Michael's Wings, by Tiffany Reisz (Book Review, Spoiler-Free, Appropriately NSFW)

One of the tags I use a lot in this blog is "these aren't the penises you're looking for," but I happily can't use that label for this review.

These are DECIDEDLY the penises you're looking for.

Oh, were you looking for a safe-for-work book review? Let's start here: Michael's Wings successfully proves that a series of stories centered around a male/male BSDM couple is absolutely lust-inspiring regardless of which direction you're sliding toward today on the sexuality scale.

Fans of the Original Sinners series already know the peripheral tale of young submissive Michael and his older, richer, sexy-as-sin beloved dominant, Gryphon. Sure, Michael's Wings could've just been a series of filthy sex scenes using various BDSM scenarios (well ok, honestly it IS that, and sexy as hell): easy peasy, everybody's tired and sated, job done. A complacent writer might've gone that route, using established characters to fill in a bit of the universe with more sex to sell: this is not that book.

Never one to shy from controversial expressions of love and lust, Tiffany Reisz gave us the high level events of how these two lovely men came together (ahem) as additional color threads in Nora's, Soren's, and Kingsley's story lines over the course of the eight Sinners novels. In Michael's Wings, she gives us a novella and a series of short stories that bring Michael and Gryphon fully to life, with just enough Nora, Soren, and Kingsley thrown in to give appropriately irreverent commentary on the duo's struggles.

Michael grows up over the course of the collection, and transitions over time from the emotionally broken teenager to an independent adult with ambitions and desires outside of the apartment he shares with Gryphon. Since his place in their relationship began with a suicide attempt, an abusive father, and a pretty all-encompassing rescue by his rich, beautiful lover, Michael had to figure out whether he was really in love, or just the damoiseau-in-distress. Was he capable of being a real partner in the relationship? Could he stand on his own as an adult? Could he be a husband?

Gryphon, on the other hand, has to discover whether he loves enough to do what's best for Michael, regardless of his own pain. Patience is not a virtue of his, and boy does he get to painfully learn how to let go of control and be patient. Since he's older, more established, and is already secure in who he is, Gryphon's job is to let Michael catch up in maturity, regardless of his own wants and needs. Nora, Soren, and Kingsley all make appearances in order to beat sense into him. Literally.

Michael's Wings is full of all the romantic, inventive sexual encounters a reader could hope for, including the blush-inducing, uncomfortably hot BDSM scenes. About halfway through the first tale I realized I could never sit down in their apartment in real life (because all of her characters end up being people you'd really like to know in person, don't they?) knowing how much naked cock has been on that couch. The candle wax, the toys. Wowza.

The thing is, the explicit quality of Reisz's writing isn't limited to eroticism: it's the anguished and raw emotional issues spiced with delicious sex that make her work so exhilarating (and wonderfully exhausting) to read. Gryphon and Michael have an incredibly complicated relationship. Love drives them both, and learning to love so intensely that they can heal while avoiding being completely consumed by each other is a delicate balance they struggle with for the entire book.

Michael's Wings is an excellent addition to the Original Sinners universe, giving us the long-awaited middle to Gryphon and Michael's love story. Be prepared to stay up until you've finished it, because you won't be able to put it down.

At Least My Weird Is Universal?

Yet another way in which I am not a normal woman popped up in the last week. Yes, I am pretty much a weirdo across all genres. Where's my girl scout* badge for THAT?? 

Over the holidays (a word which should be said quietly with a reverent "thank the Gods for them, thank the Gods they're over" possibly with some salt thrown over a shoulder for good measure, or some incense... or an exorcism) more than one relative of mine said some version of the following: 

"You have the weirdest divorce I've ever seen." 

I suppose it IS pretty weird compared to the divorce attorney commercials on the local "rock" station that promise (in a charming Southern accent**) to "protect men's assets and his ability to provide for his kids", or reality TV divorces that seem more like a Jerry Springer episode drawn out for eight thousand years of shitty "entertainment" ages in the media. 

There have been "friends" in both our lives since we separated who try desperately to convince us the other is going to make life hell, or take everything, or destroy the other person. On one hand, I pity the fuck out of those people. Really: the best they can do to support a friend going through a painful breakup is fill their mind with imagined threats? 

On the other hand, their idea that a relationship has to sour over STUFF is disgusting to me. Just...disgusting. 

Sigh. 

The holidays themselves had some hard moments for me: winter solstice/Christmas/New Years is a natural time to reflect anyway, and there are things about him and us that I miss terribly. I expect I will always miss those things, and you know what? I SHOULD miss them. I lived with my to-be-ex-husband for twelve years. I have loved him for almost fifteen. Why would us divorcing make me suddenly hate him or not want the best for him? What an utterly asinine concept.  

Yup, I recognize this makes me uncommon compared to the commonly-held stereotypes about splitting up. Is it really so awful to agree as a couple that regardless of our relationship status, deep down we still care about each other and don't want to see each other suffer more? 

Hmm. Maybe my understanding but not empathizing with WHY people think it's weird is exactly what makes me weird. Honestly, I don't get it. But when it comes down to brass tacks (a phrase that baffles me because OW)...I don't much care, either. My own brand of easy-going mixed with stubborn ass makes the whole split pretty simple: I loved before, of course I still love. Others' discomfort with my loving AND divorcing isn't really my concern. 

His and my well-being is my concern.

Things were done by both of us: we were together a long time, hurts happened. So did joys, mistakes, vacations, fights, make-ups, support, celebrations, and a couple dogs. I still hold to my original post about our separation last spring: badmouthing my ex-husband will earn you instant fuck-off points, and you'll slide down my "I respect you" scale pretty fast. 

Why? 

Because ex-husband doesn't equal ex-friend, much less enemy. I'm lucky to have had a decade with him in my life as a husband. I learned a lot about him, myself, and about what I think is really important in relationships. The end of our marriage doesn't change those things, and I intend to keep him in my life as my friend as long as he'd like me there. 

*Never was a girl scout, so maybe there IS a badge for that?? If so, can I get one honorarily with my next shipment of Thin Mints, please? 

**So seriously, is that accent fake to bring out "good ol' Southern family values" in those stupid commercials? 

Oh Skymall...you dirty dirty bird...

I went home (to the tundra) last weekend. It was an adventure.

First, I was hit on by the dude next to me, Chad from downtown Minneapolis, on the plane. Chad insisted I'm 10 years younger than I am. Score.

For me.

He did not score.

Bummer for you, Chad, but you were quite charming and I am thoroughly amused.

And then I found THIS in Skymall, and all conversation ended, because I can't NOT MAKE INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS.

ADULT PLUSH BALLS.
What the fuck else can possibly be said about this?

OBVIOUSLY I need the Unicorn, because my balls aren't plush enough. Or horny? And it comes with it's own pump...I mean, self pumping unicorn balls?? Come ON!

Yeah, you can see why Chad stopped talking to me. I'm a whole new level of crazypants, and maybe it's better not to get in them, dude.

So...then I spent the weekend at my Grandma's house outside of Duluth. Everyone in Houston was bitching and freaking out about 40 degree weather (OH MY GOD IT'S THE APOCALYPSE! WEAR YOUR PARKAS!!). This is what I woke up to (along with -10 degree temps) Saturday:

Ignore the rocking horse and focus on the FROSTED WINDOW.
Yeah. I was cold.

Well, Helloooooo Winter, you not-yet-welcome Fall party crasher.

During the shenanigans there was hay in an eyeball, babies held, stories told, bad songs sung (there really is no rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" that rivals my aunt singing "turn around, fart eyes" in a really wavery voice), and lots of laughing. I didn't pee my pants, but it was close. I DID wheeze and squeak and cry. My belly hurts.

And then, I got to see the kiddos.

Han was moving too damn fast for me to get a good pic, but I did spend some time working with Evil. She was somewhat unimpressed with me.

"Mother, get this thing off my head IMMEDIATELY."

Han got jealous and took my hand very earnestly, tugging me toward his room (where a 2 year old can escape the little sister who takes up Auntie Jess's attention). I was his  (CRAWL, AUNTIE JESS!) until I had to catch my flight back to toasty warm (upper 30's...it's still Houpocalypse down here: winter hats/scarves/mittens/parkas) Texas. Little dude wore me the hell out...I slept the whole flight.

I saw and spent seriously excellent time with some of my favorite people (but not all...I WILL rectify that on the next trip). People I love deeply and dearly, and whom I miss terribly and think about daily.

Y'all know who you are, dontcha? Sure ya do.

We'll be back up at Christmas...and THAT trip won't be a super secret surprise for anyone...so I'll set up a plan to hang, peeps.

In the meantime, someone buy me the adult plush unicorn balls!!

I have no good title for this...It's an anniversary of sorts.

It's been two years this weekend since Husband and a friend were on his motorcycle when they were schmucked by a drunk asshole. I say schmucked because said drunk asshole was going about 45mph and didn't slow down. At all. He pinned Husband's leg between the truck and the bike, breaking his pelvis in two places, dislocating his hip, breaking his foot, and finally flinging him across the overpass. There were other injuries, and some scars he'll bear forever. However,  Husband is definitely mending, although the extent of some of the internal injuries mean he still has pain all the time: nerve damage sucks, people. It sucks.

Two years ago on Friday I was sitting in the waiting room at Regions Hospital in St. Paul, going in and out of the ICU, hoping Husband could wake up eventually. I didn't know for sure until that Monday that he would. Two years ago 8/29 (since the dates and days don't match) I found myself in the ER at Regions at 10:30pm. To our friends in the ER with me, the doctors, nurses and EMTs (especially one in particular who knows us personally but said nothing so he didn't get removed from working on Husband), I can only say thank you. And that I sincerely hope the surgical resident who talked to me about the exploratory surgery necessary that night at 2am now looks his age, because it's goddamned disturbing to have a 12 year old telling you "we don't know where he's bleeding internally, but he's on his fifth bag of blood and we have to find the problem or he could die." Please dude, grow a goatee or something. Also, FYI, husband did not become a vampire. I just felt I should clarify...

As I understand it, our friend on the bike with him is also doing well, but her recovery is her own story to share or not...I just wish her the best in recovering and in dealing with the insurance company.

It's a funny thing, an intense accident. Not funny in a belly-laugh sort of way...funny in a life is fucked up and weird sort of way. Let me lay some background before I explain.

Humans, including Husband and I, get into ruts. Patterns of behavior, patterns of thinking, patterns of living and socializing, without really even thinking about it. I suppose the patterns happen BECAUSE we aren't thinking about it: when there is no examination of what's going in in our lives, we just sort of float through and act on habit instead of intent. Habitual behavior isn't a bad thing by nature: you can cultivate just as many good habits (eating healthy, exercising daily, etc.) as bad.  Change is always hard, whether you're creating good or bad habits, and more often than not people (including me) are more comfortable sticking with the devil they know than going through the pain and work of change.

Unfortunately, we'd both been in an unhappy rut for quite some time when the accident happened. There were so many reasons for the unhappiness, so many reasons for the horrible habits we'd both developed that it's difficult to even say when they started. But we'd both been generally stuck in these bad patterns for years. The accident was a catalyst, as major life-changing events usually are.

During Husband's recovery time we both had a lot of time to assess our lives, what we wanted, and where we wanted to go. Honestly, the entire first year after the accident was such a blur of emotion and physical turmoil it seems accelerated in my mind. There are months of 2012 and 2013 I don't remember clearly, and there are moments of memory etched in permanent, painful detail. It's been a very long two years, but there has been healing in every way possible.

Ultimately, his accident saved us both, as sick as that sounds. Waking up from a sleepy life and paying attention is hard. "Hard" isn't a sufficient description...hmm. Miserable, exhausting, enlightening, humbling, terrifying, thrilling, astonishing...all better descriptors but only if they're all together. It's harder when it's forced upon you. But once it begins, attention is difficult to stop, and contentment with the devil I know isn't possible anymore.

So, changes have been under way. Some are subtle: we've both been making individual efforts to work on accepting ourselves, on figuring out and actually working toward our on life goals. For me, that means a lot of meditation, writing, and slowly changing my diet/exercise to be a healthier person as well as a lot of internal work on identifying and...well...fixing the way I talk to myself.

Some are...less subtle. Ha. We moved from Minnesota to Texas, got new jobs...it's a whole new thing here and it's both terrifying and exhilarating. I miss my people all the time. I don't miss the state, and I suspect this winter I won't miss the snow much. We'll see. Currently out my window it's changed from 93 degrees and sunny to torrential downpour rain (the sort we only got rarely in MN happens here often...I call it Trinidad rain: feels like someone's dumping a bucket of warm water on you). It's lovely here, and I'm flabbergasted that I (VERY unexpectedly) like Houston. Funny how  preconceptions you have about something are so often utterly wrong. I like it here, and I feel healthier than I have in a long while: a physical change of scenery was something I needed.

But I still miss my friends and family, particularly those who became so very close to me in the past two years. Interestingly, the accident wasn't just a catalyst for changes in ourselves and our marriage: it was a big catalyst for our social circle (individually and as a couple). I'm not always good at identifying actual friends from those who need something from me but don't wish to be needed or people who are just flat out selfishly harmful. During those months in the end of 2012, we both discovered truths about people in our various circles and surprising things happened. Some acquaintances became very close friends, old friendships were rekindled, some close friends drifted away, toxic people were cut out of our lives because it's too damn much energy to accommodate them anymore.

To those of you who have been with us (for him, me, or both) on this ridiculously weird, intense, painful journey: we hope you know just how much we love you. I'm so utterly grateful for everyone in our lives, and I have some regrets about those I didn't get to know better before we left. Things are better, and even with challenges we're both definitely on a better path, individually and together.

I'm happier paying attention.

Mythic Monday: Selkie

"A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?" -Ever After, A Cinderella Story

In the seas surrounding the Scotland and Ireland, pretty faced seals with large, almost human eyes peek out from the water, curiously watching fishermen work. They'd follow the boats, sometimes even leading fishermen to the best places for a good catch, if you believe stories in the pub after a round or two.

And if a fisherman was lucky enough, he'd meet a beautiful, quiet girl on the shore some evening. A girl with almost human eyes and dark hair, walking alone on the beach. She'd be easy to love, kind and generous, understanding of his love of the sea and his need to be away from home for long stretches of time. He'd, of course, want to marry her.

And should he find the skin she hid when she changed to her human form, he could hold her hostage as his wife...for as long as he can keep it from her. But if ever she finds her true skin, she'll change back to a seal and be lost to him forever. For as happy as she may be with her husband and children, a part of her will always long for the freedom of the open ocean and her true form.

Rather...controlling, no? Ah, but the control goes both ways. Lonely women can attract a sexy Selkie man (Selkies are said to be quite gorgeous, male and female) to their beds and homes by giving seven tears to the sea. Again, if they can somehow hide his sealskin, he'll stay. But ultimately, he belongs to the sea, and eventually he'll return without looking back.

Selkies, the seal people off the coast of Ireland and Scotland, have a reputation for being excellent lovers, excellent spouses, and excellent parents. There's even some versions of the stories that say if you're lucky enough to wed a Selkie you'll never ever go hungry, because fish will always find a way into your nets. And that even when (inevitably) the Selkie finds his or her skin, they'll watch over their human children from beyond the shores, interacting with them in the water but staying away from their former spouses forever. In fact, often once the skin is returned the Selkie can't turn into a human ever again. Rather telling, really: the very core of the relationship is based on coercion, so there is no returning once freedom has been found.

Selkies are my personal favorite of all the water spirits. I suppose that has to do with my love for the sea, but also because their myths fall into one of the primary Celtic tragic themes: doomed love between humans and the Fae. Sometimes, a soul just needs a bittersweet story, after all, and nobody does bittersweet like the Celts. The overriding theme across every variation of Selkie tales is that you can't change your nature for love, by choice or coercion, no matter how hard you try or how long you wait. Eventually, your true nature will set you free, but that freedom comes with sadness.

 Loreena McKennitt's song "The Old Ways" (The Visit) always reminds me of the Selkie myths: of truly mismatched and tragic lovers who can't help but part, at least for a time. (FYI: the song isn't specifically about a Selkie: it's the sea theme that gets me there.)
...
And then I knew/
That you had to go/
Your world was not mine/
Your eyes told me so
...
The pounding sea/
is calling me home/
home to you

I've always wondered, what if the man or woman who hid the Selkie's skin accepted their lover's nature and respected his/her ability to choose? What if the Selkie remained free to come and go, and the spouse chose to make the most of their time together while he or she had it? Do they truly only get one shot at playing a human in their magical lives, or is it the fundamentally flawed relationship that causes them to give up humanity forever once they get their seal self back?

Montana in a minute or less...

My sister (Han's mom) got married last weekend in her fiance's dad's backyard...in Helena, Montana.

There is one, count 'em ONE, direct flight from Minneapolis to Helena, which got us there at 11:30pm. No fancy mountain pictures to be had at that time of night, but Husband and I were greeted by this:

I SEE YOU looking for your bags...

Extra amusing if you knew I had a horrific nightmare two nights before in which I was EATEN BY A GODDAMNED MOUNTAIN LION.

WTF.

It was a whirlwind visit with my parents and grandparents, sisters, and of course Han, who is both extremely mobile and very opinionated about his efforts (meaning, get in his way and he either growls or screeches at you, both of which are hilariously fun to provoke...not that I'd ever do that).

The Boneless Boy Wonder crawling under the coffee table.

Someone may or may not have taught Han to pull on Husband's beard over the weekend.

Of course I have NO IDEA who would do such a thing.

Mwahahahahaha.

Home Again. Jiggy.

Husband was released from prison the hospital yesterday: 2 months to the date since the drunk asshole in a borrowed SUV with SHITTY INSURANCE plowed into the motorcycle...yeah, I'm not bitter at all. But he's home, he's allowed to start working with crutches, and he managed it nearly three weeks earlier than we'd originally thought.

AND he's home for our 9th anniversary, which is (of course) Halloween.

My sister EVER so kindly bought him a hideous lovely brass bell, the kind you see on a dry cleaner's counter. To be helpful, I'm sure. So he can get my attention (intubation is HELL on vocal cords...he's been significantly lower-volumed since the accident) if I'm upstairs and he's in the living room.

Because she hates me. And wants revenge for my snarky comments about my nephew's night-owl tendencies being karma for HER having days and nights mixed up as a baby. I was four...I remember. "But she's helpful," you may say... well...I would agree except for the evil glee in her eye. I suppose that could be the glassy Han-won't-let-me-sleep effect, but I doubt it. Evil glee all the way.

Unfortunately, the bell was lost.

MORE unfortunately...that fucking thing is lost SOMEWHERE IN MY TRUCK.

That's right...the goddamn "help me now" bell randomly dings from the dog-fur-filled-recesses of my truck, and I can't find it.

On the bright side, neither can Husband.

Mwahahahaha.

I'm not a sex therapist, but I play one occasionally (Not on TV)

This post is likely ok for work, but not safe for prudes or children. If you're either, go away.

I'm an introvert.If you're a Meyers Briggs aficionado, I'm usually an INFP...meaning I'm an introverted intuitive feeling perceptor (I don't remember what the N means, and I'm too lazy to look it up). What the fuck does that MEAN?

It actually sucks energy from me to be in a big group of people, causing quite a bit of anxiety and frustration on my part (because I often WANT to be social, but I sort of suck at it). This occasionally makes me a horridly out-of-touch, no-I-hate-people-right-now sort of friend. Those I'm lucky enough NOT to drive away with my regular bouts of STAY AWAY FROM HUMANS* are coincidentally the friends willing to help as well as needing help. Those inner circle types are few in my world. I digress, as usual, and likely you've stopped reading because you thought this was a sexy post. Ha!

It means people who need to disclose their issues gravitate to me, whether they know me or not. Now to be fair, strangers usually talk to me about relationship issues and leave sex out of the conversation. Random taxi drivers tell me ALL about their recent breakup during the hour long drive from Denver to the airport. I'm not making that up.

Friends and acquaintances have a fascinating mix relationship and sex issues, and they all talk to me about all of it. Cheating, love, crushes, marriage, divorce, sex, kink, the whole shebang. (indeed the word "s/he bang" was intentional. Because I'm clever. Occasionally.)

Seriously, it happens so often I've considered starting a sex advice blog (on an "adult" blog, obviously). This is occasionally awkward, often hilarious, and occasionally inspiring.

Well of COURSE I have an example.

A friend once came to me about her love life because she had issues orgasaming during sex and thought there was something wrong with her. This isn't unusual: happens to a LOT of women, but the reason why she has trouble trusting men enough to relax was...different. Her (ex)live-in boyfriend woke her up one night in trouble, needing help. Innocent to the different forms of kink in the world AND mostly still asleep, imagine her surprise when she found him stuck to the living room furniture, pants around his ankles, terrified and begging her to take him to the hospital.

He was into anal, you see. Receiving as well as giving, although she didn't know about either at the time, even after living together for over a year. He'd fastened a large dildo to a table and backed himself upon it while she slept unknowing in the other room. Apparently this had been going on for quite some time with no mention of his needs to her, and no, he wasn't closeted: just experimental.

Unfortunately, he'd heard that putting mustard on the dildo "increased sensation." In reality, it hurt like a motherfucker and he swelled so much he couldn't disengage and needed help, and emergency room visit, and soon after a new apartment. And she was a little screwed up by the various facets of the fiasco for many years. I gave her some recommendations (which worked, because I'm shameless and awesome) and as far as I know all is well with her husband (NOT the mustard dildo guy).

Today, however, the Universe gave me the what-for, possibly in response to my recent non-review of "mommy porn." I put on the sex-talk-hat for a different friend. This one has been married quite some time to a woman who's consistently had problems with sex, no matter how he woos her and tries. And he does try, diligently. He loves her buttloads** and wants a good, full marriage with her, but things have been lacking for quite some time. Well, whose marriage hasn't gone through desert spells on occasion? But when the "spell" lasts for over five years there's a goddamn problem. Seriously.

Well, apparently 50 shades of...ugh...is helping and he needed some ideas on what to do, because of course he's never read it. I considered referring him to Secretary, but honestly that may be over the top to start. Instead, I was inspired to write some seriously excellent scenes for my current novel AND I referred him to a couple fun sections at Fantasy Gifts. Because we all start somewhere, and discovering your spouse is a horny woman after reading smut should be fun, right?

*I feel I should qualify my "stay away from humans" statement because it doesn't include my husband, ever. In fact, I knew he was going to be my mate exactly when I realized that even when I want NO ONE around, I still want him around. And ten years later I still do, and he still puts up with my shit, so all is well and I can be SAST (super amateur sex therapist) for other people. Yay!

**Nope, I sure don't know exactly how much a buttload is, nor what multiples of that would be. I could've used a nicer term for loving someone a lot, but...why?

Life is HARD.

For my dogs. Which I typed as "gods" by accident once during this post.

Also, life is apparently exhausting: 

Exhausting to the point of looking dead: