Death is Imminent–Live like you’re dying, ever mindful that each moment could be your last. Best for people who thrive on intensity. Yogis with Type A Personalities could thrive in this self imposed pressure cooker, bellowing the word AWARENESS to their psyches.
Death is Eventual, I guess. Live like you have all the time. Do things as you always have. Enjoy your relaxed pace. You won’t get to everything anyway, so why fret? If you must deal with the business of planning for your death, do so as if that outcome is about someone else, or only hypothetical and not immutably predetermined for you personally.
Now that I think if it, you might be right about your end. We are all so sure that death and taxes are guarantees. I’ve dealt with the latter but perhaps the former is a presumption not a promise. I never thought of this possibility before and I’ve never heard it. I might have come up with my first original idea, that my own possible death has not been proven! But I digress…
Death–imminent or eventual? Your philosophy of choice is your prerogative.
When you take death into account there are two style choices for ones approach to life. Impending or Eventual
I used to believe I was a teensy bit psychic. I thought God gave me ideas by putting information in my head. Now I don’t think God is speaking with me as much as I believe my subconscious clarifies issues for my waking mind. I used to think God, or Whoever, would give me a helpfully prepatory hint before tragedy strikes. Then my friend died. He was the man I loved most, who sometimes loved me and who was good to me one third of the time. I found his lifeless body in my kitchen when I woke three years ago. I was accustomed to my friend being in another room with his porn, so I thought nothing of it when he wasn’t in bed beside me. In the twenty seconds it took to find him, I had no clue a corpse awaited. None. I am so glad. Because I was purely happy for the last time during those seconds. I knew he was there with me and things were good between us the night before.
I enjoyed the simple wisdom of a child who firmly grasps what’s most important. Like the song says, I was happy and I knew it. I felt like clapping my hands. A psychic gift for sending impending doom would have ruined my final wonderful moment, and foresight would not have delivered useful preparation.
Caroleena, explaining why ignorance can be bliss one to appreciate.
For anyone who feels shock over a sudden death, Kobe Bryant’s death or anyone’s, be grateful for the shock. You were spared the detestable ruinous knowledge that the inevitable will soon be present. You were given extra time for happiness. Similarly, be grateful for the first three seconds when you first wake and you don’t yet remember the horror of the present. It’s not much, I know. Sometimes the glass isn’t half empty but almost entirely dry and you have to make due with a sip. Take what you can get.
How does a straight guy have a homosexual encounter? Certain things must be said and I have listed what I have heard when I ask people about their adventures. Guys often told me they didn’t realize “she” was really a “he.” It was important for a lot of guys to let me know that they never intended to go with a dude, it just happened. By accident. Hmmm….I’m skeptical of that claim that when they initiated the hustle it was all about “punani” or flower, which is colloquial for female genitalia. (Am I a nerd or what?) Well, sometimes people have to tell themselves something to get them through life and below I have a comprehensive list of the justifications I have heard. By the way, it is not my contention that justification is necessary. Consenting adults should be able to do what they want without guilt, but that is not our life.
Is it ever really a surprise that she is really a he? I think I can always tell, but if I have been fooled obviously I don’t know it. If I had been a guy maybe I would find myself in a room, surprised by what I reached down and found on the other person. And what would I have done in that situation? Here is what people have said who found themselves in situations where sex was on the agenda but society put doubts in people’s minds that had to be overcome by the reasons put forth by the working girl or by the client himself (to himself, inside his mind)
It’s just this one time
It’s the first time
It’ll be the last time
No one knows we are together
No one will ever know about this
You’ll never do it again
You’ve got to try it just once
Let’s see where this goes
I want to know for sure I am not gay so I’ll see if I can do it
As long as porn is on that shows women while we do this, it’s cool
This is experimenting, nothing serious.
There’s no such thing as sexual orientation. People are attracted to people.
You want me or you want fish?
I am only young, nothing I do can be taken seriously
This doesn’t count
I have a girlfriend for real
You’re not a man until you’ve been in a man
As long as you’ve never been in a man you’re not gay
If you close your eyes, touching is just friction and anybody could be doing it to you, male or female
Every straight guy I’ve asked says yes as long as it’s a secret. Every straight guy, every time. It’s not just you.
I can keep a secret.
I’m already keeping lots and lots of secrets and you don’t know about those so you can trust me to keep your secret.
I can’t say anything because no guy will ever trust me or go with me in secret again, so you know I won’t tell
The d**k is the only part of the guy that I like, nothing else, so I am not gay. There’s no emotion, no attraction.
If we don’t cross swords or touch swords, it doesn’t count.
If he is dressed like a girl it’s the same thing as being with a girl.
The female hormones keep him from getting hard when I s**k so it’s like being with a woman.
I have relationships with women and sex with men, there’s no emotion.
If he does me, and I don’t do him, it’s not the same as a homosexual encounter
Hookers aren’t really people, it’s just dealing with a piece of flesh, not a person so it can’t effect my identity.
Sex is not an identity it is an activity.
I’m trisexual. I will try anything once.
I don’t gossip like a b***h.
Gay for pay or gay for the stay isn’t truly gay.
Yes, I have heard each of these statements and I did not invent any of them myself.
What do you do when your dream come true introduces an unexpected nightmare. Why would getting gender reassignment surgery work against an anatomical male who wants to be a female? Because “straight” men will try anything once and guess what they all want to try–just once, mind you.
The true and secret sex dream of your average horny dude, like you
A Man Wants a lady in the street and a freak in the sheets. And that freak is a beautiful woman from the waist up and a well endowed guy from the waist down. That guy’s anatomy responds to what the man has always had women do to him. In a way, though a man will not say it like this, a man wants to act like a woman just once, to use his mouth the way he wants women to use their mouths–not to talk. When gender is reassigned and the penis is gone, the dream is gone. “Lose Money,” as they’d say in Hawaii.
The true and secret sex dream of your average horny dude, like you
A Man Wants a lady in the street and a freak in the sheets. And that freak is a beautiful woman from the waist up and a well endowed guy from the waist down. That guy’s anatomy responds to what the man has always had women do to him. In a way, though a man will not say it like this, a man wants to act like a woman just once, to use his mouth the way he wants women to use their mouths–not to talk. When gender is reassigned and the penis is gone, the dream is gone. “Lose Money,” as they’d say in Hawaii.
I think my body belongs to me, but if I am wearing something revealing, to men the offer is s foregone conclusion and they are simply answering the question they believe they heard–either yes or no. “If,” is not a thought.
My Body Is Not An Apology–A black woman writes about having large breasts
I read an excerpt of this book. It was well written, the feelings were genuine, although I disagreed with the conclusions. The author was told to cover up by well meaning teachers since she was a pre-teen until well into adult hood because her breasts were a distraction to the males. The author thought people objected to her body because of racism. She said she was assumed to be fast and loose because she was a black woman with large breasts. She felt ashamed of her body, so different from smaller white women. I think people felt free to voice their negative comments more freely to a black woman, perhaps, although I am obviously speculating. But I think the issue is that males are distracted by any breasts, on any woman, no matter what race, age–in fact, you name the variable and I am certain males can overlook anything to focus on those breasts. Women who look like what men want, sexually, are automatically sexualized, and again, I don’t think that is racial. But disrespect, oh yeah, people feel more free to say whatever they want to us. Can I prove this? No. But I believe the disrespect is far more free flowing toward women who look like me.
The Story of the Large Breasted Woman is not my story but shame is
When I say women who look like me, I am talking about brown skinned women. I was never a large breasted woman until quite recently, and they are not the kind of large the author of the book is writing about. I was fully grown, and knew how I wanted to present myself and when I had the surgery I simply stepped into the role I was well prepared for by my work as a prostitute, yes, but also by my membership in a culture that is obsessed with breasts while insisting nipples always be covered and most of the breast draped, when women are in public. Maybe it is a forbidden fruit thing. When I was young, but before I understood that my breasts weren’t getting any better, I became a cross-country runner. I was good, I was never going to be great. I worked hard, and I had the body that showed it. If you watched the women’s soccer team playing in world cup this past year, you saw women who looked similar to me. In the upcoming Olympics, when you see the gymnasts, those are the athletes I most resembled because they are also my height as well as build. I was proud of myself, but other people had a lot to say that was quite negative:
Lesbo
She-Male
He-She
Trannie
Lady Boy
Pre-Op
Mannish
There will come a day when being mistaken for transgender will not be an insult. That day, is not today.
Caroleena, speaking of the intentions of people who, in her pre–boob job days, commented on her fit body and flat chest. In January 2020, she has a different look.
There was a time when being considered gay was automatically an invitation to fight–gay, homosexual, those were “fighting words,” and people always meant to offend when they hurled these epithets. Today, “gay” and “homosexual” are not necessarily insults, but the same progress has not been made with the word “transgender” and pejorative terms for tg. People always meant to hurt me. The weird thing is that although I loved being considered attractive, I was not willing to give up my workouts, not even when I was using. I would rather be muscular than overweight and I actually liked how I looked. I didn’t feel at all good about the name calling but it didn’t change me.
Long story short, I met a man who supported me and my concern for a feral kitten I adopted. He ended up giving me thousands of dollars for first rate cat care, and other things, and I used the money for a breast augmentation. My fit butt looked flat compared to my new front. I allowed some weight gain, and now have the standard hour glass figure. Now, the majority of people admire my body, but a couple have called me fat. Now the thought of being seen as fat, shames me.
Caroleena, marvelling at her inability to be totally at peace with her appearance due to what other people say.
I want to be happy with my body and with my face and there will always be people to tell me, to tell everyone that someone finds something objectionable in a person’s appearance. I want to say “oh well” and sometimes I can say just that. But mostly, I enjoy the compliments, when and if they come. I want to be a wise and enlightening blogger but all I have to offer you is me.
I loved dope to an extent that surprised me. My strongest love was really idolatry, worshipping a thing more than a human to the point it became my God, God with a lower case “g.”
When a person is deprived of everything you know, love, like, even dislike, what’s most mportant becomes obvious because obsessive thoughts about priorities automatically invade your waking and sleeping hours. True story. When I went to jail, do you know what I desperately missed? If course everyone longs for food and dreams of food. Other than food, I was amazed to find could not think of anyone. I missed the drug, my drug. I dreamed of it, frustrating dreams of food and dope I could never get my hands on before I woke. I fantasized about dope, tried unsuccessfully to rid myself if the unrequited desire, but it owned my mind in spite of my inability to get anything on the inside. I never even thought to make a call. There was no one I cared about. The drug doesn’t answer the phone📳
The only time I’ve heard this expression was when I overheard men laughing amongst themselves about getting rough with a woman. Remember the post I wrote about Matt, my short, overweight male associate who told me how guys talk about sex amongst themselves. According to Matt, he had told a friend of his that he “gave it to her real good.” He was probably unaware of the smirk on his face as he made quick downward punching motions with his clenched fist. The violent gesture represented how he used his member during his preferred type of intercourse. Don’t you just love how I cleaned that up for you, Valued Readers? I’m sure he edited his words for me. He probably said “I f****d her good and hard. Same simulated punches, same evil smirk.
Misogynistic Guys Like Matt Laugh When They Misunderstand Submission as Defeat Instead of Strategy
When guys like this say you can’t rape the willing they mean, submit, “when rape is inevitable lay back and enjoy it.” The shock of the truth is, when a we on a n says “yes” a rapist cannot perform. They can’t get aroused. A rapist can’t rape the willing, but not bc she has to give up her power, but bc she outwits him by depriving him of the reward he seeks.
Taking Viagra is gambling your health. Many guys will say “it’s worth it.” That’s fine. I want you to now what you’re doing before you do it.
Do you know that Viagra is first and foremost a heart medication? Guys started telling their doctors about this noteworthy side effect the happened to them about an hour after taking the medication. Word got around that taking Viagra lead to erections and the rest is history.
Is this sexy picture too random for this post? Maybe a pic that’s not just sexy and more on topic is better..?
Here’s a bit more information. Whenever you’re Viagra is prescribed for erectile dysfunction, or impotence, this is an “off-label” use. Off label prescriptions are drugs that are being used in ways that were never intended and never researched by developers but doctors think the medication has a secondary function that’s desirable.
Viagra was developed to be a serious heart medication. It is meant to effect your heart. When you take Viagra for sex you are taking a chance.
Caroleena, the expert escort, advocating for freedom of INFORMED choice.
Experiments with this blog and its features to see what’s popular
If you want a history of bare breasts and beauty entries and the cleavage diaries then you can search in the above way to access those pictures. Or you can enter expertescort2018.com and scroll down the page where you will see at the bottom “Follow Me on Twitter.” You will also find a Search Box for this site and you can put in terms such as “images” or “pictures” or “Bare Breasts and Beauty.” Let me know how these efforts work.
My Pictures are also on Pinterest.com under the name ExpertEscort.
Here is an example of a picture my excellent volunteer photographer took
Here are some tips if you want to know how to navigate a secret world that has no instruction booklet. Wait, I’m wrong, there is an instruction booklet because help each other get laid. I will deal with this issue in the next post,
Guys, you paid the woman money for her time and you want all the time you have got coming to you. I am going to tell you one way providers spend time that some of you might enjoy, but some of you might find to be a waste of time. With the information below you will know better what is happening during your session so you can decide how you want to proceed.
I have written that women do not become sex workers for the sex. She might get lucky and meet good people to enjoy, but for the most part, providers try to avoid sex. Specifically, many providers do not want to be touched. Way too intrusive. Providing a sensual shower is a great tactic that’s a potential win-win even though it may be a…
The mother changed her mind. The plaintiff with the anonymous name “Jane Roe” later came out and identified herself as the woman who had had a baby against her will, who she adopted out, but continued her fight for abortion Rights a the way to the Supreme Court. Before she died she told the world she had embraced Christianity and was sorry for pursuing the case that changed America. How do I know?
When I was looking for my birth mother I researched the date of Roe v Wade bc I wanted a clue to indicate if my birth mother had had me only bc abortion was unavailable. I discovered the unpredictable–abortion had been an option but she still attempted a diy procedure she called “the coat hanger thing.”
Caroleena, the product of a botched abortion
Can you imagine the level of regret she had? I’m reminded of another life ending decision making process. The people who worked on the atomic bomb thought they were developing a war ending weapon. The plan had been to use it to stop Hitler. Then Germany surrendered and it was used on Japan. Robert Oppenheimer was one of the leading scientists on the project. Albert Einstein’s work had been used to develop the bomb. Both of them deeply regretted their roles, the Japanese lives lost, the subsequent threat to the world. They had thought they were doing something good for humanity but were bitterly disappointed. Even if it wasn’t entirely up to them how the science was applied, without their continuous efforts those deaths wouldn’t have occurred–not that way.
There are people who will always believe that Jane Roe, Robert Oppenheimer, Albert Einstein all fought the good fight. Those lives, unborn and born were already doomed–the unborn were unwanted and Japan was our enemy. It would not end well for those on the wrong side, but we can make sure there’s no unnecessary suffering. Proper medical procedures kept women safe. When the bombs were dropped on Japan, no American lives were and Ja mmefiately surrendered instead of fighting to the last man. No doubt that’s true. But my point is we need to know how the major players felt about themselves in the aftermath of their life ending choices. Consequences are eternally real, and the situation may end but the feelings about difficult choices never do.
Make an informedchoice. The ramifications of your decision may be unimaginably far reaching and you will live with what you did– forever. Even the praise of others won’t take away how you feel about yourself. Can you live inside your head in the aftermath?
Caroleena, advocating for transparency in the abortion discussion.
I need to believe others think I’m pretty. That is not a complimentary thing to say about one’s self, but it is true. To be brutally honest, I am going to tell you even more about my relationship with the perceptions of my beauty. I got into prostitution to make quick money for drugs. One of the reasons I stayed in the game was the rush I got from being chosen. I lived the appreciative expression of wonder on a man’s face after I disrobed. I’m a bit obsessive compulsive. I started counting how many times a day someone new called me pretty. If I didn’t hear it once, I was upset, checking my reflection in the mirror from various angles and in various stages of undress. Comfort, fleeting though it was, was only found in compliments from others.
Aging has been hard on this desperately vain person. Acne came into my life at the age if 11 much to the delight if the people who were sorry they’d adopted me. “She used to be cute.” I often heard. My nickname? “Spotty face leopard.” I discovered good quality make up. Cover up changed my life. From “what happened to your face?” to “You’re so pretty!” The difference was, is, that significant. Make up is a necessity not a luxury.
Acne didn’t end when I was a teenager. If I needed even more evidence that God plays favorites and I’m not one of them, I had this proof in the form of a product with a dual purpose–acne and wrinkle cream. Of course I purchased it.
I started making more money as a working girl when I met people who had escort services or some other existing framework that I could add my picture to, my picture seen through a filter, a shot taken at a distance. Very pretty. I saved enough to get my breasts enlarged. My athletic body that caused so many men to question my birth gender, that body was replaced with a drastically different hourglass figure. The numerous comforting compliments I recorded in my journals were negated by a couple of comments.
You’re way bigger than you were. You’re getting bigger and bigger.
A critic, November 2019
Treadmill. Think treadmill. You’re not getting any taller, just wider.
A different critic, December 2019
These statements made my vow to practice intermittent fasting in 2020 easy to keep. I have no history of obesity, yo-yo dieting, any of the common problems of Americans. “I may be a drug addict but all of you detractors are fat,” I used to think, satisfied that everyone else had worse issues, and I needed to feel superior to others in some way.
Funny thing, I used to think I was too smart to get caught up in superiority complexes, like other people. Did you catch the irony? The truth is I am still neurotic and insecure and one of the things I clung to as a source of self worth is slipping away, as aging takes its toll. On me. Even me. I worry that when I lose my looks I’ll have nothing left. And then–what will I do?
Bare breasts and beauty? I hope so. I should be a bigger person, a more intelligent person. I am not.
Nipples on women are not bad, not unmentionable, not unfit to be seen. Other parts of the world think we are unbelievably prudish. Then again, we could insist on swaddling women in layers of veils and curtains. I love my country. I just want to move us to nipple acceptance.
I saw a woman with a bikini on, and the seat was baggy. Her butt did not fill out the bikini bottom. The material just hung there. From what I know about my ethnicity I am white and black and some other stuff. The result is a butt that shows the races are meant to mingle, peacefully, because look–
A mixed race butt would definitely fill out a bikini bottom with no spillage.
Someone expressed interest in me. Maybe, I thought. But then he said it was obvious that I was lonely. I felt like he knew I was a loser and was rubbing it in. I couldn’t bear to see him again. It may be true, but don’t say it and make it real.
Doing the Same unwise thing, getting the same expected bad results. Another form of insanity afflicting those who deal with addicts. We had torrential rain and wind in Honolulu this January 2020. I remembered what it was like to be homeless in the rain and I invited an associate ( not a friend) to spend the night. He does not find me at all attractive. No working girl wants a man in her space who hounds her for sex. I knew what would happen. He would resent having to look to me for help. He would reason that everything I had was ill gotten and he would not hesitate to steal from me, with a touch of verbal abuse. He’d rifled through and left disorganized. I’d have to turn meaner than him and kick him out.
Remember the negatives of film from cameras? Before digital? You only had so many pictures on roll of film. Once the roll was developed you’d get the negatives and the pictures. Negatives were miniatures of each of your pics–they looked like the pic above. As long as you had the negatives you could exactly reproduce the picture as many times as you wanted. Helping an addict is like living your life by reproducing the negatives of film. Doing the same thing, expecting and receiving the same bad results. You’re very unhappy. Without making any changes you do it again, and you receive the expected bad results. You do it again and–you get the point.
Insanity isn’t just doing the same thing and expecting different results, as Albert Einstein defined insanity. I favor a more inclusive definition of insanity. Insanity is doing the same thing, expecting different results, and insanity is doing the same thing, expecting and getting the same unhappy results. Then, without making any changes, you feel compelled to do it again. And again. Why? I don’t know?
Depressed? Snap Out Of It! Now why didn’t I think of that? The Cure for Depression, At Last!
I have read a lot of posts on social media that advise depressed people to snap out of it with happy thoughts I totally identified with the contemptuous tone the writers had for troubled people. I had felt the same way about those whiners who had nothing to be upset about. Here I was all alone, after the people who adopted me grew quite vocal about how “people are getting sick of [me]” and they regretted taking me in. What’s more, I was far from popular in school, and I imagined that if I had someone who cared enough to initiate contact with me, just one person…no, I could not even imagine someone seeking me out for the reward of contacting me. How dare these people with all of their so-called “loved ones,” complain? These people had parents–2! Siblings, significant others, children, and friends. I know, because I have read articles giving advice about how to support your “loved one” who is battling depression. I felt such rage at people who had more than I even dared wish for, and yet, they suffered within. Surely, my life with all of this isolation would annihilate the beloved depressed. Was depression even a real illness or was this term applied to a spoiled person’s self indulgent gluttony for sympathy? I hated those “families dealing with depression.” Walk a mile in my shoes. Unless the definition of depression is:
Depression: the feeling of emptiness, lack of the will to participate in life and anhedonia, independent of life circumstances and thoughts.
I tried an experiment. If I, as an ordinary human, have the absolute power over my consciousness that effecting these remedies requires, then I should be able to put myself into any state of mind I choose. If I should be able to snap out of depression then I can snap in to depression. Right? But try as I might, I could not produce feelings of grief and loss. I remembered the mourning I suffered through after the loss of my friend three years ago this month. I could not summon those feelings to the forefront of my heart and mind. And not for lack of trying. I was not being self indulgent.
We are all unique except when it comes to illness. When we are afflicted, physically, mentally, we experience the same suffering, albeit in our own way. And there’s no thinking one’s way out.
I can’t snap out of feelings, not good ones, not bad ones. I suspect you can’t either. And that is the crux of the difficulty with mental illness a person knows she has, and wants to overcome. She simply cannot get over it. Just because something is simple doesn’t make it easy.
