The Sacred Sex Puja: In Which I Admit to Myself that Tantric Energy Is a Thing

At the end of the conference day Saturday, I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Usually I do maybe one thing on Saturdays, and I’d done about 50. I fell into bed after a very brief visit to happy hour, with an alarm set to get up and go downstairs to the Sacred Sex Puja. I didn’t really know what that was, but I figured it counted as a church checkmark, and unlike last year, it wasn’t listed as being “for couples and groups only.” (That still makes me a mad to type.)

One of the hosts was a dreamy guy I knew from the Lady of the House’s circles, one of the people I’m always surprised to see with clothes on, but we all had them. The conference room was draped in pretty silky fabrics and there was a little altar built to some nebulously-defined goddess. About twenty of us stood in a circle, taking instructions on how to rock our pelvises and breathe. My pelvis was tired from lunch with Mr. Shiny Eyes, and I felt grumpy about the extra work of special breaths, but right away I felt something uncatch beneath my right shoulder blade, felt something warm stirring.

“Did anybody experience some sensations during those breaths?” asked the host.

“Um, I felt like, some little sunbeams?”

He chuckled and asked the circle if anybody else had felt a sunbeam. (The Lady of the House later declared “Sunbeam” to be my nickname. I always was kind of a hippie chick at heart, even as I try to keep it semi-ironic…)

As the class leaders took us through the breaths (In through your nose, all the way down to your hoo-ha, flex the muscle there, keep your tongue on the roof of your mouth, stop sucking your gut and let the air in, it was a lot of things.) I got space-issues from the noises people started making and I couldn’t stop yawning, so I figured I’d stop fighting my body and just go to bed. As I look back, though everyone seemed perfectly nice, I didn’t want to share my energy with them, even with close friends. Suddenly I wanted to take care of my energy and be choosy about who I shared it with.

At the time, though, I thought I was just being grumpy and going to bed. Ms. Sweetheart was kind of blazing into the room when I got there, tired from a drunk-laden dinner and craving introvert time, so I relished the chance to just be silent together, in two beds but enjoying her near me.

I lay down and realized that in fact, the puja had worked some magic on me. I felt warmth play around in my body like my own personal sunlight. I was so cozy and happy to be with myself, like I’d had a glass of self-love and got drunk on it. It was a feeling I’d always wished for, that I knew I needed. I was full of joy to have wrapped myself in a comforter and given myself the gift of rest even though there were a million very friendly things I could’ve been doing. My body and soul felt celebrated, like the very best afterglow.

There was sadness, too. Once I let myself stop moving, the truth came out that I was missing Sweetie very badly, that I felt adrift here without her to talk about the sad things with. Everywhere people were using the word “communicate” a million times, but there were some things I couldn’t talk to anybody about. I missed the way her words would soothe me when I was being a mess and tried (IN MY HEAD ONLY) to use kind words to soothe myself. But I felt so lonely without her. I love belonging to the world, but I miss belonging to a person in that way where the bed is a sacred place and all the chores are for someone you love. I miss my family very badly, the family I was with her.

Even as I was feeling those things, I rejoiced in being so warm and self-contained. I did go up and try the party, but I almost immediately felt impatient with it—I didn’t even have the urge to take off my clothes, I wanted to keep all my stuff to myself. I spent the past few years getting more and more naked, pushing outward because I had to in order to survive, in order to reach escape velocity, but now that I don’t need the push of adrenaline to stay sane, my priorities are changing.

So I left the party as it was just starting, found Mr. Shiny Eyes who was all involved a big discussion about the meaning of love down in the hotel restaurant, kissed him on the forehead and gave him some very happy/fuzzy belated aftercare. He offered to meet me in the room later, but I was delighted to find myself wanting to be alone some more.

It’s just incredible: in a hotel full of friends, lovers, and all manner of adventure, the person I wanted to be with! Was! Me! I can’t overstate how much of an accomplishment that felt like. I’ve arrived at a new place of awesomeness, and someday soon I might not even be a project at all.

Kinky Karaoke Part One: The Triumph of Light Over Darkness

“Going out to sing means you have to adopt a staunch pro-believin’ stance. But it also means you have to suspend your rational doubts. “Don’t Stop Believin’” isn’t about actually believing in anything, just as nobody in “Livin’ on a Prayer” prays for anything in particular. The belief is in belief itself; the prayer is just for more prayers.”

–Rob Sheffield, Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love and Karaoke

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.”—Carly Rae Jepsen

Saturday was my church’s Diwali celebration (Unitarians feel entitled to any holiday we choose, that’s one of the things I like about us.) and I’d originally planned to go in early to help with the feast, but my day had been so fantastically indulgent and dawdly that I was nowhere near ready to leave at the appointed time. Sweetie and I heated up some frozen samosas and naan and had our own little Diwali feast at home, while watching Top Chef.

My suitcase was packed for Kinky Karaoke, so I hoped that the service wouldn’t be too long. When I got out of the car at church, most people were already inside and I was alone in the woodsy church parking lot with the brightest moon you’d ever see, peeking through clouds that were fluffily arranged in rows across the sky like the stuffing of a comforter. The path to the church was lined with star lanterns, and the walk in ended up to be the most transcendent part of the service.

Usually our Diwali is a joyful affair, with lots of singing and dancing and making art out of flower petals, but this year, the pastor began the service with an admonition that children should not be allowed to run around in the aisles, and it continued in that tone. In place of any religious experience, there was a lecture, complete with PowerPoint. One of the great joys of adulthood is that if you’re sitting in your church pew stifling yawns, you’re allowed to just get up and leave.

I was happy to venture back out into the clear, starry night. I got in the car and set the GPS for the out-of-the-way corner of the city where the Karaoke King and Queen live, turned up my Training Montage mix, and belted out every song along the way.

Pretty Slave has a wonderfully geeky bumper sticker on her car that reads:

And whenever I see it, I get all bubbly-over with joy. I was also excited that I’d see The Lady of the House, who was my main inspiration for showing up that night.  I walked in to many hugs and felt so excited that I’d recovered so quickly from last weekend’s triggers enough to come.

I’m so grateful that I am me, and that these are my friends. I don’t know what they were doing over at the Scary Party, but I’m pretty sure nobody was sitting in anybody’s lap dueting “Piano Man” at full force (high five, Cute Master!) or singing Cee-Lo in their underpants. (I didn’t arrive with much bitterness in my heart, but “Fuck You” really is the very best karaoke song ever.)

Pretty Slave told me I’m prettier than ribbons and Cute Master was sweet and sympathetic about the heart-hurts of last week. I was touched at his recalling that this house was where we met over the summer. “I fingered you right over there,” he said “It’s too bad they moved the couch!”

And then! Some people I didn’t know I’d been wanting to see! Remember the munch I cried at toward the end of the summer? Okay, doesn’t really narrow it down, but the night that I was soothed by the nice ladies goofing around and bringing Long Island iced teas, Mrs. Sweetface was one of the ladies doing the soothing. (Not to be confused with Ms. Sweetheart. The naming part’s not as easy as it looks.) We’d joked about me becoming Mr. Sweetface’s cuddle partner, since she’s not so into that part. I’d yet to meet him and I couldn’t believe she remembered that, but it was the first thing she said: “Your cuddle buddy’s upstairs.”

When she introduced him, he said “Oh, that was you?”

“Yep! If we’re gonna cuddle, we’d better start practicing!” I said, pulling this complete stranger into a hug. It was a hug with a little spark of energy, with potential. Clearly it was time to employ my “Talk to the cute couple until they’re doing stuff to me” strategy, which I devised the last time I was here.

But first, lots and lots of songs. Pretty Slave and I did our song, “Call Me Maybe,” of course, and then the young woman that CS and PM are dating (I don’t think she’d mind being named “Their Girl”) joined us for Nikki Minaj’s “Starships,” which is totally my top Training Montage hit. The Lady of the House seduced our hearts with some Steely Dan, and then teamed up with me on my song of the year, “I Just Can’t Get Enough.” This is how I was born to be, stripped down to my basic ridiculous histrionics and enjoying the fuck out of my friends.

Incidentally, I got a chance to talk with Their Girl and found out that she’d left that party a few weeks ago because she got jealous—of me! It was strange to be on the other side of that equation! I told her she should have joined in and we made plans to conspire against Pretty Slave and Cute Master at the earliest opportunity.

A couple of times during the evening, the Karaoke Queen took a break from her hostessing duties to bend over and get some spanks, and just like that, another sweet little bottom for me. Even though they were just playful party spanks, she got all melty in my arms afterwards and I loved the power of getting to make my friend so woozy-happy. Plus, the Lady of the House was watching and looked impressed—I like that.

Next: Eeeee! Yesyesyes I got tied to another girl!

Divorce Times Week Six: Like a Part-Time Flu (But Also Some Little Breakthroughs)

Part of every day is okay. There’s an overarching loneliness that’s hard to take, but mostly I get through it. Sometimes, though, I just run out of trying. I get a bad headache and feel trapped, feel like I’m drowning, and the only thing I can do is get a drink of water and go lay down. As long as I just go ahead and let myself do that, the drowny feeling passes.

With exercise being my main antidepressant, I panicked a little when the city pools closed, but I went back to the gym at the community center by my house. For some reason I can’t stop myself from smiling when I get on the elliptical. Sometimes I am a little bit of a chick lit novel, I think. Zumba classes started up again and the instructor has the hottest ass I’ve ever seen, so I have that to look forward to.

On Monday, the Lady of the House and I had a nude beach day and it was fantastic. We talked our hearts out and I trusted her enough to tell her things I hadn’t told anybody, not even Sweetie. With Sweetie having gotten so sick of the sound of my voice, it’s wonderful that I have at least a couple of people in my life who don’t think I talk too much. (LOTH does think I might think too much, and I’m inclined to agree.) In between swimming and adding cute couples to my mental vision board, we worked on lists of what we want in our next partners. We’re awesome wingpeople for each other since almost everything we like is opposite—besides “Must love the ocean,” of course. I’ll post my list soon even though I’ve already written (and ignored!) many such lists.

One thing I’m proud of from this week is that the other night when I was crying it out over Steampunk guy, I didn’t lean on Sweetie for help. When I was lying in bed crying and trying to write, she came in and put her hand on my back but I sent her back out. I texted Angel Face a few times but mostly I handled it on my own. I cried and wrote and then cried and wrote some more the next day, until eventually they started to feel like productive tears, tears of acceptance, the kind that give my heart a little more breathing room. It’s important that I know how to fall apart and put myself back together without having to depend on Sweetie to tell me it’s okay, to tell me I’m okay.

It’s been a hard week, but I still feel like I’m doing what I can to move myself forward. One of my main goals is to have more community ties by the time my heart is healed, so I looked up a bunch of munches and RSVPed. This week was the local Master/slave meeting and it was exactly the right thing to go to. Everybody was so sweet and caring, and we/they talked about deep, complicated feelings for two hours—that is like emo-girl Christmas! There wasn’t any one person I felt an affinity towards, but the group felt like such a good place to start—one of them, anyway.

I’d still been feeling very reticent about making friends around the scene because of shame about the (way back when) Fireguy stuff and the (still kind of hurty) Scary Party stuff, but the more I talk to people, the more I understand that I’m not alone. The picture I had of myself as an outcast or pariah was a. pretty self centered and b. incorrect. There are definitely some mean girls who don’t like me, but for the most part no one ever says “Oh, that was you?” and runs away or yells at me. It’s just a part of who I am, and someday, I won’t be ashamed of it. While I do regret the fight with Fireguy, I can’t say that I regret the Scary Party thing—I can’t see any other way that could have gone. Plus, I kind of like tops to know that I have the potential to fuck their whole shit up (at least for a night or two) if they ignore limits.

That being said, while I was talking to one of the Scary Party regulars about The Man, a wave of compassion washed over me. He’s just like me, just like everyone—kind of a brokeny person who needs love and fucks it up sometimes. Not that I’d snuggle up to him anytime soon (I’m sure he’d be TERRIFIED at the prospect) but I don’t really feel like I need to be mad at him anymore, and I certainly don’t need to be afraid. With things in perspective, he was a love like any of the others, and he always will be.

So even though the days are long and sluggish, I do feel like I’m continuing to break down walls for myself.

Monday night when I came home all pink and happy from the beach, I was joking around with Sweetie about my “must love the ocean” requirement, and she said:

“You know, I grew up in West Texas. Most of the information I had about the ocean came from Jaws.”

“Come to think of it, most of the information you had about hetero sex came from working at the Rape Crisis Center.”

“Til I met you, yeah.”

Sweetie didn’t make up my fears and barriers, but she was very good at enabling and encouraging them. My fears brought us closer together, made me feel like I had to keep depending on her. I can see that her influence, while ostensibly supportive, helped me to cultivate my fight-or-flight habits instead of learning to react in more productive ways. She loved me through so many panicky tantrums, and I’m grateful, but also that wasn’t a healthy thing.

I want to be away from that influence, so living together is an oppressive thing. Sometimes it’s tempting to just give in, give up on the idea of my own place. This apartment is heartbreaking and suffocating, it sucks out so much energy just to be here. When we first decided we were splitting, I could see my new life so clearly, but now it feels much less clear. I don’t know when’s the next time I’ll fall asleep with somebody, the next kiss, or even the next spank. Sometimes that’s really hard to take.

Last week, my phone was finally repaired. (No miraculous retrieval of cute texts, I’m afraid.) I’d been using an old kind-of-broken phone and I figured out how to sync the phones so that I could transfer all the contacts and pictures. I figured it out by just poking around, not by asking Sweetie! These are the kinds of things that bring me joy lately, the little victories that make me feel like I might just make it on my own.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part One: First, Some Backtracking

Before I get to the hot magic that happened yesterday, it’s necessary to go back to a party in a conference hotel room (earlier this year, back during the time when I wasn’t blogging) to properly introduce some characters.

Sweetie and I do a thing sometimes where we’ll get a room at a conference she isn’t interested in. That way, she gets a mini-vacation and she’s right there to come home to after I’m done social-butterflying. This particular time, she was nice enough to turn around when she was almost there to go back home and get the ropes. Because, as you know, she’s the best.

While the year before I’d been shy and barely sure I belonged, this year I spent most of the conference with a favorite co-adventurer, the Lady of the House (of Nude Year’s Eve and Cuddle Party fame) and found out which room the yearly clothing optional party was in.

When Sweetie and I got to the party, the ladies whose room it was were still setting up. People were still doing subdued, beginning-of-the-night chitchat when I stripped down and asked Sweetie to get started with the ropes. I LOVE getting ropes on in mostly-vanilla rooms, but this time it was especially wonderful because once she got the ropes on me, she started talking me through putting them on other people. It gave me a surge of bratty power even more than I normally get. I gave the hostess a nice harness and put a lovely lavender rope corset on the Lady of the House. People oohed and ahhed, probably because my friend is stunning. I put a dragonfly sleeve on the belle-of-the-ball guy with the fullest dance card, and his wife proceeded to torment his restrained self with ice cubes.

My pal Mr. Sweetheart (okay, he didn’t have that nickname until yesterday) was there giving the hostess a sound flogging. I had to wait a while for my turn, but after he’d rested his arm and while the party was still quiet enough that I could be center of attention, he told me in no uncertain terms to bend myself over the posh hotel chair in the middle of the room. It was the best feeling getting flogged while all the nice poly people chatted and looked on. One lady pointed out how my fists balled up when things got harsh. He pummeled my back, my ass, even my boobs, which I don’t usually like getting hurt. The future Mr. Sweetheart was worn out before I was, but I rejoined the party with a sunburny glow and a deep sense of relief. The next ass was in the air for him before he even got a chance to rest.

Jeez, I love a friendly flogging. I’d really like more of those in my day-to-day life.

People kept pouring into the hotel room, and sexytimes started happening in the bedroom. It was my first party where actual sex-acts were taking place, and I liked it, but Sweetie started getting claustrophobic. She also got annoyed that I’d put my special pink ropes on the dragonfly sleeve guy, so I bravely interrupted him mid-blowjob to get them back. He was glad to regain the use of his hands.

Assuring me that she was okay, Sweetie helped me unwind the ropes from the ladies and left me at the party while she went downstairs to lie down. I was all nakedly flirty with a former fireman who’d gotten my attention when he lifted my friend over his head. (This is a recurring theme, I notice…)  All drunk with rope-power and also wine, I told him that by next year, he’d better be ready to pick me up. “Start working on it,” I said, pointing at him imperiously.

Soon enough, the party got to be too crowded for me. I put my pjs on over my ropes and headed for the door.

The trouble was, the room was so crowded that I got stuck behind a lengthy multiperson hug and in front of a nice man with very shiny eyes. Mr. Shiny Eyes didn’t seem to mind that I was wedged against him. He gave me a hug which deftly turned into him grabbing the sides of my harness under my clothes. “”May I?” he asked and “Ohyes” I said. There, all smushed in the crowd, he pulled the roes toward him, back and forth, up and down. As he yanked up hard so that the crotch rope knots hit all the right targets, I let out a squeal, caught fireman guy watching, and felt very successful at being alive. I turned my head to avoid kissing Mr. Shiny Eyes, a mistake I don’t intend to repeat.

The actual festival story makes me a little nervous to write, but I am soooo going to enjoy spending some more quality paragraph time with some of these folks. Stay tuned!

Backtracking to a Very Happy Nude Year’s Eve

When I opened the blog back up, the Mayor of Kittentown requested that I write about this particular night, and since the handwritten version of it has been sitting on my desk all year (and since he’s a loyal reader and the only guy ever to let me leave a toothbrush at his house!) I thought I’d oblige him. It’s such a bright cheery story; it’ll be a break from the nonsense I’ve been writing through…

I’d been looking forward to the party since last July—a space-themed, clothing optional vegetarian potluck and dance party, in the same space where I’d attended my first official cuddle party. The Lady of the House (who has since become one of my favorite friends) was hosting and I knew it was the most auspicious way possible to ring in 2013—and boy was I ever right. Sweetie and I picked up another nudie friend of ours and hit the road. As we drove out of town, one of the local skyscrapers was flashing sparkling rainbow patterns all across it—what could be more optimistic?

I think Sweetie was just as excited at the prospect of wearing her soft pants to a party as I was about wearing nothing/ropes.

When we arrived, the hostess was superbusy and none of the other folks I know were there yet, so I settled into my usual fifteen-minutes-of-awkward-before-I-get-really-gregarious. I stripped down to my shiny red pushup bra and Snoopy Christmas underpants and did my best with small talk. Sweetie had given me a nice push bright pink robe for Christmas, so that was my thing to sit on. For the first while of the party, Sweetie and I did that unfortunate couple thing where we just talked to each other.

Before long, though, it started to feel like home. My friends Sheandhim arrived, the She half dressed in classic-Who scarf and little else, as did another couple that I knew from various poly to-dos.

While I was getting a drink of water in the appetizing/full-of-naked-people kitchen, someone asked me what my hopes were for 2013, and, somewhat embarrassingly, I said “I’m hoping to find true love.” Who says that? But really, think true love is always my goal, and I hope that I keep finding it and finding it and finding it.

The Lady of the House, who by the way was looking gorgeous in her open silk purple robe and green alien antennae, okayed our request to do ropes in the social area as opposed to the play area since Sweetie and I weren’t planning to sex it up too much. I really, really REALLY liked getting ropes on in such a relaxed vanilla environment. Rather than getting a blindfold on and going off into a dream world, I smiled a huge smile and chatted with everyone around us—guys came over and made assessing/approving gestures, people exclaimed over Sweetie’s knots, I granted requests to turn around so that people could get a better look. (You mean give you a better look at my ass? Don’t MIND if I do!) One partygoer I knew, who is always very popular at parties, asked if he could kiss me, and I politely offered him a cheek. (the face kind of cheek, btw.)

While I was getting tied there in the corner of the Lady of the House’s living room, there were naked folks on the couch watching (when they weren’t watching us) Doctor Who with the sound off. It was David Tennant, who I immediately decided was too emotionally available to be my kind of Doctor. “But it’s his dying scene!” said Sweetie. Whatever.

I was all decorated and harnessed up by the time it was time to switch the channel to watching the ball drop. A particularly well-hung friend attached a Christmas ball to his penis ring and prepared for a ball drop of his own. The Lady of the House handed out champagne, and we toasted, and I kissed my wife, hugged my naked friends, and danced my naked, roped-up ass off to “I Just Can’t Get Enough.”

And I marveled at how far this project had gotten me. One of the ladies at the party had been the facilitator at the first clothing-optional thing I went to, a workshop at the Poly Living Conference all the way back in February 2012. I was very effusive in thanking her: “I remember I was just brave enough to take off my sweater. I left on my bra and scarf. But ever since then, I’m a nudist.”

I still remember the revelation of that workshop—the way my hair felt soft against my back, the gratitude I felt toward everyone willing to share their naked bodies with me, the shock and relief of feeling comfortable in my skin.

The transformation from being a girl with her sweater off in a conference room to being the joyous, showoffy celebration that I was on New Years feels like a miracle to me. 2012 was full of triggers and missteps, and there was plenty about it I’d change, but when I first sat down to write this story, I wrote “I cannot believe that this is what my life looks like now. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

I hope to see myself in that ebullient mood again sometime soon.

Unsurprisingly, I Love the Clothing-Optional Beach, Part Two

As we set off down the path to the beach, “hugging the dunes,” as the directions had instructed us, I noticed kids heading down to their beach with their families. I was weirded out for a second.

“Wait, what, there’s kids? At the nude beach?”

Sweetie, bless her heart, said “So?”

“So…they’ll never learn to be ashamed of their bodies? They won’t end up having to learn to love themselves at 37? I hate them.”

We laughed and that was the end of being weirded out.

I found Sweetie a perfect peach-colored shell as soon as our feet hit the sand. The dunes were roped off to protect piping plover nests as well as a few other endangered species. As we got to the end of the path, We saw a sign that said “Attention: Beyond this point you may encounter nude sunbathers.” We looked around for the spot where the poly meetup was happening, but no one had set up yet. Plus we were in wifie mode, so we made our own space down closer to the water.

It had rained on the way in, we weren’t sure if the clouds would lift, but as we settled into our blanket, the sun started to peek through and the air warmed up. As we were slathering on sunscreen, I felt momentarily hesitant to take my top off, but then I figured it made no sense having to sunscreen twice. I wiggled out of my pink flowery bathing suit top and there I was. Unfortunately, it was that time of the month and I didn’t feel right about showing off a string-tail, so my bottoms would have to stay on this time. (Except, because I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, in the water…)

Sweetie is not a showoff like me, but she likes showing me off. She seemed very happy to be looking up at naked sunny me and spraying SPF 70 on my nipples every so often. As we sat reading our books, I saw some members of the poly contingency stroll past us to the water. They were beautiful, but I wasn’t ready to say hi just yet. This was a day that I felt every inch of my half-introversion. I watched them walk into the water and get such big smiles on their faces. As with all lovey-dovey people who are comfortable with themselves, I admired them and wasn’t sure I could aspire to belong with them. A guy I’d snuggled with at my first snuggle party was there, as was the Lady of the House from the Cuddle Party back in June. Later, I’d get up the courage to go over and say hello, but just seeing them was a joy for now.

Sweetie and I got into the water a little ways down the beach from them. The waves were little more than swells, but the current pulled strongly to the (I think) north. The water was cool and smoothly, clearly green. As we eased our way in, a friendly man came to encourage us: “You’ve just got to take the plunge, just dive in, after that you’ll feel fabulous.”

He was so nice but as he stood there encouraging us, I was inching away. I knew that my nipples would get really hard from the chilly water and I wasn’t quite ready for a stranger to see that up close, first thing in the morning. He was in his fifties, bald, with a big cheery grin, and his penis was cute and shrunken from the water, bigger than an outie belly button, but just as pink and charming. Oh penises, how I’ve missed you, my new friends.

Once the man swam off, I propelled myself into Sweetie’s arms. This feeling was a complete revelation, something I didn’t know I was longing for. Ever since I was a kid, I’d watch couples in the surf and hope that I could someday find a love to hold me in the waves. It was such a gift, to hold her and be held in the water and not worry that we might be disturbing someone, that we might be disturbed by some homophobic comment. It was deeply gratifying.

I slipped away from her (not too far, though the current pulled me) and pulled off my bathing suit bottoms. The cool water moving up between the lips of my vagina was difficult to describe to her—she couldn’t understand how it was any different from being in the water with a bathing suit on. It was a cool, fresh, opening up, like the other day with the thigh ropes but more refreshing. As the water filled up that little space, I felt delighted and loved, elemental, at home. I picked up my feet, put my arms out, and floated on the swells, eyes closed, boobs and hoo-ha to the sky. I felt reborn, perfect, like every real worry was just a silly memory. I felt the way that I was born to be.

Next: Happy to be around so many penises.