Author: MarthaJane

  • New Nipples – Again

    New Nipples – Again

    “They are gorgeous. My biggest concern was if I had gotten the wrong ethnicity”

    . . . Not counting the evolution of my nipples through the birth and feeding of 5 children – while we are on the subject, let’s talk about the stages of my nipples (with pictures) through the aftermath of my second breast cancer diagnosis at the age of 41. (I was 24 the first time)

    • Natural Nipples – Fall 2021 (so glad I took these pics – take naked pics, folks)
    • No Nipples – 100% 55378008 (upside down) Jan 2022
    • Breast shape built with “stacked flaps” DIEP and PAP flaps – but no nipples – Surgery Aug 2022
    • Prosthetic – glue on nipples
    • Nipple reconstruction with tissue grafted from my parineal area (my vagina)
    • One of my two grafted nipples failed. (But my favorite “nipple” was the one that failed because it was nice scar tissue that made a cute mosquito bite through my t-shirt
    • Medical tattooing of 3-D areolas in Germany. We moved before I could go back for a touch-up to make them darker – Spring 2025
    • Tattoos all but disappeared when I sunbathed in my back yard.
    • (Note, I also had filler put into my nipples at the MedSpa. I love my nipples poking through my shirt)
    • New nipple tattos, Las Vegas, Nevada. They are gorgeous. My biggest concern was if I had gotten the wrong ethnicity. Summer 2026

    They are hot! After 4 days with my new nipples post-tegaderm removal, I can happily say that my nipples outshine my scars. They look 3-D from far away, and even my own close-up view.

    Screenshot

    What a long and terrible journey since Late 2021 to today, Mid-Summer 2026. This last picture was immediately at the end of my tattoo session, so my skin is a little angry. It’ll be a few weeks before the final results of healing, but I’m excited to show these girls off here and in my exclusive albums. This is my journey. It’s hard to look at these older pictures. My body remembers the trauma, but I am amazed at what can be done surgically done with a terrible situation such as cancer.

    Was it worth all the pain and healing and expense. I can’t say that. It was hell. I could not in good conscience recommend someone else walk this reconstructive path. I mean, look at that confidence and power when I was completely flat. There was an incredible freedom that came with the loss of my breasts. But there were many trials as well. In the end I chose the path of reconstruction.

    While I can’t recommend the surgical path to where I am, I am definitely enjoying reclaiming the sensuality I never knew how to enjoy until now. Sexual repression through modesty culture, scrupulosity, religious shame had my sensuality in a strangle hold right up to my second breast cancer diagnosis at the age of 41. In the last 4 years I have felt more sexually alive than ever. There are many stories to tell, but for now – Check out these new nipple tattoos!

  • If the World Ends, Let It

    If the World Ends, Let It

    If the world ends

    Let it

    Artificially upholding a false

    Or dead reality

    Will not lead to

    Intimacy

    Growth

    Congruity

    Self-peace

    It may delay or hide the

    Consequences of reality for some

    Are they more worthy of peace than you?

    If the world ends

    Let it

    Any truth you have to share:

    I have cancer

    You’re not good for me

    I am gay

    I want to go to school

    I deserve to feel sensual

    I’m moving

    I lost my faith

    I messed up

    I am lost

    I can’t do this alone

    This doesn’t feel like love

    These

    Can most definitely

    End the world as you know it

    Let it.

  • “I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.” – Dune: Prophecy

    “I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.” – Dune: Prophecy

    I’ve been popping my stitches to update you on my recovery from melanoma, my third cancer diagnosis. I know, it’s not a competition!

    But it is war, in a sense. I told my mom the other day, when she asked me how I was doing (how I was ACTUALLY doing):

    “As far as the skin cancer goes, it can feel heavy. Not necessarily scary anymore, but heavy and lonely. I feel all kinds of love, but the loneliness comes from feeling like I’m constantly dodging deadly bullets, not knowing where to anticipate the next barrage, with no one around me who really “gets it” through similar experiences. I feel more and more outside the norm and that, however I cope with it, I won’t be understood.”

    That was just a few days before my 6mm mole needed clean margins, which turned into a 4-inch incision across my upper back.

    Like a toddler looks to their parents to know if their little fall in the dirt was a big deal or not a big deal, I kept looking around me for social queues telling me it was a huge deal. It was surprisingly quiet, so I picked myself up and carried on.

    However, when the tiny mole biopsy turned into a significant loss of flesh, natural consequences told me that it was a big deal and it was okay to cry.

    I haven’t cried much over this. In the Dune: Prophecy series, Season 1, Episode 6 Valya Harkonnen is trapped in her own worst memories and fears and to break free and survive she must allow her fear to overcome her, channeling the Bene Gesserit litany:

    “I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.”

    There was a powerful scene of Valya in this sandstorm, which, when I saw it I did not cry – out of finally being understood, though I maybe would have at a different phase of my menstrual cycle. I simply recognized, “Yep, that’s what it is like.”

    Welp, I just found these images and may have got a little misty-eyed watching it again.

    The truth and reality are, I am, indeed, popping my stitches. I leaned down to tie my shoes yesterday and felt my internal stitches break loose, like a pair of faux leather pants that fit too tight when you bend over. I froze and called for James to help. To come see what it looked like.

    The final truth bomb that I’ve recently discovered and accepted is I am not dodging cancer bullets.

    Every one of them have hit their mark and taken a pound of flesh.

    I am not dodging cancer bullets. They hit. They hurt.

    They just didn’t kill me.

    So, I live to play another day.

  • Too Long

    Too Long

    Too long I have used up my best energy
    Maintaining the status quo
    Instead of letting my creativity breathe
     
    How many times
    Have the conception of powerful songs
    Been subverted by
    A room in disarray, or a strict adherence to –
    Something lame
     
    Why is my stillness
    A signal that I am available
    It is my own fault
    I trained them to respect some boundaries
    And they do
     
    One must not tread upon a time of
    Prayer or Meditation
    One must not tread upon a good song
    Until it is over
     
    I must add one more Thou Shalt
    Thou shalt not only protect
    a song’s fade-out
    Thou shalt also protect a song
    Yet to be born
     
    My new spell is not unlike
    the protective words
    I wrote on the door to the room
    Where my last child was born
     
    This is a sacred space
    I am giving my all to
    create a masterpiece
     
    I cannot control when this process will end
    But until then,
    If you must
    Enter with hushed voices
    And supportive language
    While I focus
     
    Focus
     
    Focus
     
    Breathe
     
    Begin

  • This Body

    This Body

    A playground
    My babe’s first jungle gym
    Inside
    Outside
    Curled tippy toes climb my belly
    And jump, oooph
    Suckle my tit and pick at my moles
    Bite and smile when I startle
    My milk dripping down his cheek
    To his ear

    To my waistband

    A playground
    I share with my lover
    Chasing, sliding, climbing
    Inside and outside
    Curled toes and tracing my curves
    My belly, my breasts
    My luscious ass
    Bite and smile when I startle
    My lips tease his gooseflesh
    His ear
    His lips
    His hands
    Move

    To my waistband

    A playground
    Dizzy, I dance
    Bass vibrates my bones to my soul
    I suckle on savory and drink the sweet
    Trained fingers pluck melody from string and sinews
    I make my own music
    I recognize myself in the mirror
    And in the melody
     
    This body
    My body
    My playground

  • The 40 Year-old Virgin

    The 40 Year-old Virgin

    So I’m not a virgin, but I would like to announce that I finally, at the age of 45, have secured an actual job that pays me money for the work I do, in the field of my chosen profession.

    After a lifetime of giving my time and talents to the betterment of humanity and to the blessing of my family and neighbor, a special little rage inside me insists that my time is worth compensation. I imagine that sounds silly to anyone who has been gainfully employed or supported themselves financially.

    Maybe I’m not alone. Who else has waited through child-rearing years and/or spouse career changes and growth for the chance to test their own metal? Would I be received in the world I was taught was only for men? Some may recoil and defend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as having never taught that. But inside my bones I judged my mom for working outside the home. Church taught me that the man was to provide and the woman was to nurture and raise the children. A woman was only church-sanctioned to enter the workforce if she needed to provide for her family because of her husband’s death or health limitations, or in the face of divorce (which must only come in cases of abuse.) My dad was alive and he wasn’t abusive.

    I was taught to love motherhood, and I came by it quite honestly. My whole body adores the little people I had the privilege to grow and raise. But as a human, I want to play the game that I was told was only for boys.

    So here I am, 45, mother of 5, devoted military spouse for 20 years, loving lover to my friend and husband, James, FINALLY getting my chance.

    When I made this announcement to my parents my mom asked if I would have time for school too. Yes. Then she asked if I would have time to “mom.” Yes. Though this is a valid question, I was hit with guilt that is specially pointed at women, and never asked of grown men getting a part-time job. As a grown-ass 45 year-old woman I’m still fighting repressive and damaging belief systems. They sound so beautiful when taught at church, but are corrosive to my confidence and power.

    I feel happy, excited, embarrassed at my excitement, angry at the false belief systems that still influence my mom-guilt… but mostly I feel grateful that my family supports this shift in me. I feel giddy at the circumstances and good people who have helped me find a foothold in Las Vegas.

    More and more I feel connected to humanity. Community. I have been hungry for a team to help me create and I am finding that tribe. It is satisfying after so many decades of ache, watching from the outside.

    I’m starting my training as a Production Assistant at the premier recording studio in Las Vegas, The Hideout.

    (insert happy dance and squeals)

  • Going Topless

    Going Topless

    I went to the beach and was brave.

MarthaJane

A creator hub website featuring prominent social links, free and paywalled photo and video galleries, and exclusive content access for subscribers. Singer/Songwriter and Professionally Trained Music Producer.