I did share the story about what was going in my life but it didn’t bring us closer together or anything. It was a confirmation that it was a good thing that we kept our affair so clean of drama.
Our dates were places of magic.

A realm where we were “only” lovers, and had been for the last four years.
Yet I never counted on this world to keep on existing. 
Even when he’d ask me out on a date, it could still go either way. 

Somewhere in the first year I had discovered that the chance that he would one day friend-zone me, was a lot higher than the risk he would ever fully break-up with me.
But this also made it more complicated to know where I was standing. And the past 6 to 8 weeks, had been particularly straining. I had effectively ignored the gnawing insecurity of not knowing where I stood.
But it had been there in the back of my mind none the less.
All the way through the entire holiday season.

I had no idea if we were still on, or if he had another lover and if that was a reason to stop having sex with me.  Or maybe he wanted to save his marriage, and that required his full attention.
Maybe our dates would only be in cafes and other public places, from now on. Away from the seclusion of his apartment, the heart of our affair.

In retrospect I had been taking a huge risk, breaking our code of silence around our personal affairs on a moment where I had no idea what my status was.
Yet on our date, the newly scheduled one, I dressed nicely and I was looking forward to it like crazy. I seemed to be absolutely certain we were still on, even though I had no proof to back it up.
We had a lovely date, and he laughed at my uncertainty.
I drank wine, even though I have stopped drinking. It added to the feeling of otherworldliness, like a shamanistic experience where you drink a hallucinating beverage to travel across.

I was invited to come over to his house, and we had lovely sex. So new, almost uncomfortable even. But it made it extra special.
As if we really were two different people every time, in an ever changing relationship.
When I took a condom from his pack, I didn’t count or estimate if he had used them without me. When I went to the bathroom to clean up and I threw our condom in the bin, I didn’t look for traces of other women who might have been there recently. I even noticed a feeling somewhere between jealousy and excitement and became aware that I had chosen this insecurity.
That I liked the thrill of being chosen over and over, instead of being
the only one.

If there really was or had been someone else, I didn’t have to know the details because Mr.Big gave me the only thing that mattered: His full attention.
He was the perfect lover, in the perfect place:
Our world between worlds. 

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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

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

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Sex on Kairos time

I m here, on a Thursday, behind my desk, and I ve just spent the first two hours of my day on an eclectic combination of sorting my Deleted Emails box (yeah, don’t ask!), texting with a friend, reading motivational blogs, and studying articles on the Greek concept of Kairos;
A concept of time when you’re totally absorbed in the moment. 
Awareness of Now and non-awareness of Self.

The time of creativity and breakthroughs.
I know Kairos time from when I’m writing, when I can go on for hours without food and am totally absorbed by my work. But I also know it from spending time with my lover. After four years, 
two hours with him still feel like an eternity.
A heightened awareness of every second.

I intended to write about Kairos, this unruly brother of our linear chronological time.
Until I realized I had nothing to say, or nothing new. There is so much out there already, on Chronos (or Kronos) versus Kairos.
This is the best description I have found:

Kronos is mechanistic and deterministic, time that is ruled by the dead hand of the past. Kronos devours us with remorseless certainty. Kronos turns life into stone.

Kairos is creative and serendipitous.
Kairos is time that is energized by the living dream of the future and presents us with unlimited possibility. Kairos turns fate into destiny.

~Lonnie Kliever, Artellamagazine, 2003. 

The other reason I didn’t want to write about Kairos after all, was because I had connected it to my daily writing;
On weekdays, I start the day by writing a blog post and it will go on until it’s done. This could be ninety minutes of writing, or eight hours.
I was incredibly proud of being able to say that!
“I m on Kairos time! Blog posts will go on for as long as the have to!”
* belching laughter *
But this morning that same Kairos time showed me that it’s not that simple. That maybe I want to study, or clear-out my Inbox. And that although I know that all those “Don’t procrastinate!” warnings, and even the “Eat two frogs every morning!” success rule (know that one?), have never proven to be useful to me, STILL!, I felt slightly embarrassed that I spent this morning not writing.
Not eating frogs.
Doing nothing productive.
And then I felt even more embarrassed because I knew it was only a sign that I was a slave to Chronos thinking. Even I, had no idea what Kairos time was really about.
Even I, could not accept that Kairos time starts with not having plans on what should be done. It starts with creating space for things to happen. For things to unfold. And also with a tuning in. With above.
Because Kairos is 
also called God’s Time, divine time. The idea that things will happen when they need to happen, and that it is your duty to create space, so you can be led.
In the first week of January, I started writing a sex book, offline. 

And at the risk of being blasphemous, talking about God and this topic in one blog post, I would like to refer to it.
So the book was about sexual non-consent play.
And it fucked with my head so much, that it destabilized my life within 7 days. Nice religious reference here, but it really was 7 days of uncreating, and unbalancing.
I decided to drop the project and go back to online writing.
But I remember the shocking conclusion of the last chapter I wrote.
It was that everything from the power play to the play-rape;
To the sexual acts that I find intriguing or which I downright love;
Were not nearly as deviant or strange I thought them to be.
I even concluded that non-consensual play with my lover, easily qualified as my most spiritual side.

You know why?
Because it is completely in the moment.
When you’re playing on the boundaries of non-consent, you’re both fully engaged in what’s going on. You can’t go through the moves, you can’t rely on what you did last time.
Our consent play teleports us to a magical place, where it’s just the two of us, but even we are different here.
Him and me, we’re not our usual selves. We’re filled with potential, with everything we can be, everything we want to be.
But most of all, it’s such an otherworldly experience because we are aware of the NOW.
We really are suddenly on Kairos time.

Wild and unruly.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

About this blog

Sex on Kairos time is Chapter 24 of my diary 7-figure Rock Star Writer

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
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.

new books

I m currently working on publishing my latest books:
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2018
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, 7-Figure Rock Star Writer.
The subscription button is somewhere on this page, probably on the right.

Sex talk

Like all philosophers, his job wasn’t to be a philosopher.
And in his case it was an obvious one:
He was an artist.
Someone who creates exactly what he wants and manages to get paid for it.
Or takes a temp job to make ends meet.
I ve always considered myself an artist too. Initially I called myself a writer. But since I have no interest in my own craft, nor in other writers unless they write novels based on their own lives, it soon became apparent I wasn’t a writer at all.
I am a thinker.
I want to know the meaning behind a situation, a feeling, a moral judgement. I just keep on poking and unraveling until I know Why it is so.
And from there I will change reality, by redefining it through writing.
You can say the writing is my art, but in reality the process of taking everything in, digesting it, and creating new ideas about it, is my art.
My art starts when I open my eyes in the morning, and start to think about something.
I usually don’t leave the bed, until I have so much to say about the topic, I can’t think any more without first releasing it onto the page.
Maybe between the philosopher and me, I was actually more of a philosopher than he was. But regardless of who was what, we turned out to be extremely compatible.
So compatible that I told him all my sex secrets from the last four years, which I had not told anyone in a long time. The friends I could discuss this with, had already heard all these stories, and my secret lover Mr.Big and me had not had that kind of groundbreaking sex in a long time.
I had nothing new to tell.
But the philosopher didn’t know me, and he met my non-negotiable criteria to sharing my sex stories.
These criteria were:
1. that someone was male,
2. that he was sexually active and preferably pretty entrepreneurial with the whole thing, and
3. that he had a complete understanding that sharing my sex secrets – which were not really secrets at all, I just chose not to share – but he needed to understand that me sharing my sex secrets didn’t mean that we were going to have sex.
That I was sharing them for my own pleasure.
To relive the moment.
Late last year, I decided the only thing I am actively going to nurture is the sexual relationship I have with myself. I m going to break the almost junkie-dealer dependency I have created with my supplier Mr.Big. Talking about my sex life, is like creating a glow of years past, to warm myself by.
More than ever, I wanted to tell about the times when I did still have an exciting sex life. And had cycled home with violent cramps in my pelvic floor, when my body was throwing a tantrum after anal sex.
Times that belonged to the past.
Maybe it had been bad timing, in 2018. Maybe our dates had been on the wrong days, when I wasn’t ready either physically or mentally.
Sometimes I thought we didn’t have that same foundation anymore, of trust, and surrender. That the foundation where I trusted my body to him, and he trusted his whole life to me, was gone.
In the heyday, he had owned my body. Not in the master-slave way, at least not explicitly. But he had been sexually dominant. He didn’t ask or hesitate, the way other men had. Instead he would seduce me into full submission, until I was begging for it.
And if I was lucky, we would uplevel our game to where he didn’t ask at all, and just took me, abused me, raped me.
He had been the only man, with whom I didn’t have to play-act really poorly, in order to make sure he wouldn’t feel like he was doing something wrong.
I would fight back and cry real tears, and the pleasure was unbelievable.
Yet at the same time, he knew when to stop before I did. Before I had decided if I was still up for this, he’d stop and ask: “Are you okay?”
He knew me better than I knew myself.
And yet 2018 had gone by without being on that edge with him. I would receive minimal but sweet messages, an occasional platonic date, and satisfying but rather toned down sex compared to what we used to have.
And because I wanted to know Why, I came up with a reason.
The reason we stopped having that type of sex, is because something has shifted between us. And it’s not “lust turns into love”, which is the most probable cause, when you’ve been “together” for four years.
In our case it’s because our relationship isn’t stable anymore.
From the outside it still looks like a regular mistress and lover relationship, but I fell in love with someone else for the first time.
And around that same time I felt something shift on his side as well.
Maybe there is someone else, I don’t know.
But I suspect we don’t have that same level of trust, where he trusts me with his life/his integrity/his secret.
And in return I can trust him with my body.
I hope 2019 is going to be different. But if it’s not that’s okay too.
I ve internalized my entire sexuality, and let go of the need to make things work in the outside world. I am my own woman now.
Which was why talking to the philosopher about my sex life, was more than welcome.
The philosopher had past all three tests.
The first one: He was male.
The second one: He had an adventurous sex life.
He flaunted a “don’t know which side is up” approach to sex, that had of course resulted in the most messy sex life since Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.
I will never talk about my sex life with men who are not happy with theirs or who are married.
I have one married friend, the Archaeologist, with whom I did talk about my sex life on two occasions. The first occasion was when I had anal sex with Mr.Big for the first time. A story I somehow managed to stretch for an hour!
And the first time I told it (to my friend Pierre) it had been three hours.
An hour was the condensed version. I have no idea how! LOL
Losing my anal virginity is the opening story from my book Big.
How are you going to fill three hours with what’s written on a few pages?
The second time I talked to the married Archaeologist about my sex life, was when Mr.Big had used three butt plugs on me, ranging from the size of a thin penis, to the size of a really thick one.
It was not just my achievement, that it fit: Mr.Big had been extremely gentle.
I m starting to believe that Mr.Big understands the art of balancing: Whenever he can feel I am tensed about something, for example the first time I was in his apartment, he downplays himself completely.
And upon seeing that largest butt plug anyone would feel intimidated.
Afterwards I sent the picture of the three butt plugs to my gay best friend, and even he was intimidated!
So when something is already stressful, or exciting to me, Mr.Big is extra gentle and sweet. Which can also explain why we didn’t do anything sexually remarkable in 2018. Our affair was going through hard times, and we don’t communicate about such things. The stress levels just build up.
The power play we used to have dates back to 2017 and before that; When the situation on all other levels, was completely stable.
I could never have a messy sex life, the way the Philosopher had. I need a clearly defined relationship, like the one from a mistress and her lover, so I can play and experiment sexually.
The Philosopher also met the third criteria:
He understood that me talking about sex, didn’t mean that we were going to have sex.
Although this was obviously the hardest one.
But I took my chances because I was excited to share.
So I talked about anal sex , butt plugs, power play.
And he wanted to know which role I had during power play (this was at the beginning of our conversation) and he managed to guess wrong.
And even to back it up with completely invalid arguments, on why he thought that.
I liked that. He wasn’t afraid to be wrong, just as he wasn’t afraid to be rejected.
He made me realize that’s why “normal” men bore me: They communicate in a way so that I can’t reject them.
Just yesterday someone who has been trying to get my attention for years, opened his car window to talk to me, again skillfully ignoring my cold shoulder responses. And then said: “If you want to, come over, right?”
Like a sales man he’s aware that I’ll jump at the first opportunity to say no.
All men do.
That’s why they never ask you something you can say no to, like asking you out.
Another reason why they don’t ask you out, is that they’re married and they don’t want to go out. But I never invest in chatting on Whatsapp or something.
Either we see each other in real life, or we don’t see each other at all.
And not asking me out because of fear of rejection, but in the meantime waving your neediness in my face, signaling “Pick me! Pick me!”, has to be one of the things that makes women resort to violence.
The Philosopher on the other hand, was an entirely different cattle of fish.
Just like he had not been shy at all, about asking me out on a date.
He was now shameless in his analysis on why I was dominant in bed. I think his strongest argument was that I was obviously ballsy and strong, so I could never be on the Anastacia Steele end of the stick.
Anastacia Steele is the submissive virgin from 50 Shades of Grey.
50 Shades was actually the Philosopher’s main source of information in order to determine whether I was dominant or submissive.
Again, something normal men would try to hide.
They’d say: “Well I had this woman once and based on that, my estimate is…”
The Philosopher was wrong, but he wasn’t afraid to be wrong nor was he afraid to flaunt his limited knowledge on the matter and his sketchy sources.
I loved it.
So naturally I informed him that I was submissive, and had been for as long as I could remember.
He also asked me why I liked anal sex. From a woman’s perspective he couldn’t see the benefit.
This time – something that spoke for him – he indicated that he was curious. But that I should only answer if I wanted to.
I wanted to.
I answered the reason I liked anal sex was not a physical one: it was entirely mental. It fit in with being submissive. It was on that fine line between pleasure and pain, between surrender and humiliation. It was an absolute mindfuck.
As was my entire sex life.
I explained that I was not into things like massages, multiple orgasms, or anything physical. The hole thing, my entire sexuality, was a mind game.
And he asked me about porn. Which he assumed I wouldn’t like then, because it was entirely physical.
“On the contrary!” I answered.
And I explained to him mainstream porn had so many rough, degrading sex, I could watch any porn clip on my Twitter feed to get satisfied.
And that I was probably Steve Holmes (a porn star) biggest fan.
The Philosopher only interrupted my praise of porn, to ask me if I was a real person.
We ordered our too-many-to-count drink. The only time I remember drinking this much was on my nights with the Archaeologist.
When I had told the Archaeologist the story about the butt plugs, I remembered I still had the picture of the toys on my phone.
The one I had sent to my gay best friend.
“I have a picture!” I exclaimed.
A photo of the three black butt plugs, medium to extra large, standing in the windowsill. Just like my gay best friend, the Archaeologist could not believe the largest one had actually gone in.
I told the Philosopher that when the Archaeologist and me had said our goodbyes, he had turned around, in the middle of the street.
Staring at me, as if he was in trance.
“I still can’t believe it,” was the only thing he said.
In the middle of the night the Philosopher and me said our goodbyes, in a warm hug, that was not sexual and I didn’t want it to be either.
But I just had the best day in years.
Part of me wanted something, I just didn’t know what it was.
“I still can’t believe it,” The Philosopher whispered softly.
Neither could I.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

Sex talk is episode 16 of my project 7-figure rock star writer  
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I quit writing (about my love life)

Project M. and in particular its last chapter Like a Prayer is my final diary for an indefinite period of time. 

I ve been writing about my love life, pretty much non-stop, since 2006, the moment I became single. And although it has brought me many things – in particular the opportunity to have relationships that are way out of my league – it has now started to constrict me.
The cage of self-reflection and transparency, that I built to protect myself, has become a prison.
I need to start living, and start experiencing life, without the pen.
Or at least without diary writing/ blogging about my real life.

I m going to use this time to create my four new books

One Dutch book with columns:
Blote Kont
Verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit

One English book with columns:

One English book about Mistresshood:
The Big Mistress

And one diary 2017-2018, called Reboot.
Which will also include my last diary Project M.

Like a prayer { final chapter, Lauren quits writing }

Life is a mystery
Everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
And it feels like home

~Madonna, Like a Prayer

If I ve learned anything, in my four years with my secret lover Mr.Big – and I learned all of these lessons the hard way, in the first six months – it is that things either ARE or they are not.
Something either IS there, or it is not.
You can put words to things, and even bicker over which word it should be that defines you – a relationship, an affair, a marriage; cheating, a mistake or true love – it doesn’t make any difference.
You can enhance things by writing about them, or make an experience more bearable by reframing your thoughts, but you cannot create things that do not in essence, and by essence I mean in the mind of the people involved, already exist.
Prior to Mr.Big, I had learned in eight years of dating, that if you feel uncomfortable with someone, nothing is going to change that.
You can make things as pleasant as possible, and create harmony.
But you can’t create a connection, where there is none.
But what the first half year with Mr.Big taught me, is that it is equally impossible to end something that does exist in the hearts and minds of the people involved.
In short; All you ever do is work with what is there.
Since I put a lot of work in all my relationships, I know that all I have to do to end it, is to withdraw my love, my presence.
It is not a passive aggressive thing, it is more that you stop watering the plants when the roots are no longer healthy.
You make a choice at an early stage that you’re not going to make things run smooth at surface level, when on a deeper level something died.
Or, in my case; shifted.
Because this is not a breakup post.
I m still in love with Mr.Big, just as much as I was on the first day I met him. My feelings for him are not a dying plant, far from that.
And I have not forgotten the lessons from the first half year, that it is pointless to try to “get” the correct relationship name, to justify how you feel.
It’s not a game of Pairs where you are looking for matching labels on your heart and your relationship.
And then throw all the cards from the table in frustration if the other refuses to give you the status you desire.
Either IT IS.
Or it isn’t.
If two people love each other, they’ll keep returning to each other. Regardless of their conflict of interest over how the thing should be called.
Neither one of the two will be able to cut ties, because it’s like cutting your own flesh.
You can’t whip someone into committing to you.
But neither can you end a relationship when the other doesn’t do what you want; not when the souls are connected and the roots are alive.
Just look at the six seasons of Sex and the City;
Unless you want to end up dating a series of boys who look good on the outside, but who will never move you the way Mr.Big does?
Don’t leave Mr.Big.
Don’t fool yourself.
Don’t waste time bickering.
It’s all so very simple;
Forget the labels and love what you love!
But having said that, something did shift within my relationship with Mr.Big. And I can’t go on, the way I have done for the past four years.
Going back to the start of our relationship; The reason that it was so full of turmoil the first half year, was because I thought he would leave his wife.
I knew he was in love with me, and I also knew he had plenty of reasons to leave her. They had semi-separated multiple times before I even knew him.
I assumed I was the reason he needed to finally leave her.
But he didn’t, and I started to realize many of the aspects in our relationship, suited me well. And I started identifying as a mistress;
Someone whose sexual identity is based on being monogamous herself, but having a partner who isn’t.
That definition of my sexuality was pretty broad, yet it started to feel constricting. Because I realized it wasn’t that I necessarily liked him having other partners:
He could have been monogamous, just as long as he made clear that what he did in his own time, was not a topic of conversation. And that he would only share, what he thought was beneficial to our relationship.
I didn’t want to be with a man who felt he needed to bend over backwards in order to be worthy of me. I wanted him to feel worthy, and capable of having a great time with me, without having to flaunt his monogamy as a reason to accept him, and in return probably put up with things much worse.
Like not taking care of me, or not taking responsibility for our time together.
By labeling myself as a mistress I made clear (first of all to myself) what I was getting out of the relationship: quality time with the man I loved.
But the jacket of being a Mistress became too tight.
Because I preferred the status quo, our peaceful 3,5 years, over the turmoil of the first six months – I ignored it.
I ignored that I was clinging onto a label, which I had invented myself, instead of staying in touch with what was alive underneath.
Parallel to me getting increasingly uncomfortable with the mistress label, was something else. Or rather: someone else.
I can feel a presence, who is not me, and it is not his wife.
And I am positive I pick up their energy when they’re together. That I suddenly get sick with worry. I ve had anxiety attacks in particular over the past six months, over other people finding out about him and me.
And people who sympathize with his wife blaming me for everything.
And then things between us would end, he’d quickly choose her and promise to better his life. And I would be left alone, unprotected from hatred and anger, for a situation that had been his responsibility. Not mine.
I would take the fall, and he would save his marriage.
This fear of being discovered came up multiple times, but the past few months I m starting to feel something else. Which makes me think it has been something else for way longer…
I feel he has another lover.
I have no idea how serious this is, but serious enough to make me sick to my stomach at what seems totally random times. Regardless of how in favor I think I am of him not sharing his life with me: it is making me sick.
I can’t go on, not like this.
Not when I m losing the game.
Not because I condemn his ways, I absolutely don’t. I think he’s the most gorgeous, wonderful man I know, and I ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for him.
But after four years of being a secret mistress, I no longer have the energy to fight for this. I m not going to waste my last energy, to restore the status quo of being a secret mistress.
Because apparently – and this is important – whatever forces were at stake that kept our relationship healthy, they have changed.
I would like to say the disruptive force could also come from me. I do recognize that as an option. My feelings for other men for example, can also be jeopardizing what Mr.Big and me have.
But right now I m working with the hypothesis it’s either something between us, or something on his side.
Whenever we’re together, he’s just as wonderful as he always has been. He never sees me, not “even” now, when his heart is not in it. I absolutely can’t blame this on him in the sense that he’s changed or something.
But I m responding to something or someone, I can’t see.
It’s like a food allergy: apparently there’s something in our relationship that gives me stomach ache and diarrhea.
And it can very well be something that has always been there; and that I can suddenly no longer digest. For example, not being chosen. Not having him at my side. Him not sharing his life with me.
Or the allergy can be to something new. And in that case the most likely explanation is that someone new has entered our triangle, whose presence I can sense.
And in both cases the mistress label is not serving me anymore. The label, our story, this blog and my writing, are ALL preventing me (and probably Mr.Big too!) to see what’s here.
We’ve lost connection to what we were, to how we started out.
I need to stop seeing myself as a mistress, put down my pen, and quit defining “us” but especially quit defining “me”.
And instead I need to sit still and simply observe what happens after I have ceased to tell the comforting stories that have held all the pieces together for such a long time.
The label mistress has served me well.
But I ve lost touch with that woman who after eight years of dating, finally fell in love with a great guy. Someone she didn’t have to “work” for, to make things happen.
Someone who understood her, and she him.
I need to know if that story is still there. And if not, what is the other story, that Life wants to share with me?
After twelve years I’m done telling stories and I m going live my life.
Instead of writing one myself.

An unexamined life is not worth living

I quit writing

Like a Prayer is the forty-ninth and final chapter from Project M. 
It is also my final blog post for an indefinite period of time.

I ve been writing, pretty much non-stop, since 2006, the moment I became single. And although it has brought me many things – in particular the opportunity to have relationships that are way out of my league – it has now started to constrict me.
The cage I built to protect myself, has become a prison.
I need to start living, and start experiencing life, without the pen.
Or at least without diary writing/ blogging about my real life.

I m going to use this time to create my four new books.

One Dutch book with columns:
Blote Kont
Verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit

One English book with columns:

One English book about Mistresshood:
The Big Mistress

And one diary 2017-2018, called Reboot.
Which will also include the diary you just read, Project M.

I thank you very much for reading my work.
This blog will be resumed, whenever the mood strikes and I have something interesting to say, although my diary writing days are behind me.
Seeing each other will probably be on YouTube! where I ll be checking in multiple times each week.
So I hope you subscribe. 

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He’s a Man

Secrecy inspires Lauren to write a post about the man she loves.
Her lover, Mr. Big. 

I can’t believe it’s only been 48 hours since my last post here.
It seems like a lifetime.
I’m going by Madonna songs, album by album. The final song of this album is called: I m a Man.
Since this entire week has been about me-me-me, I honestly had no idea how to go about that.
I solved this problem by naming the previous blog post after the album title, I m Breathless. Which is not really a song.
But today it’s Thursday, and I CANT TALK ABOUT MY SECRET THING!
Hopefully, I can this afternoon.
But I have an hour before I have to go to my an appointment AND I have to cover He’s a Man before this album is done. So I decided to take the opportunity to write about Tha Man.
Instead of about me-me-me.
And it’s not that far off, I do have a reason to write about him.
We spoke this week.
There was clearly something going on in his life, which was bothering him and which had prevented him from being in the mood to see his mistress, moi.
The freedom to basically put me on hold in situations like this, works out for me very well.
Because when we do meet, he’s all mine. I rarely have to compete with something intangible, occupying his mind.
When he’s there, he’s there.
I felt sorry for him, that he wasn’t his usual self.
Part of me wanted to write him a long letter about everything I liked about him so much. And that I would always like, regardless of anything he would ever decide or do.
A full report on how much I appreciated him, and everything about him that simply can only be loved. And that’s just me raving on about his “bad qualities”!
I mean it though. Those qualities are what I like about him most, and maybe especially because I can see the flip side: the unique good characteristics that almost no one has. Because they can only be found in people who have the “bad” qualities as well.
And if you can see that, you see the bad qualities are not bad at all.
That is was all a mirage.
A defense mechanism to keep people, including his loved ones, from coming too close and poking in his mind.
But it’s so astonishingly beautiful.
He is so astonishingly beautiful.

An unexamined life is not worth living

He’s a Man is the forty-sixth chapter from Project M. 

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Hanky Panky

Even though Lauren’s no longer crying on a daily basis, that doesn’t mean she’s her old self.
When I was stressed out, I was aware that I wasn’t masturbating. I lost all touch with my physical body.
I didn’t even dress the way I normally do. Hoodies and comfortable pants seemed to be naturally drawn to my sadness.
I was wearing them without making a conscious choice to do so.
And although the problem was obviously on a way more existential level, I kept thinking:
“If only I could masturbate! Everything would be alright!”
I sometimes even went as far as to browse Steve Holmes’ timeline on Twitter, which is my go-to if I don’t bother to turn myself on with thoughts.
One quick look of my favorite porn star doing his thing is enough.
Or it should be.
Except that it wasn’t for nearly two weeks.
That’s when you know you have issues. And I already knew that. I was hoping masturbation would give me a hard reset and snap me out of it.
Yesterday I was still not functioning sexually, despite having solved my problem. I suggested to my creativity coach to include this into our call.
Where’s my lust?
That was around midnight, writing that email. And just putting it in writing, giving it a place, was apparently the incentive it needed. I went to bed, masturbated, had merely four hours sleep before I had to get up, and I was fine all day.
This doesn’t mean it is where I want it to be.
I can’t imagine having real sex. Or doing yoga or  cycling, other than a simple commute.
Every confrontation with my body, like waxing my legs, still feels completely off. Even putting on my clothes! As if I m dressing a slightly overweight doll.
Still, real sex is actually the easiest way for me reconnect. To feel that lovely bigger body of mine is really made for it.
Rough sex.
Eye staring melt-together sex.
Role playing oh-my-God-not-there sex.
We cherish a whole bucket list of fantasies I still want to play out. Like a perverted treasure.
With all the other forms of physical activity, satisfaction is not guaranteed. And like I said, even masturbation cannot be done on command.
But when I see my lover Mr.Big, and we don’t have sex?
It’s more out of insecurity because I didn’t shave my pubes or didn’t shower right before. Or because it’s not practical.
I can’t remember ever saying no because I wasn’t aroused.
I always want him when I see him.
He is, what makes me tick.


An unexamined life is not worth living

Hanky Panky is the thirty-eight chapter from Project M. 

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Love Makes the World Go Round

After months of silence, Lauren decides to tell the truth about Christopher.

I came across a journaling prompt;
What would you do if fear of rejection or pain wouldn’t ruin you?
My initial thought was:
“Write Christopher. Tell him the truth about my feelings!”
You know honestly? I still might.
If this blog post doesn’t give me the truth-telling relief I hope it will, I still might send an email to Christopher.
Because it’s SUCH a good story!
And if I tell him, I can be a 100% honest. For this blog I still have to withhold and alter a significant amount of information, to protect his identity.
I can’t tell you when exactly, where exactly, I met him. Or why.
But I will tell you more than I did before.
The reason I’ve decided against telling him, is because I ve had men confess their feelings to me, and it has always made me slightly annoyed.
Furious might be a better word.
The reason I feel so provoked if a man tells me how he feels about me, is because their confession always seems to include the expectancy that:
a. I didn’t know already. And I always know already. Men want to have sex with me. Period. It’s been that way since puberty, and that’s fine.
Presuming this is new to me, however, is not fine.
It’s an insult.
Not to my sexual attractiveness but to my brain.
b. They assume their feelings for me have any influence on my feelings for them.
That’s not how it works.
Either I m in love with you, or I find you attractive. Or I don’t.
My feelings for you are independent from what you may or may not think about me, and again: It’s an insult to my emotional maturity that you expect your feelings for me, to be of influence on that.
In short, a man telling me his feelings never sits well with me, and is interpreted by me as a WTF-moment where I search for the nearest exit. Either physically or communication wise.
“Oh, look at the time!”
My disdain or sympathy for men confessing their feelings for me, makes me extremely reluctant to share this story with Christopher.
The only reason I would tell him, is not because I expect him to change his feelings for me, or make a different decision. It’s because it’s such a great story!
There is of course a fair chance that he knows this story.
I ve always assumed our feelings for each other were mutual, and he has hinted at that himself as well. So in that respect, it’s also a bit pointless to tell him a story he already knows.
And pretty presumptuous to assume that I would tell him something new.
Which is why it is better for all parties – and my ego! – to just close the entire Christopher story-line in this blog, by telling the true story.
As much as I can.
First of all: Christopher is not Idris Elba.
I ve used Idris Elba pictures on this blog, to give you a picture and make him an intriguing character. He actually IS intriguing! But the parts of him that make him that way, I can’t reveal.
So that’s why I resorted to strong measures, and played the Elba card.
Also: Christopher is not black either.
And way older than Idris Elba.
When I started this blog I had no idea how old Christopher was. Still don’t. Maybe I’ll do some online spying to see if I can find out, on a day I feel really low and need a little treat.
I also didn’t know Idris Elba’s age, but I thought he’d be about ten year younger than Christopher. Turns out! Turns out! – and I knew this because Christopher Elba was voted sexiest man alive since I started writing, so his age was suddenly all over the media; that Idris is only 46!
That’s my age!
Idris Elba will be attractive his whole life, so he is a great choice in portraying Christopher because it’s clear age doesn’t matter at all.
But Idris’ age could be like twenty years younger than Christopher’s.
I m not sure.
Just that I was a bit bumped out when I realized the actor I had chosen to “portray” Christopher, an older friend with whom I had suddenly fell in love, was born six weeks after me.
Which brings me to the second bit, which was entirely different than I told in the blog;
Christopher is not a friend.
I did not, after years of seeing him for dinner dates, suddenly fall in love. Writing about him as if he was a friend, for whom I had developed feelings, was the only way to protect his identity fully.
Just remember; At the time I started this blog, I didn’t know what would happen.
Something could…
And in that case, men who were my friends would be suspicious.
And men who I d just met, would be off the hook.
I altered his history with me, so that everybody would not suspect him of being Christopher.
Now ironically a very funny part about everything I wrote here, was not a lie;
I was indeed totally unaware of my feelings.
And my suppressed feelings were derailing my entire business and life.
Everything I tried just didn’t feel right!
My little cat Max, love of my life, died at the beginning of the year, so maybe closing off from my feelings was simply a survival mechanism. As I was trying to “fix” my life, by “fixing” my business.
The only thing I HAD in my life, the only thing constant that still demanded my attention, was my yoga company!
No wonder I automatically directed my love into my business, when Max died and I couldn’t have a new cat. For multiple reasons, really.
So it wasn’t a lie when I said my feelings for Christopher had gone unnoticed for months and had completely pulled me offtrack business wise.
Because of course nothing I came up with felt right!
I was in love. And the whole situation was completely hopeless because he was married and I already had a secret lover. Either we weren’t going to get together. Or if we did, I would have two secret lovers.
When it had already taken me years to get used to one!
After more than three years of only having feelings for Mr.Big, completely immune to any other man, I had fallen for someone else.
That does not feel right.
That feels like a crisis.
But if you’re unaware of those feelings, yes, you will keep reorganizing your company until you drop, (or it drops) assuming that your restless agony stems from a malfunctioning marketing system.
Or whatever.
Of course!
So I can see how Max’ death, and not being in touch with my feelings, contributed to me not realizing I was in love with Christopher.
And the age thing, maybe that too played a part.
I just didn’t take him into account, whenever I found myself having such strong feelings of joy, and excitement, and it was like I knew very well I was in love. Just not with whom!
I even remember going over all the men in my life, and yet I never included him!
We didn’t have a relationship of any kind at the time, but I did know on which occasion (which I will never reveal) I could run into him.
And I had noticed my undeniable feelings of exuberance around that setting.
And I did go over the men I was closest to, when I was there.
But never him!
So call it the revenge of ageism. And it was revenge I deserved.
But the absolute weirdest thing, is that in hindsight the way we met had all the characteristics of a scripted meet cute. The way they stage the main characters coming together in a romantic movie.
Do you know how Mr.Big and Carrie meet?
They bump into each other, and Carrie drops her bag and all her condoms fall on the sidewalk. Mr.Big, who would be her number one love interest for six seasons of Sex and the City, helps to pick them up.
We had the same meet cute.
It was spontaneous, in the sense that neither one of us planned this.
There was clumsiness. On both sides. Or maybe clumsiness is not the right word… but someone who had a radar for things like this would have picked up on it.
It seemed like the world had stopped turning.
And I know that’s an absolutely cheesy way to put it, but it really describes how clear it all was.
Just like a romantic comedy.
Everybody knows these are forces that can’t be budged with.
All the more remarkable that I then IGNORED it!
Took it out on my company!
Went over the men associated with the location, and still did not see it!
I was so ignorant – this is embarrassing – that I ended up having a good reason to spend time with him. AND YET I STILL DIDN’T SEE IT.
Yet my energy just sky-rocketed every time I saw him!
How on earth did I manage to not notice?!
And then, suddenly, after months and months, it hit me.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. It’s Christopher.
Now contrary to what I wrote here, I never wrote him a long tell-all letter where I confessed my feelings and asked him how he wanted to proceed from now on.
That would have been totally ridiculous because we weren’t friends.
If Christopher had indeed been a friend for years, and suddenly my feelings had shifted? A real heart to heart would have been a believable story.
But I didn’t even know Christopher.
We ran into each other by chance, and I hid my feelings so no one could find them, least of all me. We saw each other, but very occasionally and never in private or anything.
I could feel we were getting friendly, and that we were in the process of determining what we wanted. If we wanted to see each other, or not.
I did feel that.
But it wasn’t as if we had a bond that required explaining if my feelings had changed. And in retrospect they had not even changed, because he literally had me at hello.
Just that I had managed to ignore that for months.
So when I had that light-bulb moment, finally, after all those months. And I realized me and Christopher were testing the waters about what we wanted,  that’s when I did the bravest thing imaginable.
I would call it my personal, most altruistic moment to date.
I gave him a little heads up that I would love to go on a date, but that it would probably not be without risk and that I could imagine him passing. THAT’S ALL I WROTE.
And then he answered to that, and he did choose for his wife and marriage.
It was a very mature conversation, between two emotionally mature individuals. It was drama-free, respectful and discrete.
It’s been months. I’ve carefully avoided him, and I never saw him again.
And yet I can still remember every single word.

An unexamined life is not worth living

Love makes the world go round is the thirty-fourth chapter from Project M. 

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Select your store f.e. Nederland or United States
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spotlight on:
Het Boek Benjamin
verzameld werk Engels en Nederlands

Een meisje vrijt met een jongen en een homoseksuele man. Naast het overweldigende verlangen, is ze zich hyperbewust van de risico’s. Zal haar lust het winnen van de angst?
Zo opent het magnum opus van LS Harteveld.
Na de coming of age novelle Mango, duik je in het dagboek van een yoga docent. En hier blijken de fictieve karakters uit Mango bestaande personen.
Benjamin keert zelfs boek na boek weer terug. Maar wat is de waarheid?
En wie is Benjamin?
Het laatste boek gaat over haar affaire met een getrouwde man die ze Mr. Big noemt.
Waardoor de vraag rijst; Is hij Benjamin?
Heeft LS Harteveld haar muze in bescherming genomen en zijn identiteit veranderd? Of heeft ze een nieuwe liefde gevonden? Een vrouw leunt over een tafel. Ze is naakt, op haar blinddoek na.
Haar minnaar rekt haar grenzen op tot het uiterste van wat nog passend is, in dit spel der geesten. Misschien gaat hij eroverheen, dat blijft in het midden. Maar 25 jaar na de eerste scene, is één ding duidelijk;
de lust heeft gewonnen.

Levering in Nederland

De goedkoopste manier om mijn werk te kopen is via de uitgeverij – 
In verband met problemen met de pakjesdiensten én mijn eigen postbus,
kan ik helaas geen boeken meer opsturen.

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Je kunt hier beneden de beschrijvingen lezen of mijn boeken
bekijken via de webwinkel en daarna bestellen via mail:
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Hieronder het oeuvre en de prijzen.
alle boeken zijn handzaam A5, behalve Het Boek Benjamin, dat is groot studieboek formaat (soft cover) dat je open moet leggen.

Het Boek Benjamin €45
Verzameld werk boek 1 t/m 8
Beschrijving boven, losse boeken beneden. 

1. Mango, een novelle  €15
Seksuele safari, van de jaren 80 tot de zero’s.
Een stoer, technisch meisje groeit op met alleen een moeder, in de roerige jaren 80. Roken is nog van alle leeftijden, drinken idem, en seks ook zolang je bestand bent tegen voorlichtingsfolders over aids waarbij het woord AIDS in bloedspatten is geschreven.

Dat blijkt helaas teveel van ‘t goede.
Vermengd met een verleden in Afrika, en een overleden vader, ontwikkelt deze arrogante tiener een angststoornis waar geen psycholoog haar bij kan helpen. Maar ze blijft aangetrokken tot mooie jongens en homoseksuele mannen.

2. Dutch American Diary (2008-2009) €15
Yoga teacher Lauren is in love with two men; One cunning wizard and one half her age.
 The affair was secret so Lauren called him; He Who Must Not Be Named. After the dark wizard in the Harry Potter series. She tried to get over this American but after a year she only has her mistakes to show for. Including dating an Israeli spy and a Buddhist photographer.

Now her wizard obsession is back full throttle and the next disaster has already emerged;  an attractive yoga student. Young enough to be her son.
Faced with nothing but diabolic choices, Lauren confides in her best friend; the warm and friendly Lara. Despite having the same nationality as He Who Must Not Be Named, and working at the same office coven, Lara seems to lack his foul nature.
Or does she?
Once you’ve read Dutch American Diary? You’ll never ever in your life make the mistake of messing with a yoga teacher. 
~Dutch American Diary part 1

3. 22 Erotische Verhalen €15
Literaire pornografie in de geest van Anais Nin en Isabel Allende.
Ze komen en gaan; de kleurrijke personages in deze dromerige erotische wereld, waar ze je één verhaal lang deelgenoot maken van hun diepste verlangen en hun ergste pijn. Die vaker wel dan niet op magische wijze met elkaar verbonden blijken.

Grenzen worden genegeerd, lusten gebotvierd, wonden geheeld.
Sinds Anais Nin heeft geen schrijver zo onbevreesd het grijze gebied durven te betreden tussen het verbodene, het gruwelijke en het goddelijke. De lezer krijgt naast onversneden liefde en zinderende ontknopingen, ook een spiegel voorgehouden die je laat zien wat er zich afspeelt in de donkerste delen van je ziel. 

 4. LS Diary (2012-2013) €10
About three dark men and Lauren getting naked on stage. Not necessarily together.
 Being dark, smart, and handsome, a Dutch writer bears the characteristics Lauren only knows  too well. He looks exactly like her male muse and unwanted protagonist in the majority of her writing.

A published writer and sought-after talk show guest, the Dutch writer has succeeded where blogger Lauren is failing year after year. After year. She feels the weight of her unpublished manuscripts, and her failed attempts to become a writer. To make matters worse she already has one ill-natured stalker. As if the liabilities of being famous have preceded its benefits.
Lauren gets her shit together prioritizing her work, ignoring men, sex and stalkers. But will it work?  Star struck Lauren meets the celebrity in real life, and soon enough her supposedly highly efficient sex-free life includes a naked guest appearance on stage, a blow-job in a parking garage and a seven month relationship.
~LS Diary can be read as standalone or as Dutch American Diary part 2

5. De Candystop (2013) €10
Waar de Nederlandse literatuur tot stilstand komt door een Marokkaanse lekkernij.
Getergd door een rits onduidelijke medische klachten, besluit Lauren geen suiker meer te eten, geen Chardonnay meer te nemen, en geen latte macchiato’s meer te drinken.

Na een paar weken is ze zo apathisch dat ze zelfs vergeet te masturberen.
Tot een jonge Marokkaanse god op tv verschijnt die tegen Lauren zegt;
“LauRRRen! WakkeRRR woRRRden! Ik ben ook schRRRijveRRR en ik heb ook een leuk leven!”
Dat is zo. Sam doet de vier s’en. Hij schrijft, hij sport, hij sekst en hij slaapt.
Ineens weet Lauren nog steeds niet waar het naartoe moet met haar leven, maar ze is wel klaarwakker. Zeker als ze erachter komt, dat Sam binnen een week een optreden geeft bij haar om de hoek.
Sam doet haar denken aan een verboden relatie met haar leerling, iets waar ze gemengde gevoelens over heeft. Sam wil die best met haar onderzoeken, maar hij vraag een prijs…

6. Bedtime Stories (2014) €15
Facing her demons and her muse, Lauren’s sexual history gets its worthy finale.
Lauren is corresponding with Elliot, but somewhere between The Netherlands and Vegas, things have stranded. To get their project back on track Lauren resorts to strong measures: making the whole damn thing public.

Sharing eight months of her life, Lauren’s third diary reintroduces all popular characters, such as writer Rafael and his legendary mythical counterpart Benjamin. Young writer Sam and his ghost twin Valentino.
Closing the Dutch American Diary trilogy, the 1991 story lines are finally tied together. With an extremely satisfying ending. Although not in a way anyone saw coming.
 ~LS Diary can be read as standalone or as Dutch American Diary part 3

7. Mirage (2014) €5
Giving you a little dessert, with all gorgeous writers from previous books.
Lauren, the former hedonistic cougar, is home bound, mothering her little ones, sick with worry and about to get dumped by her lover. Together with autumn setting in, Lauren needs her annual Cute Writer Fix more than ever. And this year there’s five of them.
Including a lunch date with the most famous author of the Netherlands; her youth love Henry.
~Mirage can be read as standalone or as the epilogue to the Dutch American Diary trilogy.

8. Big, diaries & erotica (2015-2016)  €20
The crown to Lauren’s life; a secret affair with her Biggie.
Ten years and ten lovers have taught Lauren two things.

One: single life is a disaster.
And two: men suck at anal sex.
So when Mr.Big comes along and succeeds where all the others have failed, Lauren is euphoric. She immediately picks up her pen to write about it, and her first story is indeed called “The Biggie”, about his flawless performance.  
For two years Lauren documents her secret affair with the married business man. She writes about their explosive encounters, her unwavering love, and her powerful insights. Gradually, Lauren changes. From an scarred single, to a woman totally owning her worth and her true nature. Ten years after ending her relationship in order to explore love and sex in all their forms, Lauren Harteveld becomes the ultimate mistress.

los verkrijgbaar, niet in Het Boek Benjamin:

Witte Tijgerin €5
Gids voor solitaire vrouwen die een geweldig seksleven willen en plenty energie.
Een Witte Tijgerin is een alleenstaande, onafhankelijke vrouw. Haar contact met mannen is erop gericht dat ze er energie van krijgt. Stel je voor! Nooit meer gehannes met beginnende relaties die het toch nét niet zijn. Nooit meer die morning-after backlash. Geïnspireerd op het klassieke Taoïstische werk De Witte Tijgerin van Hsi Lai, onthult deze gids;
– hoe je de touwtjes in handen houdt
– hoe je je liefdesleven gebruikt voor je plezier
– hoe je met seks je jeugdigheid herstelt.
Hij zal niet kunnen wachten om weer met je af te spreken!