Believe me when I tell you – no matter how hard I push – that I fight to lose.


I like the moment where hair becomes a liability. Where it sticks to foreheads and temples, where it slides and clings between fingers. I like the fact that somehow we want to get barer, to shed just another hindrance until it is us at our most basic and needy.

I like the shoving of limbs that comes with that. The folding them up and the stretching them wide. Suddenly, even the most essential things have suddenly become dispensable, excessive. At one point, they were the very things we caressed, lingered on, drew from them painstaking and labored admissions of desire. And, now, like our clothes, we attempt to toss them aside.

It’s interesting to me that for how extensive foreplay and physical upkeep can be, for how much we know prolonging and lingering enhances this, our bodies creep toward a singleminded desire, removing the excess and diving forth into the necessary.

Where should I go for kinky porn?


My gosh, kiddo. The Internet is your oyster. 

I don’t do a lot of porn-watching, but there’s all the stuff and things floating around on sites like xhamster, xvideos, and the like.

As for reading, get creative and google terms. Or go to literotica. 

And there’s always tumblr, where you can find all sorts of stories, videos, pictures, etc.

<3, Ivy


You said it had a lot to do with where our blood was at the time. And where it wasn’t. And how we were thinking based on its distribution.

I can be the queen of terrible foresight. I’m the master of closing doors, of burning bridges, of taking exactly the worst opportunities. For someone who spends a lot of time thinking things over, I can be so thoughtless. I seem, sometimes, to be ruled by an ever-fluctuating logic of rules that continue to change when I never even knew the original doctrine.

And so I suppose a lot of it is just instinct. Everywhere else, I am thoughtful, careful, prepared. But, in this domain, I’m ruled by where the blood is, by the way the hair stands up on my skin, by the sort of electricity in my bones that you sometimes feel just after it has rained and, now, more often I tend to feel around people with stormy forecasts.

A Brief Tangent


I’m not sure if platonic love necessarily has a place on this tumblr, but it’s making a guest appearance tonight.

This evening, I got together with one of my best friends. He and I have known each other since we were very young. We’ve been through a lot together, watched each other grow and mature, experienced some crazy highs and major lows.

While we were catching up earlier on, he kept being playfully critical. He would raise his eyebrows at something I’d say before immediately dissolving into laughter. I would tell him I wanted him to guess something and he would refuse just to get a rise out of me. And so when he told me he wanted to show me a view he found but needed me to read directions, I was snippy back.

“Oh?” I replied, “now I’m suddenly useful to you?“

He laughed and started to drive. “You’re beautiful and you mean the world to me. Now tell me where I’m going.”

We drove until we reached a lot, where he parked his car and we started walking towards the woods. “Shit,“ I announced, “I have to pee.” I looked around before shrugging, “I’ll just do it in the woods.“

He grinned. He had been doing a stupid thing in the car where he now was overcompensating and delivering all sorts of stupid platitudes to make up for his previous infractions. “I like that you’re the kind of girl who can just pee in the woods.”

Once we were away from the road, I made him turn around, reached up my dress, took off my underwear and crouched. Just then, I saw the lights of a car in the darkness and freaked out.

“There’s a road over there,” he explained, “they can’t see you. Don’t tell me you’re getting piss shy.“ He continued to heckle me until I had handled my business, replaced my underwear, and joined him.

The woods got steep fast and I was hardly prepared, wearing a sundress and flip flops. After using branches to haul myself up, I joined him at the top. As we were technically trespassing, we kept fairly quiet as we neared the edge and looked down.

Before us was a view absolutely indescribable. Lights, buildings we’d known since we were young, even little towns sprawled out across the landscape, the rush of cars over a bridge.

I looked over to my friend and realized in how much I enjoyed sharing this view with him how much I loved him. Not in a pitter-patter way or an easily just infatuation way or a soul mate sort of way. It was more a deep appreciation for him as a person, for what he has meant to me and for what we have been to each other.

I think society does not place enough emphasis on platonic love in an overt sense. We’re quick to say we love this and that, describing anything from a flavor of ice cream to the demeanor of a reality television star, but the idea of a “great love” always seems to center on a typical romantic relationship. There’s such a trope of “loving your best friend until it becomes romantic". Aside from an occasional reference, such as the scene in Superbad where the boys declare their love for each other after their grand adventure (a scene mostly intended for comedic effect), we don’t really see the love of friends glorified in comparison to the love of a significant other.

Maybe I’m just rambling. But it got me thinking what it really means when I say I “love" a person in my life and how deep that love actually goes. It’s an astoundingly profound thing whose power, unfortunately, is often downplayed in the wake of the celebration of romantic love.



Random mid-day sneaking-a-peek-at-tumblr-and-getting-stuck-staring-at-this-gif-for-much-longer-than-is-appropriate thoughts:

One thing that appeals to me about the Daddy/Little dynamic more so than the traditional Dom/Sub dynamic is that I get to still be treated as precious, even when I’m being roughed up. Moments of tenderness are so powerful when they’re in the midst of (consensual) violence.

Heart gets it.


Just thought I’d share this with you all. Because, gosh, I don’t know, it’s somehow relevant.

Essentially, later on that day, as my friends and I were driving around hungover and looking for brunch, I explained to SG where my liquor confidence had come from. Mostly, a lot of liquid. But, also the addition of a new liquid (solid? soquid? I used to know this. Oh, solutions.) to my repertoire.

Which led to this exchange.

All the while, my friend was blasting “No Church in the Wild” and those certain lyrics were coursing through the car as we texted like this. I’ve always felt that song was somehow, a little bit, off. And, yet, in that moment, even if it was cheesily and stupidly appropriate, the song seemed to be right on track.


I woke up before anyone at my friend’s apartment and remembered the text I had sent the night before. Wincing, I checked my phone. SG had responded asking me to explain what was bothering me about it and I realized that we probably needed to talk. I stepped outside, took a seat and sucked in a deep breath.

I told him how I had felt betrayed, that it had seemed that the two of them had gone behind my back, that I had wanted not to care as much as I did. I expressed that I had always feared being used and that I worried I meant nothing to him.

I felt pathetic and childish and far too vulnerable. It was why I had not gotten into it with him previously beyond our initial argument over it when I first found out.

However, he heard me out and then apologized. A lot. For being careless about how I might feel, for assuming I had known and wouldn’t mind, for snapping at me when I had confronted him, and for making me feel the way I did. He explained he wasn’t aware at the time of how rude Elle had been to me lately and how she had done this behind my back and he felt horribly for having put me through what I described to him on the phone.

I was shocked. I don’t know why, but sometimes I just don’t have enough faith in people. So, I was pleasantly surprised.

“I care about you a lot,” he reassured me near the end, “you mean a lot to me. And I’m really sorry.”

While it’s not enough to get me to jump back into bed with him right away, it was an extremely satisfying resolution. And it feels nice to not have to just sit around quietly resenting him and not expressing how I felt, something I know I need to work on in the future.

So, in total, Drunk Ivy initiated a pretty major success.

Love Was Trying To Kill Me by ~Amatorka


Drunk Ivy is silly. She’s an interesting dancer, she often starts rapping and she has a pretty unusual sense of humor. She gives a lot of hugs. She sometimes gets a little too introspective if left to stew for too long. She can be very convincingly sober if a situation arises.

And she always, always speaks her mind.

I went out with a bunch of friends last night for a friend’s 21st birthday. By the time the night was winding down, we wound up sitting around in a pub, resting our feet, giggling and catching up. Right around last call, SG started texting me.

While Drunk Ivy is a very talented texter, she was a little more open to his conversation and what eventually turned into flirtation. At one point, the Southern Gentleman said, “I can’t wait to have you again.”

Normally, I would have been silly and brushed it off. He’s been pretending what happened didn’t happen, avoiding conversation around it, and I have followed his lead. I’ve quietly resented him for it the whole way. And, at first, the response was a little coy quip of “if I allow you.”

He was cocky. I suppose he thought I had moved on. And so he assured me that I definitely would because he knew my body and detailed this in a pretty naughty text that perhaps, under other circumstances, would have made me blush.

But, Drunk Ivy took matters into her own hands and replied: “You will never, ever have me again after what you did.” With that, now back at her friend’s apartment, she fell asleep, totally unashamed.

And, this morning, Hungover Ivy got the apology that she deserved.