50 Shades I m going offline, but here’s how we keep in touch | final blog post & announcement 1995 series

The reason I am using the click-baity 50 Shades up there in the title, is because that IS the reason I m going offline.
When I started writing, in 2006, I did so to reboot my love life.
My Dutch novella Mang0*, and the Dutch erotic stories*, helped me process my past and set myself up for everything that was tantalizing, intriguing and downright terrifying when it came to sex.
And the offline diary I kept during my first affair*, did nothing short to saving my life.

But in my fourth book, things had started to shift*.

It was the first autobiographical book I wrote online.
The erotic stories too, were written online; But because they were fictional, they did not impact the people around me, nor did they impact my life in the way my later work would.
With the fourth book, that changed.
From now on I was a blogger, and my diary – although still largely fictionalized to protect the innocent – was public.

In 2015 I got an affair with a married man, whom I called Mr.Big. The reason I could deal with that, was because I started keeping a diary and wrote my first autobiographical erotic stories*.
I had gone next level, in how I was using writing as a way to develop myself, and to lead a love life that I would never be able to sustain if it had not be for writing.

But now things have shifted again.

It’s 2020 and we’re in the middle of a Covid crisis and technically sex (even when someone is single) is forbidden for as long as we have a 1,5 meter social distancing rule.
If you do not live together, you should not have been seeing or touching each other since early March. On July 1st, our sex workers are allowed to go back to work, but people who do not belong to the same household are summoned by law to stay 1,5 meters apart.
In a way that is good news for me.
It is amusing that although I may have been depicted as “an evil woman” during the 5 years I was with Mr.Big, I could not be fined nor was what I did against advice from the World Health Organization nor were there any Dutch laws against it.
Provoking social morale: Yes.
Was it illegal: No.
So all the non-same householders people having sex; Welcome to the club of sinners who can just feel in their bones that rules are so outrageous and unjust, you have no choice but to ignore them.
Because that’s what they’ve been doing:
No one I know of has refrained from having sex with someone they did not live with, because of Covid.
Yet this makes my position even more difficult: Because now someone needs to be blamed for this.
And if people in LAT relationships, and new couples are apparently not the right ones to blame for it, I know who is:
Independent women, and in particular those who have sex.
The C. crisis has evaporated the last bit of reasonable conversation we could have about sex, because it’s maxed out all reason there ever was.
It’s all used up to justify “normal” dating routines, holidays, and social gatherings;
I see no room left to have a conversation about sexual autonomy in the upcoming 18 months.
Economy comes first.
Family lives and couples second.
And sexually independent women are not even on the list of people allowed to speak. I would not be surprised if they would find a way to blame us for Covid, which I hope do not become prophetic words.

The second reason things with regard to my writing have shifted, is that social media has gotten more strict with regard to sexual content.
I probably could not even write anymore, what I wrote in 2015, without receiving a warning.
And the times I could write those even more explicit and daring Dutch erotic stories, as I did around 2010: That time is definitely over.
Social media is no longer the place to share explicit content, making online writing/ blogging itself, no longer the right medium to do so.
Every time I considered going back to writing erotica, I soon realized that it was no longer possible, or at least advisable,  to write erotica online.
You could risk losing your social media accounts.

Before I go to the last (real) reason I m going offline – as sort of a matter of fact thingy; I know deep in my heart, that the only thing I find worth rereading and publishing into books, are my diaries and sex stories.
That although I have over 500 (long!) blog posts to edit and publish, if I m really honest?
It’s probably a hundred which I need to get out with all my heart.
Only the ones considering my love life.
All the others:
The struggle with my career, articles on movies, music, politics even;
If I am ever going to publish it, they will be under my real name or in a bundle with all my unpublished work.

The name LS Harteveld was started in 2006, to write about my love life, and that’s all that should ever make it to paper here, from the work I have not yet published;
And from now on, it’s also all that will ever be written. But offline.

So this brings me to the final and most exciting reason I m going offline, and after 10 years of being a blogger, I will no longer be writing online.
And that’s because I m every bit as committed to my love life, as I was in 2006, when I ended my long term relationship to find out what in God’s name it was I wanted and enjoyed.
I had the feeling there was something fundamentally wrong with me being in a steady, living together relationship, but still assumed that since everybody else seemed to be okay with it I would probably one day end up healed and choosing the exact type of relationship I was leaving behind.  

Little did I know that I would find out that I need a non-monogamous independent man, who keeps things extremely exciting because he runs away all the time and is emotionally entirely unavailable, so that I can spend time with my books and diary.
I didn’t know that.
I didn’t know that out of all the people in the world, I was probably going to end up being the unhappiest of them all, in what they refer to as a safe and healthy relationship.
That it would not so much be the death of me; “Just” the death of my entire sexuality.
I will never see any reason to have sex with someone who has chosen for you, is reliable, and wants to spend his life with you.
And to this day, I have not come across anybody else who has this strong feeling of mandatory non-monogamy for a partner, in order to even “get it up”.

But having said that, I need a new style of writing, in order to keep developing myself. And I think for Mr.Big too, things had become too predictable in terms of me being the secret mistress who writes. It could have been one of the reasons he broke up with me.
A non-monogamous partner may do the heavy lifting when it comes to keeping things exciting. I would love to say: “And faces the most scrutiny.” except that this is of course not true at all.
My ex-lover Mr.Big never faced the same scrutiny as I did. Even if it did came out he would never face questions how it makes him feel to betray his wife.
He’d get a pat on the back and a “shit happens” if she found out and divorced him.
That I embraced my role as the antagonist, the natural enemies of the married peoples, was a strategic choice.
It is not because I think it is fair by any standard, that we put this on my plate.
I do not seduce men. I do not lure them into my lair, with promises of secrecy and unbridled sexual escapades.
I keep my distance and have actively and deliberately been pursued by one man, with whom I had an affair for 5 years; an affair he took full responsibility for.
He never portrayed himself as innocent until I came along.
He relieved me from that.
I was very lucky to have met him, and I hope to start having affairs again, but I resist the idea that a mistress (as I see it) is a seductress.
She likes giving up control to him.
She likes him calling her.
She likes the pain, even of loneliness.
It is the very nature of who she is.

But having said that, I think even she, meaning I, ultimately comes at a point where it is her time to spice things up with her lover, and to stop calling herself mistress to everybody else.
Mistress was my antagonistic title.

It was my: “You want me bad? I ll give you bad, you judgmental *insert swearing*”
I m done with representing myself as a mistress, even though I know that men who are already taken make the best fit to my wish list because I can be certain that they understand the rules of not leaning onto me, and smothering me with social demands and boredom that are damaging to my sexuality.
Still: A single man may be able to do the same.
That’s what I mean by developing myself.
The mistress title is first of all no longer valid, because we stopped having sex a year ago, and are no longer together.
Secondly, in theory a single man could be my partner, as long as he knows how to keep things fresh.
But thirdly, and this is the part I was referring to in particular when I said a mistress should keep things exciting as well:
I need to uplevel. Not just because it might have prevented him from breaking up, but also just for me.
When I get a new partner I want to let things develop offline, this time. Without the escape to write an online erotic story, that makes him never forget and come back for more.
I want to make a lasting impression without!
And learn how to write and process, without blogging it.
That’s one part of upleveling: I no longer want to need the blog, as I have done since 2010, in order to support my sex life.
Secondly, I want to spice things up.
Like I should have done earlier.
This means that I will no longer be giving in to my monogamous tendencies, and favor multiple relationships instead. I will never be the one-night stand type, nor someone who can have sex without being head over heels and completely inconveniently, in love.
But I since I am usually in love with multiple men, this means that in theory I can also have multiple lovers. There is room to develop.

But this leap needs to be without the writing.

In 2006 I started writing offline, and it sustained me through the first years after breaking up a relationship of 14 years.
In 2010 I took it online and that helped me dating a series of guys. I became very independent and a good writer.
In 2015, my need to write about my affair was stronger than my desire to keep it secret and not say a word to anybody. I needed to start documenting our affair, in order to be able to do it.
And it worked, and I m happy I did.

But right now, in 2020, the time has come to take writing offline again.
Because the C. crisis has made my preferences more prone to scrutiny.
Because Facebook doesn’t allow for erotica anymore anyway.
Because I no longer want to need blogging, the way I have done the past 10 years.
Because I can see that things had gotten stale. That to keep blogging about my love life, is to repeat what I ve already done.
And lastly, because I want to develop my love life, to maybe a single man who can have me in his life and keep it fresh – and lovingly support me in seeing other men – or maybe my love life will be similar to what it was.
Just not blogged about.
Which to me, is already a huge difference.

How we stay in touch

This is by no means a goodbye.
I will stay present on my Facebook and Twitter, and behind the scenes I ll both be publishing my books, as well as writing new ones.
I hope to get a love life that is so fascinating and compelling, the words will simply flow out of me!
I ve already set the stage, in fact I did that last summer already.
I started a project called “1994”, but the story is stuck. To move “1994” forward, the story of a 22 year old Lauren, whose lover Bear broke up with her and who is now struggling to find herself again – simply needs to be taken offline.
I can’t concentrate on being her, and living as her (it’s mostly a performance project, the writing is just a side effect) if at the same time I keep being here in 2020.

So what you can expect from me in the upcoming years are:
– new books: 2010-2020
A selection of juicy books, based on unpublished stories from my blogs.
Titles are Reboot, Big Mistress, Blote Kont (Dutch) and I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW. I m also considering publishing a book called All The Things – with all the (English) blog posts in chronological order, and not leaving anything out, but I have not decided on that one.
I will keep in touch with what’s happening behind the scenes, so it’s always a good idea to subscribe to this blog. And who knows, maybe I will feel the need to leave 1995 and write entirely new stories here as well!
I have been known to break my own word.
– new book: 1994
I started writing 1994 last year, you can find it here.
But it’s very frail, it needs more action. By going offline, 22 year old Lauren can finally start living again.
– presence on social media
Twitter and Facebook

Thank you very much for reading.
I feel kind of excited, because the relationship between my love life and writing – and how I use one to influence the other, has always been the major theme of my life, since 2006.
For me to quit online writing after 10 years, is a biggie, it really is.

And although I m going to put a lot of love into creating the books, of the work I ve made so far, it’s my curiosity to how the rest of the story goes, that makes this so exciting.
What will happen if I turn back the clock, to before 2010, and the even to 1995?
What will happen in my life?

It’s that story, and that work, that I look forward to sharing with you one day.

An unexamined life is not worth living

My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

*About my books

In this blog, I ve inserted several links to my books. 

Lulu has gone through a reorganization: Dutch Lulu no longer exists, and the English website has some issue displaying the covers. The spine of the book is displayed with the book (after you ve clicked the description).
I have no idea how this plays out if you order it: I assume it will be fine, but I have not ordered books yet.
Now that I m no longer writing, I m going to publish more, and I will be become more hands-on with regard to my publishing and knowing all the ins and outs.

New books will be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.

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.
Nederlands blog:




When Your Innocence Dies | 1995 series

Sunday May 3, 1995
2.15 P.M.
It’s probably a good thing, I waited until today to write. Just a few hours ago, I was still convinced I was going through a change of personality.
Feeling all feminine and flowery, and Laura Ashley-like to a degree that was entirely not me, but that I for some reason suddenly aspired to become.

And it wasn’t just because my former long-term lover Bear called me, although that certainly didn’t help.
I felt very relaxed talking to him, in my newly found toned- down, softened state.
As if I could finally compete with whomever it was I needed to compete with this time.
Because I had the feeling his monogamy is coming to an end, or has already been broken.

Technically, I don’t know the details now anymore than I have done in the 5 years we were “together”.
Aside from the few odd months when I didn’t see him, and suspected it was because he was monogamous.
It’s not that I don’t endorse that, it’s just that for me, it’s not very interesting.
I’d much rather have him not choosing me, when he’s single or if there are multiple women involved.
Sometimes I surprise myself, how competitive I am. Even when I m obviously losing because he broke up with me last December.
Aside from the very occasional phone call, or the even more infrequent time we see each other for a cup of coffee, there is barely any contact with me and Mr.Bear.

And yet, the moment I feel he’s coming from a place of strength, I can feel that old sexual tension flaring up between us.
The game of poker, where I – you know, I wanted to say “pretend”? Where I pretend to support him? But that’s not true at all. I actually do support him.
It’s just that supporting a monogamous relationship is not very exciting.
And I love it when I get the feeling he’s all tangled up in exciting things, because then at least there’s something to fight over. 

I remember his periods of monogamy, in however few words they were marked or mentioned, as a time-out.
Recovery time.
Someone taking himself out of the game.

But something about the way he called me last time, convinced me he was back into it.
And that the pieces had been moving on the board.
My instincts told me, he had introduced another piece on it, another woman.
Someone who wasn’t me, obviously.
I think I should have been furious, insecure or insulted. Having him break up with me in December, because he was going into a real and serious relationship where he felt a lot of responsibility, leaving me man-less, lover-less, sex-less;
Only to then choose someone else to break his monogamy with.  

Again, assuming I read between the lines correctly. He didn’t say anything.

But regardless of what he had or had not already done on the side, my dominant emotion was:
“Damn! You’re back on the board, aren’t you?”
A chance to be with man, not without.
With lover, not without.
With sex.
A chance to not “celebrate” my Year Without Sex, in July.

Yes…. it was a good day to feel all feminine and soft, when I picked up the phone.
That was something he could not prepare for. An energy I don’t usually have.
And although I ve now realized this entire Little Miss Cute charade, needs to go Pronto!, it was a nice thing to have, for a few days.

Because I tracked it this morning. When did it start? Was it when he called?
And I discovered it wasn’t.
A few hours before his call, I had been walking around the flea market, on Queens Day.
And I was browsing for movies on VHS.
And whether by chance or because I was feeling all Pretty in Pink already, I ended up buying movies particularly aimed at women.
I liked adding them to my collection, and yesterday I watched Dirty Dancing – more about that later.
But this afternoon, I knew:
Gotta go.
Great thing, as a social experiment, to dabble with feeling feminine once in a while. And what a coincidence Bear called; That conversation was definitely won by me.
But – Don’t make a career out of it.
Don’t get used to it.
Don’t make any plans that involve:
“And then there was Lauren, who looked so sweet and kind, and she was such a good friend, loyal employee, warm and loving girlfriend.”
Fuck all that.

And I think the reason was, because that movie Dirty Dancing, describes exactly what happens to you, if you are a good girl.
One of the earlier scenes shows the girl carrying watermelons into a bar where everybody is dancing the twist, which was considered an erotic form of dancing in the 60s.
She’s not supposed to be there, nor to stay there after she’s made her delivery. But she does and when Patrick Swayze asks their mutual friend what “she” is doing here, she defends herself:
“I carried watermelons.”

That’s my future if I continue playing all innocent and sweet:
Feeling out of place, in a room full of people having fun.
And I m the one who doesn’t belong there.

I don’t care the girl gets the main prize; the man who dances so sexy, and who has a healthy dose of self-esteem, and takes good care of himself and will now take good care of her.

I can do without sex, without Bear, and without any man for the rest of my life, if it involves carrying watermelons, wearing pink, or dirty dancing.

An unexamined life is not worth living

When Your Innocence Dies  | “1995” 
is the second chapter to
1994 part 3: This Time I’m Staying 

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.
Nederlands blog:




‘Cause all these dreams are swept aside | 1995 series

Sunday morning April 26, 1995
9.45 A.M.
I know I shouldn’t be writing about my dream.
At the publisher’s, it’s one of the first things I have to send back to the author, in the unlikely event one of our novelists gets it into their head to use a dream as a way to tell the story.
I will defend myself, saying that it’s not a way to tell the story.
This is my actual dream.
This is my actual diary.
And therefor this is final.

I dreamed I was in a huge building, which was supposed to be buzzing with cultural activities, but now it was closed to the public.
I was on their top floor, which had like a triangular shaped roof or contained a lot of geometrical lines.
It was like an enormous tent; pitch black on one side, like the roof of a normal music venue, and bright glass on the other, like a museum.
But there was no one there, except me and two colleagues.
Both guys.
I don’t remember the exact dynamic, but we were all in different departments, neither one of us were directly working together.
But I forgot what my own profession was, and I also forgot what the profession was of the first guy.
There was a huge statue or object in the middle of the room, and I remember it as an enormous wooden boat; like one carved out of wood by indigenous tribes, but extremely large.
I had asked the first guy something, and he walked me in the direction of the statue, and told me the second guy would know.
The second guy was a DJ. He had been setting up his tables there, or had been rehearsing or practicing there.
It wasn’t for a show.
There would not be any shows for an indefinite period of time.
Yet he seemed happy, as if he had been doing something he liked and had achieved some sort of accomplishment. He was rolling up cables.
I think neither one of us were there doing our normal work (maybe the DJ was).
We all seemed to be trying to find something to do, despite the venue being closed.
In the dream I had a short conversation with the DJ, and then I had a final one with the first guy.
And then something strange happened.
I knew I was standing too close, and that I wasn’t supposed to. I excused myself and stepped back. He said something like “It doesn’t matter” or something. There had not been any sexual tension between us, it (coming closer) had just happened naturally because of the conversation we were having, or because of the topic. Or because I was illustrating something with my body or so.
I wasn’t deliberately coming close for personal reasons.
It’s just that I lived in a time when there was a disease and standing close to each other was enough to catch it.

I woke up and stayed in bed longer than usual, thinking about what it meant.
I have an aids phobia. Or I used to before I realized it was simply not an option to be safe all the time.
You know: Get one boyfriend, both stay monogamous
Especially him staying faithful to me would become a problem, because I would find that too boring.
Either way, to be really safe you’d either have to have all sex with protection, including oral; Or alternatively you’d both get tested and you can leave the condoms out.
But then you re stuck with this boring monogamous sex life that is never going to work.
I knew I had the choice between getting over my fears, or settling for a love life that I didn’t want.
And I don’t do settling.
So I got over it.

But when I talk about sex with others, I can still feel so clearly that I think about sex in an entirely different way than they do.
And it’s because of this phobia that once tried to force me into a life that wasn’t mine. It’s because of that, and because I conquered it, that I have a – I think you should call it “seriousness” – a certain seriousness and heaviness, that will always be tied to sex.
If you have to overcome your fear of death, in order to give a blowjob to your lover, you’re in it for real.
You’re not “fooling around” here.
You’re making partner choices that revolve around:
“Is this person worth taking the (small, calculated) risk of getting hiv, in the case a condom breaks or I give him a blowjob and that’s enough to do the trick?”
I never had a guy come in my mouth, but again: It could happen. Even by accident.

Overcoming death does not make your sex life easier, but it does make it more powerful. It provides meaning to something others might claim “just happened”.
With me, that is impossible.

Realizing sex could get you killed, prevents it from being something you’re going to regret later.
Having sex equals “I love you so much, or I want you so much, I’d die for it.”

I think what took me an hour of morning thoughts in bed, is realizing that in the time of the deserted venue and me and my two colleagues trying to have something to do, while not standing too close because of the danger;
I’d live in a time when everybody thought that.
I wouldn’t be the only one, who consciously took the risk of death;
Every man whom I had sex with, would have done the same.

And in its own, no doubt terrible fucked up way, that was an exciting thought.

An unexamined life is not worth living
‘Cause all these dreams are swept aside  | “1995” 
is the first chapter to
1994 part 3: This Time I’m Staying 

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.
Nederlands blog:

15 Years of Silence | 1995 series

Saturday evening April 25, 2020
9.45 P.M.
I’ve been here before.
I ve been here before numerous times.

The point when I realize staying in 2020 in the midst of this pandemic, is – firstly – not really an option.
It s going to drive me mad. But secondly, that it’s also not where I am supposed to be!
It is a sign that I need to go all-in on the project I started summer 2019, where I travel back in time to 1994.
By now it’s 1995.
I ve had numerous times, and I mean definitely even before the crisis gave me a REALLY good reason, multiple times when I knew:
I gotta leave.
I need to time travel to 1995 and only “visit” 2020, for example for work, or to post this blog post.
But that daily life needs to be designed around me being a 22 year old, working from home, and struggling with yoga, her love life, becoming a writer.
A life where I am tempted to start teaching yoga, at a local yoga studio with a super hot yoga teacher who looks like Jon Bon Jovi.
Try saying no to that.
By the way in real life, I have picked up teaching yoga; but it’s an online friends group.

I received a phone call tonight, someone I didn’t know asking to join. And it was exactly what I needed to firmly decide that I will not return to teaching public classes.
I have been toying with the thought of offering my online classes outside of the friends group, because obviously now would be a great time to attract a bigger audience. And theoretically, teaching online “should” allow for a broader range of students, than the former studio clients and friends I was teaching before C.
Even though the online classes started out as a substitute for that tiny inner-circle, it seems so very logical to make them more public.
Except of course, it’s not.
I was a yoga teacher for over 15 years and there is a reason I quit.

Whether online or in real life: I am not a yoga teacher teaching public classes. I retired from that officially in December, and the call tonight was a slap in the face to wake up from secretly dreaming of taking it bigger.
Having someone I didn’t know on the phone looking for a yoga class, caused a panic attack, which could only be soothed by frantically checking all my social media on my phone, when none of them had any notifications.
My “stimming” ( I still think panic attacks after social interaction occur because I m autistic) conflicted with my resolution to really finally go all-in on the 1995 project.
There was no reason at all to check my phone or scroll my feeds.
No reason, except from getting a panic attack from being called as a normal yoga teacher on a Saturday night and realizing that I do not want to be a professional yoga teacher ever again.
That if my small inner-circle groups generate enough money for me to live off, that’s great;
But I m not going to make myself available on the market as a yoga teacher.
I think it’s an extremely vulnerable, awful profession, for someone with my sensitivities.
I have no idea how I lasted 15+ years.
All I know is, if I had a chance to start all over, I would do it differently.
For example, if I was magically brought back to 1995, I would not become a yoga teacher.
Tomorrow I will travel to 1995, and tell them the news.
And that this time, I’m staying.

An unexamined life is not worth living

15 Years of Silence  | “1995” 
is the introduction to
1994 part 3: This Time I’m Staying 

‘Cause all these dreams are swept aside  | “1995” 
is the first chapter to
1994 part 3: This Time I’m Staying 

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.
Nederlands blog:


Take that one to heart | “1994” series

Friday March 3, 1995
Does it require an explanation why I didn’t write, for two months?
Especially since my last entry early January ended with the militant:
“But I will put one foot in front of another, and become a writer.
Alone if I have to. ”
It hardly seems on point that I have not written anything since.
Well, yes and no.
I didn’t give up on the idea of becoming a writer but it turned out, no writing is required. Or even desired. Because I went through my old manuscripts and diaries and it’s all there.
An entire body of work, as if it dropped right out of the sky.
I honestly had no idea I had written that much. 
So I don’t need to write, in order to become a published writer.
I need to organize, curate, filter, edit, embellish, smooth out.
The finite conclusion really is, and I wish it wasn’t, that in order to become a writer I need to be doing the exact same work I do (still) to make a living.
The same work I hate so much.
Eight months since graduation, the loneliness is daunting and my ass feels like it will fall off one day. But I guess that is a shitty reason not to work on publishing my own books right?
Whether you re sitting down every night to write new work, or to edit your existing work, doesn’t really make a difference for the sagginess of your ass.
But it felt different though.
And the idea that my road to becoming a published author, included expanding my ass-sitting hours from 8 to 10, doing the same boring work I m already way overdue with and sick of, was not appealing. 
So although I was thrilled to find I was basically already done writing, the conclusion I had maxed out on my solitary desk-sitting-hours, and that something needed to change to avoid “death by copy editing”, was something I needed to come to terms with.
This weekend I will start looking for a new job. Something where I have to leave home for, see people, have a laugh or two.
But God, eight months in, and I have to start all over again.
So depressing.
In combination with my love life which has absolutely bottomed out since January, I really had little to be excited about.
Both the Slash painter and Bear are up till their necks into their responsibilities towards their families.
With Slash I kind of knew that of course, but nevertheless it still hurt.
And with Bear too, I just want to shake him up.
But I don’t know if I want to do that because I want to yell: “Pick me! Pick me!” or “Run while you can!”.
Or if it really is none of my fucking business how he chooses to live his life, and which responsibilities he accepts.
His purpose, what he has to do in this life; It really is none, NONE, of my business.
I know that, I do.
But sometimes I think I spent the last two months keeping myself from contacting him, and trying to get through to him.
Through to them.
It cost a lot of energy and I m still not “done” or at peace about Bear or Slash.
I find the whole situation extremely unsettling. But two months is enough, and I am no longer going to wait for them to change their minds.
I need to get on with my life.
Especially after news came about Slash.
It is tempting to go into detail as to how I found out about either one of them.
What was going on with Slash, what with Bear. Who told me what, what I heard from others, and what I picked up intuitively or even paranormally.

But it doesn’t really matter.
The stories are similar.
Both could have chosen for me, and both didn’t. And I didn’t do anything to change their minds.
Technically Slash doesn’t even know how I feel. I never said anything. I can still see his jacket covering my coats at December 31st when he came in to eat oliebollen but I never said it.
I still only think about Bear when I think of sex, but I never told him.
And besides, wouldn’t that be a reason for him not to see me?
That I m all about sex, and that it’s superficial and that he now wants a real woman with whom he can have a future together?
I think the difference between me and the men I m in love with, is that to me a man I have sex with, or want to have sex with, is automatically extremely meaningful to me.
They are different, they have a broader taste.
Slash dated many women before he was married for sure, and maybe even now. He could be having an affair with the bar lady from Warhol. It certainly seemed that way.

And Bear has always had other lovers throughout the five years we were seeing each other.
He seemed to have received a calling to settle down and get serious, but I don’t understand it because it’s so not him.
Or is it just so not me?
Am I projecting how special these men are to me, and my conscious choice for a tailor-made, unconventional sex life, instead of working within the boundaries of what it is society wants from us? 
Is this all me?
After two months I ve decided I m done caring.
I m done thinking about it, done worrying about it and if they actually would need saving, I m the last person who should be doing that.
Because it would screw up what we have. It’s an entirely backwards power dynamic, if I start interfering claiming I know things better.
I always had faith in Bear making his own decisions. Always. There is no exception that says:
“Except when you don’t choose me.”
It is so simple that I can’t believe I actually spent two months wondering if I had to offer or say something. Or if they were going to turn around. 
It’s so disgusting.
Almost as disgusting as getting a saggy ass, not publishing my own books and having to write basically the exact same diary entry twice, two months after you already knew what you had to do.
Let’s get to work.
An unexamined life is not worth living.

Take that one to heart | “1994”
is the fifth chapter of
1994 part 2: A New Life 
My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

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.
Nederlands blog:



I remember when we met | “1995” series

January 7, 1995
I was archiving my spiral bound diary of 1994. When closing it, the first page fell open and it just broke my heart.
It had a quote from Bear.
It was from a conversation we had, about our dreams.
Or his dreams, which fascinated and inspired me.
It may have been why he was so irresistible to me; He just did his own thing and I seemed to have little impact on his life. We only saw each other when it suited him.
Which was another thing I liked, no one understood.
How could I not take initiative to see each other?
And didn’t I want him to be there for me when I wasn’t doing well? How could I give him all the power, controlling everything?

That not having a say in whether or not we were going to see each other, was actually one of the most intoxicating things about it, baffled them.
I usually added that I would initiate contact sometimes, to ensure he didn’t feel excluded. But he rarely accepted the invitation.
Late 1993, he had taken his physical exercise to the next level. It didn’t seem to take him any effort. He had been training every day since October, November, and he had been keeping it up.
I immediately started dreaming what I would be able to achieve if I did that.

But Bear reminded me this wasn’t the first time I was inspired by his discipline. He said he would be frustrating rather than inspiring me, since I seemed to be having so much trouble to stick to a regiment.
I denied and ensured him 1994 would be different.
Starting with quoting him on the frustration thing, at the beginning of my journal.
Only to not read it again until January 1995 when archiving the journal.
And suddenly I felt so guilty.
Not for not keeping my word to Bear – regardless if he would have been more inclined to stay with me and not break up if I had become more successful at my fitness dreams.
I felt guilty for not backing myself up.
It wasn’t just the fitness.

I vowed to become a writer in 1994, and then didn’t.

It wasn’t all bad, don’t get me wrong.
Both Bear and me finished our thesis and got our Masters. We both started our working lives as well.

And then a month ago he broke up, and now it’s January 1995, and I m like:
Where did the time go? Where did my dreams go to workout every day (in my case yoga) and to become a writer?
It was all so very sad.
How full of life I still felt one year ago. Everything Bear and me had been sharing. Our five years of being lovers felt like a heart shaped bubble. A curated experience like something you could put in a museum.
The intensity, and the beauty of it just brought tears to my eyes.
For the first time I cried, thinking about our years together, and that he had moved on. Wanted a family. Wanted normalcy. Didn’t want me anymore, the girl who had asked him to have her first time sex with.
Because her boyfriend had ended it, right before her 17th birthday, and she didn’t want to leave this to chance or let it fall into inexperienced hands.
I remember how a burden had been lifted from my shoulders, when I had found him.
Just like the past month after the breakup, I had been devoid of emotion, and I had been pragmatic about what needed to be done. I was young but I was determined to find someone skillful to give me the first time sex.
And took all the steps on instinct.
Bear immediately sprung to mind, because I knew him from stories from two friends and had seen him on a number of occasions. We had been briefly introduced but never really talked.
Bear had been sexually active, and was notorious for not committing. Through the two friends (I can’t remember which one) I got his telephone number, I came up with some kind of excuse for needing it.
I rang him up, explained who I was, and that I wanted to ask him something. But that I could only do it in person. We set a date to have coffee together, and I was business-like about what I wanted from him.
It wasn’t until he said Yes, that I broke into tears.
Suddenly all the tension of setting this up, the fear of staying a virgin far too long, grief of having lost Jonathan at such an important time;
It all came out.
“I m sorry,” I sobbed.
Bear just smiled and took my hands over the table. Touched my face. I wanted to crawl away, I felt so vulnerable. Bear tried to look me in the eye, but the more he tried to stay connected with me, the more I started to cry.
“It’s going to be fine, okay?” he finally said when I had calmed down a bit. “You trust me?”
I nodded.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. Do you understand?”
I didn’t explain that I wasn’t crying because of him doing something.
But out of fear of him not doing something. Out of fear of him changing his mind and leaving me hanging. And a virgin.
But just like the daily exercise, Bear did what he promised.
The first time we didn’t go all the way, but stuck to the things I was already experienced with. And the second time we had real sex.
It was extremely emotional. It had been such a big hangup for me, and at first I really thought it was that stress, why I was crying.
But it would stay that way.
The fucking brought out so much tension, I cried more often than not. I felt like a baby in his arms, and it was all okay. More than okay.
It was wonderful.
And now he has ended it.
And there is this bubble of beautiful memories, that will never go away.
Our first date he had ensured me he would never do something I didn’t want;
He held true to his word.
All the way up to the end.
As soon as he wanted a normal relationship and possibly a family, he asked me for a similar coffee date as I had five years ago.
And he left.
Bear had been right.
1994 Was not the year he would inspire me to great heights, and became the source of frustration instead. Not because he had stuck to his exercise regime and I hadn’t. But because our time together had come to an end, and had left me empty handed.
Finding the quote in the diary was the first time I cried for our breakup.
For not backing myself.
For making resolutions I didn’t keep.
For not being a writer.
Not having a lover.
After two days I decided enough was enough. I am only 22 years old, and I still have my life ahead of me. I took a piece of paper, and drew out what I wanted this year and also for the upcoming years. Just as Bear had done for his.
There were way too many blanks to my liking.
With whom was I going to make love?
In whom would I trust?
It was an incredibly lonely exercise, and I can’t say that I’m suddenly healed and looking to the future with hope and dreams.
But I will put one foot in front of another, and become a writer.
Alone if I have to. 
An unexamined life is not worth living
I remember when we met | “1995” 
is the fourth chapter of
1994 part 2: A new life
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.
Nederlands blog:

Sexual Innuendo | “1995” series

January 4, 1995
I finally cracked the code why the sexual tension keeps on building between the Slash-like painter I’m in love with, and me.
When we both seem very determined not to throw any fuel on any fire.
Want to guess?
Here’s what I wrote about the last time I saw him:
A Warm Safe Place | “1994” series

It was all extremely respectable.
So then why can’t I stop thinking about him?
Why do I keep having the feeling him raising his hand wishing me a happy new year and good luck with the cats, is not going to be the last time we see each other?

And even more so that the tension not just keeps on building despite both of us not acting on it;
But because of it.
Our “distant” dynamics are like buckets of gasoline thrown straight onto the fire.
But why? Now I know why.
And I also know what either one of us would have to do to break the spell;
And that neither one of us, is going to do that!
But before I get into that, I want to first explain why things have gotten so heated.
Okay. So for starters, even though Slash and me seem to be behaving identically, we are both playing a different role. It only looks as if we re both distant, formal even.
But underneath the surface, our roles are different from each other…
Very, different.
When Slash holds his distance, sidelines me by letting me know he s married, tries to hook me up with his colleague even, he does it from a position of taking the lead.
His actions say: “I have no room for you in my life.”
He keeps it clear that our chance encounter when he painted my balcony was a one-off thing. The click between us might have taken him by surprise at the time, but that he s going to leave it at that. When he avoids physical contact and proximity for example by choosing to sit at the table instead of next to me on the couch, he s saying:
“I like you, but I m not going to act on this. And I want to be clear on that.”
However, that is not what my distance means.
My distance means:
I respect you.
I will never initiate.
You decide.
You don t owe me an explanation.
His distance communicates he s not available but inadvertently (or intentionally?) makes him dominant.
My distance communicates I respect his choices but also that I comply to his wishes.
My distance makes me submissive.
His rejection and my cooperative understanding have turned into a highly volatile situation.
He s taking the lead and I m complying.
It s like mini-sex.
Having said that, it is now blatantly obvious how either one of us can break the spell effectively: By breaking pattern.
The moment I try to seduce him or take initiative either sexually but especially verbally, by speaking to him about my feelings;
The spell is broken.
And vice versa the moment he puts me in the lead, for example by claiming to be overwhelmed by his feelings for me or complaining he does not know what to do:
The magic is gone. The reason I think neither one of us will let the magic die out by talking about it, is because we are both fascinated by it.
Even if we don t act on it.
Maybe especially then.
An unexamined life is not worth living

Sexual Innuendo | “1995” 
is the third chapter of
1994 part 2: A new life

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.
Nederlands blog:


A Warm Safe Place | “1995” series

January 1, 1995
This may be the best January 1st in the history of my entire 22 year old existence.
And I am not sure why, because I am in an impossible position.
This is not one of those happily ever after stories because even if I would end up happy, others would not.

Technically, I could see how everybody could live happily ever after.
But since even Bear has set himself up for a life of monogamy and normalcy, I have given up on the idea that men can love multiple women, without blowing it with one of them.
Or both of them.
It’s not that I cannot see how a marriage does not have to blow up if your Slash-like husband has fallen in love with a rock chick whose balcony he painted this summer:
It’s just that it’s not the most likely scenario.
And a hurt, angry wife, a divorce and children caught in the middle, is.
Yet I seem unbothered by this horror scenario.
Probably because I m still under the spell. His spell. Rationally I can see this is going to be a mess but emotionally I m in way over my head.
Because I encountered the Slash-like painter on the last day of 1994 with a bag of oliebollen (a Dutch treat for New Year’s Eve) in our building.

He was just on his way out.
I came home from shopping for my first New Year’s Eve when I was going to be all by myself. I have my own apartment, so I no longer have housemates. And I have cats now, and didn’t want to leave them alone with all the fireworks.
Slash threw me a big smile when he saw me and said:
“I left something at your door. I hope you don’t mind.”
The company he works for were delivering cards on behalf of the real estate company, thanking us for our cooperation during this year’s renovation.
If the tenant was home they would also get a box of oliebollen, but they were not allowed to leave them at the doorstep if no one opened the door.
Yet, the painter who looked like Slash, had.
He was wearing a black leather jacket.
I had never seen it, because I usually saw him in his work-gear and the two times I had seen him at Warhol’s, he had not been wearing a coat.
He was wearing black jeans and black boots. The perfect rock star ensemble.
The only thing that revealed he was not entirely casual was a black shirt, instead of a T-shirt or a sweater.
I assumed he was already dressed for a New Year’s Eve with his family, perhaps with an extra family or friends coming over.
Luckily enough, I was also decently dressed.
Since I didn’t have anybody to dress up for, I knew that if I didn’t make a conscious decision, New Year’s Eve would end up without make-up and without beautiful clothes.
A questionable way to start the new year.
So instead of waiting until later in the day, I was already wearing my festive outfit, and wearing makeup.
I considered myself so lucky that I ran into him.
He would be the last person I saw in 1994!
And I was looking amazing and he was looking amazing and we had just bumped into each other on a day neither of us were pressed for time. He had an excuse not to be home, because technically he was working, delivering cards.
I asked him, if he wanted to come up and eat the oliebollen with me.
And to my unspeakable joy, which I hoped I kept a bit hidden, he accepted.
He carried my heavy bags up, and indeed, there was a box of oliebollen with a card on my doorstep.
Slash seemed a little embarrassed that I was going to read it, with him being present. But there was nothing to be ashamed of, really. All he had done, was put his own name on the card that had been pre-printed by the company.
He had signed it:
Happy New Year
And he had drawn the little bald man with the big nose and big hands, looking over a ridge. The one he had pointed out to me on the Iron Maiden album cover.
There was no phone number or anything like that. It was really respectable, and I liked seeing the card before we went up.
I interpreted it as a sweet goodbye note.
Something like: “You were not crazy. We did have a moment together and I m sorry I m married and I never told you.”
But his way of saying it was better.
Regardless of me thinking his message was neutral, he felt embarrassed for a moment. Almost as if he had not realized that if he would go up with me, it would include me seeing the card.
So we went in, he took the groceries to the kitchen and I took the box and the card. We put our coats on the hooks, and just seeing his jacket in my hallway, covering my other coats, made me so happy.
It was as if it belonged there.
Like he was already my boyfriend, when I knew very well that he was not.
We went to the kitchen, where I simultaneously made coffee, heated our oliebollen in the oven (he originally wanted only one oliebol, but I told him that equaled zero and that they always came in pairs.) and I unpacked all the groceries.
He had to move around all the time, because he was always in the way of the fridge, the cabinet, the stove. And it was all very funny.
I don’t even remember what our topic of conversation was.
But I do know that it got interrupted all the time by me saying: “I m sorry but,” or him saying: “Oh, I need to move again.”
We were both, very deliberately, not touching the other person.
We even tried to stay as far away from each other as we could.
And not just in the kitchen, in my living as well.
I sat on the couch, but he sat at the table. No kidding. He even asked: “Do you mind if I sit at the table?”
No, I don’t. I didn’t.
It was obvious that we were both sensing things. It was as if the air between us was on fire, I have never felt anything like it. And yet neither of us mentioned it, and we both did our utmost best not to add fuel to the fire.
And in a way we succeeded.
Because nothing was said, no phone numbers were exchanged. No promises were made and we just parted raising our hand in the air: “Goodbye! Have a great new year!”
“Good luck with the cats,” were his final words, before I saw him descend from the stairs.
We did well.
Yet now all I can think of is everything about him. It was as if I finally understood that I should enjoy him being there. The first weeks after our balcony day this summer, and even the times I saw him at Warhol, I forgot to notice what he looked like. I didn’t know the color of his eyes, how tall he was or how he was built.
But now I tried to absorb everything about him.
The deep brown of his eyes.
The soft childlike features of his face.
His strong hands.
The tone of his voice, it was like a warm blanket. Although he did not have a very low voice but a friendly one.
Just like his body; It wasn’t threatening in any way.
I couldn’t sense his sexuality, and I still don’t know if we would be a match.
After 5 years with Bear, I’ve gotten so used to a man being dominant and I have promised myself I never have to be dominant in bed, or even seductive.
I don’t want that.
But I do know our great sex life was because Bear was sensitive to my needs. That although I usually say it was his dominance, that I could surrender to, it wasn’t. It was his sensitivity to what it was I needed, and he understood that most of the time this meant for him to be dominant.
To push me.
To take me.
But he would always look into my eyes, and never lose connection with me. He immediately picked up if my mood had shifted. Often before I did.
I don’t know if I will ever see Slash again.
But I do know that when I felt so attracted to him, without sensing his sexuality or without knowing if he would be dominant, that it was because those things really do not matter.
That the first thing I look for, when I m in love and wonder if we’re a good match, really isn’t if someone is dominant in bed.
It’s if someone is warm and feels safe.
And he did.
An unexamined life is not worth living..
A Warm Safe Place | “1994” 
is the second chapter of
1994 part 2: A new life
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.
Nederlands blog:

Welcome to the jungle | “1994” series

December 30, 1994

Maybe I waited too long.
melancholic moments, my saddest moments, and certainly something that resembled tears (I only vaguely remember them…. it was all so strange) must have been the first days after Bear broke up with me.
That although I did not feel like I was feeling it, that was all that was gonna come, making it the best moment to write about the breakup when I was still emotionally involved.
There wouldn’t come a better time, when I h
ad more meaningful things to say.
But I didn’t believe that. 

Bear had meant so much to me and therefor I was convinced I would eventually break to pieces and lose my mind.
That “this” could not be it.
But nothing came…
And now I m on the verge of 1995 and I just want to have the breakup with the most important man of my life in my diary, especially since we no longer seem to be friends. He didn’t show up at a party we both had been invited to and that he had been looking forward to.
We had said our goodbyes with a big hug and actually saying:
“See you then.”
That had been another possible reason for keeping it together:
I still had something to look forward to.

Either way, the party came and no Bear. No explanation either and instead of being devastated I just interpreted it as a sign that he could be having more difficulty with the new situation than me.
Our breakup had not brought the peace of mind he had hoped for, and now he was cutting ties.
Yet, I was still okay.
And with that another good moment to reflect and to write, passed.

So I had already missed the first days or the first week, when my feelings had been the strongest. Then I missed out on the second opportunity, which was experiencing that he didn’t want to see me anymore.
And then the third trigger happened, which didn’t have anything to do with my Bear, but with the second man I am in love with.
A Slash like painter who did my balcony, and whom I later went to see at Warhol’s because he had told me he usually went there on Saturday’s.
In Warhol he let the woman behind the bar in Andy’s room hijack our conversation, and almost pretended he had no idea who I was.
Afterwards I had seen him only once, when I was going out and we ended up at Warhol’s.
I now considered it my time to pretend we had no memorable connection.
He took it well, which I on my turn, found extremely sexy.
“Well played!” I thought.

Then just this month he started working on the building with a colleague. The scaffolding slowly moved up the street, alongside the building. After two weeks it was on our side, the final apartments that needed work.
Probably because I had been impressed with his relaxed attitude the second time at Warhol’s, and also because he had kept his cool every time I cycled by and casually said hi, I offered them coffee.
I didn’t invite them in, or anything.
And I treated him and his colleague entirely equal, nothing flirtatious. I was business-like even.
Which in turn, seemed to fascinate him.
As if he started to wonder if his imagination had been playing tricks on him.
“I thought she had come to the Warhol to see me, but now I m not so sure!”
Something like that, I don’t know.

Like I said, I wasn’t overthinking it. I was just normalizing whatever it was that had happened this summer, with strategic use of coffee and cookies.
I wasn’t bending over backwards to win his heart.
On my way out I passed them again. It was the end of the day, I had been working from home and was now going to a Christmas drink at the publisher’s.
They were breaking down the scaffolding, and as I was taking my bike out of the basement, putting my handbag at my steering wheel and getting ready to leave, the most peculiar conversation arose.
Something in the lines of my Slash-like painter making jokes to the other one, the he (the other one) was single.
But that he (the Slash painter) had a family.

It was all done in a casual boys will be boys kind of way, and it even included the suggestion that the other painter and me should hook up.
Or Slash addressing both his colleague and me in a way that suggested “we” were a group, or the singles or something.
What I also noticed was that the colleague did not seem to notice this was a strange conversation. Or he was too excited to be named in one sentence with me.
Like I said, it was not exactly clear what was said or anything, but I did understand that he was telling me he was involved with someone.
And I know it’s not with the woman who’s working in Andy’s room, that was super obvious. But if you have a family, and you have a sexy bartender who has the hots for you, it does explain why you’re not following up on the girl with whom you unexpectedly had a wonderful afternoon, when you were sent to paint her balcony.
It does explain that.

On my way to the Christmas party I kept thinking why it was that something seemed off with Slash’s remark. Something was… strange. I was too busy trying to get my finger on it, to realize that I had just been rejected.
That after Bear breaking up with me, and then Bear not showing up, I now had the other man I was in love with saying No.
I now had three reasons to feel lonely and rejected, and yet I still did not feel miserable. I was more like a detective trying to figure out “Whodunnit”.
Although in my case, not having sex since July, the answer was obviously not “me”.
I had not dunnit for five months and both men were rejecting me.

It took me over a week to crack the puzzle. Everything.
From why I wasn’t feeling totally devastated when he broke up, to why I was okay with him not showing up to the party;
To why I was unimpressed with Slash telling me he was taken.
The reason is one and the same:
I m still in the game.

It is as if these men have come up and said: “I can’t play.” but then expected me to respond with something.
To stop doing something.
As if I am running around in red lingerie sucking my fingers and winking: “Come here, sailor.” and am supposed to change that.
I don’t know.
But they are treating me, or talking to me, as if they are expecting something to happen with me. As if I am supposed to do something, as a response.
As if they want me to step out of the game.
When they are the ones who have just announced they are either not playing games or have stopped playing.
And now they’re looking at me to leave the board.
Why would I leave the board?
They are the ones who left.

I still like them, both of them.
I like Slash and I like Bear.
But I m not stepping off the board because they are not in a position to play anymore.
I said this to a friend last weekend. That I finally understood that these men had expected me to be defeated. And that even I had expected that. My constant waiting, expecting to at one point “feel” the breakup.
But I was fine.
“It is so strange,” I said to her. “I miss Bear, I really do. And I would have loved Slash, but he doesn’t even let me come near.
Yet I still feel excited. But why?”
“Because you’re still in the game,” she laughed. “And you’re a good player!”

I sure am.

An unexamined life is not worth living..

Welcome to the jungle | “1994” 
is the first chapter of
1994 part 2: A new life

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.
Nederlands blog:

Dating from now on: Rules of engagement { 1994 project }

Molly Ringwald. Whose 80s pictures are frequently featured in my 1994 project

This is a goodbye post. 
But a very exciting one.
It is “Goodbye 2019” and “Hello 1994”

I m taking on my life as an art project, where I create an entire new persona, based on real life events, as well as on desires of what I want my life to be like.
It’s something I started four months ago, with the series “1994 fanfic inspired erotica”.
It was me trying out the concept of time-traveling, as well as feeling into it.
Was it as inspiring as it sounded?
Did it feel expansive?
And yes!
Taking 25 years off my life, turned out to be as good as it sounded. But I didn’t go all in. There was simply too much at stake, and too much going on energetically, I would even say.
I tried to figure out why I was feeling so awful, but it wasn’t until my lover broke up with me one week ago, that I knew the answer to that.
Our relationship had been falling apart.
And I had picked it up without knowing it.
Ultimately the conversation itself – you could even call it a date! – was the most painless, supportive breakup in the history of mankind.
Not because I wasn’t sad.
But because I had already shed all my tears, felt all the despair, and built myself up again. I had already done all the internal work.
And without a doubt, so did he.
It was two mature adults, who had learned that relationships can end, but anything that is worth saving, will last on in our hearts.
I felt like I passed my exam to adulthood.
With honors.
And now what, right? There was nothing left to do anymore. Not here. Not in 2019.
After this accomplishment, I would almost feel compelled to share everything I have learned. To become or stay an inspirational speaker, coach, yoga teacher. I ve always claimed I was good with relationships, and with the cum laude breakup I had proof I could really do it.
But I don’t want to inspire as a professional.
I don’t want that to be my work.
So I m at this point where I feel I have developed myself as a senior in the field of personal development, but it’s not my field. I am an artist.
Someone who plays.
And then moves on.
I don’t identify with having any specific profession; I “just” channel it.
That’s what I ve done as a yoga teacher, a writer, a publisher. And I ll channel whatever profession will be next for me in real life.
The only profession you could “tie” to my identity, is being a play artist, or a performance artist.
Someone who is always changing, always playing, and consciously and unconsciously creating a new truth by first living it. Adopting it.
“1994” has started by taking baby steps, and exploring how it felt.
But with the departure of my lover, and my love life always being the main thing I write about and am interested in, I am free to really go all in.
I can start creating a new reality.
The love life I desire.

Disclaimer for lovers – Rules of engagement 1994

Although I can leave out, reframe, embellish or omit any event, experience or character in order to either fit into the 1994 time bubble, or to keep someone from appearing in my blog, there is one aspect where this is not going to happen;
My love life.
Love is what makes the world go round, and it’s certainly what makes me tick. I d rather never have a man in my bed ever again, than to give up writing.
Or to give up being in love with whomever I want.
Which means there are four non-negotiable rules, for whomever I get sexually involved with.

rule number 1: I m a secret/ Writer FIRST 

Any man with whom I have a sexual relationship, must take into account that our encounters, and my feelings surrounding them, will be written about.
And in order for me to be free to do that, you can never refer to me as your girlfriend or your lover, because it would mean that your friends are now reading our blog, and I can no longer freely write about it.

Your anonymity will be guaranteed, by writing about you as a fictional character, without matching characteristics. And the content, as to what it is I write, can be negotiated as well.
In particular with regard to protecting your privacy or your feelings.
In order to make this writing aspect as comfortable as possible:
I will always deny that you are my lover, and I strongly suggest you do the same.
There is an escape clause to this secrecy 😉 

See 4.

rule number 2: You must guarantee my safety, and be comfortable seeing me in public

If you’re married, wanted dead or alive, a singer in a rock and roll band, or if there is any other reason why I could get the cops or angry women on my doorstep if we’re seen together?
We call it quits.
The secrecy under 1 is just to avoid people from recognizing you in my blog, and to claim our boundaries as singles. It’s no one’s business what we do.
But the secrecy is not because I want to hide in hotel rooms, and never go out in public (as friends).

rule number 3: You must keep seeing other women

For a long time I thought this was a dominance thing.
That in theory, a man could also be faithful to me, and convey in this kind of arrogant way that HE was the one who decided what he was going to do with his body.
Not me.
But right now, that all sounds very far fetched.
I need you out there having adventures and me not knowing what you’re doing, or
my sexual interest will flatline before you know it.
If you are uncomfortable with me writing about having a lover who has other women? Don’t come.
In the rare case I absolutely have to write about something extremely dramatic that happened in your love life or other relationships – I will change our timeline, events and of course names for you.
Details of your love life (should I know them) will never be revealed. 

rule number 4 (going steady rule): we’re a team

This rule is not for those who are my lover:
This is for those who ultimately want more, which is to say to become my partner, and call me their girlfriend instead of friend.
We’re a team.
And I need you to be supportive of me.
You see, I m hard-wired to be faithful. It really is, a frickin big deal for me to be physically intimate with someone else when I am already involved.

But (at least in theory) I think I could be intimate with more than one man, because there have been times when I WAS in love with two men.
I have always figured it only took that second man to say “yes”, to turn me from being monogamous into polyamorous.
But does it?
Because so far when I was in love with two men, my main love-interest was already moving on, or turning away.
I have once written a book about this.
It’s called Dutch American Diary.
And it’s about me being in love with two men, and the agony that comes from that. It takes a while before I realize that I only fell in love with the second man, because the first could not meet the demands above, and we were completely stuck between me being a secret mistress and trying to break up.
We weren’t good at either one.
A second love interest was the only thing that would give me the power to stay away from him.
And this pattern of pulling in a second crush, as a response to realizing the first is no longer an option, has persisted.
Whenever a second man came into my life, or an old crush suddenly became current again, the main man in my life was already pulling back or had proven to come with the proverbial hornet’s nest.
All in all, I have more proof that I am absolutely incapable of having sex with anyone other than my main man, than otherwise.
However, I do not want to be selected or chosen, because I am this kind of dream woman who lets you fool around but she herself seems bound to an invisible moral code between her and God or something.
Instead, I want you to be supportive of me.
I either want you to treat me as a secret lover, which means that we both could be dating other people and you make sure I don’t get to see any of your jealousy.
Or, if you want to be a part of my life, I want you to be there for me when I explore these things. Because my happiness is your happiness (as it is vice versa), and you know that what is true cannot be taken away.
I really believe that I will be the dream woman for someone, and that my dream man is out there.
And he will read this, all four points, and know it’s him.

Entering the portal to 1994

The past couple of months, I ve freely switched between my fantasy world in 1994 and my real life.
But today, is the day I m going all in.
Which as far as this blog is concerned, means I will no longer be writing about secret mistresshood since I now live in 1994, and my lover Bear was single.
And I will no longer be engaging in politics or any current day events that used to catch my attention, and inspire me to write.
Everything I write, will be in the series 1994, and once every two, three weeks, I will be writing a letter to my creativity coach Sara.
This letter to her, is where I will give a helicopter view of what my “real” life is like;
But otherwise, I will not be going back and forth anymore.
I will now teleport myself to 1994.
See you on the other side.

An unexamined life is not worth living

The two outlets which will stay in 2019 are my YouTube
subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

and my Dutch blog about film. Nederlands blog over film:
Zeg maar Lauren

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