If a baby is near full term and the mother is sick — say, like me, dying from a pregnancy related disease like preeclampsia—they fucking deliver the baby alive if possible. In fact, if the baby is past viability, they will whisk it to the NICU once born and do their damnedest to save that baby’s life.
My blood pressure was ridiculously high, I’d gained eighteen pounds of fluid in just a week or so, and my urine dipstick actually turned black because there was so much protein being shed by my body. (Find out about the symptoms of preeclampsia here.)
It was preeclampsia, a disease that effects some 5–8% of pregnancies. 76,000 women each year DIE from this disease. And guess what cures preeclampsia? Only one thing: ending the pregnancy.
Here’s the good news: in most cases, preeclampsia develops later in pregnancy, and most of those babies are saved.
The events of the past 34 hours, as you may well imagine, have shaken us to the bone. What began as a routine 22-week ultrasound for healthy mom and twins rapidly cascaded into a series of unforeseen tragedies. I thank Sarah for keeping all of you updated as the details were revealed.
With growing concern for Cecily's health and having received confirmation of her severe pre-eclamptic symptoms from our doctor and his colleagues, it became clear around dawn this morning that the time for difficult choices had arrived. We were told in compassionate but firm language that keeping Cecily both alive and pregnant for the next 4-6 weeks, in hopes of reaching viability for the surviving fetus, was not a possibility. We were also confronted with a staggering array of potential outcomes facing Cecily if we chose to attempt the impossible...ranging from liver damage and kidney failure to stroke and brain damage.
With Cecily's health as our primary concern we reluctantly agreed to allow our doctor to terminate the pregnancy.
But my role as an ally changed in a big way at this year’s Pride parade, when my daughter said, “Mom,” and then took a deep breath, looked me deep in the eyes and said, “I know what I am now. I’m pansexual.”
This wasn’t a complete surprise; she’d been considering the label for a while, but had been unwilling to commit.
But now, officially 10 years old, she’s ready to identify herself as pansexual.
Moments after this big reveal, as I sat with the knowledge that I was the mother of a queer daughter, we heard about the man in Los Angeles being stopped on his way to Pride with guns and bombs, and I suddenly realized that my daughter was now one of the millions of people at risk because of vile and unreasonable hatred about non-straight sexuality.
Here's the story of the hoarded, filthy house and its impact on Tori.Back when Cecily quit her day job to stay home with Tori and be a mommy blogger, she found that somehow, with two adults in the house, neither were able to do nothing all day AND take care of a child and a home. So Tori went into full time pre-school and Cecily hired women she called "the Irish girls" to clean her house so she could binge-watch television all day. Then they hit the financial wall - Cecily lost contracts because she's incompetent (notably the sex shop job where she SWF-ed her coworker, which brought forth the pink-haired Dame Edna/Grimace version of Cecily), they had to repay the money they stole from Charlie's mother, etc. The Irish girls had to go and the house fell into a state that can only be described as hazardous. Actually, you could describe it as disgusting, too.
Cecily, unaware that "living out loud" didn't mean literally telling everything about her life, thought it would make her relatable if she turned to her readers for help in organizing her life. She told about how badly she managed her life, from food to money to cleaning to mothering and documented it. Posted pictures and everything. In the first entry of this thread, @entropyseekswork has pictures of what the house looked like after Cecily made a resolution to clear it out and asked her readers to help her figure out how to do it. The house was still gross after the clean up. Before the clean up it was like filth lasagna, layers of toys and clothes atop layers of food wrappers and papers atop layers of loose change and milk jug caps atop human and animal filth and hair.
I may be able to find the passages where Cecily discussed her house - sadly GOMI is the best reference and Alice is living up to her role as shittiest webmistress ever because you can't search the site for specific phrases - but for now, from my memory Cecily discussed her complete lack of domestic routine, down to the fact that she bathed once a week and wanted to get up to every other day (she hilariously swore that even though she was 300 pounds plus, she never ever stank when she failed to wash them skin folds for a week). Her readers were, for one of the first times ever, not particularly supportive with the idea that a grown-ass woman would need their help to figure out how to schedule baths so that she could wash her ass more than once a week. Cecily backtracked and said that ever since she dyed her hair pink, she had left an atrocious mess in the tub and that was one of the reasons she didn't bathe as often.
And sure enough the tub was gross but the takeaway was if she wasn't happy using the pink, grimy tub, what was she washing Tori in? Was the kid getting bathed? During this time Tori had a case of near-intractable lice that kept flaring up - Tori was "patient zero" for her pre-school and kept returning to infect the other children, and Cecily got pissed that the school authorities were not understanding about it. This was not a situation of a school of kids passing around lice - Tori got lice, gave it to everyone. The other kids' parents eradicated the lice and they got it again from Tori. I believe this happened for two separate cycles.
It was clear that Tori's basic hygiene needs were not being met. From all appearances her clothes were seldom washed because they were in the filth lasagna in the living areas so they likely sat where they were discarded. I'm sure CPS has seen worse homes than Cecily's but it was shocking how little Cecily understood how fucking foul her house was and how such filth and chaos affected a child. If I walked into a family member's home and saw something similar to Cecily's house there would have been what we in the south refer to as a "come to Jesus" moment. It was an absolutely unacceptable place for a child and multiple animals to be living.
tl;dr: For a while Cecily's kid lived in the sort of filth that would have caused me to cause a scene and threaten to call CPS had I seen such a spectacle in my own family and friends. The current house is far less cluttered these days though none too clean, but as long as Tori has clean clothes and a clean-enough place to sleep and eat, I'm not gonna get too worked up.
The Champ
He was a promising middleweight
with a record of sixteen and oh
when the doc called him in
and gave him the news:
"You got maybe two years left
in this game, kid," he said.
The kid looked stunned.
"Too many shots to the head?"
"No," said the doc, "it's your hands,
they're shrinking."
It was true. Every day
they were a little smaller.
Every fight, the gloves
had to be laced a little tighter.
He retired undefeated
at twenty and oh, still champ.
These days you can find him
outside the Army-Navy store,
Hands no bigger than a squirrel's
and playing the tiniest of violins.
This isn't the only time Cecily refused to believe in facts that were inconvenient and upsetting to her. She has been diagnosed as bipolar by multiple doctors, but according to Cecily, they were lying and instead reacting against her confidence and intelligence.
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Charlie and Cecily, who used to work in a vet's office (where she stole thousands of dollars from the doctor who took a risk on employing her unskilled ass), had an elderly cat. Cecily thought she was being impish by blogging that she'd been a "bad cat mommy" and hadn't brushed the cat or paid attention to it for months. Its fur got so long and matted that the cat ended up with a grooming wound from trying to free the matted fur. The wound got infected, and as Cecily and Charlie neglected this animal, the infected wound was soon bursting with maggots.
Reminder--we only know this because Cecily thought it was a cute story for her blog.
Oh and the cat was purring as the vet was pulling maggots out of its wound, so Cecily deduced this meant the cat was happy in spite of all the pain and anxiety of being strapped to the vet's table. Of course if Cecily remembered anything from the time she was stealing money from a vet, cats purr when they are in extreme distress.
Whoops! Luckily, Cecily got a hilarious blog post out of the cat's ordeal!![]()
My Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Yard
Years ago I dated this cellist. We lived together--even moved to the suburbs at the end--but it ended badly. One day I came home from work and I thought we’d been robbed, but he had just moved out (he’s the author of the famous note: “Cec--I thought about our relationship and moved”).
A few weeks later we ran into each other at a bar and he told me all about the new girl he was dating (yep, I was an idiot--I let him tell me). Suddenly, he got this wistful look on his face and said, “But she doesn’t give head like you do...” When I heard he married that girl I remember thinking now he’ll be missing me for the rest of his LIFE.
I share this story by way of qualifying.
I’ve been reading up on what other people say about blow jobs on line. There’s plenty of good information out there; pretty much anything I write is going to be obvious and redundant. So read here, here and here. Also, it’s almost impossible to write about this without sounding smug, pornographic, or clinical. I’ll do my best, but I’m sure a lot of you at home will say, “Oh, I knew that. Tell me something new!”
Secondly, I have to admit to three things. First off, I have little or no gag reflex, thanks to years of bulimia. So for those of you who asked me about how to not gag, well, what can I say. Secondly, I have a huge mouth. HUGE. It may not look like it, but I can open my mouth really, really wide. Third--and this one is the hardest to admit--but I don’t like receiving. Don’t ask me why, I simply don’t. It doesn’t work for me. I’m still a feminist, I promise.
Given those three things, I admit to the advantage.
Here we go.
This first tip is for both men and women. It’s critical.
FORGET EVERYTHING YOU HAVE SEEN IN PORN.
Porn head, I’m sure, feels like shit. The blow jobs in porn are meant to LOOK good--not to FEEL good. Remember, as lousy as they may be, these people are ACTORS. Male porn stars spurt on cue--not because of anything being done to them. What you are looking at when you see a porno is FAKE. You cannot learn anything from those people.
Unless you rent gay porn. THAT you can learn from.
For the boys--you cannot expect your woman to look like a porn star when she sucks you off. Trust me. Close your eyes and concentrate on what feels good, not what looks good.
Second critical tip: KNOW WHAT WORKS FOR YOU.
If you can’t deep throat without gagging, don’t do it. Vomiting on his dick is NOT SEXY. There are plenty of ways to avoid putting the whole thing in your mouth and still be good at it, I promise. Most involve fingers and wrapping them tight and wet around the base. Move with your hand with your mouth and trust me he’s gonna be happy.
If you don’t like to swallow then figure out what the fuck you ARE going to do when the time comes. Talk about it. Me, I’d rather swallow than clean up later. If you don’t mind cleaning up, tell the dude what parts you don’t mind getting coated. I, for one, don’t permit much on the face (although an occasional chin drop is accepted). I got it in my eye once and it burned for like a DAY (now you know why porn stars squeeze their eyes shut so tight even though that doesn’t look hot at all).
About gagging. You have a dick in your mouth. Sometimes you are going to gag. Expecting to not gag EVER is insane. If you gag, just pull back, do some licking and take some deep breaths. Resume when you can. As far as how to swallow without gagging--honestly, gag away. Nothing make a man feel worse about getting head than watching you try not to gag. Take deep breaths and relax and just accept the gagging. You might get used to it, or not. Again, if you hate swallowing, plan around that.
The best part about giving head is the teasing. I become very, very focused. I lick, I breathe softly, I put my mouth around it without actually touching it except with my tongue. I do this for a long time. I frequently slide fingers or a thumb into my mouth while I’m on it softly as well. Men seems to like it when you groan while he’s in your throat too--and here’s a cool tip--groaning can STOP gagging (seems to give the throat something to do). Also, I keep my tongue firm, almost like another finger. I’m not a lips over the teeth girl--I find that hurts me after a while, and frankly, most guys don’t like it. Soft lips are great (until the end, then firm ‘em up a bit). The best way to keep teeth from being a problem is to make him lie down. This prevents him thrusting hard and catching you off guard.
The end is going to be very Hookers at the Point--all fast and furious. Staying in that place--where you are just sucking away and bouncing--is not comfortable. Your jaw aches, your throat gets chafed, maybe your saliva begins to dry up (in my opinion, giving head that way is exactly why women don’t like it--it hurts). That’s why I’ve found teasing so important--it keeps me in control and allows me to really show off. Frankly, at the end, he’s not spending much time focusing on your technique. You just go all hoover at the very end.
Now, if your guy is a hard-core face fucker, or wants a porn star/hooker-bouncy blow job, I don’t know what to say. Maybe try to retrain him. Chances are, none of this stuff is going to feel BAD to him--so you can just do this stuff as a prelude to sex (duh) and then you won’t have to worry about it (also a good way to avoid the whole swallowing issue). And know your limits. Some men like a finger up the ass to stimulate the prostate. If you can do that, more power to you. It can really move things along, or so I’ve heard, because I would NEVER stick a finger up anyone’s ass.
My last tip is this--FORGET EVERYTHING YOU HAVE READ IN WOMEN’S MAGAZINES. If it involves whipped cream or flavored anything, just forget it. All that shit tastes like wax and will only contribute to gagging. I promise.
All right. I have no more to say. Now Charlie will take over.
____________________________________________________
Cecily has covered an impressive amount of the erotic landscape of fellatio here, so I’m just gonna provide a bit of male counterpoint.
Two of the most important elements in any erotic experience have nothing to do with anatomy or technique. They are IMAGINATION and ANTICIPATION. For the typical man, the mere idea of having his cock kissed and sucked is a powerful aphrodesiac. So one of the most important parts of such an erotic encounter is therefore the beginning. This can involve surprise (e.g. being greeted upon exiting the shower) or pacing (e.g., the slow unzipping of the pants, ritualized removal of the belt, etc.). Regardless, the man will know what’s about to happen, and he will be excited by it. And the woman can use this phase to heighten his arousal.
Another thing that makes good head so exciting (for me, at least) is INTIMACY. There are few if any acts as intimate as oral sex. I’ve heard it said that during bad intercourse, the woman can plan how she wants to decorate the dining room or plan her sister’s wedding, but when giving head, she must be fully present in the act. This is true, and it really helps us men to feel loved if our lovers seem to enjoy the intimacy of giving us oral sex. (A caveat: yes, there are guys who prefer rough oral sex/oral rape, in which the whole idea is that the woman hate the act and end up with a faceful of cum. I am NOT one of those guys, so I’m not gonna address that. And if your lover IS one of those guys, you’re on your own.) So, by “enjoy,” I mean those delightful little sounds that make us feel like she’s eating the best dessert she ever tasted while she’s down there. Cecily called it a “groan”... I prefer to think of it as a “coo” or an “mmmmm.” Of course, we men know that this is acting. We’re not idiots. But we don’t care. We like it.
USE OF THE HANDS. Yes, as Cecily said, this is not only permitted but important. The gentle stroke of the fingers around the cock, then slipping in and out of the woman’s mouth can provide a powerful arousal during the TEASING phase. (Though a good grip at the base during final phase doesn’t hurt either.) As Cecily said, the TEASING part of head is essential. Not only does it provide the woman with a healthy respite from the head-bobbing, up-n-down ritual (which, by the way, is not the most stimulating part of the act for me either), but it provides the man with a chance to really enjoy the view. Men are VISUAL. We like to watch. And women’s mouths are beautiful, a fact that is erotically inescapable when they are kissing our genitals. Another important thing to remember here is MOISTURE. The erect cock craves a moist environment, so the hands (or fingers) should be wet with saliva...wet as an aroused vagina or welcoming mouth. And dry handjobs hurt.
COMMUNICATION is also important, whether verbal or via a gentle guiding hand. Both lovers should let the other know what works for them, and what doesn’t. Some of this can be worked out over cheese and crackers, other negotiations occur out of necessity during the act. Whatever the terms, make them mutual. It will improve enjoyment for everyone involved.
The FINALÉ. Cecily is right again... by this time, if all has gone properly, sanity has gone out the window, arousal is everything, and I’m not concentrating on the finer points of her technique. So whatever brings the man to orgasm best...whether that’s a wet handjob, grabbing the base and sucking the head, even the finger-up-the-ass (though that’s not my preference)...if it makes him cum, it’s right. There’s a scene in a Woody Allen film, I forget which one, where two women are talking about having the “wrong kind” of orgasm, and Allen interjects that, “even my worst one was right on the money.” That’s sort of the way it is with men.
Well, that’s about it. Hope that was helpful. Sure was fun writing it.