Recently Noah asked me if I thought I could handle moving out to the middle of nowhere with just him. Would I be content without the huge network of people I’ve built.
Today I had the thought: There will always be women (and men) in leather flirting with me.
Even if we moved to the middle of nowhere. Let’s get real.
Dangerous.
Tonight I told one of my lovers that I was off from the party to go have sex with my husband. He replied that I was a good whore.
Hm. Am I?
I didn’t feel good tonight. I felt… empty of stuff to give. I felt like I was letting my submissive and his partner down.
I had no topping energy in me. I just couldn’t do something to someone. I don’t know why I hit as empty as I did. Part of it is tired, but it is bigger than that. Topping is hard.
Even though I know these two people love me and want to accept anything I want to do… there is something in me that holds me back. I don’t know what they really want. I don’t understand yet. And I’m afraid I was too assertive in how much I wanted to talk when we had a date. “Hi. I know you are here for hot sex but how about if we have an intense conversation about abuse and motivation and history and triggers and…”
What? That doesn’t pass for foreplay in your house?
How well you can roll with the intense conversations decides a lot about our future. That’s why I’m so fanatically loyal to Sarah and Pam and Jenny and Noah. So many hours of intense conversations.
Today someone I had a casual hookup with is writing me to ask me for advice dealing with mental illness in a person close to them. Damn. I don’t even remember telling you that I’m crazy. But here you are. Awesome.
Let me affirm for you that you feel alone but you aren’t. You reached out to me. Because you know you aren’t alone. You know that at least I’m here. I don’t know what it means that I’m here. I don’t know what I have to give.
Tonight I didn’t have a beating to give. I’m sorry.
Instead Cupid palate wrapped me to a board and suspended me. That was fun.
And you know what?! Cupid was all lovey and kissy. PEOPLE ARE SO FUNNY.
We all have off days and the fortitude with which others tolerate those off days makes a big difference in long-term relationships.
My submissive was sweet and tolerant and accepting of the fact that I just didn’t have a beating in me. He was disappointed, but he didn’t complain or criticize. He was supportive. One of the best parts of knowing him for fifteen years is I know that if I can’t do it on one day… another day will come. But I feel like I want to make up for lost time. I want to play hard with him while I can…
But that isn’t how energy works. It really sucks. I can’t just decide to have it.
A little bit I can. A little bit I can fake. Mostly… not so much.
My date with Cupid was not the most exciting date of my whole life.
There will be others, I think. It’s ok that we all have off days.
Is this part of what being a grown up means? We all get to be where we are. It’s ok to not be a perfect performance of the kind of relationship that people want to get. (It occurs to me that part of my trouble with monogamy is balancing what I feel I “owe” Noah and adding people makes that problem worse and not better.)
I feel like Noah and I have done so many shifts lately we are dancing not walking through life. What are we doing?
Alternating having fun with having sex and making each other cry?
I mean… what do you do with your time?
Tomorrow will be lovely. Drive up to get the kids. Then we throw a goodbye luncheon for our dearest Pam who has been claiming she’s leaving for a while now. This week is finally it? I am going to miss her like a phantom limb. This will be hard. I wish her luck on her adventures. I love you. Come home someday. Tell me stories.
(In my whispering voice but I can’t figure out how to make smaller text on wordpress)
Deity is coming over for dinner. I’m not saying more about that.
Sometimes I notice that my relationships with people are very individuated. I don’t have a unified self that I present to the world. I am something different to most people.
Sometimes I manage to see the size and shape of the box I’m currently standing in. Sometimes I’m trying to straddle multiple boxes. Sometimes I have a foot in one box, a foot in another box, and a hand in another box. It’s like a divided version of Twister. Landing wrong smarts because of all the walls.
Who am I? What am I?
I am an infinite variety. I am an enigma. I am multifaceted to such a degree that it is hard to be a single unit.
For some reason, this week, I had this epiphany Yes I am a good mother moment. I’m still riding it. I don’t think it was just that Noah agreed to go through great expense and effort to knock me up just because I want this baby so much.
Every old person I’ve talked to says you regret the babies you want and don’t have and you never regret the babies you have.
But I can’t talk to the elders in my family. Maybe they’d sing a different tune.
What do I want?
I want to feel encased and surrounded by love. I want to feel like people are happy to be there and they really want me to still be here.
I had that tonight. I didn’t even have to fuck anyone.
But it was totally a date because there was oral and nakedness and kissing. That’s a date.
But I don’t have to fuck to have a date. That’s important too.
So many things are important.
What does it mean to exist in the world? To take up space? To be important, valued, wanted? Do you love to be wanted or want to be loved?
Do I have to choose?
I feel like I hit this brick wall. “You know all these boundaries you want to have around Noah dating? Yeah. That shit’s not gonna fly. Not really. Not long term.”
What will?
I don’t know but I anticipate a bunch of abject terror on my part. My home. My safety. The only person who ever loved me enough to sit me down and say, “What happened to you?!”…. stepping out. That’s going to be hard. That’s going to feel like dying. I’m going to hate him.
Noah keeps pointing out notice how hard you are working to get contact with these folks?
Maybe.
Fuck you for bringing reality into this relationship.
Noah is feeling terrified too. He feels threatened too. That’s reasonable.
What do we all want from each other. Intimacy levels are confusing.
Things I’ll never say out loud:
I will absolutely never ask. It’s not ok to ask a question if you aren’t ok with whatever the answer is. When I was told he just wanted one night… I took it hard. I liked him. Then I had to see him around and be polite. –
So I get to live with ambiguity. Like every other motherfucker.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
What am I going to do about it?
Go to sleep.
We talk about wanting another baby frequently. We always have. That’s… just part of our sex life. But we said and said and said that Youngest Child would not like being a middle child.
I think we were right about the last few years.
But recently both kids have started begging for a sibling. I think it was YC changing their mind that convinced Noah.
It was also Eldest Child promising help up one side and down the other.
And it was Noah getting a work from home job so that we don’t have the extreme loneliness and isolation of the previous pregnancies.
And it was realizing… we just can’t pull off monogamy and actually we have a surprising network in place. We don’t have to feel trapped at home beholden to meeting all of one another’s needs.
I don’t have to keep having sex when it hurts just because it is have sex in order to stay married.
I feel like the road trip gave us time and space to really look at everything we were doing and wonder why are we carrying this piece?
I ran all the fuck out of patience with carrying things I don’t have to carry. I’m too tired. Fuck off.
Now, a playdate.
Part of what is going on is we have been going down the list of “Over the last ten years I have compromised on ______ and that is costing me.”
Nonmonogamy stuff. Another baby. Time. Attention. Friction of body parts. Energy. Desire.
These are all connected.
Grief ties them all together with bonds of airplane cable.
Even peeing on this bundle will not take the sting out of the pain contained within.
How do you figure out who you need to be. Not just who you want to be, who you need to be. I don’t know.
It is a different conversation to say, “How do we want to do poly if we are done with having kids” vs “Why were we so adamant that we could not have kids unless we were monogamous?”
Why?
Do you realize I’m going to have to start rationing typing? Pregnancy increases fluid which increases inflammation. I should… start working on the pain in my arms now, before Noah has the reversal.
Because holding my baby is a big deal.
I am so excited I can barely breathe. I understand that best case scenario is that by December of 2017 we’ll have a third child. Realistically it’ll take longer than that.
Who knows if Noah will be able to produce a baby.
Who knows how the people in our life will adapt to this. Oh shit.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
Are you shitting me. Are you god damn shitting me. After all these years, after all this crying and arguments and fuss…
Now you scheduled an appointment for a consultation on a vasectomy reversal.
I… I don’t even know what to think or feel. I’m overwhelmed. I’m happy. I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m so excited I almost feel like I could puke.
Shit. I need to look for a high risk OB. I’m going to be a most medically managed bitch.
I have to survive this and… that will take some effort on the parts of folks who have some serious training. I shouldn’t have another kid. It’s a death wish. But really my whole life is a death wish.
As much as I can’t promise no suicide forever… I will raise my children. I will.
So this would reset the clock on that a bit. I guess that’s a way to work around this problem.
I am so excited. I am so excited I can barely breathe.
I don’t know how to express how I have always wanted three kids. I know there will be problems. There are problems now. There were problems with no kids.
I want this baby so bad. Yes, it is selfish. Yes it is population growth. I know. I know I’m a bad, selfish person. I am.
You don’t understand what my relationships with my children give me. As much as I chafe at portions of it, their existence and their interactions with me give me the most security and happiness I’ve known.
Yes, I want more of that.
Noah is looking at me sharp and asking if I will want to stop at three. I don’t want a child who will be in the same age position to their oldest sibling as I was in. I have to stop at three for spacing reasons.
How is this going to work?
We really don’t know yet. We have a while to discuss it. The rest of our lives, really. But some factors are more immediately pressing. Things like a vasectomy reversal is about 40%-54% successful. How do we feel about spending that much money for a coin flip of a chance?
Have you seen this man’s babies? I’ll do it.
But what if it doesn’t work? How do we feel about someone else knocking me up? I’ve been a gigantic asshole for years about wanting to be a woman in my family with one baby daddy. Today it occurred to me that I am much more upset about the idea of an accidental pregnancy than I am at the idea of multiple fathers.
Being unwanted has colored my whole life. I don’t want a surprise baby. I want joyously conceived intentional children. Children born into the fullness of love and welcome.
I need to give that to other people because I couldn’t have it. That is important.
I know that this will be a hospital birth. If they push me for a section I’ll say yes. I know my hemorrhage risk.
I know.
This isn’t how I want to die.
Once upon a time 50% of women died in childbirth. I won’t be motherfucking one of them.
No, monogamy won’t work again. For so many reasons. I wanted it to work. I poured every ounce of try I had into making it work.
I failed.
What does this mean? Well it means what we thought we agreed to like a fucking week ago is… yeah. Probably not the final agreement or anything close to it. uuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhheeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh
fuss
Cause if I’m getting knocked up again… this time I can’t do the maintenance sex all the time. I just can’t. It is eating my soul. I need to stop having sex when I’m not in the god damn mood and yeah that means I need to get over being so jealous of Noah having sex with other people.
In my defense I handled that bit well during a previous pregnancy. (Ok I was weird about the couch. I DON’T KNOW WHY I AM SO WEIRD ABOUT EITHER OF US FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE ON THE GOD DAMN COUCH.)
No really, I was ok when I was pregnant and completely not interested in sex. I wasn’t pissy at all about him having sex with a friend. Yay them.
So yeah. We are discussing what polyamory (I refuse to claim it yet. Oh god) might look like for us. Live in forever partner? Coparent?
We would like (a) serious coparents.
We would.
Which makes me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet for how it went down with Sarah.
At least my mistakes were huge and easy to see and uhm easy to avoid duplicating. God I hit so many huge fuck ups in such a short period of time.
Fuck.
So who knows. Life is long. Why in the world would anyone want to do this sort of thing with me/us?
Shit I dinno. But I don’t know why Noah is here either. Maybe someone else has equally mysterious needs of their own.
Who are you though?
When it all goes to pieces, I still have chores to do. One of the difficulties in trying to be someone who organizes get togethers is… you have to deal with other peoples schedules. Whether I schedule in advance or at the last minute this sucks.
Yesterday we were supposed to have a playdate with five families. All bailed at the last minute. I think one is in labor (good reason to skip the park! Good luck!); another has to wait on a bureaucrat who is making her life hell (good golly that sucks. Good luck!); another forgot it was election Tuesday and oops she always works (ok, this one kinda bugs me a bit); another was just running behind and she could have showed up two hours late if we waited (no, I’m not gonna); last but not least one family said they were technically happy to show up… with hand foot and mouth disease–that cancellation is my fault.
But I was on my way to babysit other kids and see another family. Picking up a highly communicable disease on the way seemed rude.
Nobody did anything wrong. But it still feels hard.
Sometimes people ask me why I’m not more willing to drive for park playdates these days. I stop laughing eventually.
Because driving far from my house for a park play date is a variable experience at the end of a hard experience for my body. Nope.
Last time some of these folks missed a playdate I scheduled over near them and they asked if we could come back the next week to see them.
Funny how folks don’t generally say, “Know how we broke our plans? How about if we offer this super convenient for you alternative?” That’s not how it works. I offer to come to them and do a bunch of work and they expect me to just do it again. Because clearly it wasn’t that hard the first time so just keep doing it. But it’s too hard for them to come to me.
Ok.
I would like to take this moment and say “Thank you” to all the people who come visit me on a regular basis. Thank you for helping me feel like maybe I do have some value to someone.
Last night Noah and I had it out a bit more. This is going to be a rough year. I’m not writing them down here but I sure went down my list of done-me-wrongs. I did that after running four miles because I was afraid I would otherwise do something drastic and awful.
That’s like healthy progress, right?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.
Volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition
What does it mean?
How do I fill my bucket without hurting Noah? That seems to be where we are stuck. Yesterday a solid 8 people asked me why I was wearing braces. I begin to understand Mitrian’s anger and frustration. I tell people because I type too much. They ask why. I say because it is better than screaming at people. They say, “Yes. Keep typing.”
I’m so glad to hear that more people agree that me harming myself is superior to me impacting other people with negative emotions. Now we just dicker about methods.
This became absolutely crystal clear to me when I was talking to someone about cutting the other day.
Cutting actually heals pretty easily in the scheme of things. I am permanently crippling myself in the name of self harm that is more socially acceptable. Because the only place I’m actually allowed to exist is here. Everywhere else is a compromise.
I’m having huge feelings about my date with Cupid not including any intimacy. I’m not upset that we didn’t play. I’m not even cranky about not having sex. He’s not a life support unit for a dick. But we didn’t hug or kiss. So I feel like I didn’t really fill my bucket. And that’s the date I get this month.
I mean, I feel like an asshole for feeling that way because I came off an excellent group date with Noah and Deity and playing with the Sweet Boy.
But that was my only option for one to one serious adoration this month.
Noah and I do adore each other sometimes, in the middle of being cranky and fussy. Right now it’s hard. I know we aren’t actually usually cranky and fussy but I am today and so it feels like always.
What is it that I need here? What isn’t being met? Why do I feel so empty and fussy and sad?
This is a brutal period. I am soaking through pads and that hasn’t happened since I was postpartum. I’m a light bleeder.
I feel like…
I feel like that stone that was sitting heavily in my breast got too heavy and burst through the lining of my body and fell through my organs and out my cunt.
I cannot give that gift away. It is not mine to give. I cannot make that promise. Probably not ever. I wanted to. I can’t. That is not a promise I know I can keep and not being a liar is more important than making anyone feel better for a moment. Even for many moments. Not if it comes at the cost of a lie.
I have been trying to see if I could find a way to promise that I would not end my life early by choice. I have been trying to see if I could find a way to make it bearable to carry this pain no matter what because it would be too selfish to leave the people who love me.
I cannot make that promise. I am selfish. And I hurt. I have hurt all my life. I have never been free from pain.
Some day I will have a bad day. That day will be too much for me. Yeah, there probably could have been more good days on the other side of that bad day. Probably. But I don’t know where my limit of carrying bad days is. That has to matter.
Do you have to be ok with it? No. Do you have to like it? No.
All that matters is that on the bad days I am alone. I will carry what I can carry until I can’t carry it any more and then I will set it down.
I need to not give a shit that it might hurt you.
Sometimes Noah writes long screeds in private where he calls me on my bullshit and the holes in my memory. I always wonder why he doesn’t do it publicly. He doesn’t want to make me look bad.
Maybe I make myself look bad.
Noah is right that most of our play issues over the years have not been his fault. We’ve really struggled to get bdsm play where we want it to be. Realistically we are closer to where we want to be and we are doing better than we ever have.
And I’m still bitching. What an asshole.
His memory for the rough patches and the failed attempts are better than mine. But that also means he gives me, perhaps, too much understanding around my frustration and impatience. He remembers the fuck ups better than me.
I just feel pissy and can’t articulate why.
I think Noah is right that seeing me play with other people is really important because without that I am shit at explaining what I want from play and why. I can go do it. I can’t always explain it well.
Things are improving and I’m glad for that. I think things will continue to improve. Mostly because Noah is patient, kind, giving, and tolerant.
Thank you.
In my secret heart I hope that the group play helps. Because when Noah and I are bouncing off another person we see sides of one another we don’t otherwise see.
Maybe that is why it is so hard for me to watch him play. Those are pieces of him I don’t get. But I feel like when he watches me play he learns about pieces he could get.
I’m really not fair about this.
Ugh. Ok, the day should start.
Today I wake up feeling happier than I have in a bit. From a mood tracking point of view this is significant.
I was feeling some feelings of potential rejection and I processed them with a nice friend who was all, “Let’s talk context” and then I got full circle to “Shit. I’m acting like a spoiled baby who isn’t being aware of the limitations of the people I like a lot. Knock that crap off.”
Thank you for your patience with my selfishness and self-absorption.
I worry a lot about whether or not I am using my time in the most useful or effective or fun ways.
Sometimes life isn’t about that. Sometimes life is about being with someone when neither of you feel exciting. Sometimes life isn’t about maximizing “Make me have fun today or I’m kicking you to the curb.”
Sometimes life is just sitting together and having dinner and being tired. Because that is where you are. That has to be ok too.
If you like someone, you have to like them all the time. Even when they are tired and don’t have a lot to give. Or you are an asshole.
Ok, I know I’m an asshole… but I try hard to not be that flavor of asshole.
As I sit here mooning over the Sweet Boy Noah is making fun of the fact that I’m not really ready to stop expanding the roster.
But I want to spend the time everyone on the roster already deserves and time is limited. Sometimes the right kind of time to be spent isn’t what you think you want, and it is bonding anyway.
What is the difference between being someone’s friend and using them for sex/play?
I want to be your friend. I like you. I’ve liked you for such a long time.
Ok, but next time it is a date can I ask for at least more kissing and hugging? I’m ok with no sex and play. We are all human animals and we get tired. But I feel like, for me, to call it a date I’d like at least some more kissing and hugging.
I want to be your friend too. But I also want to mack on you because yeah, that’s totally why I’m there. Because I want to be your friend who macks on you. It’s a thing.
The funniest part of chasing so many people right now is how insecure every person is. None of us feel worthy of being liked this much. None of us feel like forsooth someone will like us.
But I like you and you and you and you and you. Near as I can tell you like me back.
How can we work on some of this mythical “self esteem” bullshit I hear so much about? How can your love for me help me love myself and how can my love for you help you love yourself? Can we help one another feel worthy? I don’t know. I want to find out.
It helps with Noah. It really does. Being with Noah has changed me. As much as it hurts my fucking finger, wearing the rock he gave me (err, that I picked out and bought for myself on his dime) has changed how I feel about myself in the world. Because it changes how I’m treated by random people.
Do you know how weird it is for a dirty street kid to have people genuflect because you must be important to be wearing a rock like that? Blows my fucking mind.
Worth is all about games of perception.
I think I’m going to try to have a week off pot. I’m just going to have Abilify in the morning and Klonopin at night.
Wish me luck.
See, this is why I write. So Sarah can say, “Hey dumbass! You suspended me in 2006 too!” Oh yeah. I do remember that. That was a wonderful scene.
I guess I need to go 10 years in between big batches of topping?
Noah and I had a long conversation yesterday and then I’ve had lots of thoughts since then. Goodness figuring out what to call it when I hang out with folks is complicated. I’ve always defaulted to calling anything and everything a “date”. I date my kids and let me tell you, there is no hanky panky.
So when we get into our feelings of jealousy and possessiveness… what counts as an infraction? A date? A concession?
A sexcapade?
We talked at great length about Daddy. Daddy is a friend I’ve been hanging out with lots for over ten years. We’ve played off and on over more than twelve years. We finally just fucked. Am I now barely allowed to see him because he has to be part of the “one date a month” thing?
Complicated.
My one date for the month last night turned into a no sex and no play date. I won’t get another date this month. I don’t have time. So I guess it counts as a date based on what I’m allowed to schedule at the beginning of the month and if it doesn’t turn into sex/play them’s just the breaks.
I don’t have more time to give to it to “make up” for it not going all the way. I get what I get.
I have mixed feelings about last night not turning into sex. Some of them I don’t want to write about because complicated.
How mercenary am I going to be in this lifetime? How blunt? How aggressive? How demanding? How much do I get to say, “Yeah if fucking me isn’t appealing then we… don’t need to date.” I have so many hang ups around sex and desire. I need to feel like when I am carving time away from my life it is to be with someone who is very happy that I am there and yes by golly they want to fuck me.
By the same token I understand that not everyone can get it up every day. There are days I can’t deliver.
I don’t want people to be a life support unit for their genitals so I can get laid either. There is a balance. I understand that sometimes we are tired. Sometimes… it just isn’t a good day and it doesn’t matter that you don’t get another day this month. That’s life.
But I feel like I need to figure out how I feel about this kind of going forward. How do I handle it when Sweet Boys tell me they want to play again but I suspect they want more play like this weekend… where I was so good.
Oh darling boy. Really I’m a debaucherous slut and I was so good about keeping my hands off your intimate parts. I don’t have that kind of self control over the long run.
Ask my submissive. I was supposed to tease him for a while. Shit. I barely made it through one scene before I was ripping his clothes off and telling him that I needed him to fuck me.
oh god.
I don’t have much space. I really don’t. And what I have is… full. Busy. Spoken for.
But golly you are hot.
Nooooooaaaaaaaaaaaah. I’m so bad.
So bad. So bad. So bad.
God he’s hot.
I think I need a cold shower.
Right this minute I feel excited with dashes of giddy and elated. Where to even begin?
Friday was Noah’s birthday. Lots of play and sex was had. It was lovely. We had more intense talking. What is a date anyway? It was lovely. I felt seen. I felt important. I was nice to Noah. We had a good time. I’m really glad I get to spend all of these years with Noah.
Yes, sometimes I complain about play and sex stuff. When I’m complaining the stuff I’m complaining about feels SO IMPORTANT and it is… but it isn’t the biggest chunk of our relationship. Those complaints are small pieces of a very big picture. They are important and they need to be addressed… but we don’t need to act like our relationship is mostly bad. It isn’t. It just isn’t perfect because nothing is.
He’s about as perfect for me as I’m going to find.
Saturday morning we did some chores and snuggled and had more sex (because we are us). I sorta wonder how much the jump start in my libido is about the kid-free time as much as the nonmonogamy. We’ve had sex a dozen times in the past five days. That’s not including my extra sex.
It was a nice day. It was mellow and lovely. Then we started transitioning towards what we would need for the afternoon and evening. Deity came over at 2 for our first group date. Then the three of us went up to San Francisco so I could play with the nice person I bought at the auction a little while ago.
Ok…. group date: A++++++++ Would do again. Please. Soon. Holy. Shit. For. Shoe. Shine. That was awesome. Next time I won’t intersperse it with a play date with someone else (not complaining!) but logistically it gets crowded.
God it was fun. Fun. Fun. Even though I started bleeding just a few hours into this group date. (After the first round of sex.) No one cared. We have towels.
Oh how I love my life.
I feel so relaxed. So happy. Blissful. I feel like there is joy and happiness in the world.
Sex is the best drug ever.
Yes. More of that. Please. Please. Please. Oh that was wonderful.
It was charming figuring out how to do things at the same time and how to share and where to be and… I felt enchanted by how sweetly courteous and deferential the boys were. “Oh would you like to go next?” I giggled and blushed and it was all delightful and so much fun. Love love love love love love love love love.
I may stop giggling next year.
After the first round of glorious sex and showers we went to dinner and had meat and more meat and more meat and it was glorious. Then we stopped at Wicked Grounds for a milkshake (my purchased date was going to be a bit late) and talked.
Have I mentioned how much fun it is to talk to these two? Of course a lot of the time I just listen because they share interests I don’t share. But I like hearing their voices. It feels comforting. I feel welcomed even if I don’t feel included if that makes sense. I’m not going to be included in some of the geek shit. I’m just not. But I’m welcome anyway. I’ve been a girlfriend/groupie all my life. I appreciate the feeling of welcome.
To prepare for my hot date with the Sweet Boy I bought at auction I looked at his profile. He listed that he was curious about bondage and suspension. I felt a distinct metaphorical schwing when I saw that. My submissive isn’t big on being tied up. And I’m really not big on doing things to people when they don’t enjoy it. I’m not that kind of dominant/sadist.
I can’t really remember suspending someone since Portland Boy at Kinkfest in 2006. The weekend before Noah asked me to marry him. I know I have suspended myself since then…. No! I did a performance with Lee at a New York conference when I was engaged. So, also in 2006 I did another suspension.
I both feel like I must be forgetting something and I feel like I’m not…
Anyhow. I was looking forward to playing with Sweet Boy. He told me he wanted to feel used and he was… fairly expansive in how he wanted to feel used. Expansive in that “I’ve been in the scene since March so I don’t yet have preferences carved in granite” sort of way. Other than three-to-five minute demos at Leather Alley events I haven’t played with someone this new… oh in over twelve years?
I was a little nervous. I am afraid of newbies. I’m afraid I will hurt them. I’m afraid I will cross their boundaries. I’m afraid they don’t know where their boundaries are so they can’t defend them even if they want to. I’m afraid of being the monster that breaks them. Newbies are hard.
But this Sweet Boy flirted with me during the groping preview. Just a little. In a demure, non-pressuring sort of way. He looked so young that I had to ask him how old he was. There is discrepancy in what he said that night and in what his profile says, but in any case he’s over thirty. Ok…. that’s… young but I can cope. He is younger than me.
Honestly that is part of what made me think of Portland Boy. One of the only other times I’ve ever played with someone younger than myself. And Portland Boy is a lot taller/bigger than me so I had to learn some logistical stuff with him.
I think of these things! I think of how to generalize information from previously stored models. It isn’t that people are the same. It is, “Ok most of my experience tying people up is on women or men who are my height/weight. It is different with men who are taller/possibly heavier and what do I need to do to strategize that?” I don’t have that much of that kind of experience and it is important to me for me to consciously go through the lessons I have learned before I try another experience.
I don’t want to fuck up in the same way twice.
But beyond the most basic of weight distribution considerations nothing about the scenes were very similar. Sweet Boy is not a SAM. (Smart Assed Masochist for those of you who are not in my acronym-land.)
Sweet Boy may be one of the sweetest, most accepting, melting people I’ve topped. I was surprised to find that in a casual scene. The simple ardor, the surprised expressions of delight, the subtle changes in facial expression and body language…
It was like listening to an enormously complicated symphony while eating a rich and varied meal and drinking a glass of complex full bodied wine at the same time.
An absolute bombardment of the senses.
Topping is so awesome.
Especially for me it was very non-sexual. I stayed fully dressed, he kept his underwear on. There was no genital contact. Barely any kissing and that was mostly of the kissing his shoulder variety. There was no tongue or anything like that.
It didn’t need it. It was sweet by itself. It was gentle and careful and here is how to have safe experiences with boundaries. I didn’t want to take more than was good for him. I don’t know him. I have no idea what would be good to take from him. So I need to default to a very conservative guess.
It was charming that he protested coming down from the suspension because we just got started after more than an hour. It was almost an hour and a half and he was getting wobbly. “I’m not wobbling! I’m just… moving…”
Oh Sweet Boy. I have no idea how you handle having your blood pressure drop. Let’s take care of you. Even if you would rather keep being used. It is more important to make sure that you can take care of you later. You are bigger than me. I am going to be cautious as we learn because hurting you would be a terrible thing.
Well, I mean really hurting you. Beating your feet with canes isn’t hurting you. Punching you until you groan and turn red… that’s not hurting you. You seemed to have a lovely time. The laughter encouraged me on. My laughter and your laughter, really. Even when I was the only one laughing it just made me want to hit harder. The glee.
I get to do this…. I get to do this….
YAY!
It was a fantastic experience. After I took him down from the partial suspension (I left a foot on the ground almost the entire time) he was sending signals that he was sad that the scene was over so soon. So I pulled him to a bed and hog tied him and spent some time caning him some more. Because I’m a giver.
And because he was really hot and really sweet and he made the best noises.
Swoon.
I stopped mostly because I felt two hours of waiting was about what I could ask of my darling Deity (who had never been to a dungeon before) and my ever patient husband. So. Snuggling commenced and then we all talked for a while.
Deity and Noah of course made sure I knew that the three of us came to a dungeon together. Then we came home and snuggled.
I’m finding it fascinating to manage a lot of my feelings about Deity. On a frequent basis he will adjust part of my body, I suppose to make himself more comfortable? Most of the time I feel a spark of rejection. I have to consciously choose to take his indication that he wants 1″ of space as literal instead of going for here have a foot.
I’m finding this interesting because I suspect this happens often with lots of people, but in this case I can see it so clearly and starkly as it is happening. I don’t think I usually notice why I have the aversion feeling and move away.
Establishing boundaries is important, necessary, and absolutely terrifying.
Kids are here.
This weekend was supposed to be energetic. But my back huuuuuuuuuurts.
It is fascinating negotiating with folks. Some folks are fine with group bdsm play but not sex. Some like group sex and group bdsm. Some like just group sex. Some are fine playing one to one near a group but not having anyone else involved…..
My life over the next few years will be entertaining. I tell you that.
Today is Noah’s birthday. He’s 40. I made him French toast for breakfast. That and a date night are what he gets.
Birthdays are a thing yo.
Wow. Completely out of the blue I just got this out of body feeling like I was at the grief ritual and I was screaming I don’t want to die. Stop telling me to come with you. It doesn’t matter if you want me. I don’t want you.
Yeah. I will be going back to grieve more.
I have a lot more to say to my piece of shit ancestors.
White guilt. Ha. How about Everything-that-touches-everything-I-come-from-guilt.
How can anything that springs from such a dung heap have any value?
Isn’t that the entire point of compost?
Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country. You have no value if you are not a tool.
I am a tool. Do I have value? Do I have value because I’m a tool?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Do I have value because I have this hole? Because I am good at cleaning house?
Because I can go through this elaborate pretense of being nice and civilized and happy even though I’d like to go behind closed doors and beat my head on concrete until I can.never.think.again.
I don’t care that you want me to hate myself. I don’t want to do what you told me to do. I want you to leave me alone. Stop fucking haunting me you son of a fucking bitch.
I was created to be a weapon. A weapon with which to hurt my mother. She didn’t want another baby, another burden.
But here I fucking am. I do not burden her any longer. You know what? I’d put a lot of fucking money on the notion that my mother is very burdened by my absence.
I do not do this to punish you, nor to punish me. I do this to save my children. Everything that springs from that well is poison. I need to feed them something different. I need a new way.
Even if it involves decades of faking it.
What is real? What is faking it?
Faking what?
Don’t ask.
I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not sorry.
I’m dysregulated as fuck. I’m on day 32 of my cycle. My “average” cycle length is 34 days. (But I vary dramatically.) I know that my emotions are raw before I bleed.
I sorta hope bleeding waits till Monday. Cause whoa this weekend.
This weekend will be fantastic. Maybe I’ll tell you about it. Maybe. A lot of firsts.
The punching last night managed to work out some deep muscle pain I had. Thanks!
Is it hope to slide the lock home every morning, knowing that it indicates interest.
Is it hope to whisper you are special.
Is it hope to whisper I want to stay.
Is it hope to say This isn’t working and we have to change. But how much?
Is it hope to say I don’t want to be a fleshlight again.
Is it hope to express boundaries when you do not know if they will be respected.
Is it hope to keep trying when you are almost certain you are wrong in every particular.
Is it hope to get up in the morning and smile when I don’t feel like smiling. Because if we fake it we teach our brains how to make it.
Once upon a time I told one man that the reality of him was not worth giving up the possible hope of a reality with children in it.
Now I tell a man that reality with him is worth more than the hope of the child I have wanted and dreamed about. Because I can never be sure I’ll really get that child anyway.
Is it hope to want this to be enough even when it doesn’t feel like enough. What is enough.
Is it hope to keep putting seeds in the ground year after year. Grow my little friends. I know I do a poor job of supporting you now. I’m learning and improving. Some year we will live together in harmony.
Is it hope to believe that cuts on my leg are ok as long as they mean I am here.
Is it hope to believe that maybe suicide was the best choice when I was 15. At the very least, it woke me the fuck up. It was change things or die. Change things or die. Change things or die.
Here I am.
Is that hope?
This weekend I asked Sarah if she would pick me for her zombie apocalypse team. On one hand this is a silly and ridiculous question. On the other hand… Sarah knows more competent people than the vast majority of this planet. So if Sarah wants to pick me that means she is not choosing more competent, skilled people. That’s a big damn deal. Because Sarah knows many of the most competent people in the world.
She says absolutely. Because of my stamina. Because if she gives me an order I will follow it. I will only argue if I have a very serious amount of domain knowledge that leads me to be 100% sure that I’m right. Then I’ll justify myself briefly and we can negotiate. We do this so well.
I’m thinking about that energy tonight. I had two good nights of sleep in a row. 10 hours then 9 hours. Then tonight…4. Sigh. I decided to just take the Klonopin last night instead of also taking melatonin and 200mg of pot. Apparently… that’s not enough sedation. Awesome. I woke up very awake.
Sometimes I wonder about the evolutionary function of people like me–people who can burn energy like this even when it hurts them. It strikes me that this type of idiocy spurs self harm or heroism.
A while back I read an article about a young man from a “troubled past” who rescued a bunch of people during Katrina. He continued to struggle with life after the disaster. A lot of what makes children earn the “troubled” label is having far too much energy for solving problems compared to the adults around you. If you are a high energy person you are trouble.
God this is so broken.
I am pretty sure Noah and I have reached some kind of equilibrium around nonmonogamy stuff. Now we get to put what we talked about into practice and see how it goes.
I feel very guilty. I know there are ways and places in this marriage where I get more than my fair share (like massage–I don’t rub him much because my hands hurt) but there aren’t that many places where I just flat out ask to get more. Usually he gets more or it is hard to tell. I work hard on that because I don’t feel I deserve the deal I get and I would feel really bad if I was more blatantly exploitive of what I have.
I have already taken too much from Noah.
But here I am. Taking more. Ostensibly because it allows me to give more back. I wish I understood why I am hard wired for novelty in a way that is highly unusual even for my promiscuous species. I can make up a story based on trauma or based on my family history but the truth is I don’t know. I can just guess.
Novelty increases my desire and tolerance for all forms of sex. I’m a lot more satisfied with something that doesn’t feel satisfying if I also have novelty. All of a sudden the repetitive is comforting and lovely instead of boring.
But yeah Noah, you are right. We developed some patterns for getting through the breeding years that we are going to have to undo. They no longer serve. It is becoming a bad thing for both of us. How to ask? How to push? What to do?
It all changes and that is so annoying.
I kinda thought I would get to my 30’s and have sex figured out. Sheesh, I’ve fucked enough people I should know what this shit is about. With every year I am more confused. Because life is a bitch.
I sorta feel like in my dream world “my” people wouldn’t live so spread out. Scheduling people months in advance is fraught. It is hard to predict energy levels that far in advance. Given the distances involved and the complicated schedules involved…. scheduling in advance is how I maintain contact with so many people.
But I kind of wish that I had a longer list of people I could email on Thursday night and say, “Hey want to come over tomorrow?”
Because right now that list of people is somewhere between zero and one. On a given week I might feel brave enough to try once but I usually get turned down and don’t have the ovaries to keep asking people because I suck at that flavor of rejection.
SOMEDAY MY BATHROOM WILL BE DONE. That may change some of how we schedule stuff. Having the house be destroyed is sucking. fuuuuuuuck. I need to go talk to the city about my permit. It expires soon. Sigh. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
In my dream world I’d get to invite over the folks I like. Some of them I like having sex with and some of them I don’t. We’d all talk and share ideas and laugh and be safe.
That’s my dream world. Where I get to invite people over to my house at the last minute to talk about intense things in a safe environment.
That’s what I want.
I hope I’m heading there.
I don’t want to cut off my friends in favor of my lovers. I want to spend time with people. I feel like I desire contact with people the way other people want air. I want to hear what you think and why. I want to hear more about your story so I can understand.
Do you know how much I want to understand you? I try so hard and I fail so often. Please talk to me more. I’m sorry I have such a thick head. Thank you for your patience in explaining to me repeatedly.
I love you. I want to know you.
*no tags because OWWWWWWWWW arms
Someone tried to read the post titled The Embargo this morning and the formatting was completely broken. I fixed it.
After a month of talking to Noah I have a better idea of where things are going from here. Because Sarah complains about having to read the whole document, updated paragraphs are noted with a *.
Many… many years ago I copied the idea of a users guide from my friend because I know that I am difficult to figure out when it comes to sex sometimes. I’m picky and fussy and just generally demanding. Therefore it seems like a lovely idea to have some sort of cheat sheet about how to handle me in general. Some of these things I have figured out on my own, some of these things I have had pointed out to me by friends and/or lovers/husband, some of these things are constantly in flux and will no longer be true in just a few months. Of course this is a living document and therefore subject to change and revision without notice. Just because something is in here doesn’t mean you should assume that for now and all times this is the only thing I like/want/don’t like etc. After the roller coaster that was pregnancy and giving birth, I promise you things change in my body over time.
Index:
A. Before sex (including courtship/getting to know one another)
1. Just meeting and assumptions.
2. Appearance stuff and attraction.
a. Hair
b. Weight/height
c. Gender
d. Cocks
e. Race
f. Oral Hygiene
3. STIs/safer sex
4. Foreplay
a. Breasts
b. Ways to turn me on
B. During sex (including bdsm play)
1. Oral sex
2. Positions
3. Vibrators
4. Bondage
5. Group Sex
6. D/s
7. Pain
8. Care of the delicate bits
9. Anal sex
C. After sex (including relationship level interactions)
A. Before Sex
1. Just getting acquainted
a. General
Never assume that you are going to get to go to bed with me. Yes, I go to bed with quite a few people—that doesn’t mean I will choose you. I expect and require that people treat me as an equal, and more importantly as an intelligent, thoughtful, responsible human being until otherwise negotiated. Please don’t act like I ought to be honored to teach you whatever it is you want to know about play/sex/whatever. I have taught classes and initiated virgins and newbies alike. I’ve put in my time to the community. I can coast on doing what pleases me and only what pleases me.
*b. Specifics in a Having-Kids-Lifestyle
I don’t have a lot of free time–I have even less time for dating. Specifically I get one evening date in a month. On some months I can arrange an afternoon date during babysitting but this is unlikely to happen every month. What free time I have is mostly spent alone because I have a very high intensity life that requires me to be well regulated emotionally despite stress. I can’t focus on getting to know new adults in a really concentrated way. I’m not flakey, but I don’t have much availability. And to be honest I’m a little flakey. My priority at this stage of my life is being nice to my kids. I have to keep the rest of my life quiet enough for that to happen or I have to drop other stuff. That is the deal for another ten years.
c. Kissing
This gets a whole section. Way before sex because it often happens long before sex happens. I like to kiss. Kissing is a big thing for me. I think kissing is one of the most intimate activities and if I am going to bed or playing with you I am seeking intimacy. Intimacy doesn’t mean you’ll be my one twue love or that we need to settle down… It just means I want to know you. If I want intimate contact with you, I probably want kissing to be part of that. (See below section on STI’s.)
2. Appearance stuff and attraction
a. Hair
Once upon a time I said that I prefer clean shaven men, but that has radically changed during my adulthood. My opinion now varies tremendously based on personal attitude, grooming standards, and just plain what suits each face. As for the hair on other peoples heads: I don’t care anymore. I barely notice. I’m interested in your mind. I like body hair on anyone. Pubic hair doesn’t affect me one way or the other. I sometimes shave large portions of my body. I sometimes skip shaving for over a year at a go. You have to be totally ok with either or go away.
b. Weight/height
My weight goes up and down in a 40 pound range like a yo yo. Almost annually. You can’t be attracted to me for a specific look of my body. It will be different next month. I don’t know what the fork is up with it. Yes, I talk to doctors about it. I like people with bodies. I like fat bodies. I am…more appreciative of slender bodies than I used to be, but I still prefer some heft. I used to be a bit hung up on height and now I don’t care. I like people.
c. Gender
I am a cis-gender woman. If you haven’t picked up on the fact that I am queer then you haven’t been reading closely. I have had strong attractions to people at every point on the gender spectrum. I am completely comfortable having sexual contact that begins with, “What words do you want me to use for your body parts and how do you want me to touch you?” because I can’t guess. Everyone is unique.
d. Cocks (What the hell—since I am listing my preferences…)
Everyone should remember that the vagina is all about potential space. Yes, it can technically stretch, but in a normal resting spot it isn’t particularly large. My body doesn’t stretch terribly well or willingly (even after giving birth to two children) so I am not a fan of overly large cocks. Period. If it is going to cause my jaw to be sore within five minutes of oral sex I will probably experience a lot of pain during sex and that isn’t good for me. I am so not a size queen. I do not have lower limits on the size of cocks I can figure out how to enjoy. Not all sex is about penis in vagina sex. But I do have upper limits. Ow. No thank you. It’s not personal.
e. Race/marginalization
This is complicated. I am aware that I am most comfortable treating heterosexual white men like pieces of meat. If I fuck them and don’t call later… I don’t feel real bad. I have major hang ups around using people of color and women and gender ambiguous people in the same way. I feel tremendous shame and guilt around hurting already marginalized people. Which is to say… I really like having sex with people who are not het white men. I have a hard time approaching them. I don’t want to hurt them and I am less clear on the boundaries. I err on the side of not being a using asshole. But if you are interested… let me know.
f. Oral Hygiene
YES. Bad breath/teeth that look unclean is really really really repellent to me. I generally won’t kiss someone with bad breath. I will elect not to even if you are a nice person. Just no. I smoke pot and that has impact on my mouth. I do not mind kissing other people who smoke pot. I still really am not fond of kissing tobacco smokers. I don’t like the taste at all.
*3. STIs/safer sex
*The first thing that ought to happen in foreplay is a discussion of STI’s and safer sex expectations. My habit is getting tested every six months when I’m promiscuous. As of March 2016 I am negative for stuff that can be tested for.
I have HPV. I have tested clean since 2003, but technically you always kinda have it? I am very very very upfront with this information. I am happy to provide you with access to information. You are an adult and you make your own decisions based on how much of a risk you are willing to take. Given the prevalence of HPV I think it isn’t that big of a deal, but I don’t have to live in your body for the next umpteen years and you do. I never want someone to regret having been intimate with me and I will defer to the stricter preference for barriers.
I also test positive for HSV1, commonly known as oral herpes. I have had a few cold sores as an adult but they are rare and I feel them coming. If you think that HSV1 is a deal breaker for you for oral sex or for kissing, we are probably better sticking to being friends.
I am a big proponent of the idea that we are having “safer” sex. The only safe sex is with your hand. There is risk involved in the play I do and I acknowledge it and try to minimize it. I do not have a desire to play with people who are in denial about said risk.
Gloves… ok honestly we probably won’t be 100% sticklers about gloves but we do use them in party environments because they are safer and more hygienic in a group atmosphere.
*Condoms are not negotiable for vaginal penetration. I negotiate them on a case by case basis for oral.
*Blood play requires extensive blood testing in advance. No one but my husband is allowed to cut me.
4. Foreplay
a. Breasts
This is really funny… but I feel like I should start tracking this on my period application on my phone. How much breast stimulation, and what kind, varies dramatically through the month. There are days when I will claw your eyes out if you brush near them too hard. There are days when I really want gentle stimulation and lots of it. There are days I want to be hurt very badly. Sigh. I married the most wonderful, flexible guy.
I love playing with breasts/tits. I like on the rough end but I’m not married to it.
b. Ways to turn me on
First and foremost: talk to me. Tell me how hot you think I am. Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me what you are doing while you are doing it. Just hearing you narrate how wet I am when you slide your finger into my cunt will increase the quantity of wetness. Read me porn. Have me read you porn. My brain is the most potent sexual organ in my body. Pay attention to it. Do you know why I like having sex with my friends? Because the ones I have sex with are the ones who have spent years buttering me up talking about what they like from sex.
Stroke my legs, particularly behind my knees. It is very easy to turn me on when I am lying on my stomach and my legs and back are stroked lightly. This is by far the most sensuous activity for me. I love having my neck and head stroked gently. It’s not a massage–it’s… waking up sensual contact.
*Biting is hard. I like it when it is gentle but I get hurt really badly very easily in a way that causes me to go to dark mental places and I dissociate. It isn’t off the table… but it’s complicated. Be really careful. Watch me. Make sure I am still “there”. Probably don’t try this on a first or second date because we should have some established trust first.
Tell me how to please you. I love having someone tell me how to get them off—it will usually be enough to get me off. An awful lot of what I get out of sex with people other than my husband is that thrilling feeling of, “Hey here is someone I haven’t practiced on for years and I’m still talented enough to get them off. Yay!” So lots of instructions about what you want and how you want will… turn me into butter. (Once you have permission to talk to me like this. If I indicate a boundary you had better back off like you hit an electric fence or you’ll get the full taser.[not literally])
*There are some limits to the role play/fantasy stuff I can do with people. I can’t do breeder fantasy talk. I can’t do M/s or D/s. No orgasm control. No hypnotism.
B. During Sex
1. Oral sex
I like giving blowjobs. A lot a lot a lot. I like them the most if there is some degree of being “forced” involved. I’m not talking about serious forcing, but pushing my head down on your cock is going to get me all wet. Telling me to suck your cock will get me all wet. Asking me politely if I would mind will probably cause me to lose interest in giving you oral sex. If I do it at all it will be a lackluster job and I dislike performing poorly. OH! These suggestions apply to people I have already had sex with. If I have not had sex with you, you bloody well need to ask. For those of you who have already had sex with me, guiding my head down slowly is giving me plenty of time to say, “Not today.”
For the record: if I have given you a blow job I consider you one of my sexual partners. None of this “oral sex doesn’t count as sex” crap. Don’t bloody ever tell me that we haven’t really had sex. You have fucked my body and probably (hopefully) come inside me. We have had sex. Sure, it was a different hole. Whoopie. It was still penetrative sex. Don’t worry about asking me if it is ok to come in my mouth. If I like you enough to let your dick in my mouth, I’m happy to have you come. I do prefer being told when it is happening so I can synch my breathing, but it is just a preference.
I do have a strong gag reflex and if I seriously fight to bring my head back after you have forcibly shoved my head down on your cock… let me go. I may be on my way to run to the bathroom and vomit. It has happened. It will probably happen again. I’m ok with this. Please don’t let the possibility of this happening prevent you from fucking my mouth with enthusiasm. It is great for me. This being said, I’m not terribly thrilled with having a relationship centered solely around me giving blow jobs. I will eventually feel kind of used (after a year of being in that kind of relationship I really didn’t like him anymore and I didn’t like me much more).
I haven’t played with someone who had a cunt in many years. Sigh. I remember them fondly.
Also: I really like getting oral sex while wearing a strap on. That is fucktastically hot.
2. Positions
I am old, cranky, and in chronic pain. There are times when I am up for acrobatic porn-star sex. There are days when it is, “I am here. What more do you want from me?” I can be fun enough whatever my range for the day. But you will have to respect where my body is on a given day. Your fantasies take a back seat to my physical limitations.
3. Vibrators
In this post kid era, there are times when penetrative sex alone is not enough to get me off. Mr Hitachi, however, never lets me down. I think the point of me having sex is so that I can get off. I know that other people have different beliefs about the purpose of sex, that is fine for them. I’m here to get off. If I’m not going to get off with you alone I will not hesitate to whip out my friend. Don’t worry. You will like the feeling of me orgasming enough to get over your ego at not being able to do it alone. It isn’t you. My body is kinda annoying at this stage. (For the record, when I want to be fucked while using a vibrator I almost always want to be face down.)
4. Bondage
Complicated. Once upon a time I spent a lot of time tying people up and being tied up. It isn’t really Noah’s thing so I don’t really do it any more. But I miss it fiercely. I really like being tied up. I really like being suspended. I really really like being suspended and fucked. Oh the good old days.
5. Group sex
*Why yes, I would love to engage in group sex. Thank you for asking. This will in fact be most of the play that my husband and I do going forward. We… need to figure out how to have a joint sex life with extra people and that will be complicated. I will make everyone talk more than they feel comfortable talking about wants, limits, permission, consent, etc. Because I need to hear all of those things said out loud. (And because recently I didn’t make everyone get together to over-negotiate and it blew up in my face.) But then hell yeah.
6. D/s
What a difference ten years makes. Wow. Reading my old section here…. delete.
I am in a marriage that has power differential within tightly negotiated boundaries as we model a highly egalitarian marriage in front of our children. It will change after they grow up and we don’t have to look like such nice people any more. We have plans. Ahem.
I uhm, appear to have distinct interest in exactly one submissive man. How the hell did that happen? So I’m really not hunting for more in that department. I think my dance card will be full.
*I may be somewhat submissive on a negotiated basis scene by scene but I won’t be pursuing anything serious with anyone other than my husband.
*7. Pain
I like punching and kicking. Those are basically my favorite things.
Choking is completely off the table. I have pre-stroke symptoms that are very concerning and I have young children. We cannot risk my life.
I thought being hit with a giant rubber mallet was absolutely awesome. Single tails are harder than they used to be, but I am open to having to learn how to process them again. I have a long-term love/hate affair with canes. Sting is really hard for me. I like thud.
Don’t pinch me. Don’t pinch me. Don’t pinch me. I will fucking hate you.
8. Care of the delicate bits
Due to some of the stuff that happened when I was very young I have a whole lot of scar tissue throughout my vagina/labia/anus. Scar tissue is like a dotted line in the skin that means, “Please tear here.” Despite my very strong desire for rough, and rougher, and rougher sex… I can’t actually handle all that I would like to handle. (Damnit.) Don’t pull roughly on my labia. Don’t pull my ass cheeks apart with any speed or force. Just DON’T. I will tear open and it will hurt and hurt and that will mostly curtail sex for hours if not days. It sucks ass and so I try to avoid massive tearing. Gentle handling of the bits is important.
That is the paragraph from the pre-kids era. The only update I will give to that is: having children did do some work to break up the internal scar tissue inside my vagina. (Hurray!) But I am still delicate in a way you would not expect from someone with my overall temperament. I’m a fragile toy. Treat me with care.
Because we will be having sex with condoms please to be having lube very close by. It is my friend.
9. Anal sex
I am allowed to have fingers/mouths/toys used on me and I’m allowed to use them on others. No biological cocks are to be put in me.
*C. After Sex/play
Immediately after sex/play I will want to breathe and hug for a few minutes. I will probably want to spend an extended period of time talking and making out. I will want a check in email afterwards for any bdsm play–I do not need it for vanilla sex. I like being friends with people but that has to happen around my schedule. It is highly limited. I’m not rejecting you. I’m dealing with the fact that right now my life is about figuring out how to be healthy around my kids and that is much harder for me than you might think. It takes a lot of time and energy. It is very important to me that I do this right. It will remain my focus for quite some time.
*I have a 10pm curfew. I have to leave dates by 10 or Noah and I can’t sleep well and that sucks.
Noah and I are still talking. He keeps saying things like, “Where we are so far” and I have heart palpitations because I want to treat the negotiating up to the last minute as tentative.
Today Noah said to me: “It sucks that so many of the things you do to make me happy hurt you.” I asked if there was much that worked like that in reverse. He said not so much.
I feel like we are getting to the point where “fair” is becoming less of a thing. Good. There is no fair here. We never wanted 50/50. We haven’t tried to be “fair” about earning money, housework, childcare, bill paying, planning for events… we aren’t fair. That’s not what we do. We each shoulder a burden. Is it even?
There is literally no way to evaluate that.
Does it work?
I don’t know.
My sex life is tricky. I have a lot of layered weird needs and restrictions and problems. Learning about all of them takes years of practice and attention. Which is to say Noah has helped me learn more about them than every other lover put together. Because of the difference in time and attention. A huge part of the problem is that everything is inconsistent. What works one day will do the opposite the next day. That’s not fair.
It isn’t fair for Noah and it isn’t fair for me. And there isn’t much of anything I can do about it. It is hormonal, chemical, and unpredictable. I have no choice but to ride the roller coaster. My other option is dying.
Noah is agreeing that he shouldn’t date. Not saying that he should never have sex or play with people, but dating is different. Is it fair? No.
Life isn’t fair.
I’m going to get one evening date a month and if I can make a day-time-during-babysitting date happen I can have one more date in a month. If.
So. I still won’t call myself poly. Because.
There are more nuances, of course. But that’s kinda the beginning of the frame.
Like, arranging play dates with friends together is totally ok. I know I’ll have feelings about that too. But I have historically done much better with this than other configurations. Is it “nice” to Noah that I am so insecure? No. But I am. We can deal with it by causing more damage to me or we can choose to try and avoid a few land mines just cause we can.
We are still talking about more intense play between us. This is going to be fucking hard to negotiate.
I am typing very slowly. And I should stop. I’d say my arm pain is at an 8.
But I want to type for four hours straight about my feeeeeeeeeelings and all the nuances of sex.
I can’t.
That was different. I’ve been to two grief rituals held on a university campus where you have to go home in the evenings. This was deeper, more intense, and more valuable. I’ll be back. I’m bringing my kids. Noah can come if he chooses.
There is stuff that is worthy of learning from this woman. Sobonfu has perspective on life. It isn’t that she has “all the answers” because there is no such thing. But she’ll help you look at your life. She doesn’t need to hear all of your grief. She can talk to you about how to shape a container for carrying it anyway.
She talks about many different kinds of grief and gives you opportunities to feel communion and support for people who have grief that is nothing like yours. This world needs more of that.
As usual, lots of us white folk were all, “Oh shit are we appropriating assholes?” (Phrased with more tact.) She said that her village (in Burkina Faso–specifically from the Dagora tribe) has sent her out into the world to share this knowledge and they are glad we are listening.
So.
I thought about a lot. I thought about things I didn’t expect to think about, exactly, because that is how grief flows.
When I carved forgive onto my arm I wasn’t sure what or who I needed to forgive. There is this theme in my life. Forgive. Forgive. Forgive. Who? For what? Why? How?
I need to forgive myself for being born. For being an unwanted burden from the moment of conception.
That is a wound on my soul. Knowing that I wasn’t wanted from the moment of conception eats at me. It lives under all of the other feelings of worthlessness and despair. I shouldn’t be here.
Forgive me for not being good enough to die when I should have.
Noah and I talked last night about my suicide attempt. I don’t feel I need forgiveness for that. I was trying to get out of a nightmarishly hard situation. I tried suicide before I tried prosecuting my father and I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel bad about hurting my mother or sister or brother or Auntie or uncle Bob with that suicide. If y’all were hurt by how badly I wanted out of life that is at least partially your fault and I don’t care.
Am I sorry I survived?
I wouldn’t have Noah. I wouldn’t have my kids. I think the world would be ok without this family unit. But since I didn’t die I’m really grateful I get to be here.
This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
But I don’t believe in “It Gets Better.” Sometimes. For some people. Don’t count on it.
I thought a lot about the deals I have made with my cunt. I thought about the core belief I have that unless I am servicing someone else’s sexual needs… I have no value. I thought about the core belief that if someone wants to hurt me with sex… maybe that is just how it is supposed to feel for me.
Shouldn’t sex be burning pain? Isn’t that what sex is?
Forgive who for what?
I don’t know how to forgive myself. Sobonfu told me that when I forgive myself I will feel free. I feel like I am bowed under the weight of a huge burden. I cannot even stand up straight let alone feel free. I am buried under the weight of expectations and woundings I can barely name, let alone untangle, let alone set down.
I feel so sad.
I feel ashamed of the things I can’t be supportive of.
I feel ashamed that I am so small and so needy.
I am not generous. I am not giving. I am stingy and paranoid and selfish.
Noah and I are probably getting closer to rules we can live with. I wish I felt good about them. They are highly asynchronous and that feels terrible. I shouldn’t have bits of freedom he doesn’t have. Even though he has bits of freedom I don’t have. Even though he doesn’t experience the same burdens and problems I feel.
I shouldn’t ever have anything better than anyone else. I’m not worthy.
I appreciate very much that the Dagora tradition talks about how you need to forgive yourself. You need to grieve. You need to commune with your ancestors. And you need to forgive yourself. Forgiving other people is… less the point.
I have feelings.
Sometimes I feel like I am swimming in an ocean of grief and the waves keep swamping me. I will go down soon and there will be no recovery.
Going to these grief rituals shows me that there are currents in the ocean. There are other creatures being moved by these same currents. Even though it feels so overwhelming and so terrifying and so overpowering… I’m not alone. I can see them. Sometimes I can even stretch out my hand and feel the strands of their hair as they slip past.
I don’t know that we can help each other… but we aren’t alone.
Is that enough?
Part of the reason I don’t like to write more in times of lots of extreme ups and downs is because I feel stupid. There have been up moments. I feel like maybe there are more positive moments than terrible moments over the past few days. Things are leveling off.
I feel like we are getting closer to an agreement we can live with. It isn’t perfect on either side (compromise isn’t a dirty word) but it is something we can live with. Perfect for Noah might involve a much longer leash than I can cope with. Perfect for me might involve a whole lot more patience with my shenanigans.
You give what you can give.
I still like being married to him. I’m still happy that I get to talk to him and fuck him and have him tell me that we will figure it out.
Don’t compare partners. But only one person carries me. I notice that. I do compare that. I honestly believe I would have to be a fucking moron to not weigh that more heavily.
That doesn’t justify being mean to anyone else or taking them for granted or using them and discarding them. But I do compare what kind of support I get because I need to make sure I get enough support.
I have to.
Am I selfish? Yes. Is that ok? I don’t know. Noah thinks that banging me is worth the price of admission. It is high.
Tonight we have the penultimate conversation. One of the least scary ones. I am sad that I didn’t manage to get all the people in this month. One of them I will talk to in June because sweet sunny french fries I couldn’t see more people this month. I feel like I’m about to collapse. And I have a cold.
We are getting closer and closer to understanding kinda what we want. Maybe. Uhm, lots of group sex. Because group sex is awesome. Ok, it has obnoxious dynamics to deal with (what sex doesn’t) but I can adapt.
It isn’t that our sex life is inadequate, not really. We have fucked 31 times so far this month and I’m so chafed that sitting down is… uncomfortable. It isn’t that we can’t fuck each other enough.
We went to an open relationship discussion group recently, because I like talking about this stuff. It was fascinating how bad I felt. “Not poly. Slutty.” No. I don’t want to devote every Thursday to you. Even if you are spiffy.
My life is too full.
I would have to cut a few full branches off the tree of my friendships. In order to make room for new growth. Who do I cull? Not you. Not you. Not you. Not you.
Shit.
I rant and rave about how there is no such thing as “deserve” in life. But I think maybe to some degree I have earned the relationships I have. I don’t want to cull any of them. I’ve worked so hard. But choosing to not devote more intense energy to individuals is a choice. I’m scared of putting all my eggs in one basket.
I have poured so much into Noah. Narrowing my other support seems… questionable.
I’m trying to feel more connected but it is hard. I’m having trouble feeling grounded. I feel floaty. I feel disconnected and distant. Cutting does that. I’m way more calm though!
I learned something interesting: I can do much more extensive cutting on my thighs with no marking than can happen on my breasts. Noah marked my breasts, just a little, and those marks are much darker and more apparent than the pretty serious cutting I did on my thigh. Skin is fascinating.
Today I should pack for the grief ritual. Sarah picks me up at 1pm tomorrow. Tomorrow is Noah’s last day of work. Hurrah. Let me run away from home. I’m gonna cry. Doesn’t this just seem like a good time to take all the grief and pain and scream about it? Hell yeah.
Don’t hurt yourself.
I will try to stop.
Do you know what the worst form of self harm I’ve done lately is? Breaking agreements. The cutting on my leg isn’t that big of a deal. Not really. Not in the scheme of things. I broke agreements I made. That hurts me. Noah is going to keep talking about how he knows he needs to get over it… and it’s going to be long term damage. Because I hurt my home. I did that.
I’m mad at him for all the things he has done. But most of what he has done is to not do. I do the bad shit. I break things. I blow things up. I say, “I can’t follow rules right now.”
I don’t know what rules I can follow but not those anymore. They don’t work now. Well, I have a better idea of where we are going. We start writing soon.