Hotel Bliss Guest Blog

An Unsent Letter

I have had two first loves. Normally, I wouldn’t say that but the quality and experience of the two were so entirely different that I don’t know if they could even be in the same category. However, I can say with authority that first loves are nearly all the same in one respect. Your first love almost never works out. I think it is because you are still learning how to deal with relationships. Or it could be that you feel far more for them than they do for you. You never fall as hard as you do for your first love. Experience teaches us how to love wisely, not blindly.

Neither of my first loves worked out. The first was with a man. I met him while we were stuck in an airport. I was fourteen and he was seventeen. 3 years later, we ended up living a 7 hour drive from one another and embarked on a relationship that lasted two years. But, like I said, you always screw up with your first love. It took me a long time to break entirely free from the wreckage.

My other first love lasted merely a few weeks. I have mentioned her in my previous blog entry: I was the last to know I was bi!. This was head over heels kind of love. I am not saying it was that kind of love that is deep and built over time, but it was crazy and boundless. They are two different kinds of love.

One day, she just disappeared. She stopped answering any e-mails. I couldn’t contact her. For months. Then she showed up on AIM one day, and we talked. She said, “Oh, I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been kind of obsessed with my new boyfriend.” I was hurt. She disappeared for a few more months. The next time I heard from her, she had moved in with him but was sad because he was more into his drugs than into her. And my heart hurt a little more. The final time I talked to her was a few months later. I asked her how she was, and she explained that her boyfriend whom she ignored me for had given her herpes. I cried. I would’ve given her the whole world, but she left me for a guy who gave her herpes. Talk about a blow to the self-esteem.

The worst thing about it was that each time I would talk to her, all those old feelings would return. If she had asked me to be with her, I would’ve done it. I wanted her to be happy and I knew I could do it. She had her own reasons for what she did, and I don’t hold it against her… but I was devastated and put off of women for quite awhile.

After we spoke for the last time, I wrote her a letter. I’ve never sent it. I’ve never let anyone read it. But I am sharing this with you because I know you will treat it with sensitivity and acceptance.

An unsent letter

For months I have pushed all thought of you out of my mind. I have succeeded only because I had plenty of admirers to distract me, yet none of them could capture my attention for long. Then you appeared out of the void, and now I cannot get my mind off of you.

I would like to say that I can think of nothing else due to the personal trials you are experiencing, but that isn’t it. What I wish to say, what my heart demands I say, is that for reasons I cannot fathom, I am still just as enamored with you as I was all those months ago.

I find myself remembering things you’ve told me about yourself when I usually have the worst memory. I find myself daydreaming of waking up to you in the morning and making love to you in a variety of ways. I know if we had continued talking, I would’ve insisted on keeping you for myself and devoting myself to you in turn. I have been scared of commitment all my life but you proved to be the exception.

I don’t mean to upset you with any of this and I’m not asking for anything either.

I just wanted to tell you that I find you endlessly beautiful and that you have awoken a passion in me that no one else could have touched upon. I don’t understand feeling so strongly for someone I barely know, but it’s there. You described the spark that some relationships have and some don’t. For me, that spark is there between you and I.

Again, I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted to reassure you that you are my inamorata, the first and only woman I have loved to these depths.

I hope that life gets better for you. I hope you find happiness because that is all I have ever wanted for you, whether I inspired it or not.

With love,
Evokateur

Lover and Beloved

Hello everyone, sorry for the long silence. I have been incredibly busy. <3 Evokateur

Lover and Beloved 

Do movies inform our opinions on how life should be, or do they reflect what we think life should be like? Maybe it’s both.

I ask, because I have been thinking about romantic movies lately. Can you remember the last one you saw? Boy wants girl, boy chases girl, boy messes up but eventually repairs things. Boy chases girl. And for many women, this is how it should be. This reflects how we are raised and what we expect out of romance. A man is supposed to ask a woman out.

Now think about the last movie you saw where a woman has an obvious interest in a man. She will do one of three things. The more common one is that she is a part of the movie from the previous paragraph and will blush and stammer demurely and wait for her Prince Charming to make a move. Then there’s the smoldering temptress who is almost alarmingly forthright and is trying to take the guy’s pants off as soon as look at him. But face it, how many women are actually like that and not the byproduct of fantasy?

Then the most insulting option of all, the girl who tries too hard. She’s the girl who offers to help him whenever he needs it and throws herself out there to show him she’s into him. This is almost always portrayed as negative, clingy, needy, and desperate. This just reinforces the idea that the girl who gets the guy is the one who sits around and waits for him.

Now, as a bi-girl I want you to think about the implications of this for your love life with other women. You are both raised with the expectation that you will be pursued.

This brings me to the important, rather poetic duality of relationships: the lover and the beloved.

Usually women expect to be the beloved. The beloved is the object of adoration, the person being chased, the subject of poetry and love letters. Some of the most beautiful art has been created for and about the beloved. The lover is the troubadour, the seeker of love, the creator of beautiful things, admirer of the beloved. They are the one that chase. I doubt you could be a poet without having some of the lover in you. As an aside, my sociology of love professor mentioned that loving someone was far more important an experience than being loved.

Now, while you can be both lover and beloved in one relationship, it is rather unlikely for two people expecting to be the beloved to start a relationship. You both are expecting the other to make the first move. The lovely woman you’re admiring from afar may be doing the same thing to you, waiting for you while you’re waiting for her.

Don’t you hate feeling so passive? In the past, I have felt almost like men are cheated because the female body has so many wonderful things to adore about it. Most men will not let you explore and enjoy the majority of their body. So, women become the receivers, the beloved, in sex as well as in relationships in general. When two women get together they have to overcome this expectation and routine that their partner will do most of the work.

And yet I say a resounding no to this vision of the way it is supposed to be. I am not just going to sit there and wait. There is nothing wrong with being pursued and being loved. But loving and pursuing the object of your desire in an active, not passive, way… It has its place and its moments in your life.

Wanting and pursuing someone does not make you desperate. It does not make you sad. You are richly sensual with powerful desires. You are an Amazon, hunting out your quarry. You are a troubadour, for some of the troubadours were women disguised as men, searching always for your lady love.

Sometimes it’s not enough to be beautiful and be loved; sometimes you have to worship the beauty in others.

So… go be a tiger and chase down that lovely deer.

“The Girl”

Before the story, some background information:

I was raised in a very strict fundamental Christian family, and was home schooled all of my “growing up” years. All things not strictly following the laws laid down by our church or the Bible were to be dealt with immediately and harshly. Obviously, this included bisexuality. Guess I’m outta luck!

Her name was Emilie, and I was in love. She was “The Girl” – the one that made me realize my blessing and my curse, the one that brought everything into focus just for a little while. I adored her. We had met through a mutual friend at church, and there was instantly a connection. There was so much to like! She was outrageous, blasphemous, daring – everything I wasn’t allowed to be.

I was 13 at the time, and was just becoming aware of my sexuality. As a young girl, I had no real idea what the difference was between a boy and a girl, and to be honest, I didn’t care. Isn’t that the way everybody is as a little kid? By this time, I think part of me knew I liked girls more than boys, but I was trying so hard to be the good girl, the one that my mom could be proud of (i.e. …not bisexual!), that I stifled my feelings for girls and instead went crazy for boys- but that story is for another time. Back to Emilie.

We instantly bonded and became fast friends over a single summer. We shared everything – all our girl secrets, our clothes, our lives, really. We even pretended like we were lesbians (to make the guys jealous, was our logic). Eventually, I became comfortable enough with her to share the one secret I’d kept.

I was going to spend the night at her house that evening, and was ready – even excited - to tell her. That evening was a tumultuous affair… I eventually did tell her, and she told me she was too. What terrific things I was told that night. We were made for each other; this was right, she loved me so much and had been dying to tell me. I was delighted! I had found a true confidant, and perhaps something more (in my innocence, I really wasn’t sure what more there could be, but I was sure there was something). We didn’t do anything sexually that night; we just enjoyed one another’s company and I fell even more in love. There was so much to explore with her, I couldn’t get over the depths of her personality.

About a week after I told her, we still hadn’t talked about it – which seemed a little odd. She had invited me up to her house again that weekend, and I was excited for “us time.” When I got there, she seemed so excited to see me. She even greeted me with a kiss on the lips, which was a first. We talked, watched movies, gossiped; it was just like always. The next morning, I said goodbye, still without a word about our supposed similarities in the sexual orientation department.

A few days later, she called me to tell me she wouldn’t be my friend anymore – a childish thing to do, in hindsight, but it broke my heart. She told me she didn’t really love me. She was scared of what I could make her become. I thought she was kidding. I could understand it if she’d just realized she wasn’t bi and didn’t want anything more than friendship to come of our relationship, I could even understand if she was nervous and wanted time to think. But she didn’t love me? We couldn’t be friends?

From then on, we saw each other a few times in passing – I by myself, the loner, she her true, bubbly and vivacious self, always surrounded by a half dozen or so adoring fans. On the occasions we saw each other, she would either go out of her way to avoid me or come right up to be and be so rude. It was ironic; the traits I loved most about her, her daring, her zest for everything, even her cruelty, were the things that hurt me so deeply after our short friendship ended.

Did I get over her? Yes. Have I moved on? Yes. Does it still hurt? Most certainly yes. For a long time after her, I never told anyone else my secret. I reverted back to pretending it didn’t exist – pretending I was normal. Eventually, I felt safe enough to tell again…but that story is for another time as well, maybe soon.

In all honesty, it wasn’t until the amazingly brilliant and talented Bliss Warrior befriended me on myspace that I was able to face my personal fears about bisexuality and embrace the beautiful being that I truly am.

I am still terrified of “straight” girls, though. I am constantly worrying about their every thought – do they really like me? Friends? More? Love? Nope, guess not.

To this day, I find it nearly impossible to hit on a girl; even in a bi and gay friendly atmosphere, I am nervous that I am going to find someone who gets me, only to realize they don’t, they were just pretending. Since Bliss Warrior, all that has begun to change. Every day is a new step towards what I desire to be, and every step is an exciting new adventure. Who will I meet this day? If I allow myself to be swept away, where will it take me? Now that Hotel Bliss is here, I know I have the community to fall back on, the support system I needed before I would be willing to jump. Thank you to all the wonderful girls on this site – may it bring all of you courage to take whatever steps you’ve been afraid of most. No matter what, know that we all are here, behind you, pulling you up when you fall, embracing you when you need love, sharing our hearts with you as you share yours with us.

That’s all for now…check back later for the next chapter in the life of me: The Lesbians Attack! 

Until then, my love to all of you!

Sybaritic

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO - CHAPTER TWO

Dearest Readers, This is chapter two in our guest blogger, V.’s, serialized blog about her and her man, and the women he introduced her to. If you missed Chapter One, CLICK HERE. Enjoy!
XOXXOXOXO BLISS WARRIOR

As I traveled beneath the London streets towards Gemma’s dinner invitation, the cautionary ‘Mind the Gap’ announcement at each Tube stop suddenly resonated in a new profound way. A commonplace subway platform safety warning took on a whole new dimension. And then when considering those three words as it might apply to the body of a female, well my mind really began to wander. I was fidgeting and acutely aware of the upholstered subway seat against the backs of my thighs.

Because of the extreme expense of UK cell phone plans, texting is very big. Meaning I hadn’t actually heard Gemma’s voice since we had said our goodbyes four days prior. I only had the crafted phrasing of a few text messages guiding me into this unaccompanied encounter. Plus, most Brits even cloaked in an aura of general formality will after the briefest of connections sign off using an ‘x’ so at times it can be difficult to decipherer an intention.

At this point I knew by now what Louis’s ‘x’s’ meant by their number and if they appeared in lower or upper case. Even a mix of lower and upper case revealed a specific meaning. Louis was still away.

Was I heading towards a date or being blessed with a new friend, or both? Again, useless analyzing. I was meeting Gemma at the home of her friend where she stayed when in town- a place where I would eventually live, but that’s another story. His name and work were familiar to me but I had yet to meet him. Perhaps he would be home, perhaps not. In the end did it really matter? These thoughts, thoughts, more thoughts circling each other…

The subway service in London ends at midnight.

Finally I reached her stop and made my way out of the station and onto the street. My heart pounded as I found the house. I took a deep breath and rang the bell. There she was, smiles, hugs, bright eyes, and her spicy perfume. Awkwardness and a strange familiarity surrounded us as she led me into the kitchen. We exchanged benign pleasantries as she poured two glasses of ruby red wine. She reminded me of a pixie- tiny, bright, intense. After a tour of her friend’s home (he was out) we made our way to into a beautiful garden. Blooms, trees, and couple of statues looked on as we sat ourselves down on a sun bleached whicker bench. The air was soft and slightly cool.

Our conversation turned to common-ground, Louis. Gemma wanted to know our love story, so out it poured. She confided that for the first time in their five year long professional relationship, I was cause for him to reveal his innermost personal feelings. Being such a private man, she was stunned when Louis opened up to her. Apparently his heart and body hadn’t been hit so hard (no pun) in many a year provoking an immediate need to talk to someone. I blushed. Blushing is not something I tend to do but while unlocking such sexual freedom within me, his place in my heart apparently could now inspire deep crimson to creep into my cheeks.

Our conversation became one of shared secrets. Our loves, our pain, our sexual pasts and present as well as the challenge of current romantic entanglements. With her own revelations she was placing her trust in my hands so I would know with absolute certainty that I could trust her and that in that knowledge nothing I chose to reveal would cross her lips to another soul unless I so desired.

I have steadfastly come to believe that anything made for the cinema or stage only wishes it could come close to the true life stories which, if we allow, unfold before us everyday. The more we opened ourselves, the closer our bodies naturally moved towards each other. Because our conversation flowed so freely I hadn’t even noticed this until she got up to get more wine and the coolness of the air touched the warm place where her thigh had been resting against mine.

With full glasses in hand, she returned to the garden and the smooth skin of her leg rejoined mine. The talking continued as if we couldn’t say it all fast enough to one another and then in an unconscious move I felt her fingers on my neck as she rotated the clasp of my necklace back to its rightful place. With the light touch, tingles erupted throughout my body. Here’s the thing, a touch to any part of my back or neck will send my cognitive mind directly to a ‘time out’ and I sink into the warmth of sensation.

The sky was still light but stars had begun to glow through the waning daylight. Darkness was almost ready to eclipse the blue and I turned my head to look directly into her eyes. A moment passed and then another, utter stillness. I wasn’t even aware that her hand had slipped under my shirt until my nipple hardened to meet the tip of her finger. Her lips found mine while her finger continued to just barely touch my right nipple. The slowness of our kiss allowed me to taste the wine on her tongue and step inside her energy, to truly feel her, Gemma, her essence for the first time.

My hand had slightly parted her legs and so, so gently I took my fingers all the way up her thigh. Then we heard the front door close- Marcus was making his way out to greet us…

XOXO
V
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IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BLOG, YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY READING THESE TRUE TALES WRITTEN BY OUR FABULOUS GUEST BLOGGERS:
FROM JUNGLE JANE:
A GIRL’S FIRST VIBRATOR: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
GETTING HER NUMBER: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
FROM DAPHNE:
PLAYING WITH GENDER: DAPHNE STRAPS IT ON FOR HER MAN
TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN: A BI-GIRL SHARES HER FIRST S&M EXPERIENCE
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HOTEL BLISS TESTERS: ARE YOU NOT ABLE TO LOG ON? SOME GIRLS ARE HAVING TROUBLE LOGGING BACK INTO HOTEL BLISS. IF THIS IS HAPPENING TO YOU, PLEASE E-MAIL ME AT BLISS@BLISSWARRIOR.COM. ALSO, IF YOU GO TO THE SITE ONLY TO FIND A WHITE, BLANK PAGE, THAT MEANS CHRISTIAN IS FIXING THE SITE AND IT SHOULD BE BACK UP WITHIN 15 MINUTES. XOXOXOXOXOXOXO BLISS
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AND THEN THERE WERE TWO - CHAPTER ONE

Dearest Readers -
Please welcome our newest guest blogger from New York City, Violet. V. is a Ph.D. candidate, performer, writer and all-around fabulous bi-girl. In a serialized blog, V. will share the true and powerful tale of her relationship with her man and the female lover she met through him. Every other week, V. will return with a new installment of this passionate, true tale.
XOXOXOXOXOXO - BLISS WARRIOR

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO

There is a moment, we all have them, just a moment maybe only long enough to breath in and out and blink a couple of times but you know something compelling and immediate has passed, a contract, a promise has been made with another person. Sometimes you aren’t even sure what it is you have signed on for but are acutely aware a silent pact has been made. A promise which you know somewhere in your heart you will honor. In my opinion, desire works in just this way and in my experience it always wins; it stems from an ethereal inarticulate place and waits to be manifested.

I was sitting with my man, my love, at a Moroccan restaurant in London. Months before, our silent contract began. I was conducting an interview in his office and without warning, in a split second, the air shifted and his gaze suddenly became intently steady and my once direct look dissolved into a series of sideways glances. After I concluded the interview and the tape recorder had been turned off we shared a passionate kiss and with spinning heads we handed each other our hearts. Anyhow, here we were many months later, and he was quietly eating some hummus. As he ate, his fingertips occasionally found the inside of my left thigh and he listened as I became immersed in a passionate discussion with the vivid but slightly nervous creature to his left. She and I were nonstop with words, laughter, and the occasional gentle verbal poking at this man whom we both knew from entirely different vantage points. He was my lover and she was his colleague, well employee to be more precise.

After our dinner plates had been cleared from the table, there was that moment again. As the moment passed between she and I, the tone in our voices changed. I unwittingly began to bite my lower lip and look at her from under my now slightly-lowered lids. While not being remotely predatory, I could feel her eyes taking in my collarbone, hands, neck, and I did nothing to dissuade or disconnect the silent exchange. Just as quickly as it arrived, the moment vanished, and the tempo of the conversation picked itself up and we ordered a round of coffee.

As she had a two-hour drive home, our goodbyes were rushed and hasty but with the promise of connecting again when she was back in the city. I took that extra second to kiss each cheek allowing the spicy scent of her perfume and the lovely smell of her freshly shampooed hair to mingle and flood my senses. She hopped in her car and was gone. Louis wrapped his arm around my waist and the light summer night guided us back to his flat.

I am no withering flower nor am I an innocent, far from it, but my heart still races when faced with these moments. I never expect them and suddenly I am nervous. A person can never fully know where this unspoken promise will lead until the journey has already begun and had it begun or had I imagined it? These instances thoroughly disrupt my sense of order and control. Attempts at effective or productive analyzing are utterly futile. I am forced to surrender into a familiar territory, but a territory made disarmingly new again by an unfamiliar person. Initial surrender has never been my strong point.

The next morning, I opened my eyes for a second time to find Louis but instead of feeling him moving inside me, gently fucking me out of slumber as he had earlier, he was now packing for a week away on business. The soft white cotton of the sheets caressed my bare skin and he came over to deliver one last deep kiss before leaving for the airport. He looked into my eyes, his finger lovingly traced my tummy and my breasts as he lightly kissed each of my eyelids.

“I love you, every cell of me will miss you, and I will call you when I land.” He started for the door, but then stopped and turned. “Oh, and while you were sleeping, upon request, I sent Gemma your mobile number.” I blinked at him. He regarded me for a moment and finished with, ‘”I only ask that you tell me if anything happens while I am away.”

In all honesty and genuine seriousness I asked him what he meant. My answer came as a sideways glance as he headed out the door.

As the front door closed behind him, I looked at my phone and there she was…

XOXO
V.

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IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BLOG, YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY READING THESE TRUE TALES WRITTEN BY OUR FABULOUS GUEST BLOGGERS:
FROM JUNGLE JANE:
A GIRL’S FIRST VIBRATOR: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
GETTING HER NUMBER: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
FROM DAPHNE:
TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN: A BI-GIRL SHARES HER FIRST S&M EXPERIENCE
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BRUNCH WITH BLISS THIS SATURDAY IN WEST HOLLYWOOD!
WE HAVE OVER 15 BI-GIRLS COMING OUT TO BRUNCH THIS WEEKEND.
SOME ARE BRINGING PARTNERS, SOME ARE COMING WITH FRIENDS.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN US?
E-MAIL CAMMIE ON MY TOP FRIENDS ON MYSPACE.COM/THEBLISSWARRIOR OR E-MAIL ME AT BLISS@BLISSWARRIOR.COM FOR THE TIME AND LOCATION.
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