I’ve had three tabs open for a few days because I want to write about them but my arms hurt. So instead I just give you links.
Without comment. Cause ow.
Noah and I continue talking, like we do. I continue to believe that I am lucky to be married to him and I need to not fuck this up. He is being so patient and understanding.
I have been a serious asshole. I didn’t negotiate in advance. I started breaking rules and saying, “Shit shit shit I can’t follow rules any more.”
That’s fucked up. I’m not being good at all.
And he’s being patient with me. I don’t deserve this. I also don’t deserve having Pam come over to make me dinner and waking up to Noah making me breakfast and I get those things too.
Life isn’t really about what you deserve.
He’s my best friend. He is the person in the world I feel safest with. I think we can figure this out. I mean, is it really a bad thing that he’s not an evil sadist? Probably not. It is probably why he can take care of me and love me the way he does. The way I need him to.
Even though I have a hard time with the fact that I have to be directive during sex… if I do just a little bit of it boy is the best lover I’ve ever had. Ok, maybe I want some vacation from being directive… but it’s hard to argue with that kind of success. I get why he wants advice. I do.
I like being married to Noah. I like how we talk. I like how we cuddle. I like how he kisses me. I like how he makes me food. I like how hard he works at the things he thinks are important. I have mad respect for him. There aren’t many people who say, “I will do _____” and follow through on it like Noah does. I watch for that. He’s amazing.
He isn’t perfect and he isn’t everything. But what he is is so good.
Noah sees me in a way no one else alive has any desire to see me.
I can live with stepping out to get my ass beat.
I can’t live without Noah. He points out that I said pretty much exactly that about four days before I broke up with him the first time.
Yeah… notice how even breaking up with you that time didn’t involve me being able to stop climbing into bed with you? Or hanging out with you? Or cooking you food? Or wanting to work out with you so I could flirt and beg you to be inappropriate with me?
You haven’t been someone I could walk away from. Even when I tried.
No one else has ever given me permission to tell my story.
And shit, at this point it would mean split custody and dealing with dispersal of property… given that you’ll let me go fuck whoever when I get a little nutty…
I need to stay. This is the only route to happiness for me. I know it. I mean, if you die (please don’t) I hope I can figure something else out… but I really doubt I will ever be this happy without you.
No one else will ever want to go through years of experimentation to figure out how to feed me without making me sick. And honestly you know more about it than I do. You pay more attention than I do. You care more than I do about my health.
Thank you for forgiving me for breaking rules. Thank you for forgiving me for being shitty about telling you that I broke rules. This is part of why I compulsively log all of my fuck ups here. So that even if I can’t say it I’m not completely lying.
Which isn’t good enough. I need to stop it.
I am kind of ridiculously grateful that you have agreed to “no rules” for a while here. Yeah. I do need it. I need to be a free agent just deciding based on my whims and not based on what somebody else wants for a while.
I need to spend some time figuring out what I want. And that means not caring about what you want.
I mean… I have to only do stuff that is kosher for me and whomever I am playing with. Respect and boundaries and yada yada. I know. I’m trying for that. I’m trying to not be too pathetic in my begging for people to blow right past where they are comfortable and hurt me until I’m unable to walk.
I know that most people just won’t do that because yeah… liability…
I know. I’m trying to uhh respect some boundaries somewhere. I’m not sure how well I’m doing. Oh fuck everything.
Do I have boundaries right now?
I will discover them in the moment. I want to discover them in the moment. I want to find out what they are because right now I don’t even know and that is bothering me.
I have no idea where my limits are right now. I’ve been operating under other peoples limits for so long I feel like I don’t know who I am.
“In addition to being a hippy-dippy housewife Krissy also moonlights as a severe masochist. Details at 11.”
Who am I?
What about me is worthy of love? What about me is worthy of tolerance whether you love it or not? What about me is ok? What about me is wrong? Wrong for whom? Why does it matter?
I called it in January. 2016 is going to be a fucktastically intense emotional year. What about me is worthy of love.
I want to be able to talk to my mother someday. I cannot do so until I love myself completely without her regard. I have to love myself or I may leave that conversation and go drive off a bridge. (Side note: I am continuing to hand write a book for her. Progress. Not close to completion. God this hurts, emotionally. The handwriting process is fucking intense for me with all my issues around handwriting. Anyway. That’s a different processing thing going on. I’M SO TIRED OF PROCESSING. CAN’T I JUST CRY FOR A WHILE?!)
Because I don’t think she’s going to love me and that’s going to have to be ok. That has to be ok.
I can’t let that end me.
My children deserve better than that from me.
I’m still thinking about that thing that is weighing on my heart. A thing about promises and what I can really and truly be. I’m still not going to admit publicly what it is. I have told Noah what I’m thinking about because thinking about this makes me so frantic that he needs to know why I’m flipping out. He lives with me and has to help cope for the amount of strain I feel.
He cares so much about how our children are treated. He has been willing to jump through any hoop I put in front of him with regard to helping with the kids. He does monitor my behavior. He assists me in figuring out self care so that I have more patience to give. He makes sure I don’t get to be too much of an asshole. He will tell me my tone of voice is inappropriate.
(This isn’t a constant thing because I do well most of the time. But we don’t act like parents are perfect.)
There is no chance I could be the parent I am without the amount of support I have gotten from Noah. I won the lottery.
I don’t know that I am that good of a parent. But I know that whatever good I have been able to do has been because of the privilege Noah has given me and the support he has generously offered.
Maybe it is good he isn’t more sadistic and selfish. Really really really good.
Noah isn’t the first person to ask me to marry him. He’s the only one where I ultimately decided it was a good idea to say yes. I put him through hell as a courtship. Then ran away to get married in secret because I couldn’t handle having anyone look at me as it happened. Would I be able to keep this promise?
It’s been almost ten years. I think I have mostly kept the promises I made. Good thing monogamy wasn’t actually on the list.
I have a date tonight. And a date tomorrow. And another on Sunday. I’m going to go take a nap. I’m going to need my strength.
I’m sure I will tell you how it goes. At least a little. Maybe. We’ll see. Maybe all you’ll find out is “Will see again.”
Hopefully I live up to my advertising.
That’s the sex I stay for. Holy shit.
This week of the kids-in-camp so we can have dates and go through these little raging mini-dramas as we talk about the changes we need to make in our lives for the next stage is kind of awesome.
The ups! The downs! The fucking! The refusing to fuck! The denouncements! The make up sex! And yet… more clothespins.
And we got it all cleaned up in time for little friends to come over and visit. I will do tile work and look like the sedate suburban mommy I am.
We are having a dinner party for nine. Maybe I’ll set up for that before I go do tile. The best part is I’m not cooking. My friends are buying ingredients, bringing them to my house and cooking for me.
Because my life is that fucking awesome.
There is a lot of stuff about Noah I won’t write. It’s complicated why. He says that he feels like he shouldn’t write it if I have chosen not to write it and I think that’s silly.
There are ways I don’t write about Noah because doing so would make him a supporting character in my story who was failing to live up to expectations. That’s not who or what he is though. He is a main character who is choosing to live with me. I don’t know how to write his story as it deserves to be written.
Part of the reason I don’t write more about him is because I would misattribute his actions all the time and I don’t want to do that.
I would paraphrase and misremember and go in a whole different direction and create a character for me to be at odds with.
I don’t want to do that. I do not want to take away Noah’s right to define himself and I think if I did substantially more writing about him… I would kinda do that to him. That would be wrong.
I asked him if he feels he knows everything about me. He shook his head emphatically–no. I asked him if he feels I know everything about him. He said not quite everything… but basically.
I have to believe he is wrong. That is very important. I have to believe I don’t know everything.
Because whatever it is I know so far… he’s going to change. People do. He will make new stories and if I file him away as a supportive character and I already know his backstory so whatever…
No. That’s just not going to work.
Our conversations hurt right now. In that way that growth and change hurt. I’m trying to see which words from this conversation are going to stick in my head. I’m not going to write down the one I’m trying to not remember.
Boundaries have shifted all over the place. That means things feel very unpredictable and that’s scary. Yes. That’s true.
I have two very busy weekends in a row. Which was rather rude of me to schedule. But I really and truly cannot express how deep this hunger goes.
Let’s see how I feel after that. I’ll probably have a better idea of what I need. I know that this is not sustainable.
But I’m going to explode.
I am very not sure I am going to be able to talk any one person into hitting me the way I want to be hit right now. These are all newish play experiences. They don’t know me as a bottom so they don’t really trust what they can do. I have to respect that tops have their own limits. (I’m not sure I could deliver a first time scene to someone at the intensity level I want so I’m not mad at anyone. It’s fucking hard to trust someone like that. Topping is risky in a way bottoming isn’t.) So I’m kinda hanging my hopes on a culmination of pain. Please oh please let me get hurt enough.
I saw a doctor yesterday for std checking. She was adorable. I love Planned Parenthood doctors. She was very curious about the bruises on my breasts (of course starting with worried) and I said, “Don’t worry. I had to ask nicely to get that bruise.” She looked startled. “Wait, what?”
“I’m a masochist. I had to ask one of my slutty friends very very very very nicely to get that bruise.”
She laughed. “I can’t believe you call them your slutty friends.”
“Well, at some point it is truth in advertising.”
She laughed more.
She’s thrilled I come in often for checks when I’m active. Come on back. She agreed that sterilization sounds wise but they don’t do that. I’m looking into options near me.
It would be somewhat hilarious to do a gofundme “Do you want to ensure that Krissy never gets pregnant again so that she can be alive long enough to fuck *you*?”
I’m kidding. I’ll pay for it. But it’s funny in my head.
I feel really mean. I feel like I should just go back to monogamy and decide that it is good enough.
But I can’t. I hit a wall. This isn’t enough and it is making me crazy. It’s not enough. I feel like a selfish fucking asshole.
Noah is not enough.
I’m feeling almost giddy at all the possibilities that are available to me right now. All of the things I love to do that Noah… doesn’t even know I’ve done. That isn’t part of who he sees me as.
He sees me as someone to be available for the things he likes.
But I have so many other likes.
Noah is relatively simple and I am fucktastically complex. That’s hard. Well he wanted a crazy girl for excitement.
I made a tiny bit of progress on tile yesterday. I’ll do more today.
Oh! Tile is here. I should email the folks who said they could help. Not 100% of it arrived, but most of it. Enough that I could finish the tree if they were taken of the backing.
Right now I’m working on spring. It’s perty. Grass and flowers.
I’m sorry Noah. I wish I could be just the supportive character of your dreams. I really can’t. I am so many things. Just you wait and see. I don’t want to leave. I mean… I want to go play. But I want to come back. I want you to see these parts of me. I want you to know me. I want you to want me. I like how you want me. I like how you snuggle me to sleep night after night, year after year.
It isn’t that being with you is bad. It is that you don’t hunger to hurt me. I’m not actually angry about that. I have been seriously partnered with people who had that hunger. Notice how I’m here? I don’t want to live with that. I don’t want to live with someone who wants to hurt me that much on a regular basis. Not really.
But I do want to beard the lion in his den. Why?
Because losing is so fucking hot.
Today’s date was more of a processing session and less of a fun date. We were supposed to have some time practicing bondage but I got to the room and couldn’t do it. My experience of bondage with Noah is that it lasts as short a time as possible and then he wants to fuck me and he’s done.
My Renaissance Faire Guild Mistress has a funny story of listening to a couple have sex and at some point the woman yells, “ what do you mean you are done?”
I told Noah I feel like that a lot. Sex and BDSM aren’t to me what they are to other people. Not because I’m special, because everyone has their own journey. Promiscuous sex has been a part of my life for the truly all of my life. BDSM has been part of my life for my entire adult life. Starting when I was 20 years old I was in an M/s relationship for two years.
These things are a really big deal to me. It isn’t casual. I know I like sex more than a lot of the people I knew in the community, but I have very strong needs around power exchange and sex. I really do need to be hit in order to be happy. That’s not true, but it is.
Obviously I don’t need my kids to hit me. I don’t want random people to hit me. I want to be hit by somebody who knows me, who likes me, and who really wants to help me go on the emotional/hormonal journey that is intense BDSM.
I keep feeling scared that I don’t have much to offer in return. Am I trying to use my friends as life-support devices for whips?
There is a lot of bitterness in the community about people who are selfish as bottoms. I know that nobody has complained about me so far; I’m nervous.
I feel nervous partly because I’m being really selfish and I am tired of trying to drag Noah towards wanting what I want and I don’t know what I really have to offer in exchange. I know what my submissive has to offer me, but for some reason it feels different compared to what I’m offering the people I am approaching about play. I do want to use people. But only in fun ways. I want to get them off too. I do want to give energy back, I don’t think I am a vampire.
Really, I think that in exchange for the kind of beating I really want to get, I’d be willing to do a whole hell of a lot that isn’t really my thing just because God dang it you earned it. Hell yeah, what do you want from me? I have a wide variety of skills.
I spent a while crying in our bedroom. Wedged into the spot I like between the bed and the wall. I am so frustrated.
After a while I came out to the garage and decided it was a good idea to medicate. Noah came out and we talked some more. I don’t really want to try and represent what he said.
I am at the end of what I can do. I cannot change more, I cannot make do with less ( sexually), and I can no longer patiently try to create a situation where Noah just has to follow steps on what to do to play with me. After 10 years I have entirely run out of steam. I want to be hit by people who want to hit me not by someone who is doing what I say. I want someone to hit me for a long time because they want to. I’m tired of setting timers only to get angry that they are never respected. I want to be hit. Yes, sex is important too, but I fucking get you off already.
I need something different.
Thank God for friends. I don’t wants to leave. I don’t want to go back to what I had. I have no desire to give up my life. I just want to be hit. I want to be hit so that I can scream and cry and get out all of the big feelings that are such a problem in my day-to-day life. I am so tired of having to behave and having to be proper and having to be a good example and having to manage my feelings correctly instantly when I don’t even know what my feelings are. I want to be beaten until I forget who I am. I want to be beaten until the only thing I can think about is wanting to please the person who is hurting me.
I have not been hit like that in more years than I care to think about. The drug dealer scene kinda got there but only kinda.
When Daddy was hitting me the other night… that was a good scene. We probably played for almost two hours and didn’t get to sex. I have an impressive bruise on my breast still. I feel like the most fierce hits got up to maybe a 6. I could have handled way more but once someone says out loud, “I’m hitting as hard as I can” I shut the fuck up. Cause don’t be rude.
He could have picked meaner toys. I don’t like those as much. God I love being punched.
Two hours of that and I felt like maybe if he stopped in two weeks I might be satisfied. Maybe. But I doubt it.
I feel like I am drowning in a river of want and I don’t know how to be patient with Noah around this any more and I feel like a horrible asshole.
We do rough sex great. We don’t do scenes. And I miss them. I want it so much.
Noah says he recognizes that things need to change. I’m not otherwise going to try and paraphrase his words.
We’ll see what the next ten years look like.
The scene was quite lovely. It was shorter than I was hoping for but I hear that’s my fault for being inspiring.
No, that’s not what he said. I’m being an asshole. But it is why I’m soliciting people who will beat me until I actually cry instead of barely stop mewing in resistance. It’s a very different experience. Noah is great at mean sex.
I want to get beaten.
The spanking and the punching was really awesome. I felt like I could have rocked back and forth on that for hours. Ok the stomach punching was like fucking woah I almost puked. But you know… shit happens. I didn’t come close to ending the scene. The punching on my shoulders was holy shit intense because I have a bunch of adhesions up there from injuries I’ve sustained over the years. I don’t think he was hitting me that hard but holy crap.
I’m not saying no. It felt positive. But it was really sensitive.
During the scene I had this thought, “I have this vague memory of something called a ‘warm up’. Maybe? What is that? Hmmmm….” Because I am that much of a smart ass. I didn’t tell him that I thought it till the scene was all the way over because I’m barely polite.
I did tell him I was going to write it. He laughed.
I’m so glad Noah thinks I’m funny instead of gross or offensive.
Like that. But more. Longer. Harder.
I think the problem came up because once he started caning me… yeah… that’s it. I want to fuck. I want want want want to fuck.
BUT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME NO FOR A WHILE!!!!
I mean, really.
Denial is not in Noah’s vocabulary. I don’t want to be denied denied. I want to be teased for a little while.
It’s uhm, a subtle distinction.
Noah’s like, “You’re ready? Ok!”
I love you so much. Thank you for liking me this much. I do like it. The reality is my cunt can’t handle hours of wear and tear on a regular basis so you are perfect.
The clothespins were fantastic. Oh please more of that.
I hated them and hated them and hated them and hated them until I was begging for more and fuck I love that.
I was asked recently if I liked anal sex and separately why I like anal sex. Because anal sex makes me come so hard that I get muscle cramps through most of my body. Yeah. I like it. Not cause it’s dirty. Because nothing else makes me feel like that. The fact that it is dirty just means you take a shower right after. Not a big deal.
Ok, we did great today with the anal. Full marks. Slow, patient, lots of lube. Well done.
Oh I’m so well done.
The role play started out vicious. Midway I really needed him to switch from telling me that I was worthless to telling me I was good because, see I had been following your rules I just didn’t understand you thought I should be doing that with you.
So I made that switch work well in the scene and I got the cosseting and good girls I needed. That was really nice.
Yay. Happy dance. Now I get to… go pick up a kid for a picnic in the park and a very different kind of play date.
I think this is the best I’ve felt in my body in a very long time. Thank you Noah. I know I’m teasing you a little. I don’t mean to be a jerk. It was really good. Like that. But more.
“Not in front of the kids” continues to change in meaning. Today at breakfast I noticed how much Noah and I were…barely avoiding key words. It started feeling really dishonest. So I had Noah sit down again and I said, “I think we need to have a talk. I should have talked to Noah about this in private first but… we need to just do this.”
We told the kids that we are dating. We are not splitting up. We are not leaving our life. We have no desire to change anything about how we interact with the kids. We are just going to be going out a little more often in the evenings with friends.
Eldest Child said, “I am fine with that. Go date to your heart’s content.”
Holy shit. My life.
Eldest Child said she is upset that we didn’t tell her immediately. It bothers her that we were dishonest for over a month but she can deal with this going forward. As long as we stop lying.
Yeah, that’s fair.
I went to a munch last Thursday. Apparently since then two new negotiations have appeared on Fetlife. Ahem.
I’m trying to be honest about tracking this. More people I’ve known forever. One I’ve known explicitly since I barely turned 19. I met him in my first three months in the scene. We’ve never played even a little. The other person I’ve known slightly less time, like 14ish years and we’ve done flirting light play.
I will probably go over to both of their houses at some point.
Just being honest. And excited.
Noah says that the farther he lets me run, the more I’ll let him do. Also: I’m clearly so pent up I’m about to explode like a bomb. He’s not wrong.
I’m making people say no all over the place. Shit. What am I doing?
Noah and I were slightly reminiscing about this scene last night. I’m not sure how much I’ve written about it. It was uhhh significant for us.
I could not even begin to list all the scenes I’ve done in my life. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many people or the names of the people I’ve done bdsm play with. I truly haven’t tracked it. But there are a few scenes that feel defining. One in particular Noah and I did a few years back. We think it was after our Eldest Child was born, but before Youngest Child? We can’t remember for sure.
We went to a now defunct play space. We separated when we got there so that he could set up and I could “arrive”.
We love a good role play.
The basic set up was that I was a teenage girl who was sent by her father to try to appease the drug dealer because my father is way behind on paying for his stuff and he has no money.
Which means that my mindset going into this was that it was probably going to be degrading sex with some pain.
Holy shit I underestimated Noah.
There have not been very many times in my life where someone made sure that playing with me was horrible. Every time something kinda sorta started to feel good or I started to act sexually responsive he would hurt me until I was screaming like an animal in a trap then he would have more sexual fun. It was… overwhelming and intense.
This is definitely in my top five brutal scenes.
I have never before or since had someone who was that sure they wanted to fuck me and they didn’t want me to enjoy it even a little bit, not even at all.
I could barely walk out of the building. It was not even remotely fun while it was happening. I’ve beaten off to that memory more times than I could count.
I don’t think today will be brutal like that. Daddy has never ever been nasty and vicious the way the drug dealer was. Holy shit.
But he can be mean. Sigh. Yay.
I shouldn’t say funny. I have read a few articles by white women who are completely offended by the song (potentially triggering video because of torture) Bitch Better Have My Money because a white woman is tortured in proxy for the sins of a white man.
I just… can’t agree with them. I should like an asshole today.
I’m whinging on Twitter about this and I want to be clear in my overall documentation.
I’m not upset that people turn me down. I’m upset because I put people in the position of having to say no and that upsets a lot of people. Many people feel just about violated by having to refuse something they don’t want as having something happen to them by surprise. I’ve had people get so mad at me.
So far so good on what I’m asking for these days. No one has blown up and been very angry. There are lots of “I’m up for x but not y or z” which isn’t a flat no in the same way. But it’s a lot of negotiation.
I’m feeling very anxious about enforcing this on people. Am I being an asshole? I don’t know.
Of all the people I’m negotiating with the only person I was a dumbass and flat asked for assurances that I’m not pushing too hard is my submissive. I have to kind of pretend that I assume everything is going fine with everyone else. I’ll tell him I’m freaking out directly. Because shit dude it’s been 15 years and if I can’t say that at this stage fuck everything.
Is it ok that I’m asking you for things that you have to say no to. I don’t want to be a problem.
Not that he’s saying no to much. I’m not upset about him having boundaries. Anything but.
Having boundaries is ok. I feel very bad that I’m so bad at figuring out where other peoples boundaries are. I need really explicit verbal conversation in order to understand and usually I need to repeat questions a few times and…
I feel like a bully. I feel like a monstrous predator who is trying to force people to do things. Even though I’d prefer people say no to things they don’t want. Making people say ‘no’ hurts them sometimes.
I’m forcing “Ask” culture on “Guess” culture people sometimes and that bothers them a lot.
I’m reminded of the chick this last year who told me in great detail how horrifying rude I am to ask for things instead of just accepting what is offered to me.
You know what… without asking… people just don’t fucking offer what I want.
Does that mean it is wrong for me to ask? Because people rarely automatically offer up what I want?
I don’t know. She clearly thinks so. My submissive says, “This is just how relationships go. You are fine. We are negotiating.”
I want to cry.
I’m sorry that I am not good at intuiting what is “right” and what is “wrong” and I need you to tell me explicitly.
I feel like a failure.
I know that this feeling is today. I don’t think it is always. But right this minute I feel like I’m hurting people and I feel scared of that.
Luckily today Noah is going to beat me six ways from Sunday and maybe I’ll forget.
It is 1:26. I woke up at 12 and haven’t been able to slow my thinking down since. First: have to pee. Then pain stuff. My back hurts still. This period has been awful. My arms were hurting. I was up and down to get water, Ibuprofen, my braces… after an hour and a half of racing thoughts on top of mounting physical whines… fuck it.
What am I so worried about?
I want. That means I’m going to ask people for things that they may not want. Oh I don’t like myself very much for that. I feel really bad for the fact that I spend a lot of time putting people on the spot and causing really awkward and uncomfortable feelings. People are going to have to say no to me.
Hundreds of people have already said no to me in the past. I have no reason to suspect the future is going to change that dynamic much. Asking people I already know is only so much more successful because… complicated.
I don’t god damn know how to read signals. Outside of a few glaring examples I’m usually not real clear who is interested in me for what.
This is a rather distinct problem as I treat other people wanting things from me as permission to be that thing.
Which is kinda ridiculous and lame at this stage of the game.
I’m completely freaking out about how some of my uhhh more conservative friends are going to feel about this uhm U-bend turn in behavior lately. I haven’t done any of this while they’ve known me. It was all in the distant, more theoretical past.
Hi. I iz weird. I hope you still like me.
When I was tossing in turning in bed I started thinking about the things I want to ask for and I felt so ashamed I wanted to go in the bathroom and start cutting just because then I won’t go out and ask anyone for anything because I’ll be too ashamed and…
I’m not going to cut myself down to size anymore. No. No. No.
On Twitter, a woman I follow (Feminista Jones–just so it’s been said) posted a link to a woman who wrote about accepting compliments on dating sites with “I know” and how that leads to a lot of abuse.
Like a fucking moron I spent a while reading the comments. A shocking number of people believe that if you don’t perform humility appropriately you deserve any amount of abuse people want to throw at you.
You know what? I don’t think I’m pretty. I don’t think I’m beautiful. I think I’m kinda a funny looking motherfucker. But for the fucking rest of my life I vow that if someone tells me that I’m pretty/beautiful/whatever I’m going to say, “I know.”
I won’t say thank you unless I asked for the compliment before it was delivered.
Because I’m a rude motherfucker.
Because I want to know this about myself without it being about you or your opinion. Because if you are the kind of person who believes I deserve abuse if I have positive self regard I want to know that as fast as humanly possible so I can get the fuck away from your disgusting self.
Shiny change of topic. I’m hunting so I went bra shopping. Mostly… I just don’t wear them cause I don’t give a shit and Noah doesn’t either. This was something I argued about with the friend who took me shopping.
The contention was: if I dress up for Noah in fancy lingerie/makeup he will be inspired to greater than normal heights over my sweats/t-shirt ensembles.
To this I say… you really don’t know Noah. It doesn’t matter what I have on. It really doesn’t. It matters how much I strut/push/seem interested.
Ok, now it is true that I turn on more in the dressing up process so usually I strut more (thus hunting meaning I go bra shopping) and that’s fun. But no really Noah doesn’t care. If I wear uncomfortable shoes and put a whole bunch of effort into my appearance… our sex life stays static. There isn’t really a spike. I’ve checked.
After ten years you don’t think I check that shit!?
That’s the hilarious thing about keeping records of your sex life. I haz the data.
Ok, we do both like dressing up sometimes for a role play scene. But it has been years. Sad face.
I won’t play where my kids can hear and we haven’t had overnight babysitting much in years.
Other source of anxiety: how is this impacting the kids? I don’t think this is impacting my time with them that much because it is coming out of personal time. I’m just getting less alone time.
I can’t get to the point of no personal time but I’m not close to that.
Given how much work I’m pulling off, I think hunting is actually helping me with the kids. I’m being pretty damn patient. I’m not yelling much. I haven’t screamed recently. I’m being clear with expectations and boundaries. We are having good conversations. I’m not being good at record keeping, but Eldest Child is actually making a lot of progress on school-y stuff lately by choice.
I’m feeling realllllllllllly bad about asking people for things they then have to turn down.
But I’m a lot more scared to stop asking. This process feeds me. It makes me have more to give my kids. I am so empty. Noah fills me as much as he can (ok the sex puns here are just so bad) but he needs so much work from me…
It’s been a long ten years.
I’m happy to be where I am. I’m happy with how I spent the last ten years. I can honestly say I would not have been physically capable of doing much more work.
I am so grateful I get to work with and in front of my kids.
That’s another anxiety brain monkey: god home schooling is selfish. It’s not just selfish because I’m keeping my kids from having other opportunities and I’m limiting them to what I can offer (although that’s there). It is that I am not helping to make the system less abusive for other kids. Why aren’t I organizing the PTA to refuse homework in elementary school?
Because I’m selfish. Because that would be a hard horrible uphill losing battle and I’ve lost so many battles to this system already.
I’m selfish because I was highly trained by a public education system and instead of being the fucktastically effective teacher I am for hundreds or thousands of children I am picking two.
I borrow kids whenever their parents will let me.
I want to have impact on more kids than just mine. But I need to see to mine first. Because I’m selfish.
I had them. I made them. I made them on purpose out of pure selfishness. Because I wanted to meet them. Because I wanted to know if something that came out of me would be as intrinsically bad and horrible as I thought or if maybe I could make something good.
So far so good.
What a horrible science experiment life is.
On a regular basis people tell me they admire me because when I had children everything changed. I upended every part of my life to have a new center. I don’t think that is the “correct” way to live life. I think that is what I had to do to try and create a less broken system given where I was coming from. I made them because i wanted to have no choice but to be something different. I’m a mom now. I’m not just a mom. I’m their teacher too. The buck stops here if there is a problem. It is my fault. I can’t blame a care provider or class mate or other authority figure.
If there is a problem… it is me. I have to change me in order to change how I am modeling behaving in order to fix behavioral problems in my kids. If there is a problem I have to learn how to differently express the boundaries until the kids can understand.
One of the things that made me so effective as a teacher was the fact that I consider it the teachers failure if a student doesn’t learn something. I remember one test one time where an entire unit just… failed. Something like 80% of the kids in all periods failed this exam.
I wept and apologized. I told every period that I let them down and I am so sorry I wasted their time with such bad teaching. I am very sorry that we will have to repeat this information and still get through everything else and that is all my fault. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
Guess what? They fucking learned it after that. Not because I forced it or drilled anything. Because I found more creative ways to teach.
Teaching is about inspiring people to want to remember something you need them to know. It isn’t something that can be demanded. You can’t force people to learn. You can get people to rote memorize things… you can’t force them to learn.
Learning is about leaps and connections and being able to apply things in a cross curriculum fashion. Not being able to do a math worksheet in a given period of time. I believe in cross curriculum education.
I was told that kids need a math class to learn all the ways to solve math problems.
Pshaw. You clearly don’t have any idea how much math we use. We talk about many many many ways to solve problems. Because there is no one way to solve all problems. Given that I spent my childhood being told I was bad at math because I was at grade level (compared to my reading scores, which were off the charts high) I’m shocked at how being a maths-person is just part of the identity of this house.
We talk geometry, algebra, and make references to more complicated maths just as a matter of course. “How would you figure this out?” We talk about how to solve problems and we do arithmetic for fun. (Which is how you fucking know it isn’t at my initiation because I don’t think arithmetic is fucking fun.)
We are talking about combining fractions more and more. I gotta say… it freaks me out how easily these kids pick up concepts. I struggled with some of these into college.
It must be from Noah.
Home schooling is selfish because my kids are going to be so fucktastically weird. They will never be able to conform very well. They are going to be weird, weird fucking weird.
I like them so much.
We are all selfish in different ways. Is it ok? Is it ok to keep asking for things I’m not going to get? Asking for kinds of relationships and interactions that other people don’t want?
Getting rejected sucks. I get told “no” and “I don’t want to” a lot. That’s the downside of asking.
I HAVE NO PITY FOR PEOPLE WHO COMPLAIN THAT THEY CAN’T DATE BUT WHO NEVER EVER ASK ANYONE OUT. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH REJECTION I DEAL WITH TO GET TO BEING THIS SLUTTY?!?!?!!?!!!
Yes, it is easier for a girl to get laid. I don’t just want to get laid. I want a very specific, in high demand skill set.
Noah may think I’m all that and a bag of chips but I’ve been in this market long enough to know that I can only be so demanding with some people. He’s going to keep being shocked by how often I’m turned down and I’m going to keep nodding and saying, “Yup. That’s how it goes.”
And when people do say yes they usually say yes to what they want to say yes to which isn’t quite the same thing as what I wanted and them’s the breaks.
Can I sleep now? Should I hide eggs first? Probably. Go get phone for flashlight…
I am writing this down partially so I don’t forget before Monday because my memory is *that* Swiss cheese like right now. Also writing it down because I’m kinda exhibitionistic. Ahem.
Monday’s scene: contentious Daddy/daughter relationship. He had been expecting to pop my cherry and instead, I’m such a slut I’m fucking the neighbor boys. Like I do. So Daddy is going to be quite angry with me for taking away the “prize” he was supposed to get for raising me.
I doubt this will be anywhere as intense as the Daddy’s drug dealer scene we did years ago. But it should be vicious.
Things I’m supposed to remember: I am supposed to wear lots of eye makeup so that it runs when I cry. Set timers for ‘can’t fuck before’ time and ‘must go pick up kid from camp’.
Why do we need a timer for ‘can’t fuck before’? Because otherwise Noah gets all excited like five minutes in and it’s over. I get kinda… obnoxious about that. I know I prefer sex to bdsm in the aggregate, but I like my bdsm to go on for a bit before we get to the fucking if that is what we are here to do.
Noah and I didn’t really do Daddy/daughter play before I wrote my first book. He just… wasn’t interested. After I wrote the book he said that he now understands why that dynamic is… what it is to me. I have mixed feelings about that but I’m going to get off a few dozen times so let’s go with it.
I was asked if this is one of our favorite dynamics. I don’t think so. I think we prefer exploited kid/neighbor slightly more but the incest dynamic is fun sometimes. Yes, I’m fucked up.
I know lots of grown ups who like their bdsm as themselves, as consenting mutually understanding adults. I respect that. A lot of my bdsm play is tied up with dealing with reenacting abuse/exploitation scenarios. Is it healthy?
I have two Daddy’s, a Dad, and Noah likes to have me call me Daddy sometimes and these are all people I have sexual contact with.
I’m not sure I’m going to get to a standard definition of “healthy”.
I think that is all I was supposed to remember for Monday.
We talked about how other days should maybe involve bondage practice and we are kinda interested in messing around with some protocol stuff. We didn’t negotiate anything about how those days will go because… let’s see how I’m doing after Monday. But bondage practice sure would be nice……….
I don’t wanna go do tile. My back hurts and I’m tired of sitting in that room alone. Whine.
Yesterday I bought three bras. Two from the same company and one from a different company. The two that are the same are both 38D. The other company I’m wearing a 32F.
Why is this true?
I’m still high from last night. Today I realized something kinda funny: I’m good at turning people I have sexed into friends and it is kinda hard walking back to sex from friendship. Awkward. How do you send signals when you’ve already sent so many “don’t touch me” signals.
Oh man. Complicated.
I have this sneaky suspicion that I want something I am not going to get. That’s ok. Life is like that. Even if I don’t get what I want from this interaction I’m going to cheer like hell for you to get what you want in life. I don’t like this word “deserve” but I think that if you got what you wanted you’d be good at it.
It is weird liking people.
I’m having fun. I hope I am helping other people have fun.
I’m nervous. I’m nervous about how to keep all these balls in the air. Oh I’m having fun. I still feel full of want. It’s deeper and fuller than it was a few days ago. It isn’t as frantic. Thanks, Daddy. I needed that. It really helped.
It also helps that Noah and I have four days straight next week where we are going to do heavy sm because we can. Thank goodness for camp.
Because we want to do it. Because we haven’t seriously played in years because getting the right size and shape of spare time is hard.
I have such an interesting time visiting the community. Many of the people who were the village elders when I was a snot nosed 18 year old are still there. Still doing what they were doing.
I feel like they look at me differently now. I was talking to Noah about this. I said it feels weird that they treat me with so much respect. He says that usually people don’t have the experience of becoming the kind of grown up their elders respect and that is why it feels so weird to me. I don’t know. I’ve never been someone else.
I feel like the people I grew up respecting now act like they look up to me and that is fucktastically weird for me. I mean… I don’t think they “look up to me”. Shit this stuff is awkward.
I’m a peer. I am no longer a snot nosed kid they mock and deride. They listen to me with respect instead of rolling their eyes. No one has denigrated my opinion in a long time.
When I start kicking the crap out of people for being rude no one even thinks to tell me I shouldn’t because it is just expected that I’m going to do whatever the fuck I’m going to do if you start it.
I don’t start shit. But if you start it I’m going to bring it.
Dominance challenges. Dick contests. Posturing.
Oh motherfucker I can do that.
But I’m told I don’t posture any more. I just lay down my resume and look at you cold because I can back my big talk up and I’m still underselling myself. Ahem.
I’m thrilled to talk loudly about what a wimp I am as everyone watching winces every time I get hit. They know that was a really fucking hard hit.
I’ve spent a lot of years not getting hit and not hitting people. But do you know what I like to do of a Thursday night? (Or really any other night of the week.)
I like to go find one of my dear friends. Because I rarely switch with the same person, as I slink up to someone fluttering my eyelashes… it’s clear what I want. Whether that is to make you cry or for you to try as hard as you can to make me cry.
I really like calling myself a wimp. I’ll say it loud and long. But people who evaluate this sort of thing with credibility tell me that I’m an incredibly heavy masochist. I’m a small woman, so I can’t take what some of the big guys can take. (Or hell, even some of the big gals.) But I’ve done scenes where audience members had to leave to vomit from fear. Because I’m happy to play until I’m screaming and screaming and screaming and fighting to get away. I’m happy to be hit with canes and single tails until I bleed.
There’s this one guy in the scene. He told me he really wants to cut me open and solder the wounds closed. If I run into him again… I will ask if he is still interested.
Why? Because in twelve years I’ve never been able to get that out of my head.
Fuck yes I’d like to try that.
I would trust that specific man to do this for a long list of very specific reasons I’m not going to list here because hello identifying information.
Some people can’t be as out as me.
I haven’t done tile in two days. I’m so weary of doing it. My hands hurt. Breaks are good. Also: I have to wait for another delivery before I can finish the tree. I should finish the mountain and work on the other corner of the shower.
Those are the most important bits that need to be tiled. The rest is just gravy. I mean, I’m going to do the rest because I have a fuck ton of tile but I’m not going to do all the walls in both half bathrooms in tile. Too expensive. My heart is sad. Paint to the rescue. Good motherfucking thing I know how to use a paintbrush.
I’m afraid I know why I’m sorta procrastinating on tile.
I told myself that if I finished all the tile way before these twerps are done with the remodel… I’d fix some of the yucky paint in the kitchen since I’m going to be dealing with the remodeling chaos still anyway.
I’m perilously close to having to repaint the ceiling. Shit. Years ago the light fixture broke and we replaced it with something not even close to the same size and the ceiling looks like shit and it bugs me.
I want to repaint it to look like a jungle.
Because I’m me. That’s why.
I’m not committing to repainting the whole kitchen right now. That would be nuts. My arms are pissed. (Why do I type? Because I feel weirdly lonely. Even though I had a date today and good sex and I could be snuggling with my family. But my stomach hurts quite a bit so I’m smoking and… that means not with the family. So I talk to myself instead of babbling in IM because after a while I just feel… pathetic.)
I’m going to bed any minute. I hope I’ll sleep late. Tomorrow I get a massage. Yay! My arms!
Tomorrow my tasks are: massage, dispensary run, tile, negotiate with Noah about our upcoming dates, and hang out with the kids. It should be a nice day. (The dispensary run and the negotiating will happen during the window of time when the kids are with the babysitter. Obviously.)
I don’t feel lonely. That’s not fair or accurate. It’s the wrong word. I actually feel very connected, lucky, blessed, and like my life is incredible beyond measure.
But I’m hunting for something and I really don’t know what it is. What I’m doing isn’t scratching the itch yet. I think…
I think I need to stop talking before I get myself in trouble. Goodnight.
At bed time last night I got dressed up (like up) and went to a munch. The kind of munch that happens at a bar so people play quite a bit. Less like the munches I grew up at where play was inappropriate. But I can adapt!
I asked my other Daddy (I have one in Oakland–the one who told me he doesn’t really have time but maybe; my other Daddy lives in San Jose and is currently slightly less occupied.) what he was doing and he pretty much responded, “Going to the munch with you” so I decided that was a sign and I drove south.
My back tells me today that I was dumb for that bit. But I had so much fun.
I spent two and a half hours kinda egging my friends on to hit me. This was fascinating because I did it differently than I’ve ever done before. I’m a negotiator. Usually I want to negotiate so much that I bore people before the scene starts. I just… didn’t negotiate much last night. After Daddy was dragging me back and forth by my hair for a while I finally interrupted and said, “I should warn you that enough hair pulling leads to a migraine and my head is getting tender.” He switched to holding me forcefully by the throat.
My boobs are gorgeous. I don’t mean because I have nice breasts (although I do) I mean that they are colors and colors and colors.
Thank you Daddy for all the slaps, punches, and pinches. I was grateful to beat off in the middle of you doing it, then I beat off at home, then I begged Noah to fuck me.
Life is so good right this minute.
It wasn’t just Daddy fucking with me! I’m not sure how it turned into a 3 on 1 without any negotiating but some nights are just awesome? Folks missed me? Well I missed them too…
My former Owner and another long-term friend thought it was hilarious to stand there (at different times) and say, “Hit her harder” so I kicked both of them in the shins.
I saw so many people I met right at 18/19. I feel I have come a long way. I feel like I am not very much the same. Even the way I like to be hurt is different.
Ok, I kept saying I am a wuss and you need to be gentle with me… but then Daddy would wind up and hit my breasts about as hard as he can hit. My response was to moan and lean in. The police baton on my ass was quite… motivational. I’m told there is a bruise there too.
Fucking a I had fun.
Ok, this is 0-60. AT LEAST I DIDN’T FUCK ANYONE. I coulda. I saw some invitations on peoples faces. But they would have been strangers. I just… I am not up for that dynamic right now. Anonymous people at a party where my husband is, that’s a small risk. Anonymous people when I’m hunting solo are dangerous at this point. I should stick with the known quantity folks so I know beyond the shadow of a doubt I will be sent home in good shape for doing my job because my friends care about my children.
This Daddy is one my kids spend more time around. He’s a very relaxed, mellow sort of dude.
Until he gets that look on his face and he winds up just to watch me lean into the blow. It’s nice watching how he shudders in satisfaction after a particularly nasty hit.
He says I taught him how to punch and kick. Oh sweetie, really? I’m so glad you’ve been practicing those lessons in the last 10 years because you’ve gotten pretty damn good. I am impressed. Do it again.
One of the tops I was playing with–frankly I didn’t know he was a top. He and I didn’t play more in the past because I didn’t think he topped and I’m not that motivated to top men. I make very few very special exceptions. (Pretty much I have to be wicked in love with you to want to do that to a man on an extended basis. It takes a fuck ton of energy and I don’t have much desire to pour that into people who won’t properly appreciate what it takes out of me.)
So this top… oh baby he just about made my night. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “All those years ago I told you ‘no’. I regret it. I’ll never tell you ‘no’ again.” Swoon dead away. Well I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.
Now you’re going to have to ask me. Because I’m that kind of shithead.
And the third friend who ended up hurting me for a while…. also someone I think of as a bottom who just felt motivated to jump the fenceline. What the hay!?
It worked. He’s learned a lot about pressure points. He thought it was funny to pick two different spots on my body and apply pressure and ask, “Does spot 1 or spot 2 hurt more?” As I answered he counter balanced by upping the ante on the opposite one over and over till I was screaming.
Oh what a lovely night.
And all without having to ask or be asked or negotiate. God damn it’s good to be experienced.
I did stop the scene once to yank my dress up and show off my underwear and say, “Ok that last hit landed up here (point). I need the rest of them to land lower than here (point).”
Daddy said, “Ok Princess. That’s a good point.” Then he slammed my face back down on the table so he could hit my ass again.
Oh my life is so wonderful. Happy Sigh.
On that note. I need to go masturbate again. Today is going to be a beat off ten times kinda day.
I have chores to do this morning. Then I get to go find a bra with the Professor.
I hope it’ll be another good day.
I could use some help taking tile off backing next week once it arrives. Would anyone like to take pity on my hands?
I started bleeding yesterday. The few hours before I started bleeding I was so irritable I felt like I was about to start screaming and never stop. I wasn’t angry. No one had done anything. It’s chemical.
But now I’m bleeding and I just am left with the aching joints and general pain I’ve been making worse by bending over on the floor for hours and hours and hours each day. I’m torn between being frustrated the bathroom remodel is still ongoing and good cheer that I still don’t have to hurry. I’m not done with the tree wall yet. I feel like it will need two more days of work. Maybe three?
Then I need to do the other wall of the shower. I’m still not sure how I’m going to transition from autumn to winter there. That will be the space where the transition needs to start happening. That corner needs to be the change of season. That is when everything finishes dying.
When I was a kid I feel that I was barely aware of passing seasons. Mostly what they meant to me was “Is it the beginning of the school year or the end?” I didn’t have many other associations. Now I’m aware that it would have been hard to notice seasons given how much I moved. I didn’t see plants grow up and change.
I love my yard so much. I feel more grateful with every passing year. I did this. I made this. And it is beautiful. It isn’t so much a planned garden the way other people do planned gardens and I don’t care. I am discovering which parts of my yard like which kinds of pants. I’m doing it through trial and error and goodness this year I’m killing a lot of peas.
I have them spread all over the yard. I’m learning about the various levels of health in my soil in my yard. Some areas have been rototilled lots in the past few years. Some areas are barely amended. Some are just new bought dirt. It’s interesting watching the peas. They aren’t doing how I’d expect.
I’ve gotten a lot of the weeding I care about for the year done. I still need to keep hacking at the blue potato vine. It’s… gone a bit wild and it’s blocking the sun for one of my beds. I need to do a little tree trimming maintenance. I need to add more fertilizer to the roses and food beds. Then it’s watering and harvesting and playing until the next time I feel like adding more plants/seeds. I think this year’s garden is established. I’m not sure how much more room I’d have for anything fun.
I feel so blessed. There is so much color in my yard. It smells so nice. I’m still adding. I will add until I’m literally out of space. I will add stuff until I’m gardening on the roof (if it can handle the weight–I’m going to talk to the roofer I actually trust about this project). I’d love to have above ground raised planting beds on the roof. So the actual dirt/water/plants are several feet off the surface of the roof so that it is weight being supported, but not damp sitting on my roof. We’ll see.
I often have trouble tracking gardening stuff because I get busy with projects in the house and I forget. I feel like this year I should very consciously focus outside every day because I put way more variety of seeds into the ground than usual. This is by far my most ambitious year for variety. I’ve had big gardening years in terms of labor and production–a friend gave me an obscene number of tomato starts one year and I grew and processed over 60 lbs of tomatoes from my back yard. (It took three years to use up the jars.) We used so many fresh tomatoes that year that I got over hating tomatoes.
This remodel is hurting my hands badly. So I can only work for so long.
This is why I don’t do handicrafts. This pain.
Pinching is so horrible. My fingers ache.
But! Yesterday I finally figured out that I should put long strips of tape down and then do a whole row of tiles and that is way faster and less work for my hands. It uses almost twice as much tape and right now I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
I am going to go through a palette of tape.
The kids are being so patient with this project. It is a nigth and day difference between doing this project and finishing the garage when they were babies. This is so much easier. They are so patient. I suspect my kids are as good at working as I work because they’ve never had a choice. This has been their whole life. Training pays off. They can keep busy forever.
I don’t know many people in the whole world who are as good at finding a way to entertain their brains as my kids. They can find fascination in anything. I don’t do any where near as well. I’m a computer addict. I want to talk to people. I want atttttttttttention.
They want attention too and they will pick talking to people over anything else but if no one is available they still have a great day. If I go a day without talking to people on IM I get sad and depressed. I check in with so many people it is a wonder my fingers aren’t falling off.
But I don’t feel scared today. My jaw is relaxed. My stomach is clearly empty and getting hungry but it doesn’t feel like a knot of tension.
This is a good day. Pam isn’t visiting us tonight. She was invited to a show. That’s not the good part. I’d actually like to talk to Pam right now. I’m not feeling bitchy. Ha. But I’ll get more work done. Sigh.
Because of how badly the tile work hurts my back I’ve been crapping out after about three hours. I still have the full time jobs of being a housewife, home schooler, my gardening is more than a part time job, I write…
I feel like about three hours a day of tile isn’t slacking given how much pain it causes me. But it means I’m going slow.
Good thing the fucking contractors can’t come back to work anyway, right? Shit. Still waiting on a letter. When do I say, please give me the engineers phone number so I can talk to this person and find out if you are lying to me about yet something new.
This is seven weeks now. What the fuck.
If they were going to come back in tomorrow I’d pull a few all nighters and have the bathroom tile done in 48 hours. I could but I’d be a nightmare to live with. The most important factor in balancing all this work is my mood. How much am I going to take out on the kids in the meantime.
So I’m going sllllloooooooooooow so that I can smile and be nice during the process. It’s a good thing.
I’d like to see how nice you’d be doing this work if you felt like someone was holding a burning hot fireplace poker on your elbow all day long.
I need a god damn break from pinchy work.
I don’t get it yet. Not this week. Not next week.
I want to hurry up and finish so I can have at least a week off before my date with my submissive. I won’t be very effective as a sadist if my arms hurt this badly. It’ll be 100% kicking and whereas that’s fun… it’s not the same.
I got eight hours of sleep. I’m glad. I just wish my back hurt less. Whinge.
Deep breathe, deep breathe, deep breathe. You picked this project, Krissy. You could have had an easy, normal looking bathroom with no pinchy work at all. No complaints. This is a choice. This is something you are insisting on when it isn’t easier for other people. Just suck up the consequences. It’ll end. Then you’ll get to keep the work forever.
It makes such a difference knowing that this is art I will keep forever.
Just keep pinching pinching pinching just keep pinching pinching pinching. It will end.
I sorta feel like I want to get dressed, put my running shoes on and go running. I don’t feel like I want to get started medicating for the day.
My lungs are so pissed.
I’m at the point where I feel like I am breathing through a layer of film that must pop like a soap bubble before the air gets through. I need a break. A many many month break.
Ok, I’ll try Gabapentin.
How do you learn to cause less harm to yourself? I don’t know for sure but I’m trying.
I no longer spend a lot of time cutting myself. Is that progress? Now I’m just taking my pre-damaged lungs (growing up with heavy smokers is bad for you) and hurting them more so that my behavior is more under control. It’s like being an adult, right?
I could hurt my arms for a while listing all the various kind of pain I feel right now.
Instead I notice that my heart feels light. Even the thing I’m mad about isn’t actually a big thing. I need to change some of my behaviors to change how that occurs and then there isn’t anything left to be mad about.
Right this minute almost anything seems possible. I don’t know what the future will bring but I’m fucking privileged as all hell. It’s going to be a nice future. There was a line in my life. Before I passed that line I had no reason to believe the future would be any better than the past and the past was pure shit. I have crossed that line. I’m not sure when. I’m not sure if it was teaching. I don’t think it was marrying Noah. I think it actually happened before that and I didn’t notice. I think it happened when I got my first job making more than $50,000/year. It may even have been when I got my first accident settlement check at 18. I was no longer dependent or scared in the same way. I had a future.
At 34 I feel more excited about my future than I ever have. I am going to do incredible things. I am going to go out and talk to thousands of people. I’m going to figure out stuff about incest that people don’t know yet. I’m going to help turn this into a picture people can actually look at and understand.
I believe that. That belief gives me a lot of strength and confidence to go through all the steps between now and then.
Gardening is part of it. I need to learn patience for letting things come up in their own time. I need to learn that every part of the growth cycle has a season and you can’t rush things. Not really. You can force growth artificially for a short time and then you have problems. Early death, deformity, disease.
Talking about incest is going to be like that. If I try to force people who aren’t ready I will damage them badly with my selfishness. I need to figure out what these cycles look like and it is hard knowing that I won’t figure it out until I hurt people. I won’t figure it out until it is too late to do it right the first ten times. But hopefully by the eleventh time I will be less of a fucker.
I need this time with the kids. I need to watch what growing independence looks like within the framework of healthy attachment.
Ok, sometimes I worry that we are overly enmeshed instead of healthily attached. I can’t tell. The thing I’m hanging my hat on is: no one here feels very responsible for the feelings of the people around them. We hang out together all the forking time but we all spin in our own little orbits. We talk about “My body is feeling like ___ so my emotions are doing ____ and I’m not reacting to your tone of voice. Sorry I’m being like this.”
There is so little blame in this house for bad days. I mean, sometimes someone gets mad because someone else did something… but even that doesn’t hit a fevered pitch. I am the one who comes down the heaviest on that kind of thing and I get over things quickly. I get flamingly angry at my kids, communicate why I’m so pissed, then it goes away.
My kids know that breaking rules and fucking up is part of life. They know that you must do these things in order to grow and develop. They also know that dealing with the fact that sometimes your fuck ups piss people off is part of life. How to manage that? You are never obsequious. You never act like you are wrong. You say, “Wow I screwed up. I shouldn’t have done that.” Then you explain in motherfucking detail what you should have done instead. Then, try again.
When my kids get upset and yell something like, “I screwed up” I say, “Yay! What did you learn from this?”
Every screw up has the chance to teach you more than doing it right in the first place. What did you learn?
“What a wonderful opportunity to learn you have now. What can we get out of this situation?”
I love my job. I love my life. I am so grateful that I have the privilege to sit around helping my kids learn how to deal with a complicated world. This is my dream come true.
No, Noah, I have no desire to blow up my life. I am exactly where I want to be.
I just… sometimes want to sneak out to see other people. Or not sneak out. Walk out proudly with hugs and kisses and “I’ll see you soon!” exchanged all around.
It’s different this time than ever before. Even when I went hunting and I found Muse four years ago it was different.
I don’t feel as ashamed any more. I think that part of it is that in the past when I was hunting for new sexual partners there was always this haze over every interaction where I knew the person was probably going to be gone after a night or at most a week. I didn’t have faith that most of my efforts were improving my life long term. I was getting through the night.
At this point I don’t need help getting through a night. I don’t need a place to sleep. I don’t need someone else to buy me food so I can eat today.
Now what I am doing is finding myself intently interested in people who are already part of my soul. I want to know them in ways I haven’t before because I found capacity in myself to love more parts of them than I originally believed I had bandwidth to accomplish.
It doesn’t feel like hunting in the same way. I don’t feel shameful. I feel really happy. I’m scared I will hurt my friends because I don’t have enough to offer. I’m scared that I will not be good at long term balancing the emotional needs of people I care about and I will cause a lot of unnecessary pain.
The only thing I can do is my best. I can try to bring my whole heart with me from interaction to interaction and give the best I have to give in any given moment. If someone feels that what I have to offer is inadequate, they can check out. But I’m not sure I should hide at home because I’m afraid I’m not good enough.
For so long I have felt like such a tiny sliver of myself… I need that to change. I’m a lot of things.
I’m not getting this with the folks I’m pursuing right now because they already know me, but when I talk t brand new people there is this series of things that happen. It is a huge ego boost. There is always that getting to know you period. Asking questions. Have you done ___? Do you like _____?
At the end of this kind of exchange I always have to either carefully edit and not say even a small fraction of my actual lifetime experiences or I answer everything honestly and fully and by the end their jaw is hanging open and they say something very similar to, “You actually did all that?”
I’ve received this reaction in dozens of states and in a handful of countries so far. Yup. I did all that. And I’m not done.
I have so many adventures ahead of me it is unreal. Why? Because I’m lucky. Because I spend so much time being scared that the adventures aren’t a hard jump.
Right this minute I don’t feel scared. I’m in pain physically but emotionally I just feel happy. The next few months of my life are going to be glorious.
I’ll miss Pam. She is running off to her own adventures. I’ll call and keep in touch. I love you so much.
What did B & K say? Have fun. Play safe. Come back. Tell stories.
Today and tomorrow are tile, tile, tile, tile, martial arts.
Friday I get to go out with the Professor. He is taking me bra shopping. That was something he wanted to do before I told him I was uhm interested in him. See, I have lovely friends. It is my belated Christmas present.
Saturday and Sunday get tile. Tuesday gets a visit to the clinic for STD testing. LIKE A RESPONSIBLE SLUT, OK?! All of next week Noah is on vacation. The kids are in spring break camps. So we are going to be spending 2 hours each morning playing and fucking because we can in our house, loudly, with no one to notice. (One forking kid only wanted a half day camp. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!) Then I get to pick up a kid at lunch. We are going to spend the early afternoon at the park waiting for the other sibling to get out of camp. It’ll be date time. That is important. Then I get to come home in the afternoons and evenings and do tile. Ahh fun.
Next Friday is another Dark Garden fitting. I’ve done one mock up fitting for the corset dress (she wanted to nip the waist in another inch). I think this is the second mock up and then they start on the actual dress.
When I was called for the appointment the nice gal had a hard time asking me to make a payment towards the total. It must really suck having a job where you have to ask people to give you tons of money for fancy artisan work. I’m sure they get a lot of pushback.
Hey, I’m forking over so much money it is obscene because I think the nice folks who live in San Francisco and hand make clothing deserve a living wage. Could I get cheaper clothing? Yes. It wouldn’t be handmade by people I know. It wouldn’t be custom made to my exact specifications and weird measurements.
I’m going to wear this as my fancy-occasion dress for the rest of my life. I don’t care if you’ve seen it I don’t care I don’t care.
For the record: the corset dress is the foundation garment. There is an over dress that looks more civilized.
But the corset dress is the one people will be carefully peeling me out of for sex and that part is so hot I can barely breathe.
Goodness I like being undressed.
I like being dressed up too. That is something I miss about my Owner. He had strong preferences about how I should look so he gave me a lot of feedback. I liked that part. I liked feeling like I knew how to please him.
Noah… Noah is best pleased if I’m nearby and paying attention to him. Trappings are kinda not noticed. So I just don’t bother much any more. I notice the impact that has on making me feel boring. Complicated.
I’d really really really like to have the tile done by the 3rd of April so I can rest. That isn’t a full week of rest before the parties I want to go to but it might be the best I can do. Ok. Now I feel more motivated to hurry up. Maybe I’ll get a wall done today.
First: running shoes. I’m antsy and my legs feel like they desperately need to move.
I love you all, even those I don’t. (Thank you R, for one of the best phrases I’ve ever head in my whole life.)
At the conclusion of Cranky Day I went up to Wicked Grounds and had dinner with two wonderful women. We had a great conversation. I felt seen. I felt like I had friends. I felt like I know these peoples stories and they know mine and they want to know more. I know I want to know more about them.
It isn’t just about hunting. It is about needing something bigger than a four person nucleus family with a babysitter.
My submissive walked in, surprised to see me, on a date. I was tactful I think. Barely grabby enough to remind him that I can but not stepping on the toes of his date. I think. I hope. *cross fingers* (No complaints from him.)
I think it is funny how I’m kinda putting people in boxes they didn’t ask to be put in. I don’t know if those are boxes they want to be in.
I am sorta doing with my submissive an intensified, deeper, adult, more intimate version of what I barely hinted at with my best friend in junior high. My poor best friend. I spent so much time hitting him. He told me that it didn’t hurt that much and clearly I needed to be hitting someone so it was ok. But I never kissed him. I never got even close to being sexual with him. That was completely off the table. (I actually went and stayed with this friend on the road trip. His wife is awesome and he has a darling baby boy. I’m so happy for him.)
I’ve never really soaked in wanting without hurrying up to sex. I don’t even really know how to do that. I feel like I’m signing up for the most torturous science project of my life. How does one sit with desire and coax it without indulging it completely?
I don’t know and I want to find out.
When I am grinding on your crotch and you can smell me the thing isn’t that I lack desire to fuck you.
I want to fuck you. But much more than that I want the power to decide not to fuck you. The first power like that I’ve ever really had in my life.
That’s a kind of intoxication I don’t know how to describe.
I love that I can lay on you and kiss you as much as I want to and you will gasp and moan and pant and start crying… but you won’t grab me and force me to do more than I am ready to do.
This is an utterly novel experience for me.
It is gross and creepy and yucky but I feel like the seeds of wanting this came from being a parent. I kiss my kids without escalating. But it isn’t passionate. It is loving and tender without being remotely sexual.
It really taught me a lot about the variety of love I can feel. I am curious about the extent of that variety in a way I was not before having children. How many ways can I love?
Am I physically capable of passion without hurrying to get it over with?
And it will be complicated to figure out the dynamic of pain and tenderness. When I say that I haven’t really dominated you in the past, the tenderness is a huge chunk of what I mean. I have tried very hard to give you the kind of pain I thought you wanted. I wasn’t there just being selfish. I like that kind of play and I thought you only wanted a specific thing from me.
If what you want is to do what I want, then this is going to be a whole lot more gentle. Because you don’t understand what I want as much as you think you do. Yes, I want to hurt you. I’m going to fuck you up severely. But that will be like 10% of our relationship.
I’ve watched you for a decade and a half. I’ve watched you be a man of integrity, honesty, character, and dedication.
Why in the world would I want to spend the majority of our time together degrading you?
Just got off the phone with my shrink. That was a lovely phone call. I gave her an update on the folks I’m pursuing. She said, “Oh I know these names.” That makes me happy. She thinks it is a good thing that I am taking my sexual satisfaction this seriously. “If this is what it takes and you can do it… do it.”
She also said that the thing I was cranky about is something we’ve discussed in therapy many many many many many many many times and yup I’ve been cranky about it for a long time. That is an accurate perception on my part. I’m not being hysterical. This is an issue.
I described my April and said, “Ok that is 0-60.”
I said, “IT IS ONLY ON 3 DAYS!!!!”
“Oh. But it is so much emotional intensity… it feels like a lot more than three days…”
You don’t understand. I used to do this 5-6 nights/week.
Three nights in a month doesn’t feel like 0-60 for me. And two of those nights I’ll be with the kids for most of the day anyway.
So it doesn’t represent that much time away from my normal life except in the form of lost sleep.
So it feels different to me.
I’m being real careful to catch up on sleep first.
My shrink said yeah, just use Lorazepam every night for a while. Catch up on lost sleep. Just doooo eeeet.
None of this, “But I’m overmedicated” bullshit. I’m not.
I think I have decided to try the Gabapentin. I’m scared shitless. But I seriously need a break from smoking. This is killing my lungs. Edibles are so expensive.
I would much rather give my money away than hemorrhage it on pot. Realistically: I’d rather pay chiropractors.
I’m not sure I will ever stop completely. I like it. But I don’t want to need this much of it. At this point it is hurting me.
My lungs are so pissed.
I won’t be on the computer today. K is bringing the Bonus Kids over. We haven’t had a visit in a while. I’m really happy about it.
Last night two wonderful women decided to come talk to me just because I said in a public way that I would be out of the house.
I feel so lucky.
Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for loving me.
Arms hurt. Love you so much. Bye.
Years ago I went to this tolerance building experience when I was a teacher. It was meant to show the kids that they don’t know who among them has it rough. It turned out I spent the weekend outing myself as having had the shittiest life any of them had ever heard of. It sucked. But one of my students told me that I am like a rubber ball. It doesn’t matter how hard life knocks me down I will get up again.
I still have the card where the kids wrote their impressions of me.
I’m thinking about that rubber ball thing cause I have big feelings this second. Good feelings. Impatient feelings. Frustrated feelings. Sad feelings.
It just depends on who I think about. I could list hundreds of feelings but my arms hurt.
Do I have the right to try and climb into peoples heads without an express invitation? Do I have the right to be pissed off about the metrics of my life? Does it matter if I have the right?
Is it really more about what one can get away with? But hey–here in California without enthusiastic consent it is rape.
What if it isn’t sex and you are just mind fucking them? Then we get into ethics which is harder to really define.
What if what you want to do is change how people see themselves? Maybe if I can get better at understanding the mechanism of helping other people like themselves I can figure out how to actually like myself?
I’m really angry about something I can’t write about.
I want. I feel like I’m drowning. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of caring more about other peoples needs than mine.
You think this is 0-60?! The weekend I left my Owner I fucked six new people. That month? I can’t begin to remember how much sex and SM I did. I literally can’t. I have had two SM scenes and I fucked one stranger in a period of two months.
That is not 0-60.
Have you met me?!
Ok, April is looking more fun with 3 SM scenes planned and a hookup.
I still don’t think this is 0-60. No, it’s not conservative compared to normal people and yeah I am being an asshole.
I’m feeling really fucking selfish after seven years of being on duty nearly 24/7.
I actually think I get more breaks than many of the mothers I know. I’m more selfish than you. I know.
I used to get weekends off once a month. Now we have babysitting. I’m not really with them 24/7. It’s more like 20/7 and I let Noah answer their demands a lot when he’s home.
I know Noah is tired too. I know.
Right this second I feel petty, mean, scared and like a complete asshole.
I’ve been watching TED talks about sex, cheating, monogamy, relationships… it’s funny how this discourse has changed in my lifetime.
Three separate drives: sex, attachment, love. Yeah.
Jenny, I’m not actually that pissy about the cruise thing. I’m pissy about something else that I can’t talk about and I kinda sorta can talk about the cruise thing.
I do like me some transference.
I feel so angry with myself for being angry instead of still soaking in how nice it was to be with my submissive yesterday.
Why am I so angry? I can’t talk about it.
My hands hurt so much and I have so much tiling to do today that I shouldn’t be typing at all. But here I am, tracking the fucking bounces.
Kellianne tells me I should write 750 words today so I don’t lose practice as a writer. I hear that being good at things takes practice.
Fuck everything. If I just write fuck until I hit 750 does that count?
I don’t want to follow rules and I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to have to think about anyone else’s feelings.
But if I act like that this whole god damn house of cards could come tumbling down.
Is there a happy medium? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I’m so angry.
I’m not “blow up a relationship” angry. I’m just angry. It happens. My phone says it is angry day. And something happened. Not a big thing. A small thing. A thing that doesn’t deserve any kind of blow up.
But I’m so. Fucking. Angry.
I feel ashamed. I feel small. I feel like I am going to hurt people because I do not respect their boundaries and needs.
Someone smart told me that all parents are kinda fuck ups.
I don’t know if my mom gave me her best or what she had to spare. I don’t know what I give other people. I feel like I’m short changing absolutely everyone.
I’d like to spend today in my closet crying. Instead: tile. 817 words.
Do you know one of the things I like about what I’m doing right now? Everyone has said, “So, how is Noah doing?”
I’m being reminded from every direction that I need to keep my priorities in order. That feels like really healthy progress for me.
Also: my Christmas lights are finally down. On the first day of spring. Thank you for your work.