Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica episode 2

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

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

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

And so am I.
..

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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

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

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..

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Mutuals | “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica
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7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

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The Little Mistress who turned into a Baby Koala

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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..

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

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Message from a Rock Star Yoga Teacher

He aged well, Sara. He aged well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

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

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

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Click here for part 2, Mutuals

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

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

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

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

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

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

A Redemption Arc for Richie Sambora

reunion, Rock n Roll Hall of Fame induction 2018

If I regretted anything about yesterday’s piece on Jon Bon Jovi’s voice, it’s not acknowledging Richie Sambora.
That’s because the conversations about this friendship between Jon Bon Jovi and departing band member (2013) Richie Sambora, happened after posting it.
And it were these conversations, that caused me to adjust my vision on Jon’s singing, from a general observation that there’s a lot that needs to be in place before he can sing his best work;
To a very specific one that for thirty years, whatever it was that Jon needed, was pretty much in place. And he was called Richie Sambora.
Don’t get me wrong.
Reports on Jon struggling with his voice date back to the eighties, but back then the grueling tour schedule was blamed for it. And it were just stories.
It was hardly something that was noticed by people visiting the shows, and from what I have seen all current criticism started in…?
Exactly.
2013.
The moment Richie left.
Jon has admitted that after ending that tour (for the larger part without Richie) he could not even sing in the shower and he didn’t touch his guitar for over a year. Jon counts it as having had three really bad years, where he was in an extremely dark place.
Late 2016 they finished their new album, This House is Not for Sale (for a moment omitting the low-key record Burning Bridges, an album created while in the midst of a fight with their record label) And in 2017 they started touring again. On a reasonably normal schedule. The phrase “better paced” has come up several times, and it refers to having longer breaks on the tours.
The goal is to make it less straining, in particular for Jon’s voice.
That was I all knew about Richie leaving, and how Jon had picked up the pieces of his band and put it together again.
I had also bought into (as I will now call it) reports on Richie having a problem with alcohol, and this being part of the reason why he left. And – and this was more explicitly – that Richie was blamed for leaving mid-tour.
The “He simply didn’t show up for work” explanation Jon still gives when asked about the split.
And there was one other aspect to the departure, to the circumstances under which Richie left. His father had been sick and he had ultimately lost him.
In hindsight, this should already have been the point when I should have noticed the red flags.
The things out of place, the things missing. The things implied and even everything that was deliberately shown, told, and repeated, in order to convey the following clear-cut picture:
Jon was the professional and Richie was having personal problems.
Richie left. Since this was mid-tour Jon didn’t have time to go after him, and next thing we know they don’t see each other until they re inducted into the rock and roll hall of fame.
The end.
Or so I thought.
Until yesterday, this all seemed very logical to me. You can’t have someone battling his demons, when you’re out there on tour. Not even if you’re on your mature better-paced schedule.
I understood the betrayal Jon had felt, and I think we all know how difficult it is to act compassionately if someone is going through substance abuse, even privately. Let alone if that person is key to a billion dollar organization.
I really thought I got it.
Until, in the aftermath of writing yesterday’s piece, little cracks began to show in my belief. Exactly what was Jon offering an explanation for, when he said: “He (Richie) just didn’t show up for work”?
Weren’t they friends?
Then why were they apparently not friends anymore, the moment Richie didn’t show up for work?
A friend would have either called Richie himself, or would have said to a manager or someone on the mental health team of the band:
“Please go after him, and make sure he’s alright. I love him, but I need to sort out this tour now.”
Maybe that was all done, I wasn’t there. But at first glance it seems as if Richie might have quit the band, but it was Jon who quit the friendship.
A friendship with someone who drank too much, and who had lost his father and who had obviously been back on the job too soon.
Before things had settled.
When people around us die, they are these big bricks that are just pulled out of the wall. There is no way of telling how it is going to affect your life. I have redesigned my business, quit it, restarted under a different name, changed it all back to the way it was: All in the 15 months following the death of my cat (!).
I ve had suicidal thoughts for the first time in my life.
I ve walked out of teaching yoga, overnight. July 2018, exactly one year ago on a Monday.
Just like Richie, my mourning had the shape of quitting and restarting. Of drinking too much or too often, and then complete abstinence. But unlike Richie, I didn’t lose my best friend.
I “just” lost yoga students and other friends, not the most intimate connections.
Being in a dark place and mourning, doesn’t make you the most easy to love person.
If Richie was behaving even half as difficult as I was, Jon must have been annoyed (but only professionally!) with a lot of the stuff Richie had or had not been doing, for a long time. The underlying thought must have been the same as the one people have been thinking about me for the past year and a half:
“Are you finally DONE?”
When their final tour started, Richie was not done.
Far from.
My real appreciation for Richie, started when I heard from two separate sources that Jon’s voice had lost “it”, after Richie had left.
That although his voice had always been sensitive, it had not been a liability, until 2013. That he himself remembers not being able to sing after that tour, might count as proof of that.
In my piece on Jon’s voice, I state that he always gives a good show. But that he needs to feel good to put on a great show. He needs to feel supported, and at that point “support” was me referring to a connection with the crowd.
However, somewhere around that time things started to click into place.
The two fans, both pointing out 2013 as the year his voice got a blow.
The realization that Richie quit the band, not feeling good.
Jon’s depression and having suicidal thoughts after the departure, and if I remember correctly I ve heard something similar about the period around 1990/1991. Also a time when it was unsure if the band would ever reunite.
All those things clicked, and offered a picture that was far from that of the irresponsible band member Richie versus the professional Jon.
It was a lot bleaker than that.
A lot sadder.
It was the heartbreaking story of two friends who had been joined at the hip, who had both tried to respect the other both professionally as well as privately. And who had both failed miserably, causing almost the exact opposite.
The only thing that went well, was that there had never been a fight. Neither one ever blamed the other publicly for anything. But maybe if you don’t talk for five years, you don’t have to.
The story I am offering you is what I call “pulled straight from collective consciousness”. I didn’t go looking for proof, nor do I pretend that it is true.
Having said all that here’s what I think happened:
Being the sensitive man that he is, Jon could sing beautifully, as long as Richie was there by his side. Richie was what he could fall back on. It wasn’t that Jon’s voice got damaged because of Richie’s sudden departure:
Richie had been an integral part of Jon’s ability to perform.
He had literally been there for him.
When Richie himself was in turmoil, he couldn’t offer that anymore. The shoulder to lean on, could no longer hold the weight of Jon.
Damn, I wish Jon had seen it this way, and had stayed Richie’s friend.
It’s been 6 years. Jon has proven that he could save the band, and that was an admirable thing to do. It can never be held against Richie that “He quit and that’s how I lost my band.”
By saving the band, Jon set Richie free.
But Richie Sambora, was never acknowledged for what he meant to Jon, and what it was he really did for him on stage. All we know is that it allowed Jon to sing beautifully for three decades, and that he felt supported, and loved.
And we know that if it’s not there, Jon gets suicidal thoughts.
Within this context it is clear to me that Richie deserves so much better than to be remembered as the one who broke Jon’s heart, cracked his voice, and gave a blow to the band.
Better than to be referred to as the man who just didn’t show up for work.
Richie Sambora, who did for Jon what no one else could and who left because he himself was broken, deserves redemption.
And his best friend coming back.

.
.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the sixth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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The dandelion versus the orchid. A Meta on Jon Bon Jovi’s voice 2019 #THINFStour

THIS smile, THIS man, THIS energy: That’s what has never failed.

I ve been following the This House is Not for Sale Tour in the media, and I ve noticed something no one seems to have picked up on.
And as we enter the last week of the Bon Jovi European tour (beware the four Aug/Sept UK dates on Google are a tribute band)
I want to share my findings because I feel it can shed a more positive light on this tour.
In the photo you see Jon Bon Jovi at one of the gigs (I m not even going to say which one) which had people worried. And honestly, when I dug into it, and saw the avoidable mistakes that had caused a hostile atmosphere right up there in the front row area, I was surprised to even find a picture where he looks so happy.
You can see him putting on a good show, NO MATTER FREAKIN WHAT.
He’ll be damned if he lets anyone walk out of there, thinking he gave a concert on energy-save mode, blaming everyone else and your mother for not delivering the right circumstances for him to perform.
It reminds me of a story back in the day when they opened for The Scorpions and made it their goal to win over every hostile audience they were faced with. 
Even if they didn’t succeed: It wasn’t for lack of trying.
And they still have that mentality now. It’s the first thing I don’t see enough credit for. Overbooked golden circles. Audiences with dump-sale ticket holders or empty seats. Torrential rain. 
They’ll work it.
As they will do with the day-to-day appeal on them, in real life and on social media.
Bon Jovi has never been known for not being one hundred percent professional. You could even say they have a borderline workhorse mentality.

Which makes sense since Jon Bon Jovi is a self-proclaimed workaholic.
However, I believe it is at this point, with regard to his work ethic, where the audience and reviewers start taking the wrong turn. It is the moment when, and I think this has been going on since the eighties too, a conclusion, a vision, an assumption is made, that is not, nor will it ever be, valid.
I think this wrong trail of thought – which I ll address in a minute – was probably so eagerly embraced as the truth because of the other New Jersey rocker Bruce Springsteen. If Jon Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen share the same background, the same inclusive songs, the same working class bravado, then why would the audience expect anything else but solid 3 hour shows from Bon Jovi?

That is the mistake I was talking about:
Because Bon Jovi are hard workers, just like Springsteen, there is an assumption that Jon Bon Jovi’s voice has a consistent output, a consistent quality.
Just like a Springsteen.
Now, I may or I may not be the right person to make this comparison.
You could argue that I m not, because I m not a Springsteen fan at all. Although I feel no resistance towards him either, and I love watching shows on YouTube where Jon Bon Jovi and Springsteen share the stage.
But you could also say that because I don’t feel any appeal towards Springsteen, I am exactly the right person to make this observation about Jon Bon Jovi’s voice.
In all likeliness the thing I find there, and what makes me a fan of him, is the thing that Springsteen doesn’t have.
The reason we don’t get 3 hour Bon Jovi shows.
And that’s causing Jon Bon Jovi’s voice to waver in quality, causing in turn worries and headaches with the band, the fans, and everybody depending on it.

Jon Bon Jovi’s voice, just like any voice, is directly linked to his emotions. And in his case, these are not stable grounds.
Not at all.

I believe that 36 years into the band’s career, Jon Bon Jovi is way more complicated and sensitive than anyone is willing to admit.
Least of all him.
One of the things that struck me, listening back to their records of the eighties, is how on earth we ever let anyone label this band as shallow?
I knew the 80s were cruel, but to judge a band where you can just hear the emotion with every word sung? And at least one song on every album that requires you putting your heart back into your chest after listening?
Bon Jovi shallow?
It’s ridiculous.
And everyone a fan of Bon Jovi connects to this sensitive, emotional aspect.
I m incredibly certain of it.
We want to listen to that voice year in year out, because he reflects all those emotions that we have too. We just can’t reach them, or they hurt too much.
We let Jon process them for us, and then we just applaud after the song.
“Good song! Really powerful!”
So I think that would be the first soothing thought:
That what we call quality of voice, is actually quality of emotions.
And for the voice to be good, Jon needs to be in a really good place. I have seen this observation being made, I m not the only one seeing that Jon being in a good place is essential for his performance.
But that is not enough.
For half of the songs… maybe.
But the more difficult the songs, and especially the songs that are not even on their standard set list, the more something else is required:
For Jon to leave that spot of feeling good and certain and to plunge in. This is when he connects to the deeper emotions he’s having that day, or when he wrote the song. In fact I m pretty sure he doesn’t know where the emotion is going to come from, or what it’s going to be about.
But it’s a connection to his deepest Self.
And again, I am absolutely certain of it.
If he feels that connection then everything goes really smoothly, and the world is at his feet. The connection can also be established during his time on stage. I ve seen it happening when I ll be there for you, split the concert in two. With the better half being after he found his voice, his purpose, his divine reason for being on this earth right there in I ll be there for you.
With tens of thousands of people singing “Who-who-whoa” remarkably in tune as well, on the background.
For him.
As if that was the moment they literally were there for him, and he knew it. He could let go of all the struggle, all the trying, he could let go of putting in all the work.
They were there for him.
And then he could fly.
There is a comparison, and it’s one used in parenting and at schools. How some children are like dandelions and some are like orchids.
The dandelions will grow regardless of the quality of their teacher, and regardless of all the issues of their parents.  They will grow in a courtyard of stone if needed.
But the orchid children have special needs, and no one is ever fully certain what it is going to be this time. What has given flowers one year, may cause the leaves to turn yellow the next.
In this spectrum, Jon Bon Jovi can give us a dandelion. He’ll never fail at that.
But if we want the orchid to come out, more patience is required.
A lot of letting go is required.
I remember that before I went to the concert, I had already decided that whatever was going to happen, was going to be exactly right.
Even if the power failed and the entire audience had to hold its breath because otherwise no one could hear.
Even if Jon said after one hour: “I have to go, my voice is shit.”
The reason I could let go of all expectations, was not because I’m altruistic or spiritual. Not at all.
But because I wanted to see the orchid bloom. And the only way to do that, is to accept that you may not see any flower at all. 

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~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

This piece on Jon Bon Jovi’s voice, got an unofficial part 2:
A Redemption Arc for Richie Sambora

.
subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the fifth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

famous last words | The Mistress Speaks episode 7

I have my notes here.
The ones I made  after having sex with my lover. It was the first time we were together after a couple of major realizations, that made our encounter extra memorable.
But that also makes this my last blog post as a Mistress. Writing about the broader concepts behind being a mistress are no longer what I want to write about.
This is not where I develop.
At best these posts have been an attempt to make others, both men and women, more appreciative of their sexuality. And of the sexuality of their partner.
To realize that desire, disruption, secrecy and taking ownership of everything tingling, sizzling and bursting with excitement both below the belt and in your mind, are valuable gifts of life that can only be denied at the cost of, well, Life.
That we need to start talking about the heavy toll monogamy is taking on us, as a society. That unless we treat our preference for a faithful partner as a exactly that, a preference, something that excites us and turns us on, and not as the fear-based agreement it usually is – we are killing off both our own sexuality as well as our partner’s.
Partners who cheat are valuable assets.
They bring home fresh sexual energy, a sense of adventure and newness that you – perhaps unconsciously – singled out yourself if your partner walks that fine line between being yours and being everybody’s.
I will now limit the rest of this article to unfaithful men and female mistresses, but that’s not because I believe there is a difference.
Unfaithful women are just as wonderful an asset to a relationship as unfaithful men.
So back to the appreciation of unfaithful men:
First of all, and this is important in understanding why I am so adamant here: Most men are extremely faithful.
Because they want to but sometimes also because it would be too big of an investment in terms of energy, growth, or risk.
Sex in general, and cheating in particular, is at the top of
emotionally charged social interaction.
That’s not for everybody.
It requires dedication, ruthless self-acceptance and basically a helluvalot of working through your shit, before you can even remotely start to enjoy it.
We treat sex as if it is simple, when it is actually the first thing you lose if there’s so much as a hair out of place in the way you view it. Or in the way you view yourself.
If you’re afraid of being rejected, at any stage of having sex or any stage of your affair or relationship? You’re going to start behaving out of alignment in order to avoid that rejection, and your sexuality will never thrive.
Not with one woman, let alone with two.
The most significant difference between people who have great sex and those who don’t is taking full and complete ownership over all of their sexual desires, and even their sexual insecurities. They don’t need somebody else to accept it for them, they do that themselves.
People with great sex lives do not require validation and justification on any level of their lives.
And the moment they feel they do? The moment they feel they start to behave differently, or present themselves differently, because they’re afraid of what the other person will think of them?
They work through it.
Automatically really, from what I ve seen.
They immediately take FULL OWNERSHIP (I can’t emphasize this enough) of whatever it is that they desire, which may not be within the taste of all the other people.
If you would ask me how to go about recovering your sexuality, which very well may involve cheating, when you’re currently in a relationship that you don’t want to end, I would say:
CLAIM IT.
And then comes a spectrum of possibilities.
You can fully inform your partner about your choice, inviting the other person to be part of it. This is an open relationship, where communication and transparency are key elements.
The advantages are a clear conscience and little to no back-lashing.
The disadvantages are that it can become top heavy and tiresome to communicate all the time. With the other person so close, it can become blurred that ultimately your sexuality is your own responsibility.
And should be independent of your partner’s support.
On the other side of the spectrum there is not telling your partner, and develop it in secret.
The advantage is that you have full freedom to do it your own way, and really get to know yourself without altering your desires even a bit, in order to please your “normal” partner.
The disadvantage is feeling guilty and being under constant stress. And you have to take into account that ultimately one day she may find out, and hold you accountable for doing something terrible “to her”.
And no, this may not be the best time to bring up how your shared sex life benefited greatly from your entrepreneurial sexual side-hustle.
Even though of course, it did.
Ultimately what we are all drawn to is a partner who is present. Who is paying attention, and really connects with us.
Make it your goal to be a really good partner, and let her share in your positive vibration. Not because you feel guilty and feel you should be giving back, but because you are genuinely happy, and genuinely love her.
I often wonder if those men suddenly buying gifts and flowers for their own wife when they’re cheating are really acting from guilt, or if they have found their fun and zest for life, and want to share it at home.
Or, and this is maybe too far out for most of us, but I m going to say it anyway:
Say they are initially acting out of guilt? Then what would happen if you would receive it with the words: “Thank you! I like it so much when you’re so happy and light. Whatever it is you re doing, keep on doing it baby.”
And then you give him a really big kiss, and a wide smile and say:
“I love everything about you and I always will.”
The big difference I ve discovered between myself, a mistress, and women in normal relationships, is that I always make sure I can offer love and appreciation. Well, it’s easier really:
I make sure that I can offer.
I remember one time when we had a date, but I just had a friendship end that day. It was very painful, for all parties, and an incredible blow to our self-esteem. How could we have let this friendship turn so sour?
But instead of going to my lover as an escape, to attend to my wounded ego, I cancelled because I was not at the vibration I want to be at, when I am with him.
I had nothing to offer, so I cancelled.
Same thing when one night he was grumpy or the rarest of occasions when I receive a passive aggressive text: I hold my vibration high.
I hold the space on that top of the mountain, smile, invite him to come over. But if he wants feel sorry for himself or project stuff at me, then I can’t help him.
Because I m here. At the peak, you know, that place where we always meet, you and me. It’s where our bed is.
During our last rendez vous my lover smirked:
“You really own being a Mistress.”
More than anyone else he knows how confused I was, the first six months we were together. Just like any woman ending up as the other woman, I expected it to be a temporary situation. And for him to choose for me.
Until I flipped it all upside down, and realized the key here was commitment to my own feelings for him. It was almost like I had been saying to myself:
“I really love him, he’s the love of my life. But only if he chooses for me.
As soon as I saw how silly this was, I vowed to nourish and attend to my own feelings for him. Instead of waiting for him or anyone else to validate them.
And that’s how I ve been living to this day.
The second big breakthrough came when I fully started trusting in him to be his own man and to make his own decisions.
Suddenly whether he did or didn’t leave his wife became unimportant.
Because I trusted he was capable of making his own decisions.
Whatever reason there was for being a married man with a mistress? It was his business, and his business only. I was just there to support him, in whatever it was he wanted to do or share.
Or didn’t.
I often wonder about vengeful mistresses, the Glenn Close type.
And it is my conclusion that they are the ones who want to be the number one partner, the real partner.
If that’s actually what would make them happy, or if they have a distorted view of their own sexuality? I m not sure, really.
What I do know is that I make it my job to completely disconnect being chosen, from my ego and self-worth. I love him very much, and I will end this final chapter of The Mistress Speaks with a juicy paragraph on why he is indispensable and I don’t see myself having this good of a relationship with anyone else, but as far as vengeful mistresses go – or vengeful wives for that matter! – I think it’s the ego.
You should never need being chosen, or being the only one, in order to feel good about yourself.
Aside from selling yourself short, it’s also not true.
People can only choose, what they want to receive.
If I am the partner, the mistress, who accepts and supports him, and encourages him to explore his sexuality and take care of himself?
I take all resistance out of being together.
He can’t fight me, he can’t project onto me, he can’t blame me for being unreasonable. The only person who will want that/me as a full-time partner is someone who also wants to be on top of the mountain all the time, and resolve all issues about jealousy, loneliness and pain, inside themselves.
I hold myself accountable for every minute of my life.
With whom I spend it, how I spend it, and in particular, the vibration I spend it in.
But in holding myself accountable, I also hold others accountable.
Not because I cannot accept them as they are, but because they see all the parts about themselves they do not like reflected in me.
I ve known other mistresses in my life, and almost all of them dislike me.
I ve known many people with “explorative” sexualities, and almost all of them dislike me too.
And almost all of that rejection is passive aggressive, by ignoring me by simply not calling, or by keeping me on as a friend for years on end (something I m no longer available for but it has happened) waiting for me to drastically change something about myself, usually to stop being so open, to stop being SO MUCH, to stop FLAUNTING my sexuality – so that I am worthy of their love again.
Ever since I m a mistress I ve been rejected time, after time, after time.
But it’s been going on for 8 years prior to that. The eight years I was single and the time it took me to understand my sexuality.
Now that I know I am a mistress?
Of course I am going to flaunt it.
I worked really really hard to figure this out.
I am a mistress which means someone who is deeply in love, deeply caring and supportive and usually monogamous because you can’t have those feelings for multiple men at the same time. But a mistress is also someone who likes secrecy and for her man to be exploratory, and have other women.
And yes, the most likely way to get all those desires met, is by being the other woman.
During our last encounter I asked him if he knew that when given the chance, I would koala-bear myself to him. And stop living my own life.
I would just hang there, and be patted, and I would look into the world with big eyes but never leave him.
“Not even to eat?” he asked.
“No. I would expect to be fed, but if that didn’t happen, I still wouldn’t leave.”
All this to explain, that the switch from being a mistress to being chosen, should never be a matter of ego. Your sense of self-worth should have nothing to do with it. Some men would love a koala woman.
Mine doesn’t, and I understand that completely!
Especially of course, since the koala, although cute, is not that sexually active.
I think the vengeful woman, or the ego wanting to be chosen, stems from our vision that we should have a man to ourselves.
That we “are worth it”as if a man is bottle of shampoo.
As long as you still adopt that as a truth, that you are a better, more complete person if your lover chooses you, you could in theory become a vengeful or at least a sad mistress.
But once you can see that you handpicked him, a married man, because you love him the most and he draws feelings out of you that no one else does, and perhaps also because you don’t really want to turn into a baby koala and that’s what would happen if he were available?
Then you no longer see yourself as being on the breadcrumb end of the relationship.
You know how rich and lucky you are.
And if he wants to break up his marriage for you, so that he has this supportive, exciting woman at his side? Or this cute clingy creature that follows him everywhere?
That is really up to him.
This post has turned out much longer than I intended to.
But this series, The Mistress Speaks, has become a lot shorter than I intended to. Maybe because over the years I ve already written many other posts about it.
I will collect them all, and publish them in a book Big Mistress.
But I think it’s also because my art, the way I express myself, has changed, since I started this series.
From a writer, I ve shifted towards being a speaker and my main medium is YouTube now.
The final reason this series will not be continued is that I m resuming my erotica writing. The first two years of my affair were the best, and resulted in the book
Big. Diaries and Erotica
Before I told myself to grow up and stop writing over what happened in the bedroom. But now that I can see how much writing erotica contributed to the quality of what we had – on all aspects, but especially sexually – I ll pick it up.
And stretch myself, so to speak 🙂
But it will be a private thing, just between him and me. If this first autobiographical erotica book, will be published or if it will just have to wait until after my death, just like the erotica of my idol Anais Nin?
I don’t know.
And maybe there will be more lovers, than one.
Who knows.
All I know is that I have to write about my sex life in order to make it magical, maybe even in order to create it.
Maybe the level of sexual intimacy I desire just cannot be created without putting in the effort, of the typical eight to ten hours an erotic story costs me.
The notes are still lying before me.
Of my last encounter with my lover. And I didn’t really grasp how special this man is to me, until days after it happened, when I had already stopped scribbling down notes.
This was just an extra thing, that made my jaw drop, and realize:
“Damn. I m never going to find anyone remotely like him.”
The notes talked about how we had been fantasizing about doing this more often. I think the favorite fantasy of secret lovers must be that they’re living together and that they have sex every day.
And we were kissing, cuddling and giggling and still in the process of taking each other’s clothes off. The thought of doing this every day, put more fuel onto the fire.
In the midst of our hushed talking he said, with that twinkle in his eyes and grin on his face, referring to our imaginative daily encounters:
“And from behind as well?”
I shut my eyes, groaned, bit my lip, unable to take in the thought of so much pleasure when it had already been so long since I had seen him.
As always, the time between our dates, combined with absence of communication until I had no idea if we were still “on”, gave every encounter a thrilling, overwhelming and oh-my-fucking-God atmosphere.
I opened my eyes again, which must have been just overflowing with desire by now, and answered:
“Yes. But not today.”
And he kept on grinning, and looking all sparkly, and just said something like “Okay.” while giving me a little nod as a sign he understood.
During sex, there was this point which I will not go into here – I will save that for my erotic story – but suffice to say I changed my mind.
And what was so striking, and this was originally what my erotic story was going to be about, was that his initial response to my hint was to move away.
He was remembering what I had said, so well, that his first response to a shift in my boundaries was that he made sure he was on the right side.
He didn’t say sorry, or apologize himself or anything.
But what I was going to let my erotic story revolve around was how moved I was, that pulling back was his first response to my hint.
Within a fraction of a section, he picked up that I meant the exact opposite, and he gave what I wanted without any hesitation.
That was going to be the central story line.
And then I found these texts we had exchanged right before he came to my house. I had made a backdoor joke! I had completely forgotten about that!
In my last message before he came here, I had already hinted at this. Full of anticipation!
And yet, what had he done when he was here?
He had brought the subject up, playfully. As if it was completely new. Made no reference to the text at all. He just tapped into how I was then, the moment we were together.
That’s how present he is, that’s the type of connection he makes. He never takes anything for granted, or assumes he knows anything about what I want, based on what I just said in a text.
And if half an hour after “not today” I change my mind, he works with that.
He doesn’t say: “But you said”
Ever.
Not when I go from making backdoor jokes to answering “Not today”.
Not when I go from off-limits to a wordless plea for more.
It’s all okay, there’s never any judgement of anything.
After four and a half years I m beginning to understand I am not the only one accepting, understanding and loving unconditionally.
He’s been returning the favor.
All that time.

~The Mistress

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The price of *cross-out* how to live in peak experiences

God I m so easily fooled.
Who are these people?
The moderate, every-day-is-planned goal-getters who believe life is a set of healthy success habits.
Who?
And more importantly: Why do I feel guilty for not being able to do that, when I know:
a. That artists don’t work that way.
Managers work that way, people in regular jobs work that way. To an extend even entrepreneurs work that way.
But artists?
No.
They just have to unleash whatever is inside of them.
 b. I know my real art, requires abstinence from ALL the things, when I m working up to it.
My coach Sara has said it for a long time:
My real art are the hours I am with my lover.
When I am a secret mistress.
Where I can only show up because of all the preparation and mindset work I do. 
And since the Bon Jovi concert this truth became amplified:
The build up was months.
On the day itself I didn’t even look at my phone, after 2 P.M.
And it took me almost three weeks to process it, and also to get all the pieces of my life into (a new) place.
If I learned one thing from that concert, it’s that peak experiences take at least half as much time to digest afterwards, as they take in preparing.
So no…

I don’t know when I ll be back.
All I know is that I have three things on my calendar that I want to give my FULL attention, because all three are part of the vision I hold for myself.
And just like the Bon Jovi concert, I have no idea where it will lead or what will change because of it.

I always knew that the bullet-point, getting-things-done approach was somewhere missing the mark, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was until now:
Daily habits, linear thinking, and an allowing of the little stuff to play a role of importance doesn’t allow for peak experiences.
There is no concentration on the upcoming events if I keep pushing for a daily video or a blog post.
Even a quick “Share your work” heads-up, is lethal.
Communicating keeps me tied to the outside world, whereas for a true peak experience I need to go in. I need to already live from that place, where I want to be at. Already be in the energy of it.
The closer the event itself gets, the more difficult it becomes to be in the real world at the same time.
Right now I have three events lined up. On three consecutive days.
So having learned from my Bon Jovi concert experience, and feeling the anxiety in my body of having to stay visible online when I know I need to start turning inwards now –
You will not be hearing from me.
It took me until now to realize that if I want to have peak experiences more often, I have to move away from having a daily online presence, and into anticipation and alignment.
I need to finally and fully, make peace with the fact that I m not entrepreneur, I live for my art.
Not of it.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

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7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the fourth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

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If you check your cart, you can select your store
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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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.

Always { concert inspired story }

This House
Raise Your Hands
You Give Love a
Born to

It was Tuesday morning and Lauren knew what she had to do, to save the two elevating, icing-on-the-cake-of-life kind of things she had been most attached to.
But that had been slipping away.
Three things, if she counted her own high, the moments when she herself had felt on top of her game and as if God himself was supporting her in doing what she had come here on earth to do.
But aside from her own ecstasy, the other two things she wanted to rescue were:
The memory of the rock concert and its charismatic front man.
He was someone whom she would have fallen for regardless of his profession or the context she would meet him; But he’d also been the first international star she had ever fallen in love with.
In 1988, two years into being a fan, she was still only 16 years old and had gone to the concert. She could still not believe she’d been so lucky that her parents had driven her to the other side of the country on a week night.
She had not understood the double meaning of any lyrics, but there had been no need to either. She seemed to naturally pick up on the sexual energy of the music itself. That she was the only rock chick in a class full of pop lovers, served her well. She had always had a strong sense of individuality.
By being the only one from her class going to the concert, she had widened the gap even further.
Her lover Mr.Big, seemed to pick up on the significance of what was about to happen. On the day of the concert he sent her a text to wish her a great time, and said that he was moved by the thought of her, all the way back then. An innocent teen, looking up in awe to the rock star on stage.
That was the second thing she wanted to save:
Her relationship with her lover, Mr. Big.
They had been seeing each other for the past four and a half year. She had written about their sex life in the past, and their first two years together had resulted in an erotic diary.
What came after was a respectable affair, one where Lauren was not such a cry baby and didn’t need to write a seven page story every time she slept with him.
Something she had considered quite an accomplishment, and she had been happy to join the ranks of the mature people.
Until she realized, in the aftermath of the concert when she could feel that slipping away because she had not written about that, that writing about their sex life had made it richer and more valuable to both.
And that quitting writing was probably responsible both for the extremely long intervals between their dates, as Mr.Big was definitely contacting her less than he used to.
But that her not-writing, was also responsible for the feeling that they had to start over every time.
Their dates had a fresh but also melancholic feel to them, as two lovers who had been on a break and had been unsure if they’d ever be together again.
Their encounters were no longer bucket-list material.
Instead they were let-s-take-this-very-slowly love making.
Whereas if she had locked the experience in, in a story, their intimacy would have been secured. They would probably have been able to pick it up any time.
Not writing about her sex life had made her feel less exposed, less hunted, less prone to ridicule because she could now say that all erotica had been written years ago and that she didn’t do that anymore.
But she had paid the price.
Even what he had been doing behind her back, and behind his wife’s back, had changed. In the early years she could feel that they were more flings or one-night-stands. Now it seemed to be one woman at a time, who was in his life more consistently over a longer period.
He never talked about it but she could feel it in her bones.
She wasn’t bothered by his other affairs, but it was more that in conjunction with the intervals between their dates growing from weeks to months, that she got irritated with it because she was competitive and wanted to win this.
The other women probably had no idea what they had gotten themselves into. And yet they were beating her.
That was what annoyed her.
It was an ego thing, much more than that she actually believed having sex every two months was worse than every three weeks.
By quitting writing, she was behaving like your average run of the mill woman, who will sleep with you even if you’re married.
And that’s exactly how she got treated.
If she wanted her legendary status back, as the one who understood him, the one to whom he’d always return, and the one who’d be there at his grave incognito but with a deep understanding of how important she’d been?
Or he’d be there at hers, but she had the sad feeling he’d go first.
If she wanted that epic affair back, that no one would ever be able to take away?
She needed to put more skin in the game.
She needed to put ALL her skin in the game, and start writing erotica, despite how exposed it made her feel. She had grown soft, responding with a near panic attack when someone started asking questions about her and Big.
But from now on, there was no more of that.
She was going to bring it home.

Whole Lot of
Lost
Runaway
We Weren’t Born to 
Have a Nice Day

The rock star actually had made the joke “The wetter the better,” referring to the rain. She heard it on the recordings, but he had not paused, highlighted, nor draaaaggged out, the joke the entire crowd had been wanting to hear.
It had been tucked into one of the in-between songs speeches, where he spoke to them with a voice that gave Lauren even more butterflies in her stomach than when he was singing.
The last half hour before the show, she had been nervous. It became almost unbearable which might explain why she was the first to recognize the music and the video, that announced the show was starting.

It was still light, so it wasn’t like in a theater where the lights turning off make everybody aware that something is about to happen.
Just seconds before the start of the show, Lauren had confessed to the friendly girl who had stepped aside and had offered Lauren a spot at the barrier.
“I m so nervous!”
The girl was attending the concert with a boyfriend; A tall, rangy guy with short hair, and model-like features.
Nervous, yes. The little woman with the cute curls nodded enthusiastically. Lauren wondered how it was possible that she didn’t particularly care for women in general, and had even walked out on the 50 Shades of Grey premiere, because the energy of all those women in sexual anticipation had made her physically ill;

Yet here at the concert she found the friendliest, most disarming women in the world, towards whom she felt protective and caring. Something she was able to express because she had come better prepared than a single mother going to the beach with three toddlers and a puppy.
She shared the food she had been able to smuggle in, and gave two women sticky plastic and elastic bands to cover their water bottles, since they had all been made to hand in the caps, going through security.
Maybe the reason the atmosphere between the young women and the older Lauren was  so good, was the same reason no one in her class had been listening to this band:
These girls were.
And the music meant so much to them, that they too had gone through lengths to be first row, in the armpit area of a T shape runway that was attached to the stage.
The other armpit was a VIP deck.
The T- shape of the stage, and the VIP deck taking up one armpit, made the first-row area in the Golden Circle extremely small.
Yet these women were there! Just like Lauren!
They were top fans.

The guitars, the anthems, the pounding of the music song after song, had excited them, just as it had excited a 14 year old Lauren.
And they had all drowned into the emotional depths of the heartbreaking ballads.

Yet another mesmerizing thing about the band: That they were originally labelled as being shallow. When every album had at least one song that required a box of tissues and doctor to put your heart back into your chest.
Had the eighties really been such a cruel era that no one had heard that? Or even felt a need to ridicule it?
The wetter the better.

Maybe that explained why the rock star made the joke into a minimal thing instead of going for easy laughs.
And why Lauren missed it because she was not literally listening to him.
Just like she had trouble memorizing the lyrics to the songs – although she had tried and had a notebook with written out songs in her purse – she didn’t hear individual words either, when he talked.
Just the message.

Just his energy.
Lauren took the entire show in as an all body, mind, soul and heart experience. She had even made her peace that the song where the rock star would get someone on stage could be played, and that there would be this awkward little play where the fan would practically assault him (Lauren expected foul play here, most likely the roadies encouraging you to go give him a big hug) and then the rock star would play being the irresistible idol who had women jumping onto him out of nowhere.
It had been the most difficult part of Lauren’s preparations:
How could she work around her resistance to witness this?
Ultimately she chose to label it positively, as the most artistic part of the show. He was taking risks here, something could happen that he did not anticipate.
If it was indeed a premeditated choice to invite the girl to cross his boundaries- for maximum show value – Lauren was sure the rock star realized that ultimately he did not have a say in what would happen.
A smart woman would just be polite, and he would automatically reward that by giving her real attention. Lauren had seen it happen on videos, where after the initial struggle the woman had dropped back into her normal ways, and he had immediately turned extremely sweet and gentle with her.
And lowering the energy to dangerously low levels and risking the connection with tens of thousands of people in the middle of a rock show.
Lauren decided to focus on that:
The admirable risks he was taking.
She made a video about it, and posted it tagging him personally, which was as far as she wanted to go in announcing her coming.
And then she let go.
She would take anything and everything he would give her.
If there were going to be twenty songs with twenty different women on stage and none of them was her?
She’d take it.
She would completely surrender, fully submit. There would be no bad things that could happen. It would all go down the way it was destined to.
And yet there she was.
First row. 

Hyper-aware of the privileged position she was in, looking straight up into the blue eyes of her idol. She felt undeserving.
Despite having studied him, their music, and creating set list poems from every show they had done this year;
Despite preparing for this day in every way she could;
Despite writing about her personal history with him and filming countless videos that contained a reference to their songs;
She still did not feel she had a right to be there.

Which explained why something terrible happened. And it was an accident.
Four days after the concert, when Lauren was still receiving download after download on where her life needed to go, she met a friend who was educated on the field of sexual energy transmission, and when Lauren told him how the concert had been the best day of her life – her gums had been tingling when she had walked home, a feeling she literally only knew from sex. Good sex. – the friend had thought out loud about what had happened.
Had tried to help her label it.
But in the process he had used a triggering word. Although he denied ever using that word one week later, when a broken Lauren explained to him how she had fallen from grace.
And flat on her face.
She had been at the peak of her energy just one week prior, but now she was crawling through the mud, so dark and sticky. Her lover was gone. The connection to the concert was gone.
The word he had used, that crept under Lauren’s skin and slowly but effectively started poisoning her entire memory of the show was:
Stealing.
That she had stolen the rock star’s energy, and that’s why she felt so good, when meanwhile he seemed to be in slightly lesser shape, for his next show 48 hours later.
Lauren remembered trying to deny that she had stolen anything, but the friend had pointed out:
“You said it yourself: He gave everything he had, singing that song. He was completely empty.”
“That song” referred to a fan favorite which was hardly ever played. It had left some fans outraged on social media that it had not been played when they had been attending.
As if not the vocal demands alone, would offer a sufficient explanation why the rock star was unable to perform it on demand. And the lyrics were particularly touching too, as they seemed to be about a struggle with fidelity issues (or maybe Lauren was too eager to translate the apology for a “mistake” into a sex thing) and the song also seemed to forecast the difficulty the rock star had with the higher registers, more than two decades after the song was written.
Lauren imagined having to come to terms with his voice changing, was even more painful for him, than it was for her to deal with the concept that she had stolen something. From someone she deeply admired no less.
She understood perfectly well why the song was rarely played. You could not expect an established, older rock star on tour, to turn himself inside out and bare his naked soul to the world with every show.
That was borderline abusive.
Which was perhaps why the suggestion that she had stolen something from this unique moment, made her sick. That, and that she must have been susceptible to the idea that she had done something wrong, in the first place.
The underlying emotion of being undeserving to be there.
Within one week, she had felt life slipping through her fingers, but she did not blame her friend. Lauren was a sensitive woman, and she had felt there was no ill will in his words.
His remark had been completely harmless if she had not been so eager to blame herself for something. For proving how unworthy she had been.
One week later she saw her friend again, and told him what had happened. And also how she was going to solve it.
She said:
“I realized I had failed to put my concert into writing. Because I didn’t write, I had not claimed my reality.
Just like when I stopped writing about my encounters with Big, and I lost him.”
Although Lauren had no idea if she would ever be able to write herself out of the dirt and back onto the mountain high, or write her lover back into her life – she was grateful for the trigger the friend had given her.
She now knew she could only claim reality by writing it down.
This was extremely important information for the second half of her life.
And since she had promised herself she would learn and understand ALL the lessons of the concert, she embraced even this dark side. Even if that cost her the glow of the concert and it was too late to get her lover back.
Even then.
Her friend asked her if he could help her find a better narrative, since he had been at least partially responsible. And also because he didn’t like seeing Lauren this sad.
This is what he offered Lauren:
“I would not say you stole anything. You received. It was given freely. Just like when a man has an orgasm. Yes, he is spent. But because of the release he can then rejuvenate and replenish. This man is on earth to give this. But he can only give it if there is someone to receive it.”
Lauren felt like crying, but she didn’t want to make the friend feel even more guilty for everything last week’s conversation had caused. But she thanked him for this relabeling.
And hoped she had not unlearned writing.
That the break from it had made her better at it, and that somewhere under all the filth, she’d be able to find back what she had lost.

Keep the Faith
I’ll Be There for You
In These Arms

Lauren was so grateful for all the uploaded recordings of the concert.
She had felt slightly superior, attending the concert without holding any equipment. But she had to eat her words and was
deeply grateful for anyone who had recorded something or who had taken pictures. 
Her favorites were a video of The Song, which one of her new friends had shot. And the other favorite was a full audio recording. Although it was on YouTube, it did not contain any video.
This long audio in particular, allowed her to relive the concert in its entirety.
Yet, for the first days she couldn’t bear this registration!
The audio was nothing, compared to the real concert experience.
She actually suspected that most, if not all, criticism on the singing voice of the rock star, was actually due to poor audio quality of mobile phone recordings.
The contrast with the real life experience was so stark, that she didn’t allow for the recordings to stain the memory, when it was still fresh.
It was only when it began to fade, that she started looking what she could find.

And that’s when she found it… again something she had definitely missed when she was there. At the one hour marker, the band played one of their all time favorites, the music was flawless and the challenging singing in the verses immediately hit the mark.
But she could hear the rock star rely on the backing vocals, in the first chorus. Second chorus his singing was fully confident, even stretching his voice further than nessecary.
During the guitar solo the crowd started to sing.

A wordless, swaying melody. It sounded like a lullaby, a choir of angels.
The rock star picked up the lyrics, sometimes trusting himself, sometimes relying on his singers. When all the verses had been sung, there was only a repetition of the chorus.
The crowd had picked up singing their supportive, loving tune.
And that’s when she could hear it.
Like magic.
The rock star found his full voice, his confidence. It was the going all-in, no holding back, every fan hopes to one day witness.
And when the first thought of playing The Song, must have surfaced.
It had not been on any of the set lists.
Not on the standard set list, and not on the one with the songs that could be chosen from last minute.
But at this point, The Song, was just a whisper.
Of the angels, perhaps.

It’s My Life
We Don’t Run

Lauren knew she was probably the most well prepared fan in the crowd. Yet, in hindsight, she realized nothing could have prepared her for seeing the rock star live.
She was a yoga teacher but as far as she had ever believed there was such a thing as “yoga” that was actually A Thing Of Importance – and if she had ever believed that was already up for debate – then the last bits just fell off her seeing the rock star sweat, jump, run, prance.
Spitting at almost regular intervals, a gesture of utter concentration she immediately saw reflected in the determination in his eyes.
He was magnetic and it made her realize she had been slacking. Her body was healthy and strong, but she had failed at having a home yoga practice for years.
And she had never been as strong and agile as the rock star.
Her body had never bounced up and down a stage for two and a half hours, and she seriously questioned if it ever would.
The rock star ran 6 times a week and he also did yoga, although that information dated from a few years back. But whatever he was doing it was working.
She could not remember being so close to someone in such killer shape, although she knew she was now not giving her lover enough credit.
It was a physical thing, but not in the way you would expect.
More a chemistry thing.
Because the rock star had not made an effort to get back into the photo model physique of his 40s, and neither did Mr.Big who was still in his 40s.
But her response to the rock star on stage, did remind her of a fantasy about her lover, which she was unable to pinpoint as to why it was she fancied that:
To wait for him, when he had been with another woman.
Take care of him, bathe him, feed him, put him to bed and to make him feel loved.
Aside from the fact that Lauren didn’t think that was the role Mr.Big had in mind for her, there was something strange about it.
Why did she even want this?
When he was all spent?
It didn’t make any sense.
Yet seeing the rock star on stage stirred exactly the same fantasy with her:
To be there when he came off the stage.
And replenish everything he needed, for a good night’s sleep.
Maybe, although Lauren enjoyed being on the receiving end of someone’s energy, giving back made her just as happy as receiving.

Wanted
Lay Your Hands on Me
Captain Crash

Who Says 
I’ll Sleep 
Bad 

Always
Livin’ on a Prayer

“Did you see?”
One of the friends Lauren had made at the concert, messaged her. “They played Always!”

It was two days after the latest concert of the band. 70.000 People had attended.
Of course Lauren had seen what they had played. She had already felt it. At the exact time Always was played she had experienced a dramatic energetic shift that had been so nasty, she still did not know what to do.
She felt God awful and the weekend had filled up with even more drama, such as a pigeon chick falling on her balcony in the middle of the night.
And Lauren felt her off-energy was contagious.

Someone she had spoken to on Saturday, was robbed within hours after that. Lauren couldn’t help but thinking it had been her icky-yucky energy that had caused it.
Ever since the shift, she had lost energetic connection to both the rock star as well as her lover. Although the steady slope downhill had started days prior of course, when her friend had made the suggestion that she had stolen something.
Every day had been harder, until that Friday night she had felt it snap.
She was still unsure if it really had been the band playing Always, if it was just a coincidence, or if it was her lover being with someone else.
Something she swore she could feel.
Judging from how powerful the shift was, it had probably been both.
But she blamed herself. She was the one who had let the memory fade, and had started being ashamed of receiving so much from him. By now she was seriously toying with the thought of quitting being a fan.

“Yeah I know,” she texted back. “I m sure I m overreacting but I was jealous.”
The girl sent Lauren a smiley and a second line in a separate message.
“Oh Sweetie, I think it was for his wife.”
The words brought out an ear to ear smile, and then the tears started rolling down Lauren’s face.
“One week later he was back at the level where he could sing it again,” the male friend said, to Lauren. It was a tropical night, and they were having drinks at one of the many terraces that were still open.
“He had come full circle. This is the meaning of Life.”

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

 

Lauren’s erotica (2017) :
Big, Diaries and Erotica

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the third chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Hello Rock Star

Sara is my creativity coach.  I always send her an email before our call. 
.
Dear Sara,
.
It is tempting to reread my other blog post from today, or rewatch the many videos I created over the past two weeks, in order to reconstruct exactly what happened.
What the right order of things was.
Where I went wrong, and where I went right.
Oh, and of course, to write out ALL the resolutions and habits and basically the entire game plan which will serve me well for the second half of my life.
As the Bon Jovi concert was definitely the most profound experience I ever had. It will go down as my best time sex, ever. 
The best sermon I ever heard.
The best Tony Robbins seminar ever given without Tony Robbins.
And the best yoga class, because it definitely got my energy soaring, and I m positive I will never have another physical ailment again.
Oh, and I m enlightened.
Of course I’m enlightened, what else would I be after this concert for which I had been preparing even more meticulously than for my dates with Mr.Big, leaving everything and nothing, to chance.
Nothing , when it came to the things I could control, such as preparations for the day and getting into the right mood.
And everything when it came to accepting and celebrating whatever would happen.
Fortunately for me, just like Mr.Big, Bon Jovi was a great match in showing up with the right energy. And that’s when the best night of my life happened.
And this is the small-can’t-bother-Sara-with-too-long-email version because I could write an entire novel out of that one gig.
Sadly though, I didn’t.
As we discussed earlier I am determined to go more out there with my message, in performance mode, and leave the days of 7 hour blog posts behind me.
However – and this could be a beginners fuckup! – my performance, talking about something on video, seems to be a lot less strong when it comes to claiming the narrative. 
Performance does raise my vibration, way more than writing does. And in that sense it is a lot more rewarding. It also costs less time than writing.
But this is my latest key insight about my otherwise perfect choice for video over writing:
It’s not as strong.
When I m done with a blog post reality has been claimed, and it is almost impossible for me to get another version of the truth in my head, than the one I put to paper.
I ve used this in my affair with Mr.Big:
What I wrote became the truth.
And it was a good truth. One in which he could see his own power and how we connected, how we were doing this together. I patched up, polished, sowed together the truth if needed.
I often used fiction.

The only thing I always kept intact was the love we had for each other, and then I let the rest of the story serve that. Even the most extreme things we did sexually, were undeniably loving.
If anyone had told me, after reading the story, that I should be ashamed of being a secret mistress, there is no way I would have adopted that as the truth.

The truth was on paper.
The end.
But after the Bon Jovi concert, about which I did not write but I created daily videos for both of my accounts, and I stayed on the high for days and intended to keep that going indefinitely:
Someone qualified what I had been doing to Jon Bongiovi as stealing his energy.
And because I had told myself that everything I needed for the second half of my life, was given to me in that gig, I adopted it as a possibility that I had actually been doing that.
That my energy had come at the expense of Jon Bongiovi himself.
And suddenly I could see evidence in my relationship with Mr.Big that this was true: After all, he seemed to need two months between our dates if we had sex.
Regardless of how enthusiastically he had been fantasizing with me, on how amazing it would be to see each other more often.
I saw in this long pause a confirmation that I stole way more than I had been entitled to.
And from there, my spirits plummeted.
Very soon I started hating myself, and when the 13th and the 14th of June had been the best days of my life, both with regard to Jon Bongiovi as well as Mr.Big who seemed to have a deep understanding of how much fun it was what I was doing, and he sent me a few texts that testified he was supporting me;
But one week later, it was all gone.
Last Friday I could just feel both of them, energetically snap out of it. And I felt lonely and heartbroken.
Especially because by now I had designed my entire life around the concept of being a rock star yoga teacher. 
How could I be that, if I was consumed by guilt of being an energetic vampire?
This morning I woke up, and got my act together.
Two major decisions were made.
1. I need to start writing again.
And in particular erotica. I have not written about my sex life in years. The exact same years our dates became more infrequent and sex was intimate and simple because it felt like our first time every time.
Like we’d been on a break or a breakup.
I had been too eager to drop writing erotica, too eager to be a good girl, one who doesn’t kiss and tell.
But with that I almost killed what we had.
It’s a miracle there is something left to save.
Also, I intend to start writing about the concert, and come up with a better narrative than me being a no-hands succubus.
2. I need to focus on raising my energy
The reason I got so much out of that concert is the same reason I get so much out of dating my lover: I prepare.
I get ALL the way up there, the peak of the mountain, way before we even meet. And then that is automatically where they meet me.
If I focus on doing things that raise my energy, so that I am on the peak of the mountain, regardless, it becomes more likely that I find the connection back with Jon Bongiovi and my lover.
And feeling really good where I am, and about what happened.
I never want to come down again, to hear what others have to say about my moral code of conduct.
I m going to do everything to get back what I lost the past week.

Including writing what must be written.
So that although others might have an unloving interpretation of what it is I do,
at least I will not be listening anymore.
.
Warm regards,
..
~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living
.
erotic stories are avialable in: 
Big, Diaries and Erotica
.
.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the second chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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