Being Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct)

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Updated post.
Third chapter of small, soon to be (re-)published book, solely about Basic Instinct and Catherine Tramell.
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2021 10 30 | Lauren Harteveld

I didn’t even have to upload a photo for this post.           
I could pick one from the previous posts because I’ve been writing about Sharon Stone’s woman in white (directly inspired by Hitchcock’s Vertigo) for as long as I can remember.
And it’s like this thing where an insight, a certain knowledge about yourself, just keeps sinking in deeper.        
Ever since 1992.

I saw the movie countless of times in the 90s already, because a few years after its release they started replaying it at a discount theater.
I own the DVD and recently bought a new copy of Basic Instinct 2, because I had lost the first one. That’s how important Catherine Tramell is to me; I need that collection in order.                        
My identification with Catherine Tramell has turned out to be this exponential thing.

In the beginning, it seemed like not much was happening. Like a flat line where I just “hit” the mark, every time I went to see it. But without seeing much development.           
Then I started dressing like her.              
The 90s was the first decade where I bought white, khaki and camel clothing, including turtle necks and over-the-hip woolen coats.

But it wasn’t until the release of Basic Instinct 2 that the graph started taking off.          
Fourteen years after I had been a university student in her early twenties captivated by Catherine Tramell, the thought that there had been more than just the clothing that had kept me glued to the screen, started evolving.             
Something that she did. With men.       
With the world.               
Their fear.          
Her power.

It had been a deception that there were no similarities between us. And they were rooted in feeling vulnerable rather than powerful. 
Because I am an emphatic, loving person.

I can’t pass a beggar without giving money or a starving bee without feeding him. I over-deliver, give immediate refunds and I don’t steal in any way, shape or form. I cannot remember I ever tried to hurt someone by being unkind without (from my point of view) that person starting first and it being self-defense.        
I consider myself an emotional pushover, bound to her inner moral compass. I simply laugh when someone wonders if they can trust me, because my own moral code will exceed any expectations set by society.

My mistake, the reason it took me for over a decade before I understood that the similarities between me and Catherine Tramell were greater than a love for white coats, was that I assumed my own moral compass was something the world could see.          
I still don’t know why they don’t, but very few do.          
And the ones who do are usually very easygoing, friendly people.
Who say: “You’re so sweet, thank you.”
or
“You’re so social, you really see people.”

They’re the very people who (I think) should have been afraid of me, if there had been anything dangerous or ill-willing about me. They’re the ones who see my goodness.         
And then my heart just breaks open.    
Because no one ever says that.

I feel I’ve been criticized for everything. From the shoes I wear to how I express myself, to the way I handle criticism then conveniently called feedback.
Yet because of the inner-compass I didn’t identify as the strong woman Catherine Tramell, who was mostly only referred to as a serial killer.
Not a saver of Californian bees.
What I failed to see was that to the outside world I was Catherine Tramell.

The hostility, impatience and determination to find something wrong with me has been such a perpetual part of my surroundings, I cannot remember the time I didn’t try to offer some kind of excuse for myself.
I’ll probably be diagnosed as autistic in 2020 which is great but I’m just happy that something will come out of that psychological testing.
If I can hold up a label “autistic” or “borderline” or “narcissism”?
People will feel satisfied that they “felt something was wrong with me” and move on.

I hope I don’t have a high IQ because that will be useless in getting on people’s good or even neutral side.        
If all they find wrong with me is being gifted I really have no other option than taking “the Catherine Tramell route”.   
There is genius in what she does.           
In both of the movies we don’t actually see her (identified by seeing her face) killing people.    
It is implied, but everything could also be explained as being an accident, someone else impersonating her, or otherwise wanting it to look like she did it.             
As much as part 2 (2006) differs from part 1 (1992); That is identical.
You don’t know if she really did it.

And in both movies she plays with people’s fear for her and messes with their minds. Where I have spent my entire life trying to defend myself, to fit in, explaining myself – and getting absolutely nowhere with the whole thing except in a state of not-belonging; 
She just lets them have it.          
She successfully passes lie-detector tests, turns ten-to-one interrogation scenes around, gets her psychiatrist to break all his own rules and drives men into obsessively and compulsively wanting her.
The creators of the movie, never questioned that ultimately she was the one who did it.             
She was evil.

When in reality, 27 years into living in a defensive, non-Catherine Tramell way, I can testify that she didn’t have a real choice.
That even if she wasn’t a serial killer at all, had excused for herself, and for the impact she had on people?        
Even if she had carefully tiptoed around every ego of every psychiatrist or every detective?       
They would have found something wrong with her.       
A way to put it all on her.            

psychiatrist:
“Washburn thinks that you slit Denise’s throat.

Catherine:
“Me? You’re the one that hated her.
Maybe I’m acting out your unconscious impulses.”

psychiatrist:
“Stop it!”

Catherine:
“Do you think it’s possible that you want me to be the killer?”

We don’t know if Catherine really did it. And we don’t even know if she might have been saving bees or gave money to the homeless.
All we know is that people saw her as being guilty.        
And she never made an attempt to prove them wrong. 
Saved her 27 years.

.

~Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

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New books, among which a book about Basic Instinct and Catherine Tramell, will be added.

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The Paradox of Lust and Gender

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
Eric Roberts by Robert Richard

Can we women openly lust over men?

Just because you could not, would not, say the same thing about a woman if you were a man with a sense of boundaries and decency;
Does this automatically mean we women are not allowed to say them about or to, a man?
Today I responded to a post, which gave like a 101 reasons why a famous person was incredibly hot.
After my initial enthusiasm, I backed out and deleted all my comments because there were so many negative responses on the original post, and I was getting some on mine, I was like:
“This is not my battle.”
I can perfectly live the rest of my life, not objectifying men.
Yet the thoughts on it kept coming up in my head.
And they all pointed in the direction that I was still of the opinion that this protective, uni-sex approach was wrong.

To clear my head, I initially started writing this post on Facebook because I considered my thoughts not yet worthy of a “real” blogpost.
They weren’t clear enough.
So I just typed them into the box and didn’t even risk any Facebook credit by using Eric Robert’s half naked H&M underwear photo with this post.
Instead I chose a fully clothed one.
It wasn’t until I realized that only five days ago, I had already made a similar post here on this blog.
It wasn’t a part of any of my other series or projects. And it was so unaffiliated that its category was “uncategorized”.
Just now I relocated it to a new category “feminism”, just like this current one.
And it basically shared the same conclusion:
How judging women with the same standard as men, is just another form of sexism.

That single blogpost (or so I thought) was about Europol making a gigantic mistake by outing criminal women, knowing perfectly well that most of the criminals were men.
Criminal women were not the problem, in terms of numbers.
And it was with this realization, that I was writing on the same topic as five days ago, that I saw a pattern. And that this was worthy of a real blog post.
Because as tempting as it may seem:
Judging women with the same standard as men, is not doing anybody any favors. But it’s particularly detrimental to women.
That’s what I was feeling this morning!
I kind of knew something was off. That despite the fierce and eloquent push back on the lusting over a man post, I felt like I was on the other side.
Although I could not understand where it came from!
But now, with my own 5 day old post in hand, I understand:
Just like I oppose Europol outing the wrongdoings of criminal women;
I m against shaming women who objectify men.
And now I know WHY.
.
The threat men propose when they objectify women is not in the objectifying. Not in the sexism. It’s in something else.
And that “something else” is not present in the women who lust after men.
The threat men propose to women, is not rooted in their sexist remarks.
It’s rooted in the power inequality that lies underneath.
Men are stronger than women because they are stronger:
– physically
– financially
– legally/ by their status or position
And this can be an either/or. Or an and/and situation.
Further more the context men make their sexist, objectifying remarks is entirely different to the fangirling in social media.
These are some of them:
– the remarks by men are made in real life groups in bars or at work, to establish their social status, their ranking.
– the sexual interest is presented as something the woman should be impressed or flattered by. Rather than as something that was entirely the responsibility of the man who felt it.
.
And as an elaboration on the previous observation of power inequality:
– the objectifying, sexist remarks are made by a man on which the woman is reliant on for money, housing or access to other resources.
– the objectifying, sexist remarks are made by a man who is physically, legally, or financially more powerful and can hurt her in any of those areas pretty much without consequence. She’s therefor in no position to respond freely.
.
There wouldn’t be a problem with men lusting after women if we were all rich, independent, badass bitches in positions of power. None of us could care less about what any man said about how absolutely gorgeous we looked.
We would KNOW that nothing would happen, unless we were equally interested.
.
The problem is, that we don’t.
Our physical, financial and legal integrity are not guaranteed. We have to play our cards right not to cross the wrong person who can harm us physically, or by hiring better lawyers, hacking our computers, shaming us by exposing private videos and photos.
It’s a jungle out there.
.
We all have our personal ways on how to contribute to equality. And mine will be that every woman who wants to lust after a rich, independent, badass of a man in a position of power looking absolutely gorgeous?
Will have my blessing.
.
And in all likeliness: His too.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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What my instincts tell me

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

Dear Sara,

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

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

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

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

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

 

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
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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.

Europol’s Most Wanted List: Every word in that sentence was wrong

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Atomic Blonde on Europol’s Most Wanted List: “A beautiful Italian girl once said to me: David, you can’t unfuck what’s been fucked”

Enfys Nest in the movie Solo on why she’s stealing galactic fuel: “And what would you use it for?”
“The same thing my mother would have used it for if she survived and still wore the mask. To fight back.” 

There are so many movies to quote from, to roast Europol’s unscientific, fake, yet globally released Most Wanted List.
If it had been an actual representation of most wanted criminals, of which 18 out of 21 turned out to be females, I would have let this pass.
If those ladies really were Europe’s Viper Squad, decimating the males – after quartering them – they earned it.
But this fabricated list of lies and its propaganda tagline: Crime has no gender?
No.
Crime has no gender would only be correct as deadly sarcasm. Not as a catchy phrase to justify Europol placing a disproportionately large number of women on their most wanted list, suggesting females are just as likely to commit crime as men.
There is no research, no statistic, no observation by anyone with two functioning eyes and an even half functional brain, that over the entire population, women are equally criminal as men.
However we ARE far more often the victim of crime. Not because we work in crime, visit places high in crime, or are otherwise thrill seekers. No, because we are sought out because of our gender. We are selected to be attacked, raped, abused, exploited, stalked, and murdered because we are female. And in many of those cases by a male we know.
However, what does Europol do?
Come with a fake list filled with female criminals, hammering the point home in their tagline as to how criminal women are and an official press release that opens with:
Are women equally as capable of committing serious crimes as men?
The female fugitives featured on Europe’s Most Wanted website prove that they are.
They LITERALLY state their list proves women are just as capable.
Now, for clarity’s sake, let’s do what Europol should have done immediately and omit the horrific tagline Crime has no gender. Let’s pretend we’re a researcher and interested in facts.
What does Europol’s list then tells us?
Let’s look at the press release how they came up with the list.
Oh.
Uh oh.
Christ this really looks bad, but let me just quote it, so you can see for yourself:
21 EU Member States have selected one of their most wanted fugitives to feature in this campaign.
and
Europe’s Most Wanted was initiated by the ENFAST community in January 2016 with the full support of Europol. 
I looked up ENFAST, and just like Europol they seem legit. If it had not been for the questionable Most Wanted List I would have actually believed ENFAST was a European organisation for the international search for fugitives. Although in the light of this list I m concerned by their interpretation of their mission;
Why does ENFAST look for criminals by shaming the entire female gender by misrepresenting them on the Most Wanted List?
And instruct countries to come up with female fugitives, not with their most wanted criminals?
And yet despite ENFAST best efforts? If you go through the actual list, you will find a high number of females who cooperated with a man, a disproportionally large number who committed financial crimes and drug trafficking, an unspecified accusation only suggesting child abuse merely because the child was present drugs trafficking, and the one time you think,
“Jesus? What the fuck?”
It’s a man.
I studied the profiles Austria until Hungary, and I clicked Netherlands, but I was already so extremely angry, I just couldn’t go through the whole lot.
Suffice to say, I had seen enough propaganda and manipulation, to realize we already have enough to debunk the entire Most Wanted List, on name alone.
Europol‘s Most Wanted List
The list is not from Europol. It is from ENFAST, and they asked EU countries for their entry. Each country has one entry. There is no name for such a list. Even Europe’s most wanted list, would be incorrect, since the most wanted criminals on a European level would never be evenly distributed over the countries.
A correct way to define the geographical area of this list would be:
Most Wanted List in 21 European countries
The term List, in combination with most wanted, suggests a ranking.
If it had actually been Europol’s or ENFAST’s Most Wanted, the list would rank the 25 most wanted fugitives. Based on how long they had been on the run, or whether or not they were still active, if they propose a threat to citizens, that sort of thing.
Since there is no ranking, we need to ditch the word List.
Leaving:
Most Wanted in 21 European countries
Since countries were instructed to preferably come up with women, these are not the Most Wanted. Since it’s not exclusively women either, it’s not Most Wanted Women either.
You could even wonder whether they’re that wanted.
Drugs trafficking?
Real estate fraud?
Murder, but you’re on the run with your new partner (specified as male), and no mention of you as the evil genius behind this plan?
These 21 are not Most Wanted, they’re Wanted.
The only thing the 18 women on Europol’s list are MOST wanted for, is to create a list that shames women for being criminal, and to increase the chances of these lighter criminals to be caught instead of the real 25 most wanted.
The eye is on what women are doing wrong, not on who is doing the most wrong.
There’s a word for that:
A witch hunt.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Luke Skywalker’s famous last words on Europol’s Most Wanted List:

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Let the past die

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

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

Dear Sara,

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

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Let the past die
is the twelfth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

My diaries en erotica are available at 

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

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

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

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

My Year with Kat – How one woman can change your business and your LIFE. For free.

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
Katrina Ruth. Click the photo to go to her book store or Amazon.
It will be the most exciting thing you see today.

This post was originally sent out as a newsletter 8 December 2017. This repost is to celebrate Kat’s 40th birthday!
Check her amazing VERY temporary offer
HERE https://thekatrinaruthshow.com/40
And follow Katrina Ruth on Facebook.

 

post:
My Year with Kat – How one woman can change your business and your LIFE. For free.

If I have regrets it’s that I didn’t know Kat Loterzo 18 months earlier, which was when I first stepped onto the marketing path.
But maybe all those other freebies, coaches, paid programs, books, and spending hundreds of euros on Facebook and Google ads were necessary to truly appreciate Kat.
Maybe it really takes throwing away one and a half year of your life, and wasting a king’s ransom rebranding your yoga studio, with marginal results – zero if you compare it to the costs I made to get those results – before you listen to the message of someone as LOUD AND OUTSPOKEN as Kat Loterzo. Who says it comes down to one thing.
And one thing only;
You being YOU.
A message so radically different than anything that calls itself marketing, no one will believe it.
Not unless you have hit rock bottom and learned the hard way that being the good girl, doing your studying, mapping out your packages, and knowing your ideal clients “better than they know themselves” (I m not making this up!) – that all those things are going to do absolutely nothing for you.
Let me type that again, Kat style!
Ab.
So.
Lute.
Ly.
NOTHING!
That it will only result in the way I spent last year’s holidays, decluttering my expanding collection of marketing materials. I almost overlooked the few things I had in there from a new coach. Kat Loterzo. 
Or Katrina Ruth, which is her new name. She rebranded herself about a month ago. 
This new coach Kat Loterzo, was just a few A4s in my marketing folder. And at that time she was so new, I didn’t feel I had to make a decision on her.
So I stored them, and more or less forgot about it until I watched a two hour YouTube video called 
2017 Manifestation Training
And I was mesmerized.
In retrospect it was the moment I fell in love with her. Although unwittingly.
One year after giving her my email address, and the Christmas sorting my marketing materials, I can now see how important she has been this year.
And that I ll spend this Christmas confidently clearing out the entire marketing folder, except the material I got from her.
Unsubscribing for all newsletters and leaving all communities, excepts hers.
And Kat will change your life too, before the year is over if:
1. you start feeling rebellious the moment someone tells you something should be done a certain way in order for it to work
2. you either have your own business or you would love to have one
3. you know which activities light you up from the inside
If you score three out of three (no cheating!), then Kat is your woman.
You can join her Facebook page here, or subscribe to her YouTube
Last week I made a few important decisions.
To focus on yoga, to write for yoga, to message for yoga, to make a living out of yoga, and to keep my LS Harteveld writing as a hobby. And had the two most focused, and satisfying weeks of the year. And two clients returning to me.
But it’s not the money that was coming in that made me so happy.
Kat was allowing me to be me. To listen to my heart and to speak my true message. I could feel that energy flowing through me.
Needing little sleep.
Being fully confident.
Then something incredibly sad happened in her Inner Circle. She posted a video about it, as she always shares what’s going on in her life. It was about someone I didn’t know, but I felt for her. She gave us an account, so we could donate money for a gift, if we felt inclined to do so.
I hesitated.
It was not someone I knew and I didn’t have a budget for expenses like this.
Then I said to myself; 
“If I get a new client, before the day is over, I m going to donate to this gift Kat wants to buy for their friend.”
I wrote three different blogposts and hustled my ass off.
When I came home from teaching I found an email from yet another returning customer, taking me up on the offer for the yoga studio.
I just wired the money to Kat.
She earned it.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

I write erotica and stories in my series
7-figure Rock Star Writer
You can subscribe to this blog for new episodes

..

My diaries en erotica are available at 

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

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

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

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

My f**k that shit moment *

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
( performance artist Marina Abramovic )

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

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

Dear Sara,

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

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

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My f**k that shit moment
is the eleventh chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

My diaries en erotica are available at 

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

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

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

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

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

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

24 September 1994

For those of you who would rather have this diary entry in pictures, let me create a visual of my sex life in pictures:

Picture 1.           
What I want my sex life to look like, and what it actually looked like four years ago, is a lush oasis, an inviting lake between a sea of trees.
You knew that there was a desert, somewhere out there, but you would have to travel half a day to get to the edge.     

Picture 2.           
Three months ago, it was no longer the fertile grounds of the oasis, but dried up to a desert with blossoming bushes. 
Surviving on what was available.            

Picture 3.           
Two weeks ago, it was the helicopter shot of a desert with the little white chapel where the Guns N’ Roses video for November Rain was shot, with Slash in the desert playing his guitar. 
Because of the presence of Slash, it’s hard to fully realize that he is in fact the only reason for optimism in this entire situation.            

Picture 4.           
Current day, the picture is of a desert with the wind blowing a dried out bush, a desert rose, over the sand.      
The rose will stay this way, drifting and in its dormant state, until it starts to rain and it can come to life again.

For those of you who prefer swearing:   
“How the flying fuck did I let this happen?!”

And for all those willing to endure reading how I managed to “lose” both my lover Bear (nothing is certain), as well as miss out on the most promising lead I had in years – a Slash-like house painter who was basically just tossed into my lap by God – I have to warn you:      
There are no easy answers, let alone satisfying ones.       
I haven’t got a clue, how I managed to make this happen.            
Or better yet, not make it happen, but I’ll try to explain it as good as I can.

First off, Bear.

My dearest, sweetest, lover for the past four years and nine months, and the man about whom I still don’t know what he wants out of life. What kind of future does he want for himself? What does he want from me?

I honestly could not be more clueless.

To me our sex life, his entire presence, and all the wonderful hours we’ve spent together have been more than I ever hoped I would get out of being with a man.

Initially though, I thought he was entirely normal. Maybe it was this beginners luck that saved me?

In 1989 I more or less “recruited” Bear as my lover, since acquiring a sex life as a single had proven to be impossible for me. At that moment I simply put one foot in front of the other, and was very pragmatic. The sex was good, even though Bear was the first man I had real sex with, and it was so good we continued having it even after the first time.

It wasn’t until the few females in my life shared what they had to, dare I say, “put up with” that I realized how lucky I was.

That any other man would probably have failed the test, and might even have failed to fuck me or make me come. Which is saying something, because my body is beginner-friendly.

But my faith in the average level of men’s love making skills was gone and I started cherishing Bear, even more than I already did.   
As long as he still wanted me, and wasn’t (yet?) in a relationship he wanted to remain faithful in, I would enjoy him.

However, I did notice that our dates were becoming less frequent.
And this summer when we were both transferring from being college grads to working lives, I wondered if it was still enough. 
If being in such a dry office environment wouldn’t require a little, or a lot, more juiciness between the sheets.         
I wouldn’t say that I opted for a weekly gang bang, but having sex only once every 2, 3 months would no longer be cutting it.

So when I opened the front door two weeks ago, and discovered a Slash-like painter who wanted to paint my balcony, I thanked the Lord for his swift moves.
It was before my first workday, just in time!

The painter and me didn’t kiss, nor did we openly flirt really, but there was definitely a lot of chemistry between us.              
When he mentioned he went to Warhol’s every Saturday, I understood the hint.     
But guess what?             
The first Saturday he wasn’t there, I felt like an absolute idiot.    
But this was nothing compared to what I felt the second Saturday! Because this time he was there, but he let the bar lady hijack our conversation deliberately.      
It was clear that some kind of loyalty issue was at stake here and I lost.
I lost, plain and simple.
Whatever she had to offer him, I didn’t.
Maybe it were just quiet nights at Warhol’s that he didn’t want to sacrifice.              
Or perhaps they did sleep together occasionally, or planned on doing so.

It is hard to believe we had something, for those few hours.

When he came in for the last batch of his painting materials I noticed his tobacco pouch was still on my desk.       
I quickly picked it up, and because his hands were full I slipped it into his pocket.
For a moment I felt the warmth of his thigh, through the boiler suit.
We smiled, both slightly uncomfortable, as if we had both felt it.
At that moment I just interpreted it as nerves, or healthy tension.

But seeing how miserable things turned out, maybe I did overstep his boundaries and missed something important.

On a different note:

The neighbor just had a tantrum.            
He lives alone, so I’m afraid it was directed at his cat.     
Heard something similar when he moved in, and then he literally yelled at the cat for being stupid. I hoped he was just a handyman, and not the new neighbor and owner of the cat.

But I must have suspected even back then, there was more to it because on my way to the city my heart started aching so badly, I cancelled my plans and dropped by at my mother’s because I was feeling totally miserable.         
The heart problems have intensified the last few weeks, now that I’m working.

With the neighbor having his second tantrum and work stress, I’ve decided to go see a doctor for this.
My heart really does feel broken.

.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living.

This series is currently being updated, and will be published into

  • A letter from a stranger  
    diary 1994 – 1996
    including book 2, Dear Nikki

Expected Summer 2026, in the  BOOK SHOP
–
Facebook, Twitter
—

Secret Update 2026

I have a deal with myself:
Once I finally get to publish “A Letter From A Stranger”, an erotic diary set in the 90s?
Only then I am allowed to remove these blogposts from this website.
As I have done with my other highly personal book, Big, as well. (which you can find in the bookstore now)

So these updates, where I insert the final versions of these posts, corresponding for 99% at least, with the chapters of the book;
And adding a customized Canva picture to go with it;
Well, they’re not shared.
They’re not posted to my social media.
‘Cause I don’t want them out there!

But now that you’re here, my dear reader, well now that you’ve found them on your own, I want you to read something good. And not to find the old posts, among which some of them were in shatters after a layout massacre caused by a WordPress update.

I hope you enjoyed this read.
And you’re welcome.

~Lauren
2026
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{ I believe } Galadriel of Lord of the Rings shows women with Asperger/ autism are highly attractive

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
“From her earliest years, she had a marvelous gift of insight into the mind of others but judged them with mercy and understanding.”
on Galadriel
The Unfinished Tales, J.R.Tolkien
.

I ve been studying autism for a few weeks now, and I ll save you the story why I know I have autism. Or why it will take until 2020 (if ever) before I get a diagnosis.
And I ll even save you the story of why I don’t believe a psychiatrist agreeing with me on this, is nessecary before I can start improving my life, remodeling my life by autism guidelines.

Well, there is no one-size-fits-all autism guideline, for sure. But exactly because all those on the autism spectrum are different, THE guideline is a very useful one:
“Know yourself and tailor your entire life accordingly.”

People with autism often have a poor understanding of who they are, and of how they’re feeling. So a professional to help you figure all this out could be useful.
Striking example of me entirely missing my own emotions:
I usually miss I m in love!
I have examples dating from my early teens, when it took me years. Even though the signs/my thoughts about him were sooo obviously those of someone truly smitten!

But being in love is perhaps not a relatable example since most people I know do not fall in love that often at all.
And if they do, they start obsessing if it’s reciprocal (in a practical sense: will they get into bed/ relationship/marriage) before they “allow” themselves to feel that.

Now that’s a situation where my bullshit alarm goes off left, right and center, but since I have not been able to connect my relatively high frequency of falling in love, and my (dare I say) impeccable relationship skills, to having autism, I will leave that alarm out of this conversation too.
Although I m sure I ll know how to tie it in, one day.
So this is not a scientific piece on diagnosed autism and its traits.
This is quite the opposite.

This is an article written from my personal perspective where I, a self-diagnosed woman with autism, shares her thoughts about one specific statement that I keep encountering in literature on girls and women with autism.
And that I have a very hard time believing because from my personal experience, from my observation of other women with asperger/autism AND based on what my common sense tells me, it is not true.
That if there is any difference in being attractive between women with autism and non-autism, it’s exactly the opposite.

What I m talking about is the wide-spread assumption that women with autism are less attractive to men, because they act weird or don’t know how to behave sexy.
Hold.
Your.
Horses!
WHAT?!

The first reason I couldn’t believe what I was hearing was because I have exactly the opposite experience. Throughout my life, I have been able to get any man I wanted. Which doesn’t mean that I went after them, or that they all immediately dropped what they were doing (or “who”), but I ve always been able to feel the Yes between the lines.
Often people don’t understand how I know that a man likes me, even though he doesn’t choose for me, usually because he’s in a relationship.
That’s very simple:
How would I NOT be able to feel that?

I have my own thoughts on how autism, and in particular male autism, has been wrongly interpreted as in that we wouldn’t be able to connect with other people.
I disagree.
We ONLY know how to really connect with other people.
It’s the grey, fuzzy, non-confrontational way of communicating that people then want to cover up their feelings with, that we don’t understand.
And don’t particularly care for either.

To me the way normal people have sex is so not-erotic because it’s sloppy. Like, you’re both naked and oopsie! Your Sunday morning shag.
And there are these jokes about when someone cheated “his dick fell into her pussy”.
But to me, that really resembles sex in the neuro-typical world.
Sex is done on the fly.
I need it to be premeditated.
Not: “Oh we ran into each other and accidentally ended up at her place”
Or: “If you want to date me, just say so.”
I mean what’s that? Are you implying you’ll do me a favor if I get the uncontrollable urge to date you?

What he (whether a friend or a lover) can say:
“Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?”
or even better:
“I d love to see you! Would you like to go out?”
And compliments – if any – can never be made with the assumption I ll now rush over, or roll over onto my back with my paws up, in absolute awe that someone even wants me.
That’s not how this works.

But I digress!
Or then again – maybe this is all very relevant!

Because this whole rant about how I want to be addressed certainly illustrates I’m not easy to get along with. And that “even” being that picky, even being that difficult, I’ve felt desired and wanted.
That any difficulties came from me not wanting them.
A one-sided sexual interest from their side, was the reason the conversation was freaking painful to say the least. Not that I had autism.

I was, and am, often open to be just friends. And I have small circle of highly appreciated friends with whom I “just” date.
I put quotation marks on “just” because finding someone to have a great time with is a quest in its own right.
So, all in all I had already made myself the temptress- exception within the sexually struggling autistic community, when the second reason to seriously doubt the common knowledge on autistic women being less attractive hit me in the head:
The autistic women I see in the media, and know in real life are extremely attractive.

The most well-known women autistic stars are Daryl Hannah and Courtney Love: Both attractive women.
Courtney is of course known for being rebellious and for speaking her mind. Just watch this interview to see how absolutely captivating it is, to hear someone talk so candid!
She’s enchanting.
And here’s one of Daryl Hannah talking about autism, and she’s a bit intimidating but especially because of that – hot !
If I were a man, I would love to date Daryl or Courtney.
And I would know that after her, no woman would meet up, compared to someone so INTENSE!

Both Courtney and Daryl are women with whom you are immediately awake, you can feel they’re not going to sugarcoat it or tiptoe around your feelings and needs.
Their presence is an experience – and I like that!
But then I started thinking:
Well maaaayyyybe, Daryl and Courtney, and all autistic women from YouTube and the Dutch women I know with Asperger are not representative.
Maybe I just don’t see, all those unattractive women with autism.
Yes, that must be it!
I’m terribly biased, only look at the stars, and in my personal life I only feel drawn to exceptionally beautiful women.

So there I was again:
Totally ready to embrace the idea that females with autism were not as appealing as neuro-typical women. Despite my personal experiences and despite everybody I knew who had Asperger.

But then my brain started to go over them, one more time… And I saw it!
That although from a cognitive perspective I still had no other option than to conclude that women with autism were more attractive, that I could now see why you could also say they were less attractive:
Because they are dangerous.
And I immediately got the analogy with Galadriel from Lord of the Rings:
We can read people’s mind.
We don’t do small talk.
We are all-knowing, but we are not of this world.
We have our own realm.

I have often wondered how Galadriel’s husband Celeborn felt, next to what seems like an almighty wife.
Would he still feel needed?
But on second thought, he was very needed!
When the fellowship of the ring, a group of 9 companions, arrive in Lothlorien, they are brought before Celeborn and Galadriel.
And Celeborn does the talking while Galadriel stays silent, meanwhile reading everybody’s mind. And they are all shook by it, they can clearly feel she sees right through them.
That is what women with autism do: they see right through you.

I m convinced it is this trait that has given women with autism the status of presumably being less attractive:
Because men do not want to be known.
They don’t want to be seen.
This is also explained in Lord of the Rings, with Boromir.
Galadriel sees that he will one day steal the ring from Frodo. She can see right through him, and knows this before he does.
Just like I often have the feeling I know people better than they do themselves.

Months before I knew I had autism, I had conversations with many friends, about something I noticed, but didn’t understand:
That people can have very extreme reactions to my presence.
It’s like they can feel their entire life slipping through their fingers, like a delicate balance is suddenly rudely disturbed.
As if everything they thought they knew about themselves, suddenly drops to the bottom of some pit they thought they covered years ago.
And that’s before “Hello”.

The only thing I can do to prevent this, is to dim the light inside of myself. Which is actually a term within autism, it’s called “masking”.

So I’ll tell you what my friends came up with, but first I just want to share that what I was basically trying to figure out, was what it was that made people respond so extreme to my presence.
I m not a guru, or Jesus; But I am no criminal either.
I m completely honest and open, and I was certain that it was something fairly simple, and not some spiritual or Chosen One explanation.
I don’t know if autism is that simple, but it sure makes a lot of sense that people could immediately feel it, if I forgot to wear my neuro-typical mask.

Which brings me to the best explanation I received back then, on what happens when people see me:
You can only connect with someone’s true self, if you are connected to your own true self.

What happened, was that these people had been cut off from their deepest feelings for example because they had to in order to function. And then they saw me, and just looking into my eyes, into my self, immediately connected them to the feelings they had been hiding for so long.
The part of themselves that they had lost, or had even deliberately tossed into the pit and then covered it.
So even though they obviously didn’t intend to connect with my true self – it was because mine was so readily available, it reflected back and boom!
Inadvertently down the rabbit hole.

And I could see this was true, because there were a lot of often quiet, really easy going people who were completely comfortable with themselves, who didn’t have those problems at all. If you would tell them you would find me intimidating, rude or cocky, they would have no idea what you would be talking about.
People who would have met me once or twice, and who remember me as warm, caring, and extremely easy to get along with.
Nothing extreme or even notable had happened when they saw me.

So I adopted that as my truth:
It was the fact that I had my real Self, so close to the surface, that drew out the Selves of others.

And now, months later, this makes even more sense, because I can now describe it in terms of “a mask” that everybody wears, but in particular autistic people wear it to fit in. Their identity is always a mask, a role. They’re fully pliable.
But if you don’t wear a mask, your soul, your Self, is like a mirror to anyone who looks into your eyes.
Exactly like in Lord of the Rings.
Although there, the mirror and Galadriel are presented as separate from each other. But the same scenario plays out: Frodo sees his own fate in her presence.
And she can feel it happening and knows what happened:

Galadriel:
Will you look into the mirror?

Frodo:
What will I see?

Galadriel:
Even the wisest cannot tell. For the mirror shows many things. Things that were, things that are, and some things… that have not yet come to pass.

[Looking into the mirror, Frodo sees the Orcs enslave the Hobbits and reduce the Shire to an industrial wasteland; finally, the Eye of Sauron causes him to stumble backwards]

Galadriel:
I know what it is you saw; for it is also in my mind. It is what will come to pass if you should fail. 

In my studies so far, I ve read nothing but statements about women with autism being less appealing to men. But if we see these women as Galadriels, it suddenly becomes clear that if it is true, this says way more about the average man, than about autistic women.
Because for noblemen like Celeborn, the kings of this world;
For introspective hobbits like Frodo, who have a deep understanding of right and wrong;
And for honest dwarfs like Gimli, who dreaded seeing Galadriel but fell head over heels in love;
A woman with autism, will soon be all they can think about.

Gimli:
Be cautious, young Hobbits.
They say a great sorceress lives in these woods.
An Elf witch of terrible power.

All who look upon her fall under her spell…

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Think about you | “1994”: fanfic inspired story episode 3

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

11 September 1994

It seemed to happen at exactly the wrong moment, which might explain why I am so confused, and am still no clearer than 24 hours ago.       
In fact I feel even more confused since I barely slept last night, and had my first workday at the publisher’s office.   
I made a super quick salad, and here I am writing and eating at the same time.             
I have a few hours before I really should go to bed, so that I’m fresh tomorrow.

Originally I had planned on doing yoga now!     
Made sense to do something physical since I will be spending the rest of my life sitting on my ass, now that I have entered working life.
I do take my work very seriously.           
No more Sunday night’s sneak peek movie for me, for instance!
I never got home before 11 PM; Way too late.

But it wasn’t just skipping the movies.   
I had also planned on choosing my outfit yesterday night, and to get up extra early so I had time to prepare lunch and take that with me.
When in reality I didn’t do anything anymore, after The Guy left.
I was just there all afternoon and night, on my balcony smoking and staring or something.   
I don’t even know what I did!    
Time stood still.

I didn’t pick an outfit, barely slept, got out of bed way before the alarm went off, yet still had to rush to get out the door.         
I survived my first workday, but already dread going back tomorrow, because I forgot all the instructions I received on how to do my job.
Fuck, this really is messed up.

Oh, and then make matters worse, like I said, I still don’t have a clue on what to make of it, or what to do.       
I don’t know what was worse: Being haunted by my untold story – as if it could escape me if I didn’t bring it home safely by 6 PM.          
Or to still have no idea what the story actually was.         
And every hour that went by, made that more painful.

So here I am.    
Still not knowing.          
I will just share all the thoughts in their disturbingly unclear form.

Yesterday, the bell rang.             
When I opened it I saw a man in white painter coveralls.             
He had long black curls and he was wearing sunglasses that seemed to be so much a part of who he was that he didn’t take them off even though it was heavily clouded.             
He had an odd way of speaking.              
As if he was shy, but then wasn’t, I don’t know, it was weird.       

He said the landlord had sent him to paint the balcony, and this made sense because I had told them I had accepted a job and would not be present during the day anymore.           
They have done a big renovation before I moved in here, but some things still needed work and now the landlord had sent a painter to my house on a Sunday afternoon.         
He went back to get his gear from the van, as I waited in the doorway to prevent the cats from escaping. 

I remember that right at that moment, my head was already spinning.
This was all just a little too close to what I had been dreaming of, more intensely than I care to admit.

A few months ago, I received a Bon Jovi VHS tape by mail, along with a fan fiction story that the seller had written. 
We had been on the phone for what had seemed hours, and she had actually asked me if I cared to read it.     
It wasn’t the type of thing you’d send to someone uninvited, because this was hardcore pornography. 
At one point it became too much even for me, but the character who had been written into the story to execute such cruelty, stuck to me:
Nikki Sixx.

It wasn’t that I desired my skin to be cut open, nor to be humiliated or bruised.              
But I did desire someone who would play with me, if I did want it.
Or even someone who had to restrain himself from hurting me, because he was a medium-sized sadist underneath, who liked the idea of owning and abusing me.      
That, was what I wanted.

Initially I thought that Bear might be willing to date more often, and bring us back to where we started over four years ago:     
But I seriously doubt that now. 
I think he is ready to go bigger and bolder: Just not with me.

Maybe he desires an older woman who can teach him and dominate him.              
I can only imagine being the one in charge, must get straining at some point.             
Boring even.     
When I asked him to become my lover, it was initially just to lose my virginity or maybe a few times more.       
But then, when he was so good being dominant, I realized I could develop myself with him.            
He had all the cookies in store, all I had to do was ask.   
And I did.

But he? Has he really been able to develop himself sexually?      
I really doubt it.
He carefully stayed within my limits, and now that we both graduated and our working lives have started and I am ready to invest in my sex life again, he isn’t there to pick it up. 
I still think he’s seriously toying with the thought of settling down. That unlike me, he doesn’t rule out starting a family.

The only thing I think I can pride myself on, is that I don’t believe someone has approached him the way I have.       
With a business-like invitation over coffee, rather than a passionate or “couldn’t help ourselves” love affair.      
It was premeditated, and that made it so erotic. 
An unorthodox arrangement that once made him confess he was surprised girls like me really existed.         
Yes, I exist.       
But after four and a half year with Bear, I need more.

First to get my sex life back to the level where we used to have it, before months could go by without seeing him.
And after that, I want to go further, the Nikki Sixx route and have him lead me to a point where I say: “No, please. I can’t take it anymore.”
Just like I had to quit reading the story.
I just couldn’t take any more.

And it was all so real to me that I half expected a Nikki Sixx-like man to come rocking out of the bushes “Tadaa!”         
As if I was summoning a genie, instead of looking for a lover.     
But a Slash-like man ringing my doorbell was close enough to send a shiver through my spine, and to make me nervous.       
I couldn’t afford to fuck this up, I really couldn’t.            
And I don’t think I did.

It’s just that over 24 hours later, I still don’t know how to proceed.
Or maybe I do…. just that I’m afraid of rejection or pain.
Of losing Bear. Losing myself.   
As determined as I was when I folded that fanfic story away, to go out and make sure I would be challenged in my love life again, that’s how nervous I am now.

If all my dreams come true and he’s my new lover, will I be able to take this?             
Will my aids phobia come back?             
My general fear of STD’s?          
Will I dare to give him a blowjob without spending a week in bed in shivering, cold anxiety?    
All questions that were already running through my mind yesterday, when I should have been focusing on getting to know him.
I was so nervous I didn’t even look for a wedding ring, and he might have told me if he was in a relationship, but that I missed it.

Being together was totally strange but he was also impossible to look away from and it was so promising.   
I broke off the conversation to go inside and leave him to work.
Not because he made the impression he wanted that, but because we just kept grinning at each other.
I thought we would be able to have a conversation, as he was working on the balcony but instead he kept looking at me too, and grinning!
It was idiotic, fun, but so strange!           
People don’t do this!     
They look away, pretend it to be casual.

But it was as if the air between us was already filling with what we wanted, even though we said nothing sexual!      
Absolutely nothing!      
And like I said, as far as I remember nothing was said about if he has a relationship, nor if I have one. Nothing.

All in all I spent time with him three times.

Once when he was setting up his things.              
When the grinning became too uncomfortable I excused myself and went inside.

Then after an hour or something, I asked him if he wanted coffee, and he did.              
He drank it black with a lot of sugar (my favorite type of man!) and we both smoked, chatted and drank our coffee.  
This was our longest conversation.

I asked him about the sunglasses, why he was wearing them, and that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to.        
Strangely enough, he took them off immediately when I asked, and gave them to me!  
Why, right?       
It seemed more like an instinctive thing.             
Just like I instinctively put them on, and tried them out.              
I looked at him (grinning some more) and he said they looked good on me.             
They were aviators, and way larger than the small round sunglasses I usually wear.    
I gave them back.

And oh fuck I so wish I had seen the color of his eyes!    
It went by so quickly!    
I guess I also failed to take notice because the moment he had his sunglasses off, I had put them on.  
I have no idea, most likely brown, I’m almost sure they are brown because his hair is black and it’s not dyed.

So anyway, he said he had sensitive eyes, and that he had barely slept because he went out last night.  
I asked where, and teased him saying:   
“You probably go to The Star, or something.”     
The Star is a hardrock cafe but it’s mainly for old people.             
He laughed and said: “Noooooooo, I go to Warhol’s usually. Ever go there?”             
Warhol’s is by far the coolest place around.        
I used to go there when I was still in my teens and in my first college years too.             
Firstly because I was living straight above it, but also because none of my peers went there, not even Bear.          
Warhol’s was no place for college students, and that had been its appeal.              
It was my own little bubble of coolness.

“Used to go there a lot,” I said. “You probably sit at the bar in Andy’s room. With a Black Label on the rocks.”           
He grinned again.          
“Maybe.”           
I didn’t really know what to make of that, if he was inviting me to meet him there, or not.    
But maybe that was the whole point?     
That he didn’t want to make this too easy for me.            
One hell of a way to start a relationship, but it definitely fueled my thoughts on his dominance.         

The third time we talked was around the time he left, he was bringing everything in and closing the door.         
The balcony he painted is in my study, where I also have my stereo and music collection.         
We both seemed a little reluctant to part, although we both tried to hide it.             
Before he left he said: “I saw you have some good music,” and nodded to the albums. “Death Angel. That’s impressive.”          
I laughed (oh God, I really could just not stop grinning!) and answered: “I know!”
He said: “There are weird things on that Iron Maiden cover. Did you know that?”  
I said I didn’t, took it from the shelves and handed it to him.      
We both studied it and were standing really close, side by side, as his fingertip traced the hieroglyphs on the pyramid. 
“Here’s a little man.”     
It was one of those drawings I used to make in high school, from a bald man with a big nose peeking over an edge.    
It said: “Wot? No Guinness?”    
There was a reference to Indiana Jones and a Mickey Mouse.     

It was like I was holding my breath.       
I knew he would be leaving in minutes and there was nothing I could do.              
It was as if any hint or flirt would hurt my ears.
It all seemed so blunt and ugly, as if it would stain the entire afternoon. Ruin it all.    
I just couldn’t make myself.

He had said he went to Warhol’s, and with that he had already told me where I should be spending my Saturday nights, if I ever wanted to see him.     
It’s 24 hours after and I already know I will do anything to see him.
If only to be rejected, I don’t care.           
I’ll be there.      

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living.

This series is currently being updated, and will be published into

  • A letter from a stranger  
    diary 1994 – 1996
    including book 2, Dear Nikki

Expected Summer 2026, in the  BOOK SHOP
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Secret Update 2026

I have a deal with myself:
Once I finally get to publish “A Letter From A Stranger”, an erotic diary set in the 90s?
Only then I am allowed to remove these blogposts from this website.
As I have done with my other highly personal book, Big, as well. (which you can find in the bookstore now)

So these updates, where I insert the final versions of these posts, corresponding for 99% at least, with the chapters of the book;
And adding a customized Canva picture to go with it;
Well, they’re not shared.
They’re not posted to my social media.
‘Cause I don’t want them out there!

But now that you’re here, my dear reader, well now that you’ve found them on your own, I want you to read something good. And not to find the old posts, among which some of them were in shatters after a layout massacre caused by a WordPress update.

I hope you enjoyed this read.
And you’re welcome.

~Lauren
2026
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