Posts Tagged ‘joy’
I’m getting some new headshots done today by the talented Meg Allen, with the aim of reflecting me as a little bit more west coast and a little more joyous.
All the recent headshots of me, while technically beautiful, like this one by Kristy Boyce, which is one of the most gorgeous shots of me I’ve seen, have me looking so … miserable. The agony just seeps through and it’s depressing. I can’t use it for much. “I don’t mind earnest, or stern, or serious—I play all of those things a lot, and it kind of goes along with the bad-ass-top thing I am portraying,” I wrote to Meg this morning. “But these just look … sad.”
I keep thinking about this head shot of Sherman Alexie’s from a few (10?) years back—he’s open mouth laughing and it’s gorgeous. I remember being captivated by it when it was on the back of his book Ten Little Indians, and thinking how it was so unconventional, and also had so much deep joy.
So that’s what’s on the agenda for today.
“Oh fuck -
God – yes – fucking hell -
holy shit – oh god – god -
oh fuck – oh god – oh – yes -
oh fuck -
holy shit … “
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Mr. Sexsmith.”
Lately it seems I have had a lot of these moments when I get a screenshot of what I’m doing loaded in my head, and I think, holy shit. This is my life.Thursday night, it was that gorgeous blonde, on top of me, straddling my cock, grinding against me, hands in her hair, head turned to one side mouth open eyes shut, moaning, my hands on her hips – and I nearly laughed.
“You better not be laughing with a naked lady in the room,” she gave me a look like she was going to smack me, but her eyes were playful.
I tried to explain. This is my life, I said. I think she got it.
Friday, it was out with an amazing group of new friends, at a vegan cafe with prosecco, at a stunning concert with New York’s skyline in the background, then at the local watering hole (aka dyke bar) where I actually ran into people I know – that doesn’t ever happen to me! I was out on the town with (dare I name it) my community, sitting around a picnic table with cider and beer and bourbon, talking about sex and strapons and relationships and how to invite what you want into your life and topping and bottoming and delivering and love and romance and doting upon and, of course, gender …
It is the first time in a long time, probably many years, that I have heard last call at a bar. We were all so excited to be connecting, communicating friends that we didn’t want to leave.
Lucky for us, there is a rooftop barbecue already planned for this afternoon.
I gotta say, it is really fucken great to be me right now. And I am so, so grateful.
Subject: hi, this is me emailing you
day after. my impulse is to be poetic and make reference to the willow tree while walking home, the curve of your hip, the way our bodies fit against each other in quiet moments, the way you move, smell, taste.
but then that sounds all dramatic.
so I’ll just say, I had a great night with you. there is still more I want to know. let’s do it again.