Monday, May 26, 2014

Memoirs of a Jaded Romantic : Proceed With Caution

No one ever left ... Ever. She kept men until their bodies and minds broke beneath the strain of loving her. She kept them until she tired of them, and when she sent them away it was the leaving that drove men mad. I was powerless. I was a novelty. I was a toy, favorite because it was newest. It might be a long while before she tired of me, but the time would come. And when she finally set me free my mind would tear itself apart with wanting her. ~P. Rothfuss


Over the years I've learned that more experienced, mature women should come with warning labels.   Yes, we know what we want.  Yes, we have skills.  Yes, we can teach you a lot.   But frankly, we are going to mess you up.   Badly.

Don't get me wrong ... most of us have the best of intentions.  We enjoy sculpting young men into stellar lovers.   We are patient and intense, passionate and interesting, adventurous and generous.   We want to give you the best experiences possible.   And we will.   Sadly, therein lies the rub ...


Venus - 052614 - Image courtesy of S. Sneddon





Never again will you be content to settle for those little girls who don't know who they are, what they want, or how to do - well, anything!  You will have no patience for immature games and petty fights.  You will be more annoyed than you can possibly imagine at how little independence they display.  Their insecurities will be like fingernails on a chalkboard and their laziness in bed will make waterboarding sound attractive.

Simply put, gentlemen, there is no going back.   You will be spoiled by a woman accustomed to the finer things in life, who knows how to savor you as one of them, and knows damn well that she is.  It won't all be about what we do, but how we do it.   And once you have soared to the heights with us, nothing less will do.   How could anyone without our experience and self-awareness possibly be expected to measure up?  




 
Venus II - 052614 - Image courtesy of S. Sneddon 















I'm not saying it won't be worth it, but please understand that you will be haunted by us.   Don't say that we haven't warned you ... welcome to our world of graduate-level sensual delights, but proceed with caution, dear man - this is not a journey for the weak- minded and faint of heart!  





Would you like me to seduce you?  Is that what you're trying to tell me?
~ Mrs. Robinson
(The Graduate) 

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

As promised ... in all it's uncensored glory!

As requested on other less nipple-friendly sites, here is the unedited version of this image.  Naturally, I think a stunning image stands on it's own merits, but since I'm a writer by nature, I also see an opportunity to spout some accompanying philosophy! :-) 

Mink, Marble, & Miz B - 052014 - Image courtesy of Shaheed Photographer

Let's talk about WHY it's necessary for me to edit images such as this one for most sites.  Why is it that in a culture as supposedly advanced as ours, the human body is considered so scandalous and so shameful?   

Having lived in Europe, where nudity is on display in the newspaper, public squares, countless museums, and many baths, pools & beaches ... having viewed the human body as a worthy subject of DaVinci and Botticelli ... having found no shame in my own nude form ... I am maddened by the American delusion that nipples are evil but violence is not.   We will allow all forms of bloody depravity in our movies and games, but heaven help us if we see a living naked body or show people sharing passionate love.   

“If a man is pictured chopping off a woman's breast, it only gets a R rating, but if, God forbid, a man is pictured kissing a woman's breast, it gets an X rating. Why is violence more acceptable than tenderness?”  ~Sally Struthers 

Perhaps the answer lies simply in our largely Puritanical roots.  Perhaps not.  What say you, dear Readers?   Why does this image need to hide in the shadowsexposed? 

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Excerpt from Memoirs of a Jaded Romantic: Damned

Damned - 051314 - Miz B


I've heard it said that your soulmate is someone whose demons play well with yours.  Sometimes love is your salvation, but sometimes there can be no happy ending.   Sometimes the best you can do is to love, hope that they know they are loved, and be there until they are consumed by their own despair.  Sometimes, the closest you can come to redemption is to hold their hand at the end, desperate to believe that knowing they aren't alone in their final moments will somehow be enough.

Undeniably, there is a fine line between genius and madness.   It's especially true in the tortured soul of an artist.   Make no mistake,  to be a wildly passionate lover is an art.   To rampage through a woman's soul requires a certain creativity and daring.   To stimulate all the pleasures, one must have suffered and been lost in angst.  The dangers of love require a bold heart, undeterred by risk and ruin.   Is it any wonder then that the most intense of love affairs often revolve around a dark streak of self-destruction?   

To love a woman like herself, a man must be unhindered by the rules.   Perhaps having nothing to lose made the pursuit of her more appealing.   Over and over, she learned that damaged men were drawn to her - like a siren on the rocks she was a glorious means of emotional suicide.   She was irresistible, unattainable, and completely obedient to the whims of her heart.   She was the best of him, brought out the worst in him, and would be sacrificed on the altar of her devotion to him.   

In the end, he loved a woman he could not reach.  She loved a man she'd already lost.   They were damned by their love and the inevitability of its disastrous demise.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Excerpt from Memoirs of a Jaded Romantic: Karma

Very few people know that before I got caught up in modeling, entertainment, & photography, my passion was writing.   I'm not sure why, in the midst of a lot of very busy weeks, I have suddenly found myself unable to sleep, with prose bouncing around in my head, demanding to be let out on "paper."   But I have learned over the years that my understanding is not required by my muse - she only insists that I follow her.  I have a plethora of thoughts beginning to form a collection: "Memoirs of a Jaded Romantic" ... it is my intention to protect both the innocent and the guilty by keeping to myself which excerpts are fiction and which are fact, who inspired them, or which I personally relate to.   That being said, they are all very real to me and deserve a voice.  I'll be releasing excerpts here in preparation for publication!  Here's a first peek at this collection with a snippet of "Karma" :

For months he had been a Chinese puzzle box to her.   She’d look at him from one angle and think she saw him.   But with a simple turn of her head, she’d see that she was wrong.   Or at least not completely right.   She’d press on a facet and his shape would shift and reveal a new compartment, sometimes a dead end, sometimes a treat.  She’d press again another day and find that side was now stubbornly locked.   He was a challenge, an entertainment, a frustration, a treasure, and a delight - sometimes all at once!

There were moments when he was everything she wanted, but they were fleeting.  They would part as lovers, bonded by whatever connection they had forged in an unguarded, magical interaction; but when next they would meet, he was once again aloof and unreadable.  Always he was just charming enough to hold her interest, just wonderful enough to draw her to him, but never engaged enough for her to feel loved.  He was an addictive torment, a devastating dream, always there yet always just beyond reach.  

But one night, in a sudden rush of horrific clarity and crushing disappointment, she realized that he was not a puzzle to be solved.  There was no secret combination of moves to open him to her, to reveal his secrets.  He was not a man, a lover, a partner, or an opportunity.   He was Karma incarnate.  He was the sum of her actions, visited back upon her.   With that realization, her anger faded, her frustration evaporated like so much mist, and she felt only a sad weariness that drove the air from her lungs, squeezed her heart without mercy, and left her utterly bereft of hope for the comfort she so longed to find in his arms.

Her time with him was a reflection.   Every man who had ever adored her from exile in the friend zone would recognize her longing to have him look AT her, instead of through her.   Every lover who had longed to revisit her arms, when she had moved on without a backwards glance, could relate to her longing for a return to the mythic moments when he was fully engaged and made love to her like he meant it.  And every lover who had realized in a moment of ecstasy that she was tolerating their touch,  rather than savoring & craving it, would most certainly empathize with her grief at the occasions when her heart swelled towards his in bliss, only to find that he was elsewhere in every way that mattered.

She would happily exchange all the random adorations of fans, all the loyalties of stable companions in her life, in exchange for his passion.   And in the end she realized that this bargain she was willing to strike was exactly why she didn’t deserve his love … why she would never be looked at that way again ... why she deserved the torture of his indifference.  She was, after all, indifferent to those who felt for her as she felt for him.  It was cosmically right that she should stay engaged in this relationship, that she should stand by him devotedly while he spared her an occasional sideways glance.  It was karmic justice that she receive just enough from him to keep her yearning for him alive … for she had always had a talent for keeping people in her thrall even when she had nothing more to give them.  


Then she mourned for him … and for her innocence … and for the love she once thought existed for her, out there, somewhere.  She missed her righteous anger at being taken for granted.  She missed her determination to take such good care of him that he couldn’t help but love her.  And she missed the potential for both of them together to be more than they were apart.  It would have been so beautiful, but she had killed their chance for true love slowly years before they even met, with the careless destruction of other hearts she had left in her well-intentioned but clueless wake.  Karma:  at last she understood … too late … too late … too late.

Karma - 050914 - Miz B

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

The ropes that bind...

There are as many types of bondage as there are flowers.  They can be as simple as a silk scarf holding a partner's wrists together to suspension bondage.  Some find the ties confining, liberating, exhilarating, scary, threatening, and dangerous.

Rain DeGrey - 050614 - SideB

I don't judge how other's feel about bondage and how they practice it, as long as no one is getting injured and everyone is openly willing.  I hope others are the same for me.

Aleska - 050614 - SideB

What about me personally?  I don't like being tied up.  It makes me feel scared and panicked.  As for binding others, it is more of a visual turn on than anything else.   Maybe that is why I am a photographer - it is all about the visuals.