The memory hit Judah like a knife. Yeshua’s palm was broad and warm against his throat when he pressed his fingers into the flesh. “What would you do if I’d choked you, Judah?” A strange constellation of emotions passed through Judah’s body long before panic set in. He remembered his own voice, low like an old record that had been played too often. “Pray,” he said. Moan, he meant.
Sorry this is so last minute! Since I happened to be mostly done with a colored version of this doodle, I figured, why not post it? XD I wanted to post fic too… I’ll try for this weekend if I can! (And for anyone who’d like some Storming the Castle spoilers and/or teasers, you can check out my new inspiration board for Part Two over at Pinterest, to see the visuals I’m using as inspiration. Advance warning: It’s big. And REALLY PRETTY. Fic not guaranteed to be that pretty.)
Weight: I never weighed myself enough to know, but I have lost over 20 kilos.
The before photo was taken in 2012. I began my weight loss journey in 2014, but have been on and off until 2016, where i fully committed to becoming healthy.
Diet & exercise strategy: I cut most carbs out of my diet, and only eat wheat bread once-twice a week. I have a lot of tuna salads, chicken and veggies, overnight oats, avocado protein shakes, 2-3 fruits a day.
My workout was boot camp 3-4 times a week for 6 months, however, I get i lose focus easily, so now I go to the gym and do classes/weights.
Tbh, my mentality is what helps me keep fit. I envision my end goal and that is what keeps me motivated. I used to hate exercising, and had the mindset of ‘I HAVEto go’ now its ‘I can’t wait to go,’(and i really can’t). I follow blogs that encourage positive self-love, and I have a health board on pinterest that inspires new regimens and keeping healthy.
It’s all about the environment you surround yourself in, the thoughts you have, and accepting it isn’t going to happen over night, but enjoying the journey anyway.
There is nothing sexier than watching a man withdraw money from an ATM and knowing that money is meant for you. There is nothing more annoying than waiting for a man, that is too old, too unattractive, too much of a conservative, too much of a racist to really warrant your attention, to decide he is going to give you money. There is nothing more annoying than smiling and preening for a man you’d otherwise ignore. You’re tired, cranky, getting close to broke, in need of a vacation, and running out of foundation. Small talk is annoying. It feels like all you ever do is introduce yourself. You’ve done that and rattled through all of the things that make you unique dozens of times. So often, it stops feeling like you. It’s a script. A script so well rehearsed you find yourself using parts of it even when the situation doesn’t call for it. No? Not you? Just me? That’s fine.
I’m sugaring for a reason and for a limited time. I’ll elaborate. I’m sugaring for the funds to build a successful business. Once I have that business up and running, I’m leaving online sugaring alone. I’m leaving allowance talks alone. Neither are things I enjoy. I do, however, enjoy nice things and trips that I don’t pay for. So, I’ll be free styling. No more talks of allowance. Talk, instead, of buying me property, trips, and continued educations classes that will make me a better person. I just need to make a few more dollars and I can make my dream a reality. Or so I thought.
I woke up one day and realized that I have already been gifted every single thing I need in order to make a business work. I was gifted art supplies. I was gifted the furniture I needed to set up a dedicated creative space. I was gifted the laptop, iPad, and phone I wanted to run my business. What in hell was I waiting for?
I was waiting for the fear to die. I didn’t think anyone would care about this blog. I didn’t think anyone would care about my words. I didn’t think anyone would care about my voice. I started writing anyways even though I didn’t really have anything to say. And you have almost daily reached out to me and loved on me in a way that has left me breathless. In spite of that, I was still afraid. You loved my words but would you love my paintings?
I realized that if I continued to let fear and doubt shackle me to the rock of perpetual indecision I would never know if you would love my work or not. And I’d add another weight to my shoulders: regret. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
My paintings and writings are fueled by the same emotions that pushed me to start this blog: loneliness and a desire for inspiration and motivation to keep pressing forward.
We as sugars, as sex workers, understand loneliness in a way very few people do. The truth is no one gets being a sex worker the way other sex workers do. No one gets being a sugar baby the way other sugar babies do. But we’re a hard bunch to connect to, to form bonds with. Despite our ability to finesse money from a man’s wallet, we find ourselves awkward around sex workers we admire. Did we say too much in that message or ask? Reveal to much to this woman we respect? Are we bothering her if we reach out again? How do we develop a friendship with this faceless, nameless entity that we’ve fallen in love with based on words and images alone? I didn’t know. I was blessed with @lustington and @brownstatuesquesugarbaby; with kind words from @thotianaxoxo. They saw past my awkwardness and stuck with me; responded to me when I messaged them. I will forever be grateful for that. And for the deeper bonds I forged with brown and lust.
But I didn’t always have them. I did, however, always have my pen and my easel. I followed my usual habits and turned to them. Like Pinocchio’s Geppetto, I created the sugar friends I wanted. I based them on women whose stories I admired. Creating them visually and literally gave me peace. And when I put my pen down, when I set my paint brush aside, I felt emotions that surprised me. I felt connected to the sugar baby community as a whole. I couldn’t explain why at the time but my feelings of loneliness had lessened. It was as if having this piece of art, this visual cue, had the power to remind me with just a glance that I was not alone.
I felt motivated and for a woman that had quit the bowl twice before this was important. Every single woman I created embodied traits that I wanted or had. Every single woman had reached a point in her sugaring journey that I wanted to reach. I’d look at them and realize that I could reach whatever heights I wanted. I realized that they only thing stopping me was me. Looking at those paintings reminded me that to succeed, I would have to work. What’s more they made me want to work.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. I have always been a visual person. I see things and understand them. I love vision boards, inspiration photos taped to the refrigerator, and Pinterest. In fact, I’d tried, upon first entering the bowl, to find art for sex workers but nothing satisfied me. Everything looked as if it had been created by an outsider and was therefore for outsiders. Like I said, we all know no one understands sex work, truly understands, the way other sex workers do. I’ve satisfied my needs with these visuals and their accompanying stories. I’ve found a way to combine my love of words and painting. I’ve managed to ease my loneliness. And I’ve created a (what I think is) beautiful, daily reminder to never give up on my dreams or the unconventional path I chose to get there.
I’d like to now do the same thing I always do when something, anything happens to me. I’d like to share my art with you. Come back tomorrow. I’ll begin sharing the stories of 12 women who were inspired by fellow sex workers, fellow sugar babies. I call them The New Money Girls. You may recognize them. You may recognize yourself. See you tomorrow.
By your blog, you look and sound self-centered. It seems like you are oblivious to the real world. That may be a good thing.
You made a good point: by my blog. Which was started and is still used only as an inspiration board. Don’t get me wrong, I love the interactions I’ve been able to have here. But this is 1% of my real life and my real world, if that.
You forget that you don’t see me taking care of my home or working my three jobs or spending hours every day starting my company at 22 or spending whole days with close friends or going on walks with my mom. You don’t know how I show and receive love or how I say thank you probably in complete excess to everyone I interact with throughout the day because I am constantly remembering that I know nothing about how good or bad their day is. You don’t know what I’m reading or that I don’t own a TV. You have no idea what my favorite time of day is or how I have lengthy conversations with all of the baristas at the coffee shop downstairs every single day. or how my relationship ended because I wasn’t self centered enough and didn’t understand that I do actually deserve things .
You don’t know the lessons I’ve learned or what I pray about or how much I love my life. Just like I don’t know that about you. I would love to. But that’s really hard to do when you don’t ask me directly.