I’ve decided to continue The Onanists’ Tail later. I seem to have lost the thread of my story.    

“How I Got Here” is not in reference to how I got to France. (by plane, like most people.) I mean how I got to the point in my life where I feel driven to write about myself. How I acquired  a taste for erotic literature, how nothing in my upbringing nor my life up until a few years ago would have seemed to point me in this direction, having grown up in Colorado Springs, capital of moral consciousness. It all started in the summer of 2009. For sixteen years prior to this period, I was a banged up, scratch-n-dent marble in a glass jar. I must say that I was already damaged well before I came anywhere near the jar. I have known extremely  bad moments in that jar. There was severe depression, alcoholism with a capital A and a huge lack of sexual fulfillment. It never seemed clear to me in what order these problems occurred. I have also known immensely happy times there filled with complicity and warmth. There is security in being closed in. I am not entirely sure if the glass jar is my husband or if it is my marriage. Either my husband is a big, healthy marble in this jar, or he is the jar. It is a transparent container. I could always see out to the other side. It was solid and strong, although I was not. When the jar started to shake and crack, life as I knew it was suddenly turned upside down. I was then out of the jar. I was terrified and it was a horrid test of my strength and my own desire to live but I made it through somehow. I am an imaginative girl. There are loads of ways I made it through this mid-life drama…

Which leads us to now.