An Open Letter to Society

Lately I’ve been on a body hating trip. I haven’t felt pretty or good about myself and I’m kinda sick and tired of it. The truth of the matter is that society has abused me, it’s done unspeakable things to me, and it continues to do this. Society has damaged me in a way that I’m unsure if the damage can be undone. I am honestly so very tired of hating myself, my body, and putting value on myself based on my looks. My VALUE IS NOT MY SIZE. This is completely stupid, yet everyone, in some way, has been effected this way. We associate value with our size and our looks. Long hair, a pretty face, a thin body, and so many more things equate “pretty”. When is enough well, enough?

Until recently “fat” is bad. Now we, a society, are saying NO fat is okay, IF. We’re saying NO fat is okay, BUT. Enough of that shit. I’ve heard enough buts and I’m so SICK of the buts and the ifs and the excuses. I AM BEAUTIFUL. Not because of my size, or my looks, or my hair, or the way I dress. I am beautiful because of what is INSIDE OF ME. I am a mother. I am a friend. I am a daughter. I have compassion and I try to help anyone and everyone that I possibly can. I love with my WHOLE BEING and I do anything and everything that I possibly can, and THEN some for the people I love. I have spent nights alone, sleeping in a car, going without food just so that I can provide the things my daughter needs. I have pushed myself for hours and days and MONTHS to get through the things that I have been through. I have been on death’s door more than once, and I’ve looked Death in the eye and said FUCK YOU. I am a strong woman, though at times I feel weak and invisible.

Yes, I’m fat. You know what though? That’s OKAY. Not because I’m trying to lose weight, not because it would be better if it were in my butt or my boobs, not because I try and I try and nothing seems to work. It is okay because it’s just a fucking shell that I happen to live in. I’m not more or less valuable than ANY OTHER PERSON because of what I LOOK LIKE. Humanity’s value is in our actions, it’s in our minds, and it’s in our hearts and souls. It’s NO WHERE on the outside. I’ve had a LOT of issues with this in the past… and I mean a LOT of issues. I haven’t understood that for SO many years. Why haven’t I? Why haven’t I been able to see it? Why haven’t I been able to believe it? Why am I sitting here, tears streaming down my face, still questioning it all because I’m fat? The answer to all four of those questions is because society and humanity, for the most part, have told me I’m pretty for a fat girl. Or but you should worry about your health. They tell me things like you’re a great person, but your size is really an issue. I’m sorry that you society think that. I’m sorry that you feel like you’re helping me, when really you’re just fat shaming me and making me want to take ANY option out of this body. I’m sorry that you feel like you’re going to make me see a light and change my ways, however in reality you’re making me want to do nothing more than die. You’re breaking me, you’re hurting me, and the fucked up part? If it were a spouse hurting me, you’d be there guns blazing to “protect” me, to help me get away from the situation, to build me up and make me feel like I’m safe. If a man hits a woman you PROTECT THAT WOMAN by all possible means…. but well, we’re just fat and you’re skinny and it’s okay because we should be like you.

Hey society. I’m looking you dead in the eye and I’ll tell you exactly what I’ve told many people on many occasions. FUCK YOU. I’m Snow, and I’m fat, and I’m fucking fabulous!

My Secret…

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I have written and rewritten this quite a few times in the last few days. Fair warning, before I start getting into all the details, this is very personal to the point that some of you may not want to read it at all. I don’t want any drama over it, I don’t want people filling my inbox with criticism and crap. I’m only writing this to get it out, and it isn’t for anyone else’s benefit other than my own. I figure if I write this, then maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to sigh a bit of relief and move on. I also want to say this has been tremendously hard to write, even if it is typed on a computer. I have spent hours crying just while writing this, so please respect my wishes, at least with this writing.

I am very aware that a lot of people think I’m a bitch, and a cunt. That many people don’t really give half a shit about me, and that’s well and fine. I will be the first to admit I am a bitch, but I have very good reasons to be so. As I have said before only a handful of people really know ME, and until you know me, don’t judge me. However, this will give you some insight to who I am, what I have been dealing with, and why I’m a bitch in my own right.

So the real question is where to begin? As a writer, I know that the story always starts at the beginning, but the real question is when DID it begin? Was it the pains? The getting sick? Or was it when I started hiding something very huge from those I care so deeply about? Hiding things from those I love and cherish in my life? Okay…. I guess I’ll just pick a point then eh?

I’ve been hiding something from most everyone that knows me for a year and a half. While there are a very select few of you that know, those that I can count on one hand, the rest of you have been in the dark. For that, I am truly sorry. I have never meant to hurt anyone, or been in the position that I wanted to hold something from anyone I love and care about. Some family members don’t even know the things I am currently writing about, so know that if you didn’t know, you aren’t alone by any means, and that I truly apologize for keeping you in the dark.

In August of 2014 I started to notice some changes with my body and the way I was feeling. Being me, as most of you know, I was stubborn and refused to admit these things and have them looked at. In September and October, as I was starting a new relationship I started to get very sick. I couldn’t hold food, drinks, or even water at times. I would start to puke, and puke for at least half an hour at a time. I would continue to vomit until these pains would start. Pains that I’ve felt quite often over the years, they are unlike any form of pain I have experienced before. It feels as if someone has cut open my guts, thrust their fist inside, grabbed a fist full of my insides and started to clench and twist them around. These pains would, and still do, cause me to not be able to move, to cry out in pain, anger and suffering, and eventually black out as they last half an hour plus in length. The new relationship took me to the emergency room on one such occasion.

Once there I was thrown into a series of tests and exams, and I was there for 4 hours. They had found a huge mass in my reproductive organs, though they couldn’t tell where it was actually attached to, nor what it could be. I was told then to go the very next morning to have an MRI done, where they could see better what was going on. I was discharged, and quickly made my way from one end of town to the other where my daughter had a parent teacher conference I had to be at. While in the conference I started to get very sick again, the pains returned worse than before, and this time while I was getting sick there was blood. It may not be as much blood as I think now there was, but at the time it seemed to be everywhere. On the floor in a tiny grade school stall I sat puking, unable to stop, only seeing red. I was helped out of the restroom and taken straight back to the hospital where my mother and daughter met me.

The doctor I had just seen in the emergency room the first time was still on duty. I literally had been gone not even an hour at the point of being rushed into the emergency room for a second time that day. Instead of reassessing my case, I was told I would be going to the “big hospital”, straight to Riverside in Columbus. There were no ifs, ands, or buts, and there was no way I could refuse. My mother was going to keep my kiddo, as it was a school day, so she wouldn’t miss school, my other half at the time would follow the ambulance that was taking me, and I would know more in about an hour and a half. The only thing I can remember aside from the pain and the puking was looking out of the back of the ambulance and watching the truck that followed us there. I may have blacked out from pain a couple of times, because the ride literally seemed to only take 15 minutes tops.

Once in Columbus I was taken straight to a room in their emergency room. My chart was handed over, along with the chart from the first ER visit that day. I remember at some point my Aunt came in, who resides in Columbus, and there was a lot of talk. From the ER I was taken and put through another cat scan, more xrays, a ton of blood work, a urine test, and I can’t even tell you what all. It was deemed to admit me, put me in a room and have an MRI first thing in the morning. Well the next morning turned into being in the hospital the entire weekend and having an MRI first thing Monday morning. I found out then from an OBGYN and Oncologist that the “mass” was attached to my ovary, though could also be attached to other parts as well. Even with the MRI they couldn’t tell exactly and wouldn’t be able to know until I had surgery. That started a series of more tests, and treatments, and eventually a surgery when there weren’t other options. I was told I have ovarian cancer.

I started with hormone treatments until I could be cleared for surgery which would take a month and a half. It was the ideal theory that the mass could be taken care of with the hormones and medications, and I wouldn’t even need to have a surgery. They thought it was early enough that I could be fixed that way, and I wouldn’t have to worry about being a cancer patient. That dream was short lived. In a month and a half I spent more time in the hospital than I had in years, even all my years as a child and teen combined. The news came back surgery was the only option. I scheduled my surgery, the other half took time off of work to be by my side, and arrangements were made for my kiddo. I didn’t want her missing school just because I had cancer. I wouldn’t allow her to sacrifice time for her education for time by her mother’s bedside.

I went to the hospital the morning of my surgery. My other half, my mother, my daughter, my aunt, and my grandmother by my side. I remember hugging my daughter like it was the last time I’d hug her, and being so scared that I’d never get to see her grow up. A fear that I’d never really thought I would have to deal with in my life, especially not before I was even 30 years old. I was 28, I was in my prime, and even though I’d been through hell before, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be looking at losing my LIFE before even having a chance to live it! To be 28 years old and lose the ability for my daughter to have a brother or sister, to not have the things that a WOMAN HAS. I was checked into the hospital again, this time to save my life so that I could watch her grow up, and be there the way that my mother had been there for me. I was taken back to be put through everything I needed to do for surgery, and because of the restrictions that were in place when on the surgical floor, my daughter was not permitted to be with me. She was left to wait in the waiting room with the rest of my family. I remember cleaning off with the antibacterial wipes, and shaking from being cold and literally so afraid I couldn’t stop shivering and shaking.

One of the nurses let my daughter up to see me right before they came to get me for surgery. I told her I loved her, and I would be back as quickly as I possibly could be. I told her that I loved her unlike I’ve ever loved another human being, and that she was and is the best thing to EVER happen in this meager thing I call a life. That she alone is the sun that shines and warms my skin each and every day, and the reason I breathe. She kissed my forehead, I said my goodbyes, and was taken into the operating room tears streaming down my face.

Up until this point I had fought to keep the right to have a child. No that’s wrong, it isn’t a right. It is a privilege, an honor, a gift to have a child. I had fought to keep living my life on MY TERMS. I wasn’t going to lay down and submit to the bullshit that is cancer, I wasn’t going to then, and I still am not going to now. My doctors knew that the only things to be taken from me were what I had consented to, and I DID want to have more children in the future. I don’t remember how long surgery took, I don’t remember the doctors or nurses trying to calm me down as I was slipping away. I remember my Great Grandfather, the reason I wanted to die so many years ago telling me it was okay, and that I was loved and needed in the world. I remember the Gods blessing me and giving me the chance to talk to him, and while it seems crazy it wasn’t my mind just making it up as I was under and they were cutting away at me.

I was brought back to the world of the living, and told surgery was a success. The tumor mass that weighted about 10 pounds was taken off my left ovary, though they couldn’t save the ovary or my Fallopian tube. Thankfully it was not attached to the cervix or uterus and while it might be harder to conceive a child, I could still completely do so. The cells in the tumor were also found in my appendix so it was also removed, so I wouldn’t have a cancer spread. However, there was a small issue with the surgery, or what was found in the surgery. When they tested the cells of the tumor there was cancer found, but there were also fetal cells. They think that the tumor started as a twin to what would have been my daughter’s twin. I went through a wide range of emotions thanks to that bit of knowledge.

After surgery I kept up with medications and treatments. It seemed like I would feel fine and my numbers would be up and then without warning they would be all thrown off again, and I would have to go back on treatments. This has been my life just with the normal life added factors. There’s work and a relationship gone, there’s my daughter and her health issues. I’ve been through treatment and hell, but I’m still here. Now after all this fighting I’m looking at the point of having to go through all of this all over again. To lose every bit of femininity I have left and to lose the ability to bring life into the world. Granted, I’m not in a position to do that currently, but I like having the option. I like knowing that if I would meet someone I want to have a family with, there is the option of doing that.

So yes, I’m a bitch. I’m a cunt, and I am cruel and mean and so many things that some of you think about me. I am human. I am a fighter, and if you were dealing with cancer you might be all of those things too, and then some other things. So why did I hide all of this? I don’t want you to feel bad for calling me out when I’m a bitch. I don’t want you to feel bad or take pitty on me that you don’t like me. I don’t want you to pretend that you’re my friend because “oh God she has cancer”. I don’t want to be that girl with cancer, I don’t want to be that friend you pitty and check up on because you might feel bad you didn’t take the time to get to know ME and I died on you. Yes, I have cancer but having cancer has made me see some things about the world… things that I love and things I loathe. It’s not on me that you don’t want to get to know me, or you think that because you’ve heard something that it’s true. If you want to believe that then that’s great! Go for it!! I’m not the one missing out, but you just might be. Because I’ve kicked cancer’s ass once, and I’ll do it again, and keep the ability and gift of being able to bring life into the world.

I guess that’s all. It’s been hell, and it’s going to probably keep being hell. Writing this has shown me that there are still tears and emotions that I have to work through. That it is STILL hell, even after the time that has passed. I’ll deal with it and move on with my life. But next time I say I don’t want to talk, or it feels like I’m hiding something. It could very much be something to do with this. I’ll get around to letting you in, to telling you, and the point that will happen is when I’ve processed, digested, and when I am ready to. Thanks for listening, and sorry it was so long.

I’m Not Real??

So lately I’ve been talking to this “dom”. I say it that way for various reasons, and they will become clear as I write this. So just bear with me. Now we have only talked because he lives out of state, but he does travel quite a bit, which also brings him to Ohio through the year. So I decided ok, give it a chance and see what might happen.

Red Flag One: He’s married, and his wife doesn’t know. I was called out on the fact I felt uneasy with this because I had told him before I’d slept with married men. One of my play partners IS a married man, however he is poly and I’m pretty sure his wife AND girlfriend know he’s doing whatever and that he comes over.

Red Flag Two: When I started talking to him it was under the premise that he would be submissive and I Domme roles. To which he’s very quickly reversed around since he found out more about my different sides.

Red Flag Three: Today I get an email demanding a task from me, and asked about anal and fisting. Now I have NEVER done fisting, as I like to stay pretty tight. I take pride in that. Sorry, just not going to happen. I also haven’t done anal since I had to go through my cancer surgery. Mostly because when I do I tense up and get these horrid pains that cause me to black out. So I tell him no fisting, and I don’t do anal anymore for health/safety reasons.

So he replies that perhaps I’m not kinky enough for him. To which I calmly replied that being kinky enough isn’t the issue. The issue is I will not EVER risk my health and safety for anyone. My limits are mine, and mine alone. If that’s an issue perhaps we shouldn’t bother to meet up when he’ll be in town this coming week. I get ANOTHER email back from him after this, saying that real subs have no limits. I promptly told him to just fuck right the hell off.

I seriously thought we were over the era of creepy dom and all the bullshit that he has to offer, though it seems I have been mistaken. Then I had another thought…. what about the submissives, male and female, that don’t know how to deal with creepy dom or his counterpart creepy domme? It makes me really sad honestly.

Then there’s another part to all of this. I know damn well WHO and WHAT I am. I am Luci Snow, and I AM a switch. I have countless amounts of fun as both a Domme, and a submissive. I also happen to be a little girl and a middle. These things I would not trade for the world! I am deserving of amazing things, and no way in hell is something amazing going to ask me to drop my limits or compromise my health, safety, or my well being. I am better than that.

Why I’m going Viking – and why you should too

I really enjoyed this article, and I think you all might just like it too!!


Source: Why I’m going Viking – and why you should too

A Fantasy of a Dream

This morning I woke up, desperately trying to get back to sleep. The dream I had been having came to an end all too soon, and it was so vivid I woke up feeling the sensations of each and every aspect.

He sent a text with an address, telling me to meet him there and I smiled typing it into my GPS. I knew the area of town, but not the actual place I was going. I pulled into the parking lot and checked my makeup, another text came in “when you  come in tell them you’re with Team Darren”. I tilted my head, his name was Mike, why go with Team Darren? I shrugged and went into the building.

Inside it was almost dark, I had to let my eyes adjust. My heels clicked against the cobbled stones in the entrance hall, my fingers dragging against the harsh brick of the wall. I was almost floating with excitement towards the dim lights. I stopped and smiled telling the host who I was there for, and then followed as I was lead to my date. He looked amazing in a casual business type of outfit. His shirt was a soft blue, his pants  black, and every detail completely perfect. I smiled again, blushing even as the smell of the jazz club started to float into my senses. The dim light had a warm glow about it that almost kissed my skin, adding to the excitement, the smells of lavender, jasmine, and liquor came to me in a mix of desire, passion, and lust. There was a band on a stage in the corner, the sounds of the sax slowly making its  way up my spine and tickling my ears softly, seeping into my body, making my hips slowly sway as I walk.

He smiles, standing to kiss me, and offering me a seat at our table. The chairs are raised up and swivel around, this makes the little in me giggle with ideas of dangling toes and childish games, but there is no little, at least not for now. Tonight is all about the bigs, and the things we will do together. Mike orders me a drink and the host rushes off leaving us alone. He asks if I found the place alright, and I nod still looking around trying to take it all in. This is NOT what I expected to say the least. As we make small talk and sip our drinks I notice that the walls are a wooden beige color with wooden accent pieces stained a cherry oak, the contrast making a flair of statement along  with the added golden metal pieces that adorned the walls. The over all feel and look of the space adding a classy feel to the soulful club. Looking up I realize the ceiling is a rafter ceiling, also the stained cherry oak, with sheer golden fabric hanging down, the glow of light catching it in all the right places. He went all out for me tonight, and I purr turning my attention back to him.

We talk, and decide to unplug completely from the outside world after a photo together. I spin my chair a bit closer to him, our faces only inches from touching, I can smell him. He smells divine and it’s intoxicating; for a moment I feel his lips almost brush against mine, but no, not yet. He pulls me closer, my legs drape over his. He rests his hand on my knee and strokes slowly, my body feels like it’s on fire. A fire spreading from his fingertips over every single part of me. It branches out from his touch, and his touch alone can put that fire to rest. The seduction he’s planned out tonight, has ripped over every inch of me, and we snap the photo. With the photo goes away any contact from the outside world, and we start to explore the adventure of one another, the people in the club slowly fading away until it is just he and I. We become high on each other, the music pushing and pulling us closer together, our bodies entwining, no fusing together.

A song starts to play, and he smiles kissing me. His lips, oh his lips taste like cherries and Gran Patron, completely erasing any doubt in my  mind  about him. His arm wrapped around my waist and he led me to the dance floor then took me against him. He held me in ways I didn’t know were possible, his finger tips lightly kissing my skin as he led me around the floor.

And then I woke up. It was so real, like we were there…. and I sighed wishing it wasn’t a dream, and I could go back and live in that moment forever.

I Want…

I want to go upstairs, run a bath, and when I’m bent over to turn off the water once it’s filled, someone to come up behind me…

his fingertips caressing my spine then his hands resting on my hips pulling me back onto him…

his cock slowly splitting open my cunt, and feeling the tight wet warmth
and then having his way with me over and over until both of us are so damn tired we can barely crawl to the bed and curl up…

but once there, he covers us with a blanket, shoves his cock back into my cunt that he’s claimed as his and we fall asleep.

The Bastard Children

So I woke up to a text from Puppy about she would be a Sand if she were a Game of Thrones bastard child, as which I would be a Snow. Snow Snow, gotta love it eh? Or Luci Snow, as my name on Fetlife already states *grins*. Anyways she said she wasn’t sure WHAT the West Bastards are called, and well me being me I had to look up all the Bastard Children Names in Game of Thrones.

The Reach: Flowers
The Westlands: Hill
Iron Islands: Pyke
The Riverlands: Rivers
Dorne (the south): Sand
The North: Snow
The Vale of Arryn: Stone
The Stormlands: Storm
The Crownlands: Waters

Also bastard Targaryen children are Blackfyre.

So now you all know too! *giggles*

What I Want in a Man

I used to think I had an idea person, though everything I thought I knew has gone out the window. I adore long hair, I really like guys that wear makeup and I love facial hair. So that’s a start I guess. Oh I also don’t date anyone that’s my own age. I guess that’s probably superficial, but I like older men.

I want something real, something that both parties are going to benefit from and enjoy. I want to enjoy and be enjoyed. It’s not only about play or sex, but it’s a connection, and the connection that brings everything together correctly.

I want someone that turns me on in ways I never imagined, that not only can make my blood warm and pussy wet, but make my mind start to fire so quickly that the very thought of that person is enough to make me a puddle of goo. I want to share experiences with someone, and grow in was I never thought were going to happen both on a kinky level and a normal one.


So I was talking to a Dom friend earlier about various turn ons, and things that I really want to do this year, and I’m SO fucking horny it’s not even funny! He at one point told me to excuse myself and give myself 10 firm swats to the cunt, which I did and I was so damn wet I had to dry my hand TWICE! I keep thinking about all the kinky things I want to accomplish this year, and while those very thoughts are enough to make me wet, telling them to him, and having him react just turn me on SO very much more. Then there is the thought of maybe sharing a few of these experiences with him, and I turn to goo. While I was slapping my cunt the last slap was so hard my knees almost buckled. While I COULD say what all these things to come are here, some are better left for private conversation. Though I’ll share a short list of things I want this year.


To go to a glory hole

to go to an adult theatre

a mmf threesome

to be someone’s key holder

my own cuck

an orgy

more rope AND suspension

more photo shoots

abduction pics and vid and play

a “brother” for a weekend of naughty delight

to explore something unknown

my kinky dinner party

sex in a hot tub

to learn to give a foot job

Pure Snow

So a few days ago I was talking to a friend, and he said I was strong. I haven’t been feeling too strong lately, I feel very small and weak honestly. I had the chance to be submissive again, to serve, and be a good girl… and I feel like I blew it. I was talking to someone that wanted to date me and ended up on a phone call for an hour after I texted him… with his girlfriend. I’ve been highly depressed between the end of last year and the start of this year. I lost someone I was deeply in love with, and it tore my whole world apart. So it really isn’t a good time for me, and I certainly don’t feel strong by any means of the word. Then I got on facebook and saw a post from like five years ago.

“I’ve carried a child within my body,slept with a baby on my chest.I’ve kissed boo boos and mended broken hearts.I’ve been puked on peed on, and spent sleepless nights in the rocking chair. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. My body isn’t magazine perfect, but when I look in the mirror, I see a MOM, and there is no greater honor or blessing!! “

It’s one of those re-post if you agree type of things, but it made me honestly stop and think about something. Yes I’m fat, and I’m nowhere NEAR perfect. I get undressed, alone and in front of others, and I wonder who would find it attractive at times. I’m getting older, I’m stubborn, and I have my issues as  everyone does… but  I have done things in life that some never have the chance to do, one being motherhood. I have carried a living being inside of my body, I’ve slept with a baby on my chest, I have kissed thousands of boo boos and tried to the very best of my ability to mend broken hearts over and over. I’ve been puked on, peed on, pooped on, and bled on. I’ve had millions of tears shed over various parts of my skin. I’ve gone countless nights without sleep, I’ve lived weeks with worry and doubt making a lifetime. I’ve been the reason that someone smiles and wakes up. I have helped countless situations, and I’ve survived cancer. I have been a good girl, and I’m STILL HERE. I may not feel very strong, but I am. It’s not the end of me, and tomorrow won’t be either. It’s going to be okay… and while it may seem like it won’t ever get better, and I’m going to be filled with stress, anxiety, panic and depression until I finally die… that’s not the case. The case is I am strong, and I’ll make it come hell or high water. I may not be perfect by any means, but I may just be perfectly what someone is looking for.

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