Category Archives: affair

Sex and fucking up

I had a great chat yesterday. It made me think about a lot of how I’ve screwed up this year.

Sex is complicated. We have sex for so many reasons. For connection, intimacy, orgasms, bonding, feeling-not-alone-in-this-minute.

The thing is, that’s complicated. Why didn’t I pick Noah for every time I wanted sex this year? Because that’s complicated. Sometimes sex with a particular person is loaded with implications across your whole life you can’t handle and you want the ease of sex with someone else. Sometimes I wanted to feel like I still had the ability to connect with new people.

New people have been very instrumental to my survival. I get that it isn’t something that is a big deal to everyone. I know that lots of people have been safer in the known communities of their lives. I have survived by over and over again throwing myself backwards into the arms of strangers and just praying they would catch me. At this point it is no longer a survival mechanism but it is an ingrained habit. That’s complicated.

I don’t think I chased sex as self harm this round but I have certainly done so in the past. Sometimes the choice is, “Do I hurt myself in a known and predictable way because I don’t like myself very much or do I take the risk that this person will be nicer to me than I am able to be to myself or maybe they will hurt me more than I would hurt myself. Roll the dice.”

That’s a choice I’ve made many times in my life. If you haven’t had to deal with the cognitive load of poverty plus severe traumatization… you probably won’t understand. It will seem baffling to you that someone would make such a choice.

I’m glad you’ve never been there. That’s awesome for you.

I’ve been there a lot. I’m not there lately, but I have zero judgment for someone else finding themself in that position. It happens.

There have absolutely been nights when I’ve picked up a stranger and fucked them instead of hurting myself because I didn’t think I could stop until I put me in a hospital.

Was that a bad choice? I really don’t think so. I think I made the best choice I could given all the circumstances of my life in that moment.

It is hard to keep the larger picture in mind when you are judging one particular choice. Choices that were completely reasonable for me at different points in my life shouldn’t be judged the exact same way at this point in my life. I’m in different circumstances. I have different options.

To put it bluntly: I can have an emergency “weekend trip to relax” at this stage of my life. If I feel like I’m going to freak out and do something drastic… I can make it a very safe kind of drastic. Because I’m rich.

But that was literally not available to me before marriage.

Money. Money. Money.

If you have enough money, time, support, fill in the blank to have better options… who the fuck are you to judge someone doing the best they can!?

Get off your high horse.

But I’m really not in the same position as I once was.

How in the hell is any of my behavior this year justifiable? Hunh, hunh?

I’m not sure I can “justify” my behavior. I think I can explain it. I don’t think my explanations are “good enough” from many points of view and there’s not much I can do about that.

I learned things I needed to learn. I was able to find words for problems I wasn’t able to find words for until I processed all the way through some extreme emotions. I was able to change boundaries that were a big problem for me.

Could I have found a way to do it without freaking out and breaking a lot of rules?

Maybe. I tried. I failed.

I succeeded when I blew the boat up.

Things are going a lot better in a variety of ways. Was it worth the cost? Yes. To me. Was it to Noah? He’s still deciding. He’s still raw. That’s fair.

Sometimes we don’t do things to people and they hurt anyway. I didn’t go out and fuck people to hurt Noah. That’s not why it happened. We are all autonomous beings running our own stories and our behavior is not always about our partners. We have our own narrative running. It isn’t about you.

Even if we love you. Even if there could be negative consequences for you. We can’t make every single choice only about you. That’s not a way to be a person.

Would it be nice if our choices didn’t hurt you? Yes.


I played a very careful line this year. I didn’t actually do stuff that was that risky to my life. I mostly went out and spent extra time with my friends. People who have been good to me for a long time. I had a tremendous amount of fun. It will help keep me warm for years to come. Was it worth the price I paid?

Probably. Does that mean I can do it like that again? No. I really can’t. It would break Noah.

What does that mean? Our relationship functions based on a lot of trust and mutual worship. If I kill that then I’m kinda destroying both of our reason to live. Whether or not I’m doing something at Noah… I need to pay attention to the impact. My life is completely intwined with him.

If I rock the boat he feels every wave. There is not a lot of separation there.

I’m not sure we will ever get to the point of being “polyamorous” even if we are allowed to discuss it in ten years. But it is ok to have sex with our friends sometimes if we do it together. Is that my ideal? I don’t know. I don’t think my ideal is more fair so I guess it will have to be ok.

There is no fair.

I get why we are both so possessive. I see the holes in both of us that we use one another to fill.

Sex with friends is different than the anonymous sex I also like. They scratch different itches. Sex with friends is safer and more predictable (not in a bad way). Anonymous sex allows me to feel like I am touching the core of connection between strangers. It is both intimate and distant in a way that feels like a spiritual practice to me. The trust and risk are intense rushes.

But my life is wrapped around Noah. So whether or not I’m doing something at him… he will feel it.

Noah doesn’t feel so awesome about my having sex with other people. He wants me to keep my worship at home. When we are having sex with other people together, that’s ok. That’s not scary or hard. Well, sometimes it is logistically hard or a position is hard or… but it’s not threatening in the same way. We are having an adventure together. No one is left to sit with their imagination and fear.

Noah really doesn’t want me to go off alone any more than I want him to. Seems fair. Annoying, but closer to fair than most things ever get.

Why annoying? Because I am selfish selfish selfish selfish selfish. A lot of the reason I have sex is for the orgasm and changing partners increases that like a motherfucker. Sigh.

No life is perfect.

(For the record: Noah has been working hard on this and has had a pretty fucking outstanding success recently. There’s an A for effort and result.)

I know he’s trying. I can see it. I don’t think it would be possible to look at Noah and not see that he is trying as hard as he possibly can for me.

I’m so annoying and hard.

He works far harder than anyone can ask for; that kind of effort is a freely given gift. I know how lucky I am. My physical and mental health issues have not been easy. But Noah considers my companionship worth the cost.

How in the hell did I end up here?

I auditioned hundreds of people and Noah won the part.

I think we are much better and more interesting together than we ever were apart.

I’m looking forward to pregnancy. I get so exhausted that our pace of life will utterly collapse. Yeah, yeah, pregnancy isn’t a disability yeah yeah pregnant women should carry on as if nothing was happening…

I can’t. Gestating is fucking hard in my body. Remodeling and resettling the house has to be complete by January. Next year I’m going to work on academics with my big kids, sit around, sleep, exercise, eat and go grocery shopping.

I’m probably not going to get much else done, to be honest. And that’ll continue for at least 3-6 months after the baby is born.

I’m toast. Breeding is hard.

I’ve completed the cycle and come out the far side more than once so I’m very aware of what it looks like for me.

I’m really excited about the possibility of a pregnancy where I am in much better physical shape to start with (hello marathon and half marathons, you have halo effect I still feel) and I have my IBS mostly under control and I can breathe through my nose. This will be a different experience. I’m also older. This will also be a medicalized experience (hiya bleed out problems) which is kinda terrifying for me.

All the feelings. And my back is giving me trouble. I need to finish this damn remodel. But bending over really kinda sucks.

I’ll get through it. Put a corset on and get your work done, woman.

It’s kinda funny how we all adapt to the tasks life puts in front of us. This art shit weighs on my soul. I really am more calm in my home because of the art work. It is so easy to ground in my house. When you are here you are really in a particular, individual place. That’s a big deal for me. In other peoples homes, in most of the homes I’ve ever lived in… they all kinda blend together. Sure the knick knacks and furniture are sorta different… but the white walls meet the white ceilings and I want to crawl under a table and cry.

No, it’s not rational.

I do not want a fancy “nice” bathroom that looks like it could be in a hotel somewhere. And I’m willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for the experience I want to have. Every doctor I have wants me to take baths as often as I can. I spend time in my bathroom. I recycle the water too. To deal with my hippy guilt. (The internet tells me that epsom salts, baking soda, vinegar, and sugar are all fine for plants on a small scale so my bath water is fine  for my plants. Woo hoo.)

We’ve had a broken toilet for a long time. We’ve been using the grey water to flush the toilet. I’m thrilled that with the increased bath capacity of water I will also be able to use the water for more plants. I’ve always used some of it sometimes… but never for plants if someone has used shampoo or soap.

Why am I so tolerant of my friends having quirks or needing accommodation for their mental health needs? Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Uhm, err, just because I’m a nice person?


Because I fucking obsess over what to do with my bath water. I got no stones to throw on people needing to do their thing.

Oh man. I’m going to go through a pregnancy in a bathtub big enough to roll over in. Oh the glory.

Spoiled rotten motherfucker.

I really like my house.

Did I mention I’m having candle holders permanently installed on the walls of the bathroom? And there are skylights above it?

The walls are going to be glittering scenes of autumn and winter. I’m working on them.

My house is a very particular place. I like it so much.

I need to clean it. But that’s a problem for a different day. It won’t be really cleaned until the remodel is done. Too much dust and dirt is being generated every day. Not worth a deep clean. I’ll probably splurge on professionals in January at the start of the pregnancy.

Then I’ll spend a year basking in my family. In 2016 I was supposed to learn how to love myself. I don’t know that I managed, exactly. But I’ll spend 2017 hanging out and letting my family love me. That’s… almost the same thing?

Today will be a Zen sorta day. Noah has a dentist appointment. I’m watching a neighbor’s child in the morning and walking them to school. It’s kinda funny. Then I get to come home and get the kids onto chores and academics while I work. I will have to find a way to do work that is right next to them so we can talk while they do their stuff. They always have questions, which is very appropriate.

Tonight we are going to trick or treat with friends we haven’t seen much in the year since we’ve been back from the road trip. We’ve been really bad friends this year. I’ve dropped everyone and everything on the floor for this remodel. And I do it when I’m doing the breeding thing too.

Uhm, I’m sorry. I will crawl out of a hole again in the future. I hope you still like me then.

But yes. Touching base with old friends. Longevity is a big deal for me. A dear woman I know is deeply associated with a phrase: “Friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.”

I’m really curious which threads are deep enough in the weave that I will know them for most of my life. I am made up of the people who know me. The people who carry my story with them when they go. I am made up of the people who sometimes ruefully think, “What would Krissy do?”

I am a creation in your mind as much as I am anything at all. And the fact that you think about me. That fact is enough to mean that even when I fuck up, I am maybe not beyond forgiveness.

Sharing complications

I am… a tremendous asshole. I know this. I know this so terribly well. Noah and I have been talking a lot. I wish I had the spoons to record lots of it but I don’t. Ow.

This is the very first song I ever stripped to. There are things I’m still not going to discuss that have me singing this song to myself lately.

I gotta say, sex with Noah has been off the hook lately. We’ve been playing with erotic hypnosis stuff. As a result he is grinning so widely he looks like he is about to split his face. It’s going well. I am, uhh easily suggestible. I also have lots of experience in my background of what was essentially hypnosis orgasm training. Because my life has been awesome. So I’m physically capable of orgasming repeatedly on command. And we’ve been playing with erotic hypnosis.

*fan self*

It’s going well.


Neither of us know. And we feel sad about it. Because even though the sex has been intermittently good throughout the monogamy…

Sustaining heat like this is hard and it… mostly happens when I’m off fucking other people and I come home ready to sit on fire hydrants.

I want sex.

It isn’t because I’m not getting it at home. I’m getting it at home. I’m getting it fucking awesome at home. But it’s a symbiotic thing. We’ve been together a while now through several cycles.

Heh. This isn’t our first rodeo.

But I’ve clearly changed in what I want and in what I’m looking for and what this is going to mean. I’ve done a flat 180 on a whole bunch of things just about overnight.


I don’t know.

I don’t want to miss the fun I could have in my 30’s. Being alive is so awesome.

I could work harder. I could work more.

My body is tired.

I don’t just “relax” very well. I never have. I’ve been working really hard for a really long time. I mean, I build a lot of playfulness into my work so I have fun being a workaholic… but that doesn’t mean I relax well and my body really needs me to relax.

I need to be able to do it without the pot.

No. I want to not need the pot. My lungs hurt. Other methods are so expensive.

I don’t know what I want from the future. I don’t know how much involvement in the bdsm community I want. I feel so conflicted about dragging Noah. He doesn’t feel much need for community around his sex life. He doesn’t feel weird. He doesn’t feel like he needs validation. And he’s less drawn to hunting.

For the rest of my life hunting is going to feel…. different. Now that I have cut someone open as they fuck me so I can suck the blood…

Holy fucking shit.


Sweet Jesus what is wrong with me? I have no self control lately. Things that have been off the table forever are just… interesting. There was a hot 24 year old. But he deleted his profile so I’m phew not going to get more pushing from there. I was having a hard time saying no.

Thank God he deleted his profile. 

I wasn’t that temped only I was. Cause holy shit if you saw the pictures. But he deleted them.

I’ll just keep fucking my delightful old man. No hardship.

Why isn’t it enough?

It depends on what you mean by being enough.

For a long time now sex has been kind of a chore. I had a quota to fill and I put in my time meeting it whether I was interested or not.

Honestly I think it is kind of hot that I really did that for years. Just like I think it is hot that I did a whole lot of things that I genuinely didn’t want to do when I was a slave for years. I specifically like doing sexual things I don’t like to please my partner.

But there’s a cost. And a weird balance to find. Because I have to be pleased too or… I wilt. It is harder and harder not to cut.

I can clearly look back and see how how it is promiscuity or cut. That’s been a huge pattern for me. It is like I can choose to do what I need to do to stay small and shut up or I can go symbolically choose life. (Err, let’s be preventing those babies–shall we?)

This has been true since I was in grade school.

It’s complicated.

Noah told me he doesn’t do more cutting on me because he is worried about it taking the place of me cutting myself.

I wonder what cutting my submissive will mean in a grander scale. So far it makes me feel like a hyena, not like someone who should be small and quiet.

I mean, I’m manifesting this by being nice to little kids and making art in my house. I’m not acting more vicious anywhere else. (Err… I don’t think. I’m getting specific feedback that I’m doing well by a variety of observers. Forking everyone is commenting on me looking so happy.

Goodness gracious I’m getting laid well. You don’t know what it means.

So I’m not getting it everywhere I’m invited. I’ve been saying no. But I’m feeling more able to feel adored. Which sucks. Why can’t I get this from Noah? It’s not like he has changed how he feels.

Daddy and my submissive are both my friends when we aren’t fucking. Why is this so much more validating? It just is.

So much for once a month. So much for once a month per person. I’m having four dates with the deity this month and uhhh I should *cough* admit that.

I can see why my shrink is yelling at me. Yeah. Daddy and my submissive have both stayed in their boxes. I do see them more, but not in a way that is inconsistent with a very long relationship. In consistent settings.

Oh fuck.

Ok Noah Ok Noah Ok Noah. Yeah. That. Nervous. Yeah.


Yup. That’s what I’m going to go do. Fuck him. Yup.

Not my normal type. Nope. That’s why it is so dangerous. Yup. What the fuck is my type now. I don’t fucking know.

But I’m going to go do some fucking and find out? I’ll report back. I promise.

And then Cupid is writing me dreamy stories about where he is going to put his hand and I just can’t stop squirming.

It is about the expression in their eyes. I pick people for how their eyes come alive. That is what I look for. That connection. I want that. I’m getting it in spades and I feel… so very much. I feel so alive.

I’m not drowning in the river of want. But I’m not sated. I recognize that I’m being shit at boundaries and that can’t continue. Noah’s right that six months of this would be a problem.

What is sustainable?

I want to find out.

What is respectful?

I want to find out.

What is fair?

Oh get the fuck over that shit. Life ain’t fair. There is no fair. Fuck fair with a 2″x4″. (*phew* I did it right that time.)

If I am doing these things in service to loving myself, which I… rather think I am… I need to think about sustainability from the point of healing. I’m working on healing a whole bunch of different things. What does it all mean?

On that note my arms burn and my neck is sore from looking down. Goodbye oh laptop of doom. I love you. Kids are waking up. I get to go be present with the vanilla reality of my life. I choose this. I want this. I have fun with this.

It’s festive dealing with my Bonus Kids as they grow up. We hit speed bumps. They don’t like me every moment. I hold a lot of lines they don’t like but I’m happy to explain why I have the principles I have. “I put these things in front of you and tell you to do them because I have put a lot of work into knowing what is good for you right now. Please cooperate darling.”

They don’t always like me. I make them eat chard. Clearly I am from the devil.

You’ll live, beloved. And you’ll grow up feeling better in your body than I do.

Love is complicated. Sharing traditions and beliefs and desires is complicated. We all want different things. How can we get along? What is fair? Oh don’t even start.

What do we want? Since there is no fair. What do we want? Because there is a we and an I in this. I don’t even mean me and my intestinal parasites. I mean that in order to have what I want I need to have people in my life who want the intensity of connection I want.

I’m really kinda done with casual for the now. I mean… ok I’ll fuck people at a swingers party because that’s fun. But it’s a different kind of intense. First dates with strangers suck.

I’m spoiled as fuck. I’m good.

I have such lovely options available to me.

By the way, Deity and I were really good last night. I don’t think I let myself flood with oh god I like you when the kids were around. We didn’t kiss at all until the kids were asleep and we didn’t do anything even vaguely raunchy. We talked.

I’ve been wanting to talk to him like that for a long while. I uhhh doubt we will talk quite like that when I go over to his house. I think our mouths will be more distracted. And I am interested in these topics. And I need to god damn stop typing.

How can someone feel so lucky and so stupid and so happy and so nervous and so giddy and so relaxed at the same time? Well I kinda think anyone would feel relaxed after how much I came last night.

Holy shit, Noah.


I’m well done.



Fuzzy boundaries, longing, and self control.

Oh golly. This has been quite a month. Changing rules and boundaries and more oh my. I feel like it has been coming for a while. Noah feels like it has been coming for a while. My shrink says, “It’s about damn time!”

I feel like this last four year monogamy stretch was really healthy, useful, and appropriate. I’m not good at narrowing my focus. I like to always be broadening my horizons. Meeting new people. Fucking new people. But if I want the future I want to have, I have to put the time in now.

I know that.

Over the past four years Noah and I have certainly maintained a better-than-average sex life (based on national poll numbers) but it was…. not the kind of sex life we are capable of having. It’s been good but ok. My libido was not ever fully turned on. Fully turning on my libido has consequences. I don’t narrow the focus very well.

I’m not that good at keeping to strict boundaries.

A few years ago during one of our “soft open” periods I asked for permission to have sex with a friend. I really shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. It was complicated. I feel like (in retrospect) the main reason I really wanted to have sex with him that night was because I felt like I shouldn’t but I knew he had been in love with me for years. This got so achingly complicated. Turns out I had this one night with him right before I had my first miscarriage. I will never know 100% for sure if I lost Noah’s baby or my friend’s and that… that weighs on my heart. Especially because what I know of my friend’s other history. So complicated. He was the guy other than Noah who was on the “If I hit X age without finding a co-partner to marry and have kids with you can knock me up as a known donor friend.” Then Noah asked me to marry him and that list kinda blew up.

“Not supposed to” is a huge aphrodisiac for me. It’s part of why what I did in Portland was as hot as it was. I wasn’t really supposed to. And I did it anyway. And I almost fucking came even though there was nothing resembling genital contact. Just SM. It was so hot. Partially because I’m not supposed to.

Sometimes I am genuinely surprised that Noah and I manage to keep up a hot legal sex life. I’m surprised that isn’t a problem for me.

I’m struggling right now because I have a huge number of friends I haven’t had sex with yet. For reasons. Lots of reasons. As many reasons as there people on the list. And I’m kinda feeling like I just want to line them all up.


Because they were so nice and supportive and wonderful for so long without sex, surely it is time. I’m allowed to again. I really should, right?

Oh. My.

It’s not an “I don’t want to but I should.” It’s more “I was not allowed to so they became taboo and now the boundary is fuzzier and it’s still not clear I should but it is less clear that I shouldn’t so oh my goodness I waaaaaaaaaaaant to.

You, and you, and you, and you. Let’s not forget you.

Like I have the time for that.

I think part of what is making this fuzzier and more confusing and hard is that these people have been so wonderful for so long without sex that I really love them and feel like they have my back and I like rewarding that kind of thing. Primarily with sex.

Because I’m a one trick pony?

Hey, I don’t have time to come clean your room as a thank you for being my friend any more. Besides, sex is just better.

If people love me I want to make them feel good. I really like doing so with sex. I’m grateful for all the 100% vanilla relationships in my life. I think I’m respecting those boundaries.

I’m only feeling consuming lust towards the folks who are poly and who have expressed desire for me in the past.

That’s like having healthy boundaries, right?

I feel like I want to go back to all those chapters where there are unfinished stories. What could happen now? I’m so different. What would it be like now?

But I have no desire to walk away from what I have now. I have no desire to have lots of time away from my kids. So this gets complicated. As much as I’d kind of like to spend the rest of my life on my back… (or front or side or knees or….)

I really don’t. I had that on option. I turned it down. I wanted to be a breeder. I wanted to homeschool. It is going so well. I feel like I am really and truly living in a healthy manner in front of my children.

I have such mixed feelings about these off-screen activities.

My friend asked me why I feel more bad about sex with other people than sex with Noah because my ‘thing’ is I don’t want my kids around sex.

It’s different. It just is. Noah and I only have sex behind locked doors. We are really quiet. I think it *is* healthy that my kids see that their parents are wildly attracted to one another. They see us make out frequently. They see physical affection as being a huge part of a partnership.

But I don’t know how to teach that with a dilute focus.

Only I kind of do, because I am. But I need them to not know how dilute my focus is. I need for them to see fully realized compartmentalization where I am with them when I am with them. I am with their dad when I am with their dad.

They have no idea what I’m like off-stage. That is good.

But it’s not like I’m in the closet. Someday they will know.

I don’t know what this will mean. Nor do I know how it is going to go with all of these wildfires I’d like to set.

Matches. I like playing with matches.

I want to use people. But I don’t want to use people in a way that leaves them feeling bad or unwanted or rejected or hurt. I want to use people gloriously, joyously and have them feel like they are walking on sunshine back to the rest of their life.

Is that ok?


Muh shrink says, “You want this. You have someone who wants to give it to you. Your husband is ok with it. Why are you so worried?”

Because I worry about everything. Duh.

Boundaries are hard. We talked lots about boundaries. She says that in her opinion my boundaries are in the right places.

You never know for sure until it is too late. So I’m scared.

Control, sex, identity

I’ve been a kinky motherfucker all of my life. I officially entered the bdsm community at 18, but I was doing kinky stuff before then. I’ve been giving oral sex for 31 years. I’ve been having PIV (penis in vagina intercourse) by choice for 22 years. This summer marks 16 years of my life in the bdsm community. In two more years I will have been in the bdsm community (to some degree or another) for half of my life. I feel very confident saying that being a pervert is part of my identity. Part of my identity I’m thoroughly comfortable with.

But things shift over time. The kind of pervert I am changes. The kinds of things I like has drifted considerably, especially since having kids.

In all these 16 years I have resolutely shied away from pursuing any kind of ongoing interaction where I was to be Dominant. That’s been a line for me. I like being toppy. I’m sadistic as fuck. But I’m not a Dominant. Nope, that’s not me.

I’m a serious control freak and I manage a lot of that by being the submissive/bottom/slave because then I’m the one who does the vast majority of the work and it goes how I prefer. I date lazy tops. Perfect.

But my life has changed a lot. I feel like I have changed.

There are a lot of people and situations in my life where I could railroad people and control the shit out of them. I’m home schooling my kids. I could micromanage the fuck out of them. I could require them to be submissive to me. Legally I have the right. Yesterday I read this post that reminded me of why I really don’t want my children to be submissive to me in any way.

I don’t know about you, but I fall into being a bully real easy. I have to be careful not to control people inappropriately. I have big opinions and big feelings and people who aren’t rock solid in themselves like being influenced. I could be a serious problem for a lot of people.

I try so hard to not be that. I keep my boundaries fiercely. I don’t boss people beyond very specific, small, limited places where I ask for consent. “Hey we want to organize this event, can I boss people around to get things done quickly?” At this stage of my life 9/10 times when I ask that people gratefully say, “Oh please do.” I’m good at figuring out a plan. I’m good at bossing people.

But I’m scared of it. I avoid it. I don’t seek it out in an ongoing way. I do not want a job where I have that kind of control over people. I am not stable enough. I am not kind enough. I make such bad assumptions.

I act without thinking and I hurt people when I do too much of that.

It isn’t safe nor appropriate for me to be too bossy with any of my friends or family members.

But lately I want to boss. I want to control. I want to have influence in an ongoing control-tastic way.

I got this email from my friend. The one I topped the other night. The one I’ve been thinking about a lot for a while now. The one who likes the really super intense play that I like.

I’m thinking about him way more than is good for my overall balance of life. Holy shit. What do I want from him?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So much. So little. Such specificity. I don’t want to try to meet all his needs. I want to negotiate a very small slice of his soul and control the ever loving shit out of that. As I hurt him really badly.

Anyone who tells me they really want to see me come up from biting them with blood dripping down from my mouth?

Shit. We need to get tested.

Cause I can’t draw blood until we have both been recently tested. I have kids. I have to care. I have too many friends who have contracted Hep C.

Cause if you have been dreaming for years about having me hurt you like that and I have been dreaming for years about hurting you like that and my husband doesn’t mind and your partner thinks it is hotter than the sun?


Why not?

I have worked very hard to cram all of the “me” that is a pervert into a very small box that I keep in the closet. I take it down for very rare special occasions when my kids are far away and kept safe with someone I trust completely.

I know that many people in the community are ok with somewhat fuzzy boundaries with their children. I am not comfortable with that. I need boundaries between them and my sex life constructed with steel beams and concrete reinforcement. This is a no-information/no-fly zone kiddos. Nope.

No, I won’t swing in the house with the kids.

Just no.

Not because I’m judging you. Because I’m trying to deal with the body and brain I have. I’m trying to deal with the highly traumatized DNA sequence I passed down.

Why does sex with Noah behind a closed door feel fine as long as we are quiet? Because I’m really thrilled that my kids think that sex is a natural part of growing up and finding a partner. I’m ok with modeling that.

I can’t model promiscuity. Not given my background.

You know what? My kids have flat told me they don’t want me to date. They know that we have friends who date outside their marriage. They don’t care about what other families do. They told me flat out that they don’t want to give up more time with me.

They are little for such a short time. I’ve already been a pervert for so long. I have already been a slut for so long. Those things will still be there when my children no longer want me like this. I have one shot in this lifetime to nail the kind of parenting relationship I want to have and that means giving my children far more than I want to give. It means giving up things I want really badly for a while.

Life is always about choices.

Noah could tolerate a lot more promiscuity and boundary pushing and dysfunction. But then I’d be teaching it to my kids.


It isn’t that I think that modeling dating is inherently wrong. I truly don’t. Other people have very different lives.

I think I don’t know how to model long term stable relationships. I like picking up strangers and fucking them once or twice and moving on.

I don’t want to model what I like.

Even if I don’t want to stop liking it. I just don’t want to like it in front of them.

This feels so complicated. I don’t like being in the closet. I don’t like feeling like a liar. I don’t like feeling like I am being anything other than 100% brutally honest.

You know what? I am with my kids. I still have boundaries. They sometimes ask probing questions about my history or my experiences and I will either say something matter of fact like, “Yes I dated lots of people before I got married because I wanted to figure out what things were important to me” or “That’s something private that I will not discuss with you during your childhood. You need to grow up without having that information in your brain. You can find it out later.”

So I’m not… lying… but I only answer selectively.

Part of how I have kept these divisions is “I did a lot of stuff in the past I’m not doing now and I have no shame about any of it” and “Right now I’m doing the mom thing.”

But the “mom thing” isn’t all of who I am. Even the (incredibly hot) sex I have with Noah feels like part of the mom thing and…

It isn’t all of who I am.

I’ve gone through a lot of evolution of perception of self. Especially with regards to the word whore. (Small disclaimer in case anyone is new: I’m not talking about sex work. I’m talking about personal associations from formative abuse. Specifically I have to figure out how to get my brain to work around shit my father did. It’s complicated. I’m not knocking anyone or any careers.)

I’m going to need some way to refer to this person I’m playing with. I will need a code name. I’m not ready to make one up yet so this is awkward. I have blanket permission to write about him, but he values his privacy.

For a long time I genuinely saw myself as a kind of sacred whore. I had sex with a lot of people, many of whom… weren’t getting a lot of other play. I feel like there is a lot of emotional healing that comes through sexual intimacy and you can absolutely experience that with strangers. There is a validation and affirmation that doesn’t exist in other kinds of connections in my experience. But it only happens with a highly, highly experienced partner who knows how to read intricate body signals and ask the right questions.

I’m really good at it. I’m told. By an exceptionally long list of people. So I have to believe it is true.

This person I’m playing with likes a lot of degradation with his submission. He wants to be called a whore and I get that. There isn’t a lot I find hotter during sex than having someone grind into me and call me a whore… so I get it. Better if I’m being hurt while they are calling me a whore and fucking me. I’ll usually come right there.

I’m having big feelings about degrading him. He asked me a lot of specific, leading questions leading to his desire to be degraded. Oh my.

I want control so badly right now. I want to be able to boss someone around a lot. I want to really play with someone’s mind. I want to headfuck someone until I can tell them that down is up and up is down.

I know how.

I’ve taken lots of classes. I’ve practiced with lots of people who are considered experts. I trained for this.

But I’ve never actually gone and done it. I’ve always been terrified of this. I don’t have the right. I was a Wiccan too early in life. What you put out there comes back to you times three. Be very careful what you wish for and make happen in your life.

I want to crawl into someone’s head and change parts of how he feels about himself. Not in bad ways. I don’t want to hurt him. I want to… tweak him. Because it’s hot. Because controlling people is so fucking hot.

I don’t want to hurt his life. I don’t want to interrupt his relationship with his partner or his kids or his job or his other play partners or…

I just want this. This piece of control. That I can’t explain yet. I don’t know what it is I want so god damn badly right now.

Thinking about the fact that he has to wait for a letter in response to his email because I feel like making him wait …. I’m going to masturbate quite a few times today. This is hotter than fuck.

(Yes I have appropriate boundaries around it. Don’t worry, I can come quick. I only need like three minutes of privacy.)

The email he wrote me is earth shatteringly hot and I can’t quite quantify why. The depth of longing. The number of years this longing has been sustained for.

I met him when I was 19. He likes to say that I had him from, “And who the hell are you?” Apparently that was the first thing I said to him and he was done.

You know…

I feel like this is a bad rom com justification for intense longing wearing people down.

In this moment I all of a sudden understand one of my friends much better. She has a marriage in which they do not discuss politics because they are on opposite sides of the fence. This man and I… have very differing views. We are going to need a hard and fast rule that if one of us notices that we want to have an argument because it is veering near politics we will need a Shiny Change Of Topic. Because…. I know his views. I know his views about a lot of things don’t align with mine for very complicated and diverse reasons.

He isn’t someone I could have married and had kids with for a laundry list of reasons. Guess what? That role in my life is filled and I’m fucking thrilled with how it is going.

But there is this stuff that I really fucking like to do that I can’t do with my husband because holy shit is he not interested.

Noah’s ok with some biting and scratching because it indicates enthusiasm and he likes that. But he is not a masochist and he has decided limits and he gets mad if they are crossed. It isn’t hot.

He has offered, over the years, to do some bottoming if I feel like I just absolutely have to do it and I just… can’t hit him. Not like that. He doesn’t like it. I topped him once because he wanted to feel what it was like to go through a hook pull and he needed help from endorphins and it sucked for him.

I can’t ever do that to him again.

But I really really really like hurting people and it is much easier to control that impulse on a regular basis if I have occasional times when I get to feel like, “Yes, This Is The Right Time And Space”. It is easier to understand what boundaries feel like when you get to have lots of them in different places at different times for different reasons.

I’m horrified by the idea of putting mild pornography in front of an unknown vanilla audience. But I will take all my clothes off in a room full of strangers, crook my finger at a person I don’t know and proceed to fuck right there. I will go to Folsom Street Faire and tie up any person who wants to get tied up because I know I am safe and competent and I won’t hurt them and they will get to have a sensual experience.

Boundaries, motherfucker.

Some time ago one of my children was being friendly with a random other child while we were waiting in line somewhere. The kids were going to have to just stand there for an hour or more. After a few minutes of Eldest Child trying the mother looked at me and said, “Your children have no boundaries, do they?”


What a global statement. We are friendly in a way that is highly unusual outside of California. We are enculturated to being part of a place that treats everyone warmly and like we could be best friends and we just don’t know it yet.

This is where we have always lived. This is how we know how to be. It isn’t that we have no boundaries. I’m wary about going into peoples houses. The kids have a lot of boundaries around going into secured spaces with people they don’t know. They are only allowed to be taken in the cars of very specific people and we have passwords around that.

No boundaries, holy fuck.

We like to pass the time in line by being friendly. Some of those random chats have turned into beautiful friendships. You know what? On the road trip we stopped in Michigan to visit with a man I met in a grocery store. Because he was wearing a pervy t-shirt and I needed to ask him to join the Mountain View Perverts Society. (We weren’t a real thing, but there was a shocking density of pervert households in a small area; we knew each other.) At worst it usually means standing in line is less tedious.

No boundaries. Jeeez.

You know what? My husband neither wanted nor asked for sexual fidelity when he married me. Nor did I.

I said I would be faithful to our relationship. That doesn’t mean anything about who I fuck or beat. If I am faithful to what Noah wants from me… You know what? I’m better able to be present with Noah if I have other needs met by other people. It means I spend less time being frustrated with him that he completely fails to be a queer masochist. I mean, what the ever loving fuck did I do wrong in this life to end up married to a hetero top?

But you have to take the hand you are dealt. He wanted me. He wanted to do the kids and home schooling thing. He has been up for everything I want to do in life. He isn’t someone who has as much strong direction as me. He’s thrilled to have someone with a stronger rudder around.

But I can’t control him. I don’t boss him. And I can’t hit him.

I have someone I like, someone I love even, walking into my life and telling me that they want me to hurt them as much and as deeply and as harshly as I want to because they think I deserve to have that release in this lifetime.

Holy fucking shit. God that’s hot.

What do I mean when I say I don’t want to date? Because clearly that means something to me. I think it means: if my children have already known you as the kind of person who comes to one big party a year and maybe one dinner a year… that’s probably where it is going to stay. I don’t take much time away from my kids. I need a lot of alone time and that dominates the time I take away from my kids. If I start seeing someone else on my own time frequently… it would cut into how present I can be with my kids and that’s not ok. But I want to see him so much.

And I’m making him wait for letters before we negotiate more. Oh, he’s probably reading this. But that’s different, you know? There are a lot of things I’m not saying here. A lot of things that are going to be private negotiations and may not ever be written about because I’m not 100% sure I want my kids to be able to find that in the archive.

I want to do some pretty fucking evil things.

And he really wants to let me.

Why is that so bad?

I don’t know.

I’m having a hard time talking myself out of it. I don’t want to talk myself out of it. I want to ………

Oh god.

Yes, when we played last weekend it was not anywhere near what we’ve talked about so far. Yes it was sexier. Yes it was more gentle. I was trying to not squick the vanillas, ok?!

Boundaries, motherfucker.

God. This scene is going to be so hot I should sell tickets.

Hey, maybe it would be a way to get enough money to pay to rent a play space during a time when my babysitter is actually free… Ha.

No pictures though. He has privacy concerns.

Yes. I want to take you. Yes. I want to take you.

God the sex is complicated. I think…

I think that is going to have to be part of what makes this so fucking hot. I think my pussy won’t be involved. I’ve never had a stone relationship before. I have never before in my whole slutty life been interested in having a stone relationship. I don’t know what the fuck this means.

It isn’t that I think I won’t have sex with people other than Noah. He kinda holy-crap enjoyed the swinger thing and… yeah I can do that.

It isn’t “what I want” in the same way. But it is close enough and fun enough and sure.

I want to use you and use you and use you and fuck with your head and build you up and help you feel a whole lot more cocky about how wonderful you are with everything you have to offer. I just want this tiny piece of it. But I’ll talk a lot about how much I enjoy all the other parts of you. I want you to be whole.

I want you to be a whole you. I think I can feed part of you.

I think you have already given me something.

I’m sleeping a lot better.

I told the woo Dr I need a month off from these supplements. I need to figure out how my body is doing after what we have been doing.

A lot of my pain issues are improving. I can feel that most of my current ache is because of current unfamiliar strenuous labor. My hands are getting wrecked. I really ought not be typing.

But I can’t say all of these things to Noah. And I need him to know that I’m thinking them. Because I need to be as absolutely transparent with Noah as I can be and in most of our lives… we just can’t talk about this stuff.

I don’t want to “date” in the next ten years. I want my kids and Noah to take up pretty much all of my time. I need that safety. I need it. I don’t know how much time I can carve away from that in order to come out with the relationship I want to have with my kids.

Don’t worry, I’m going to launch these puppies. Then I’ll have more, ahem free time. But a lot of that will go to Noah as his reward for supporting me and providing for me so well for so long.

I don’t know what is left.

I kinda want to find out.

I feel so alive.


So uhm I said casually that I was glad that my affair fizzled out.  I just realized that.  Uhm, I’m glad that I am not giving up more sleep than I am giving up.  I’m sad that muse wasn’t up for more of what we had at the beginning.  It was really hot and fun.  I’m sad I’m not writing the torrid IMs planning for sex.  But my wrists are thanking me that I’m doing less typing.

Life is about finding the balance.  I’m sad about not having the affair work out because I was enjoying it.  But I was really operating past my body capacity and it’s a good thing I stopped.  Uhm.  Just to be clear.  Some day he won’t be celibate anymore.  I hope he’ll call me.

non-monogamy has down sides

I’m feeling highly avoidant.  The funny thing is, I wrote that sentence down and went.  Hmmm.  Am I?  Yes, yes I am.  This non monogamy stuff is complicated.  I feel extreme jealousy.  Mostly I try to keep my tone civil and ask for my needs to be met and just deal with the fact that I have strong emotions.

Gah.  This is mom stuff.  This is her picking kids and liking one at a time.  But it’s not just that.  Noah has a lot of need for space from me.  It’s kind of hard for me that part of why I want to be non monogamous is because I spend a lot of time alone and sad.  Because Noah is busy.  Noah’s response is to take some of that time that was previously mine and want to go fuck other people.  It’s kind of hard not to take it personally.  I feel always like I don’t see him enough.  Yes, I choose to go out.  I choose to go out because I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t.  But meeting my needs elsewhere means that he takes away from me.  I can never tell if it is a net gain or not in terms of energy.

Why am I doing this?  Why is this important to me?  I got very emotionally invested in my muse very quickly.  Now I’m starting to feel like I should shove him away from me as hard as possible.  I hate that I have this constant niggling fear that he won’t really want the month.  I’m too much trouble.  I’m too annoying.  I’m too hateful.  I’m too… bad.

I’m pretty sure that’s not his thought process.  And I don’t think Noah wants to hurt me by using his rare possible time to play with other people.  It’s not like I maximize my time with him.  But I’m feeling avoidant.  It’s really annoying.  I dislike the fluctuations between feeling good about myself and loathing myself.  This month is going to be intense.  I need to get a better handle on this.  I’m having a hard time keeping perspective.  Ok.  hackhackhack

Noah wants to go off and sleep with someone else because he has been feeling invisible too.  He hasn’t gotten to go hunting on his own like that in years.  Go him.  He’s going to come back and try not to look too happy because he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.  I hate that I do that to him.  I don’t like that I have this emotional response.  It feels like it is actively nasty to him.  But it’s not.  It’s just a lot of acid in my stomach.  It’s ok that I feel insecure.  I don’t need to.  I have no reason to.  But it is actually ok.  Noah is the only person in my life that I can actually count on.  Of course it scares me to think of him not wanting me.

But he doesn’t sleep with other people because he doesn’t want me.  He sleeps with other people because it lets him feel like he’s impressive again.  He’s a show off.  It’s not the same with the same person year after year, I know.  I want him to have that feeling.  I just kinda wish one of his other hobbies supplied it.  I’m a lot less dramatic than I used to be.  I feel bad saying that.  Because I was dramatic.  Do you know why I try to deal with it?  Because if this is so important to Noah that he is willing to deal with year after year of me being kind of an asshole about it… he can have it.  Really.  He lets me go off and do my thing and have my tantrum.  I come back and apologize.  He pats me on the head and we move on.  I think he’s earned the right to prove, once again, that he’s coming back.

It wasn’t as intense with muse, but it was there.  Mostly I was just freaking out about the Occupy stuff, but I felt kind of weird.  I didn’t want to do the cuddly make out thing right before he went off on a date with someone else.  I can see the appeal of getting more of that touch at any moment possible.  I can.  I feel really raw right now though.  Our sex feels really personal.  A quickie before you go to work is great.  A quickie before you go fuck someone else… makes me feel like just one more hole.  I want to be special, damnit.  I don’t even know what that means.

One of the guys I dated a long time ago had a habit of picking a girl up when we were out on a date.  We only dated for three months.  That means if this happened a lot… uhh… it was a high percentage of our dates.  It’s not that I minded the sex.  It’s that I didn’t feel like I was much of a focus any more.  I was an accessory to the experience.  Hm.  That’s about the objectification line.  How and where am I willing to lay back and be someone else’s fantasy without complaining about my needs.  That’s an important thing to think about.  That’s a boundary line I’ve never been good at defining.  That’s the difference between doing this in a healthy way and an unhealthy way.

I can’t do spur of the moment objectification all the time.  I have to be in the right mood.  It’s a sometimes food.  I should just go to bed and stop whining.  See, avoidant.  I probably will feel better tomorrow.  It’s hard to be present with the fact that I have these intense emotional states… and they don’t mean much.  I don’t think other people should change their behavior based on my moods.  I may need to change my behaviors based on my moods though.

So tonight I left the party way earlier than necessary.  And I left Noah there.  I went home alone because I knew I would rant and rave and cry the whole way home whether anyone was with me or not.  I put on my awesome footey pajamas.  I made ramen.  Now I’m eating ice cream.  Comfort foods = awesome.  I do feel better.  Less intensely self-loathing.  Less like, obviously Noah wanted to go have sex with the nice, pretty lady because I’m a terrible person.  Right.  Heck, I’m even glad that muse had to get off line and go get ready for his date.  It means I stopped the whiiiiiiiiiiiine at him as well.  I feel less guilty about whining in my blog.

Part of that is I feel like whining in my blog has a higher chance of making me feel like I’ve reached a conclusion.  I control the flow of the conversation.  I don’t have to stop and listen to someone else talk.  I am so terrible awesome.  I feel like I have too many things I want to say stored up in my voice box.  I feel like I don’t get to speak enough.  Sometimes it is hard for me to say the important stuff when someone else is around deflecting the conversation because I never get down to the deeper layers of stuff.

The thing is, I feel just as bad when Noah stays out all night programming.  It’s really and truly not about the sex.  It’s the time.  When people want to see other people it means they don’t want to spend that time with me.  I feel like the only way for me to get through Noah having dates is to stay home alone.  Because I’m not great company on those nights.  Cranky.  Hopefully the morning will be better.

I hate nonmonogamy because it proves there is no glitter in my hooha.

Life is weird.

I’m not writing this on my computer.  I’m still at my muse’s house.  I suppose I could go get on bart right now while he is still asleep, but that feels kind of weird.  He is expecting to see me when he wakes up.  I have kind of a weird mixture of anxiety going right now because I feel like I am doing an awful thing to Calli by being here.

I like being here.  It’s hard to like it this much.  It’s hard to be in this place in my head where I know that no matter how much I like him this relationship is in a little box.  I like him a lot.  We are doing the toast phase with great speed.  (For those not in the know, the toast phase is when you are experiencing N(ew) R(elationship) E(nergy) and you walk around comparing stories and everything feels like, “You like toast?  I like toast!”  It’s silly and exuberant and fun.

I got a bit weird and sad last night.  I think it was the fact that the march/protest was really intense and I walked I don’t know how many miles yesterday.  Probably at least seven or eight but I’m not sure.  Maybe more like ten.  I started walking at around noon and I didn’t really stop until after seven.  My hips hurt.

I don’t know what to think about this man.  So far I’m just trying on eleventybillion different ideas and seeing if they fit or not.  Mixed results, but that’s for the best.  He can’t be everything.  But what he is, it’s really nice.

Dear internet,

In the first 24 hours of knowing Torrid Affair we had sex for six hours.  Not straight through.  We took a lot of breaks.  We spent at least five more hours talking.  I like him.  I like him a lot.  It’s not very often that I come across someone who fucks like a porn star and reads Derrida and religious texts for fun.  Twitterpated.  This is going to be a good month.  Ok, book calling.  TTFN


Objectification is when one person consents to be an object that meets the needs of another person without pissing and moaning about their own needs.  Err, what is not hot about that?  No really.  What is not hot about that?  I’m a big fan of mutuality and everyone getting their needs met, don’t get me wrong.  To me the problem comes when you refuse to meet their needs, not when you simply don’t do it today.  That’s life.  Not everyone gets all their needs met every day.  Ok.

For me this kind of short-term relationship is interesting because the early part of any relationship is all about objectification whether people want to admit it or not.  When you are first talking to someone you are talking to your projection of who they are.  You don’t know yet.  I like objectification as a specific sexual fetish because it involves heavy communication of expectations.  Even if those expectations are silence and compliance as someone else does things to you.

A lot of the reason I am as excited right this minute as I am is because there is a lot of mutual objectification going on.  He is requesting behavior from me and I am doing the same.  We are communicating like crazy about what we want, what we think about, how we like to be touched.  We are writing a script together.  It’s hot.  In order to really do objectification well in an emotionally healthy way you have to be willing to be vulnerable about what you are up for and not.

That’s the crux.  That is what life has taught me.  The difference between an abusive relationship and a D/s relationship is that in a D/s relationship there is an off switch on the abuse.  There is a mime show of abuse projected on an otherwise reasonable interaction.  That’s how I think of my relationship with Noah.  We make a lot of jokes about my Stockholm Syndrome.  How we are deliberately working towards that kind of intensity of near-abuse.  He has raped me.  I think I love him more because he did.  That’s probably not healthy.  I certainly have masturbated thinking about it dozens of times over the years.  I would honestly much rather masturbate thinking of my husband raping me brutally than my father.

Why is that so terrible?  Why does the goal have to be that I never fantasize about being raped again?  Does that really have to be how sex works for every single person on the planet?  I think that rape fantasies are common enough that I can be forgiven for liking the idea of being over powered.  I think that given that I was taught to think I should be available for sex… I want to be available for sex.  It’s normal for people to act out on what they were taught.  How many people put their children in private religious schools because they want to indoctrinate their children to grow up a certain way and have a certain kind of life.  Some people leave the nest, most don’t.  The norm throughout all of time is that people do what their parents do.

My father was a fucking pervert.  He was a disgusting man.  Do you know why he was a disgusting man?  No?  Me neither.  But I have some projections.  He wanted sex.  He didn’t know how to be honest about it.  It went to bad places.  He didn’t have positive outlets.  They were simply not available to him.  My mother was brought up Mennonite and I have heard enough from her over the years about her condemnation of me being a slut.  There is something wrong with me.

Yes, there is something wrong with me.  I like sex.  I like laying down while a gorgeous big man holds my wrists and forces my knees apart because he just wants me so much.  I like having Noah wake me up by rubbing some lube on my cunt before abruptly fucking me in the middle of the night.  That is when sex feels the very best on a purely physical level.  My body just knows that it is doing exactly what it wants.  It’s amazing.

Objectification is like that when I’m awake.  It works better when it is at least somewhat mutual.  By which I don’t mean switching.  So far TA has put a fair bit of effort into learning my preferences.  He is choosing what he says carefully.  He pretty clearly has thought about his effect.  He is trying to be my torrid affair.  That’s so hot I can barely breathe.  He wants that part of me.  Oh sweet Jesus.  He’s like Noah.  I am in so much wonderful, glorious, delicious Trouble.

The reason this is so hot is because this kind of intensity of sex exchange isn’t something you can sustain.  I can’t with Noah.  The awesome thing is it comes and goes and then comes back again with great intensity.  I’m not worried about Noah being boring, but he does want to do things with his life other than have an affair with me.  That’s hard.  I have all this time and emotional/sexual energy that I want to use.  It’s not a good idea for me to spend my time being angry at my kids for preventing Noah and I from having all the non-stop hot sex we used to have.  (Ten times a week in the first year.  That is the best year of my life.)  We will do that again some day.  Because we want to.  It’s a goal.  But not yet.

For now I am allowed to go have this torrid affair with this increasingly-good-looking-with-each-orgasm man.  I have a funny confession.  I have never stared at someones picture while masturbating.  I mean like a head shot.  It was intense.  It felt scary and vulnerable.  He has a pretty intense head shot up.  I can’t wait to find out what it feels like when he stares really hard at me.  I like the bumps on his ears.  Oh put a fucking sock in it Krissy.

The only thing that stays the same is that everything changes.

October is over in ~20 hours.  I went to bed at 7 last night and Calli woke up at 2.  Festive.  It’s going to be an interesting night tonight.  I’m meeting my TA (torrid affair) tonight at a sex party in San Francisco.  Plan A is for him to fuck me without saying a word.  I’m nervous.  I really wanted NRE (new relationship energy) and it’s happening fast. I spent all day yesterday talking to him.  Mostly we are talking about sex, let’s be clear.  I’ve been looking at his profile pictures a lot because I’m trying to get a sense of what he is going to feel like in person.

I’m being pursued.  And I’m pursuing. I haven’t had this… since … Daddy?  I think that was the last time I was really pursued.  Puppy and Spot were both guys I pushed.  Neither of them really wanted me in the same way.  I started dating Daddy on October 1st 2004.  It’s been a while.  Of course I’ve had Noah for most of this time, but it’s different feeling.  I’m really glad I have Noah.

He asked me what kind of D/s I like the most and I soaked the chair.  I told him that I probably want something that feels kind of Daddy/little girl but I’m not interested in the direct incest play right now.  I want to be coaxed into doing all these hot, dirty things I want to do anyway.  I really want to be taunted with how very very very very much I want to fuck him.  I really want to be taught how to properly suck his cock.  Preferences vary and I want to figure his out.  He really likes pushing girls around until they stimulate him properly.  I can’t wait.

He has no interest in hitting or choking me.  I feel this odd mix of relief and disappointment.  I feel nervous and timid.  Will I be interesting enough if I’m not putting up with that kind of play?  Will he be impressed enough for a torrid affair or will he fuck me once and leave and that’s that?  Butterflies.  Scared.

Either way will be ok.  Truly.  I’m enjoying my last morning of not writing the book.  If he decides to bail I have queries out to friends to spend some time together this month.  We’ll see how that goes.  November is ridiculously scheduled.  It’s ridiculously scheduled so that I get to do things like go out on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of this week so that I can have some fun.  I miss fun.

I really miss getting to know new people.  It’s so exciting.  He’s a music teacher.  I can talk shop with him.  That will be really fun.  It’s going to be thrilling to fuck a teacher.  After the sex party tonight (which I am technically going to as Noah’s date) I have a date with TA tomorrow.  We are going to Occupy Oakland together.  He wants me to make sure that my inner most layer is extremely slutty and will make him want to fuck me.  I think I can work with this.

Instructions.  He said that he likes to control speech.  He likes to only let people say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.  I think that’s hot.  I think that’s hot because he is interested in reading my journal.  So he wants to get to know me and control how and what I say at the same time?  That means he will let me speak when it matters.  Which means it’s a pretty safe bet to trust him this way.  I miss those kinds of rules.

M/s rules I miss and don’t talk about: I miss having to ask permission to sit on furniture.  I liked sitting on the floor at my Owners feet.  He gave me a pillow to sit on because he was magnanimous.  I miss having to wait for permission before I began eating.  I miss being slapped in the face with a hard cock.  It’s not really Noah’s thing.  It doesn’t hurt.  But it’s hot and dirty and slutty and fun.

He says he doesn’t orgasm during sex much.  That’s an old hangup.  But he likes coming on people.  That’s going to be new.  I’m… timid.  I don’t know what that will feel like right now.  I know it was hard with Tom.  (Tom didn’t come *on* me much.  He just didn’t orgasm with me in almost any capacity.)

I don’t want to stop thinking about him.  I have a month.  I don’t actually want to record every idiotic emotional surge so this may be mostly the last I write about him.  Unless he tells me to.  We’ll see.

Letters to my Daughters.  I’m trying not to really get started today.  I want to.  But I want to be mostly true to NaNoWriMo. 🙂  I’m thinking about it.  But that’s ok.

I actually went off and wrote about something else for an hour there.  But I stopped and came back because I had an irresistible urge to look at pictures of my TA again.  (that sounds like teachers assistant and creeps me out)  He has distinctive hair I’m not allowed to describe online. I just noticed randomly that he is “less aggressive” than the guy I met at Mission Control (with whom I did not have sex–just sayin’).  That’s probably a good thing.  That guy was uhh intense in weird ways.

This is a different kind of anticipation than I have had recently with the friends I have slept with.  With both of them, I knew mostly what to expect.  That’s good and bad.  It’s good because there is increased comfort and safety and it’s less scary.  It’s bad because I already decided they were not good on-going partners for me.  Mostly I stop sleeping with people when it starts to seem like it’s not a good idea anymore for a myriad of reasons.  Those reasons often don’t go away.  So the whole repeat partner thing is complicated.  Most of those reasons are basic compatibility things, not huge You Are A Bad Person things.

The thing is, I do kind of fall in love easily.  I love a lot of people with great fervor.  I don’t know what that is going to mean this month.  I still can’t have a boyfriend.  I need to be paying more attention to Calli than that as pissy as that makes me.  I get a month after four years of no new people.  My husband is a generous man.

You know how magazines sometimes have those weird fold out pages in the middle and it’s usually a big picture?  Like centerfolds.  I feel like this affair is one of those.  It’s this weird awkward fold out thing in the middle of my life.  It is only supposed to take up two sheets of paper but really it’s like six.  I hope that is how it turns out at least.  I hope that by the end of the month I will be very sad about the ending of my TA.  I hope I maintain a friendship with him.  I certainly have with Daddy.  That was a three month relationship.

Affair.  Just the word is tantalizing.  Affairs “don’t mean anything” only they do.  They mean that I am alive and full of energy.  They mean I am exciting.  They mean that someone caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of their eye and decided to look much more closely.  And liked what they saw.  Liked what he saw so much that he wants to touch me.  And kiss me.  And lick me.  And fuck me.  And teach me how to fuck him.

I really like the word fuck.  It’s one of my favorites.  Sex is generic.  Ok fine.  You had sex.  I don’t know if that means he climbed on top in the missionary position for three minutes or if you fucked for four hours straight and he came in every hole.  Kind of different.  The phrase making love is strangely growing on me.  I outright refused to use it when I was younger.  I was aware I wasn’t doing that.  I do with Noah.  It’s kind of neat how sometimes when he makes the shift to thinking about sex.  His eyes start glittering and his face goes soft.  I like it when he gently strokes my cheek before kissing me.  That’s making love.  He sees me and feels love and wants to touch me.  He is making his love for me manifest. It’s wonderful.

But I want my TA to fuck me six ways from Sunday.  Who knows, maybe the last time we have sex there will be some serious emotion present but I’m not going to count on or worry about that.  Tonight he is (hopefully) going to fuck me.  It will be emotionally messy in the sense that I’m already obsessed with him.  He knows to alternate calling me good girl.  He figured that out already.  He can taunt me about being such a dirty little whore and follow it up by telling me that I am good.  Dangerous.  Dangerous.  Dangerous.

I don’t know why I love the word whore so much.  Say it out loud a few times.  Whore.  Say it in an exhale of breath with very little force behind it.  Hiss it.  It’s gorgeous.  That’s an awesome word.  It’s almost as evocative as fuck.  Whore makes my cunt throb.  It reminds me that not only do I have a lot more sex than most people but I really really like it.  I want more.  I want more of this feeling.  Yes.  I’m a whore.  But only for the right people.

This uhm, isn’t one of my standard operation sex tactics.  It’s pretty rare to find someone who wants to play like this.  Someone who wants to talk about how much I am enjoying it in great detail while they fuck me.  Someone who wants to tell me explicitly how to move my tongue.  I win.  It’s not that I never take initiative during sex, far from it.  I’m not really a pillow princess.  But I only want to do things to people who really want me to do things to them.  And I don’t know what people want unless they tell me.  Bossy, controlling, dominant men tell me what they want.

It’s time to masturbate again.

This is why I do this.

The man I was panting over let me down gently.  He wants to have an affair, but he just doesn’t have time. It was nice of him to phrase it that way.  Last night Noah and I  struck out hunting at a party.  We were not bereft though.  Luckily being married means always having someone to fuck.  Yay!  Three times.  That’s not so bad anyway.

And then I opened up my computer today to a message from someone else on okcupid.  Someone who read all of my profile.  Boy howdy is he compatible.  Date scheduled for Tuesday.  He likes fucking with peoples heads but he’s not that into hitting them.  And he’s big on talking dirty.  Lots of it.  So far it seems like a torrid affair is going to happen after all.  A very very torrid affair.  Oh my.  Either he’s talking a good game or he genuinely understands the difference between pain and intensity.  And near as I can tell he’s really interested in me.  He’s paying attention.  To a ridiculous number of words.

And, he’s already reading this journal.  Dangerous.

Very. Very. Dangerous.  Butterflies.  Hot.  I’ve masturbated several times today.  I uhhh don’t do that much any more.  He’s crawling into my head already and I like it.