The Dentist

I have never had a panic attack before. I’ve watched people have them (both before and after I knew what they were) and Ted Lasso has done a good job of portraying them, but I’ve never myself had that specific experience. My anxiety, when it arises, is more of a slow burn.

I also don’t like needles.

So when a needle full of novocaine slid slowly, deep, up into my jaw, I was prepared to hate it. I did. I was prepared to endure it. I did. I was not prepared to have a panic attack as it set in.

First, my heart rate spiked. I could feel it in my throat and hammering against my ribs. I tried to slow my breathing but it shook and rattled on the way in and out of my lungs. My hands shook, went icy cold and started to tingle. My palms dampened with sudden sweat and nausea hit the pit of my stomach.

I am so fucking proud of myself.

During the last few months of least year, I found myself in a situation that meant frequent but low level stress responses. I spent time learning exactly what adrenaline and cortisol feel like when they hit your system. I learned how to calm myself down and how to ask my body what it needed from me to heal. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was valuable, because in this moment, when I wasn’t expecting this response at all, I was masterful in my handling of it.

I realized what was going on. I communicated with the staff. I breathed… in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. In, hold, out, hold. Then for six. Finally, all the way up to a count of ten in each phase.

One of the scariest parts of a panic attack is not knowing what’s going on. The first time I watched someone have a panic attack, neither of us knew what it was or what it meant. We wondered whether it would be worth going to the hospital. We sat, confused and afraid, in the car, hoping it would go away. But without the tools to name and dissipate it, The effects lasted for hours, the fear for years.

When, within the space of an hour, I experienced the symptoms of panic attack, calmed myself down, communicated my needs, and returned to baseline, I was SO proud of myself.

And proud of my body.

At one point, about halfway through (and yes, the dentist and his technician were still going about their work) that nausea I felt in my stomach asked for my attention. In some of my meditations, I have visualized light of several colors rolling off of me, as if I was shedding love, calm, or strength, depending on the color. I put my hand flat, palm down, right over the soft spot under my sternum, applied gentle, sustained pressure, and saw behind my closed eyelids, the blue, cool light of calm coming from my open hand and soaking into my upset tummy. Next, my throat. I slipped my other hand under the little paper chest apron they give you and rested, cool, on my chest, just below my throat. As I cooled off and calmed down, my hands adjusted, finding the spots that needed attention and filling them with calm.

I wonder how things might have been different if I’d known this years ago. Perhaps I could have been more present for myself and my friends. Perhaps I could have found my voice sooner.

Rumination is one of my stressors so I’ll avoid it here. I am only grateful that whatever I’ve been doing, the reading, the meditation, the visualization, and constantly learning from others’ experiences, helped that day.

When I went back to have the other side done, I was ready. It turns out there’s epinephrine in the novocaine. It was likely responsible for my symptoms and now that I knew what to expect, I wasn’t afraid. I got a little shaky and my heart rate went up, but I didn’t need the focus that, the first time, was critical.

I almost cried with joy. Hand on heart, noticing my body, asking it what I needed to do and actually receiving a response, I felt this flood of gratitude. Thank you for telling me we’re in danger. Thank you for telling me how to help you. I thought. You’re doing such a good job, body, and I love you. 

I cry fairly often. It’s normal for me to express love in a flood of tears. I am trying to learn to let them come in the moment and embrace the awkwardness of those around me. However. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to explain to the dentist that my tears weren’t of pain. Particularly since his hands, the assistant’s hands, a bite spacer, and several tools were all jammed in to my incredibly tiny mouth. I had to change my train of thought and put my tears off until later. They still haven’t come. But they will.

There’s no particular point or ending here. This kind of work, learning the theory behind emotional health, practicing it in moments when you’re already calm, and drawing on it in moments of very-not-calm, is ongoing. There are dozens of approaches, each suited for different minds and hearts. For the lucky ones, each approach offers new insight, something useful we can weave into the fabric of our selves. There are no finish lines, but there can be pivot points. Moments in time where the gradual work comes together and, AHA! Something new crystalizes.

For me, this trip to the dentist was one of those moments. I didn’t know what I could do until I did it. Now I know it’s there if I need it, and that’s a powerful tool.

June updates

Whew! It’s been a whirlwind of a month and it doesn’t look like it’s slowing down much. I’ve been in and out of town, hiking, working out, writing, planning, and trying to shoehorn in more reading time than usual.

I had my first useful trip to Portland. I planned better (not perfectly) and actually got some good time with friends and family.

I did get a hotel too far out of town. It made sense in regards to visiting a friend of mine who lives out past Beaverton but as for everything else… let’s just say that next time I’ll plan ahead better. I also stayed up too late and felt the effects of that plus driving as my whole body health got knocked around a bit.

The good news here is that I’m confident in my Portland trips. I have a strong anchor client which makes me feel more secure and makes the trips more pleasant.

What is an anchor client, you ask? An anchor client is the one who first brings me to a new city. Often we’ve met on a trip that brought them to Seattle (which I prefer whenever possible) and most importantly they have handled all my mistakes with grace. Running late, not knowing neighborhoods, asking them to accommodate my schedule, making them drive an hour out of their way because I’m bad with distances and maps and things… basically they’ve been the testing ground as I figure out a new place and so, now that I’m a bit more comfortable, they get special treatment.

Now that I have a trustworthy anchor in Portland, I get to go whenever I want, which may be about every 6-8 weeks, depending. So keep an eye out, make sure your newsletter profile includes ‘portland’ so you get travel notices directly to your inbox.

What else have I been up to? Well, doing some home repairs, as always, and there’s a naughty party going down this evening that I’m using to introduce my voluptuous friend Jules to the Seattle crowd. She’s so nervous for her very first orgy so I’m looking forward to walking her through it. Newsletter subscribers will be happy to know that, because of the volume of summer travel, my four handed special will be extended through July so there’s a bit of wiggle room.

There’s so much to do, so much to think about but I can’t write it all out here. I have to go on a wine purchasing errand, ha!

Oh, before I go: I’ve been working out and sunbathing so if you were terribly attached to my creamy skin and slight pudge you may want to brace yourself. Conversely: if I was a bit too pale or a smidge too round for your tastes the last time we met, you may be curious to come see the subtle changes.

Work It!

She’s in such good shape! You’re embarrassed, shy, you know that beer gut shouldn’t be there and she’s going to see you all red and sweaty and it’s going to take everything you have not to stare at her all stuffed into spandex.

But your kids have gifted you ten personal training sessions and you’ve known for a while that you weren’t in the shape you’d like so you grit your teeth, mentally prepare yourself, and for the next fifty minutes you huff and puff and try to keep up with her.

“You did great! You’re gonna be so strong once I’m done with you.” And she beams at you the widest, most sparkling smile you’ve ever seen. Suddenly the agony of that last hour melts away, just for a second, just long enough to stick in your memory.

Ten sessions later and you’ve already noticed a difference. Stairs aren’t so annoying anymore and your pants don’t quite pull so hard at their button. And your instructor… the same brilliant smile every week, the same spandex, the smell of her as she stands next to you, encouraging you and talking you through your form.

Ten more.

Ten more.

Ten more.

You must be imagining it. She’s getting closer. She stopped wearing a loose shirt over her sports bra. She even started running on the treadmill beside you and caught you stealing glances. She smiles. Not just the brilliant, glowing smiles at the end, encouraging you to come back but smaller ones, looking at your ‘form’ as you lunge and squat and lift and fly.

“You know, I think you’re ready to graduate to more intense training” she tells you one day.

Is this…. It can’t be. But that look…. You used to get that look, when you spent a summer teaching bored, wealthy women to play tennis. The look that says “And by intensive training I mean enthusiastic sex.” But you haven’t gotten that look in years! No one looks at you like that anymore. Except you’ve seen yourself in the mirrors in the gym. You’ve seen inches disappear and muscles emerge that you also haven’t been seen in years. Maybe you are getting that look again…

“Well, you’re the professional” you answer, and give a nervous chuckle. You don’t want to make the wrong assumption and end up making a scene. “If you think I’m ready then I must be! What, uh, what does ‘more intense training’ look like?”

That is *definitely* the look.

“How does your schedule look Tuesday evening? Is seven too late?”

Your automatic reply: “But the gym closes at six.”

“I have a key.”

The look again

“Oh. Ooooh. Yes, seven on Tuesday.”

What the hell are you doing? It’s Tuesday morning and you still haven’t called it off. What if you get caught? What if you misread the situation? What if…. What if all the images and scenarios playing through your mind, over and over, for two days, what if they become real? You’ve been hard very nearly every moment since. At this point if you don’t go, you’re worried your cock will beat you to death in your sleep.

So you go.

The parking lot is empty but for a few cars and there’s a light on inside. As you approach the building, all the worry and concerns fade away. You’re committed now, no use stressing over it. If you’re wrong, you’ll deal with it. The note on the door says “Lock the door behind you and go to the green room” so you flip the lock and head down the hall.


Whipping them into shape is my favorite. There’s something both humbling and powerful about watching some schlubby dude accidentally get in shape while staring at my ass three times a week. I know they don’t stick around for my workouts. I’m good at managing, pushing enough, not too much. And sometimes, when the flab and the years of insecurity layered on by wives and girlfriends and the rest of the world gets beaten back, that hot young piece of ass he used to be comes back. That’s my favorite. That’s when I really get to have fun with them.

This guy is one of those. He came in beaten and dejected, hopelessly resigned, his flat abs a memory, firm ass long gone. And yet… Every week I watched and noticed him moving more easily, lifting heavier, keeping up better and better. And every week I could feel myself responding to him more and more.

Exercise is my most powerful aphrodisiac. Very few of my clients know how much they turn me on, that I’m using them, the smell of them, the sweat and grunting, to build fantasies every night. Lying in bed at home alone I replay my favorite gym sessions over and over in my mind’s eye. I watch them notice me noticing. I can see them regain their pride as I whip them into shape. I love telling men what to do; giving them the backbone they couldn’t find themselves and making them do what’s best for them. I use a carefully curated mix of encouragement, sexual enticements, and the invaluable reward of my approval to get them just where I like them.

This guy is finally just where I want him and soon he’ll be in this room with me, under my complete control, ready to sweat and grunt and pleasure me exactly the way I like it.


I set the scene perfectly, I already know what we’ll do and how he’ll respond. I get a kick out of shocking them so I don’t leave any transition time for them to get comfortable in between. The biggest shock comes first: from the moment they walk in the door until the moment they leave, I’m naked. Nakedness is the simplest way to throw a man off balance. I know they’ve been imagining it and I know they’re expecting it eventually but totally unselfconscious nakedness right from the get-go makes them so nervous. I love it.

There’s two of everything so I can make them keep up with me and watch while they do it. I’m not so foolish as to embarrass them but I never let them quite keep up. I am always in control, always the desirable end game, always just barely out of their reach so that when I do take them, it’s the richest, sweetest reward.

I can hear him in the hallway. Or someone with a nervous gait, at least. There’s always the chance the wrong person will walk through the door. I kind of like that. I revel in the shock on his face the moment he walks through the door.

“Take off your clothes, put on your shoes, and join me. Make sure you can see to follow.” As if he needed encouragement or permission to watch me move through an easy warmup routine. Movement, stretching, walking the line between overtly sexual and perfectly professional. He’s done all this before but he’s off-balance, unfocused. I don’t let him see my wicked grin every time his balance slips or he takes too long to start a new movement. We finish with partner stretches. First contact.

I’ve set the ellipticals to watch each other. I want to see the first beads of sweat on his forehead and his struggle to coordinate arm to leg as he tries to watch every part of me at the same time. I want to watch his muscles slip past each other and begin to swell and pump. I want to follow the drops of sweat with my eyes as they trail down his chest, those gorgeous abs, leaving wet trails through his dark hair, and slip past the base of his cock where, soon, my own sweat and the sweet wet of my pussy will be.

I allow myself an evil chuckle, watching his half hard cock wobble with every step. I do love a grower.

Now for the fun part. Weights. Nothing too heavy. I’m not pushing his body today, I’m pushing his mind.

Standing bicep curl. I’m behind him, pressed against him with my hands sliding around his hips to cup his cock. My face pressed into his back is salty and wet, my nipples sting with it and send an electric shock to my clit. I’ve been wet since the elliptical, slow drips running down my thigh, filling the room with a hot, sweet scent.

Chest press. I’m sitting on him, rocking my clit back and forth on his cock to keep it wet. He’s rock hard, distracted as shit, but I gave him light weights and with this angle I can give him instructions while I work myself up to my first orgasm of the evening.

Curl ups. I’m standing straddling him so every time he curls I tell him to taste me.

If I can’t reach his cock with my pussy I get my face in it, soaking up the musky scent. If I can’t get my face near it, I use my hands. No matter what he’s doing or where he goes, his cock is my toy. We go through my list, designed to touch every muscle at least once so I can see it work, watch it move, perfect its form.

“One last round of cardio. You’ve got this!” And I bend at my hips to hold tight to the frame, inviting him to sink his cock, the cock that’s been begging all evening, deep into me. I’ve been ready for so long, it almost hurts. I can feel myself swollen and throbbing and dripping, as his hard cock presses my pussy apart. I can feel every vein, every ridge, every sleek and smooth inch as he fills me. I can feel his flat hips bump up against my firm cheeks, then again, again, feeling the exquisite sensation of his cock sliding back and forth past my hot, slick lips.

Temple of Woman

I have converted and will now preach the good news to the masses.

I’ve begun attending regular exercise classes. I’m going to be a bit circumspect on which ones exactly because it’s a small world around here and the classes I’m taking are pretty popular but without getting too detailed, this is what I can tell you:

I feel amazing and I’m looking better every day. My ideal body type in women is closer to Sofina than myself: wider hips, narrow waist, generous bosom; the fertile, supple body of a lush woman. Unfortunately my skeleton is the wrong shape to achieve that myself. Sigh. I don’t mind the uber skinny hard body look sported by Cloe May or Betty James but it’s neither within the grasp of my cheese-and-wine-loving self nor is it as high on my personal preference as the softball bod.

If you’ve ever seen softball players as a group you’ll know what I’m talking about. They’re muscular but not skinny so what you see is the soft swell of muscle bellies on the thigh, the back, the chest and arms, but none of them bulky or sharp-edged. They don’t *look* like they could beat you up, but they probably could. This look is within my dairy-on-carbs-fueled reach.

The classes I’m taking focus heavily on strength and mobility over bulk or weight loss. I’ve been in advanced classes with beer guts, pregnant women, and a whole line of little old ladies and chunky moms. There is no judgement, no shame, only progress and boy howdy have I made some.

I was skeptical at first. I bought a package of classes with an expiration date; externally enforced deadlines are great motivators for me. Within a month of going two or three times a week, my quads jumped out and surprised me. I was just goofing off one day and happened to look at my thigh while extending my leg and there was a muscle!!! Since then it’s gotten only more defined and made some friends. My obliques are sore now and again and I’ve gone from a handspan above the floor on my front bend to very nearly flat hands. You won’t believe how far apart I can get my knees until you see it. And I can hold them there a surprisingly long time.

With the convenience of the gym’s location and the extremely advantageous cost to return ratio, there’s no end in sight. I’m able to eat more while losing inches (though not pounds which is acool phenomenon), I can feel my skeleton shifting back into alignment, I feel stronger, and I’m starting to develop those two muscles on either side of my spine that make a woman look so sinuous and sensuous when viewed from behind and a little below.

I’m rocking my super light, short haircut and I’ve been gradually deepening my summer glow. By the end of June I’m going to practically sparkle in the sunshine, between my hair and skin reacting to the rays.

My one and only complaint is that my ribcage isn’t tapered towards the bottom so while my core is getting firmer, the soft feminine belly is getting more prominent. It’s not growing and it certainly fits my frame, it’s just not exactly the shape I want. Sigh. I suppose I’ll just have to build up my ass that much more to compensate. And don’t worry – with the amount of cheese and crackers I eat I won’t lose that perky bosom you seem so fond of.

If you’re curious to try out an effective and mentally stimulating exercise regimen and don’t mind exercising in groups, you’re welcome to ask logistical questions in person. It’s not that I don’t want to share the good news, but there’s a difference between you surprising me in class and smiling to yourself and a stranger standing out front of the classroom trying to figure out which one is me.

Who knows: maybe I’ll get so into it I’ll become an instructor and you can hire me to be your private teacher…




p.s. Yes, I know it’s late. I was in Bridge City Thursday and forgot to take my computer. I’ve backdated this post because I had it ready to go but If you were looking for it and missed it, I’m sorry.

Jiu Jitsu!

I’ve always loved to wrestle. Be it on a mat against an opponent, at a pillow party with my girlfriends just for fun, or in bed with my lover, writhing together in ecstasy with legs locked and breath deep and fast. Never, however, have I turned to professional training. My first real class was this morning. As a beginner, I had no Gi, no mouthguard, not even real workout pants. One of the other young ladies loaned me a pair until I can get a Gi of my own. While I’d prefer to practice wrestling without the cloth of the uniform a part of the fighting style, this Dojo does not teach no-gi fighting.

The first class was easier than I had expected. I sat in on a more advanced level class a few days before and so had expected a more intense workout with drilling instead of practicing, the difference being many repetitions of a movement on your own rather than one or two iterations of a move with a partner. The three girls in the room were set in our own little group, with me as the new kid who knows nothing. It’s my own personal fight to slow down and master each movement before trying to execute it quickly. I watch and I try to learn and then I ride my bicycle the half hour of Seattle hills home so I can go to bed, exhausted.

In six weeks I’ll be allowed to spar with the other students and at that point I’ll start displaying a few bruises. It’s all good. One struggle I’ll be keeping very private is the struggle against obvious arousal. The strain of muscle against muscle, the sweat and the competition, the drive to win using your mind and your body contribute to a full body state of physical arousal. I expect my sex drive to increase and I expect to see improvements in muscle definition. Of course my eating habits will be as rich as ever so I’ll still have my nice, soft, feminine curves, but my stamina will increase and with all this I’m expecting some great things in our future 😉

Come wrestle with me