I don’t even know.

6 Replies

I am feeling deeply inadequate. I could not make monogamy work. I could not find a way to inspire Noah to share my interests and I could not find a way to just be ok with what was on offer.

I feel really guilty. I feel like an asshole.

I’m really enjoying the sex. Yes I know that’s a mixed thing, Noah. I know that causes you to feel inadequate too.

Not really. We’ve both felt inadequate basically every step of the way. But here we are. I mean, we could go through a list of things we’ve done and devalue them every step of the way. You don’t feel your job earning you more money than 98% of Americans is all that impressive. I think my marathon time is shit. Etc.

Should we do this forever?

I’m not sure I know what adequate or inadequate means. This is seeming more fuzzy than “deserve”. Adequate for what?

Noah the way you fuck me and love me and take care of me mean I’m happier, healthier, and more stable than I’ve ever been. If me being this much better makes you feel inadequate I don’t know what to fucking tell you. I’m sorry I’m not all better. I’m sorry I’m not perfectly stable and perfectly what you want.

I’m inadequate.

Are you absolutely everything I want and need in every single way? Honestly… no.

I don’t know that a single person could be. As you say… if you fucked up the way some of my tops will eventually fuck up… we would have problems. You are safe and that is part of why you don’t beat me harder. It is part of why you aren’t inclined towards doing vicious things all that often. I know. We create this awful conundrum for ourselves. I’m going nuts wanting to beat people. You’ve worked hard on not wanting to beat me because for years beating me would have been a problem and…

I don’t know what to do with the pickle we’ve made. I really don’t.

I don’t know what the future will bring.

Yes, for a while I genuinely had less interest in sex. Childbearing wrecked my body. But we knew that going in and we discussed it and we were more or less prepared for that. What we didn’t discuss very well and what we are trying to figure out now is what the fuck do we want to adapt to when my sex drive comes back?

I need to start texting Noah’s phone to tell him what I’m thinking of doing because I’m not saying things and blaming it on the fact that the kids are around and that needs to change.

What is true and not true?

I continue to wonder what kind of person am I?

I’m a snoopy motherfucker (this is as advertised) and I read some of the notes Noah has been making to himself. I’m really grateful he has been making them. I appreciate when I get to uhhh sneak into his private thoughts and read the angry and accusatory version. I like it for a few reasons. Specifically: I like that I’m not allowed to get angry about things I find when I snoop–that’s been true back to my Owner. I like that I get an unfiltered version of what the person I’m snooping on thinks. They aren’t trying to get my approval they are being pissy and ranting. Excellent. Good data.

I don’t snoop on everyone. I ask for passwords. It’s not like I’m subtle.

If you don’t give me your password then I won’t snoop on you. If you give me your password I will. That’s like consent, right?

How much about you do you want me to know?

That’s what it is about. I will work hard to integrate the feedback I got in this way. It was… more direct than he’s been saying to my face.

I need to slow the fuck down. He’s scared. That’s not nice. I’m not communicating well and it is hurting his feelings up one side and down the other. But he’s scared he needs to let me do this. Oh, baby.

For some version of “this” yeah you probably do have to let me do it. But for some version of “this” you really don’t. You have power to negotiate here. I know I’m being an asshole and I know you are worried about any request you make backfiring…

I’ve only broken rules I made. Not rules you’ve specifically made. (To the best of my memory.) I’ve taken back things I offered of my own free will. Because I realized I really didn’t want to offer them. I’ve tried hard to figure out where your lines are and I’ve gotten very minimal feedback.

From you I’ve gotten: don’t ever ask for unprotected sex with someone and don’t ask for permission to orgasm. I know you’re working on a more complicated list of rules we are negotiating as a back and forth…

But in my head those are the only two things you’ve asked for. So when I’m being a dishonest asshole and spanking people when I said I wouldn’t I have broken something I offered. It is not the same as spanking people when you asked me not to.

Which sucks, is dishonest and fucked up, etc…

I’m being inconsistent in my boundaries because I don’t know where the fuck they are. I thought I would be interested in teasing my submissive for… oh shit at least a few months.

Nope.

Yes. It sucks that I’m sated on Monday and not by the next day.

Or does it suck? I mean… really?

What do you want here?

You don’t know and I don’t know what I want. It does hurt finding out that we want x by bouncing off other people. I wish I had been successful at talking you into things in monogamy too. But I wasn’t. I don’t know how long I’m going to be off-leash or what that is going to mean.

I know you are scared.

Me too.

Historically speaking I go until I get burned really badly. I… worry about that. I sorta wonder if I should cut bait on the other fish on the line. I’ve had an absolutely unprecedented string of successes. Maybe not pushing my luck is wise? Emailed one.

I should maybe learn from my mistakes one of these decades. Noah thank you for your patience.

I’m not saying I’m going to say no if particular people ask. But I’ll stop hunting. I’m over busy as it is.

I am currently semi-stalled on the tile because I need the last bits taken off backing and folks are coming over tomorrow to help with that. I’m a hair nervous waiting for them because I take stuff off backing way faster than anyone else and I could be done between now and then.

I need to email the lawyer. Done. We are going to have a meeting on Monday or Tuesday about the remodel.

Oh god.

Noah I’m really happy to be your muse and pour energy into you. I like filling your cup. But I need it to come from somewhere. I need it.

I know you are scared. I’m scared too. I’m going to do this though. Or I can’t keep filling your cup.

Still no drop.

Leave a reply

I feel kind of surprised. I expect an energetic drop. I expect to feel disappointed or sad or like I was filled with something wonderful and now it is gone. I still feel fairly peaceful… though less sated.

It helps that Noah and I are talking about this a lot and he keeps saying, “Clearly this is a need.”

I feel weird putting it that way. Is this a need? I’ve been wilting like a flower for years without it. Does that make it a need? I can live without casual sex. But my life is harder.

What does that mean? I don’t know.

Hell. Am I even having casual sex? I’m having extramarital sex. I think it is a stretch to call it casual. Not with how twitterpated, in love, and in love with love I am. This isn’t feeling casual. It is feeling wonderful and fulfilling. I’m really really really enjoying feeling adored. That is working for me.

Noah and I were talking about energy output. We were talking about how if Noah went and looked for this much activity he wouldn’t come home filled with energy. He would have to dump all the energy into a person. I feel like an empty watering can that visits a variety of fire hoses. I’m filled by my experiences. (*cough* bad joke *cough*)

I come home more interested in everything. I want to be alive. I want to connect. I want to give. I have so much to give.

I find it funny how I have gone from thinking I had nothing of value to offer anyone in the world to thinking I am a uniquely resourced individual and I’m a piece of shit if I don’t share.

What a difference a decade makes.

I’m not perfect. I’m not even claiming I’m great. I’m resourced.

Different.

As someone who had many years with no access to resources that could have changed everything… that is intense for me.

Pam told me I’m posting a lot again. I measure in word count and I’m way down so whatever.

“How do you know people are reading your site?” A-n-a-l-y-t-i-c-s. Sheesh. You think I have opinions without data? Have we met?

Do you know what would make this whole process easier? If either Noah or I were certain what we wanted. That would make every step more simple. We’d be able to walk towards a goal. We do that well. Instead we are both doing Kermit-flail-hands and saying I dooooooooooon’t knooooooooooooooooow.

Cause we are hella mature and shit.

I do feel less need to be hit than last week. I will want to be hit again. And not in many years like the last gap, but I don’t need it this week. I sorta feel like my body won’t waaaaaaaaant that again until after my next cycle. I want sex though. Oh I want sex. I’m having sex daily. Often many times a day. I kinda wish I could work in at least once or twice a day more.

If Noah manages to land this work-at-home job our sex life is going to be so awesome. He’s going to work weird hours, but I can go back to having sex in the afternoon. (We have babysitting then.) That’s my favorite time to have sex. 2pm. Want. Want. Want.

I will grudgingly get it up at other times of the day and night due to logistical considerations. But 2pm is the sweet spot. I’m a hair bummed that camp starts at 2pm so I won’t be set up. Oh well. I’m used to missing the sweet spot. Sigh.

Sharing is hard. What is hard about sharing? Oh that’s hard to explain.

I really like the idea of sharing Cupid with his partners. For some reason that’s just kinda hot to me. Talking to other smart, interesting people about how to share a desirable resource… that’s hot. I can’t tell you why. It just is.

Deity said he wishes he were dating someone so he could discuss them during sex. I said, “Yeah I don’t think you understand that it usually ends in me crying.” No he didn’t quite understand that. I’m weirdly insecure. I don’t feel afraid of some people or some situations.

Noah is careful what he tells me. He frames things gingerly. He gives me lead up and a chance to say “Not tonight.” This is a lot of why we’ve been talking about his ex-girlfriend. One who came before we got married. Because I’m finally not idiotically insecure about her. Now. After ten years of marriage.

I am so ridiculous.

There’s a difference between exchanging low key supportive conversations with women who are more established in a relationship with someone who isn’t going to be my everything. That’s fun and easy and community building and I genuinely just love it.

Deity isn’t someone I get to be possessive of. Why is that coming up? I’m pretty stupid. That’s why. It isn’t that I don’t want to hear about what he does with other people (I do) but I would have a hard time with an ongoing thing. Telling me about what you’ve already done isn’t weird or hard. But if you did it yesterday I’ll be squeamish in a weird way.

I spend a lot of time wishing I were more easy going. I haven’t managed yet this lifetime. I’m a ball of intensity.

Noah is telling me a little about his play. Enough that I won’t have someone else say, “Oh doing _____ was hot” and I have to feel surprised that it happened.

Noah can be in the room watching me play with someone else. It makes him feel safer. He’s terrified of things happening off screen. He wants me to come home and tell him everything.

I’m…. different. I have an easier time not feeling threatened if I don’t see something or hear too many details. When things get fleshed out I feel like, “Oh my god why would you stay with a loser like me when you could have that?”

I adore the woman he played with last Saturday. Hell, I have more or less pushed them into playing twice over many many years. I’m not insecure about them interacting. But if I tried to sit and watch it I would cry. Is it because I don’t want it to happen? No that’s not it.

I’ve been a pervert for a long time. I understand how many bottoms are looking and how many tops are offering. Sharing toys is just plain polite. Noah is awesome. More people should have the ability to experience awesome. Because life is short and hard and brutal and it isn’t fair that so many people don’t get to experience awesome.

But watching is hard.

Even when I’m the center of attention for multiple people I spend the time wanting to crawl out of my skin because why aren’t they looking at someone better. Anyone would deserve this more than me and so many people don’t get any attention at all. It shouldn’t be me. It should be someone better.

But I… kinda drown in how much I want attention. I want to be interesting and fun. I want to be an edutainment. (Thanks KJB)

But I’m scared that instead I am just a waste of resources and peoples’ time.

What makes someone “worth it”? What does that even mean? Oh hell if I know.

This is why I’m not in groups on Fetlife. A friend posted that in her opinion a suicidal person should not be allowed in a bdsm dungeon.

Do you realize you never would have met me? I have been suicidal more on than off for all the time you’ve known me. All the time I’ve been alive.

I think I might be getting close to the tipping point, where I have spent more time wanting to be alive than time spent wanting to be dead. Close. Soon I will have had more time of wanting to be alive and I cannot begin to express what that means to me.

It sure does make hitting and being hit feel different.

I’m giggling so much more. I’m amused that I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s funny. I’m thrilled that someone wants to do this with me. Awesome. I feel giddy that I’m getting intense interaction after intense interaction.

“I usually scare people with my intensity.”

Oh sweetheart. I think you’re like a 6. Keep going. I’m fine. You haven’t hit close to my rev limiter.

You want intensity? I’m being restrained. Cause you’re new and that’s polite and shit.

I like intensity. What do you mean by intensity? I’m hard to scare off. It may take me a few months to memorize the logical leaps you tend towards so I follow you instantly in a conversation but it won’t be hard to catch me up now. It just takes a little structural work to help create my schema.

I know how to do this shit. I’m not afraid of learning a complex person.

Hello that’s my wet dream.

I’m here looking for intensity. Cupid might be the lowest intensity thing I’m chasing and that’s only so low intensity because I’m not available. He can bring it. He can be mellow too because he’s busy and not bored. But… yeah. I like intensity.

That’s not what is going to scare me.

What is going to scare me? Oh if only I could predict that in advance my life might be so much easier. I mean, lots will scare me. I no longer think everything scares me.

One of my chiropractors called to check in on me. Because I’m that kind of patient living in that kind of small community. I told him I felt overwhelmed. He said, “You seem to spend a lot of time feeling that way.” “Yeah. You remember that PTSD I bring up a lot? Overwhelmed is one of the key features of it.”

He… wished me well and didn’t know what to say.

Thanks for calling?

I didn’t finish winter. I don’t like what I did last night at all. I’m pulling it up. It’s too dark. Too off-white. It looks like I’m an idiot who just can’t fucking lay tile to save my life. It doesn’t look like a mountain. Fuck. I’ll fix it.

Noah isn’t coming home till after his date tonight. That’s a long time of being out. It happened like that on Tuesday too.

We are so enmeshed. This much separation is… weird.

I’m so busy I’m not lonely. But I notice Noah not being there. I notice Noah not being there. He makes everything better.

Then why in the fuck do I want to step out so bad?

Because there are things I need to learn and I am not learning them in my home environment so I am hunting for the teachers who will teach me what I need to know.

Is that what this is about?

Maybe? Kinda? What are they teaching me. None of them signed up for that dynamic. But I force people into the role of teacher without consent all the god damn time.

You are alive. You are in front of me. What can I learn from you?

You are alive. You want to interact with me. You want to talk with me. How will I need to adapt and change to do this right? How will I need to grow in order to become someone who can do what you want? Because every new person requires change.

Noah makes it 100% safe to just sit at home and be. He is safe. But I need to change. I don’t know how and I don’t understand why exactly. Because it is time to change a cycle? Because it is time to… make some progress towards growing up?

Is that it?

I’ve been doing this job for almost eight years. That’s a fucking long time for someone with my attention span. I’m way more impressed with Noah. The stability has come from him. Who would have predicted that?

I put all my eggs in one basket predicting that so nyah nyah nyah.

I’m actually often right about what I predict. Not always. Often. No one is always right. But I look at people really hard. I’m right sometimes when I predict their behavior.

And one of the best things I learned as a teacher: set the bar high. They will rise to the bar you set. If you expect little… that’s what you get.

Noah says the key to happiness is low expectations and I say it too and we laugh and we mean it when we say it. But there is this dichotomy right next to that where our marriage would not work without my high expectations and drive to change things. It’s just a fact. I drive both of us forward.

No wonder everyone thinks I am his top. I am definitely the one who gives direction. I push, shove, and irritate both of through growth. He does some on his own too, but I’m an asshole. If he does some growth on his own I come along, kick my toe around and say, “Yeah but you coulda done…”

He sighs. Looks at me with a mixture of “I don’t like you” “Why do you hate me” and “I hate it when you are right” and buckles down. I’ve seen it over and over. This man blows my mind.

I have helped/pushed/encouraged people towards professional or educational development for many years. I’m pretty good at it.

You can be more. You can be whatever you want to be. I mean, not really. We can’t all be an astronaut. But you could be a rocket scientist. It just takes study and time. We have time. I’ll help you learn how to find resources. I’m fucktastically good at finding resources.

It’s a gift. I’m an asker.

In every moment of feeling like you are nothing I see in you the potential to be so much. What can I do to hold that mirror up in front of you?

Don’t ever turn down your intensity. Turn it up.

Ok, maybe turn it down for an hour or two at work or something. Maybe.

But I was a teacher. Intensity was kind of my stock and trade. It’s part of why I’m so god damn memorable.

Uhm… I’m told. So. I lived in this town Apple Valley for 18 months in 5th/6th grade. I moved away very happily. I had to go back many many years later (I can’t remember). I was walking down the street. From a long distance I hear someone screaming, “OH MY GOD IT’S KRISSY ARCHER.”

I’m memorable.

You won’t always like me. But you’ll remember me.

Noah says I’m not scary because I do everything out in public and I’m not secretive. I’m not sure he is right.

I went shopping and spent my personal money on scalpels and wound care. I found some interesting sounding huge bandages and it makes me wonder about learning how to carve pictures. If I could cut a picture that was like 6″ x 5″ that would be lots of potential.

That’s a slightly frustrating idea because I wouldn’t want to do that on my submissive because that could scar and that means I sorta just want to use myself and that’s not why I’m buying the scalpels… don’t go there Krissy.

I’ll use the neat bandages. He will have cuttings that will not permanently alter him. I can do this. Self control. I haz it.

When I paint the vines in the kitchen I want to paint the word ‘forgive’ on the stems and leaves in tiny almost the same color paint. You’re going to have to really work hard to see it. But I will know.

Who am I forgiving?

Forgive yourself. Everyone else can deal. But it is so easy to forgive other people. Well, some. Maybe not.

I don’t forgive you or you or you or you or you. I’m not there. Fuck you with a pogo stick. I want to stop carrying this hatred though. It is starting to feel burdensome. I’m getting very close to being ready to give this up for me.

My current life is not a life wherein it is easy to carry around excess anger. I did that on purpose. I’ve had to work tremendously hard at not projecting anger because I used to scare the shit out of random kids and I don’t any more.

I have changed.

The anger is still there if I look right. But I’ve put it in a special kind of box. A box labeled “useful explosives”. If I have need of a whole bunch of energy… it’s kind of like keeping wind in a bag on your boat. If I hit a spot where I just god damn need wind to keep me safe… I can reach into that box. I can get angry like a lightning bolt as fast as nothing. Then I can get a whole lot done.

So I hesitate to get rid of it entirely. It’s sorta a battery pack?

Compartmentalization. Oh goody.

I’m just… not angry like I was on a day to day basis. I feel so different.

I never knew I could feel like this. I feel like all the pieces are coming together. I feel like I’ve been working on chunks of a 50,000 piece puzzle in separate buildings and now they are being carefully fitted together.

What will the picture be?

A train wreck!

Muahahahahahahaha

Ahem.

Uhhhh never mind.

I don’t know. But I’m in a good place. I got the evaluation form off for Eldest Child’s thing. I feel guilty that it took almost three months. It’s been a… consuming three months.

No one is worried about EC having huge dramatic problems. We are just trying to figure out what things should be tweaked to do better. So it sucks that I’m delaying and on the other hand… it’s not the end of the world.

I think 3rd grade will be very different. I think… yeah. Gosh I don’t know what will happen. Good thing we have the summer to talk and research and make decisions. She says she is ready to buckle down more and work.

I am literally not able to provide that until we finish this fucking remodel. *beat head on wall*

Today: finish winter. I hope. Friday and Saturday finish the autumn wall. Start the other side of the shower.

I have a lot of tile left. Good thing I have a lot of walls left.

I still don’t know what summer is going to be. Maybe summer needs an ocean scene. I have some really pretty blue tile that would be great for ocean. I don’t have a lot of it. So then I could transition to sand, plants, shoreline, sky…

I’m feeling conflicted about putting sky into the mosaics. I feel like that will make it kind of weird to then paint sky around the mosaic because it won’t match.

I’m thinking.

Sharing complications

3 Replies

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.

WHY AREN’T WE INSPIRED TO DO THIS SHIT WHEN WE ARE MONOGAMOUS?!

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.

WTF?

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.

Cough

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.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

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.

Thanks.

I’m well done.

 

 

Not slick.

4 Replies

I asked Eldest Child how she was feeling about me dating. She said, “Oh that (name of submissive) guy, right? That’s cool.”

She asked me if the point of a date is to be pretty. I said no. The point of a date is to talk to someone and hear their opinions and values and story so you can learn more about yourself as you figure out why you have similar and different opinions.

She said, “And you still aren’t leaving dad?”

“Not even a little.”

“All cool. Have fun.”

Still integrating.

Leave a reply

I got over 10 hours of sleep. That’s freakishly rare for me. I must have needed it.

I feel peaceful, happy and calm. I feel ok.

I feel like I have a whole day of work ahead of me. A whole day of snuggling and talking and sharing joy. We like productive days. We are workers, not shirkers. We got good hard play in this weekend.

Time to put the work in. We can do that.

This week is not that busy. Folks are coming over most days this week. At least Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday/Friday. Monday is quieter. Noah has two first dates. Good luck with that. Many of these visits will be only a few hours long. Two days have overnight guests. Pam isn’t quite ready to run away from us yet so we get a little bit of extra time with her. I’m not crying. I didn’t feel ready to let her go anyway. She should come annoy me some more so I’m ready to push her towards her next adventure.

I so rarely have this feeling. I feel like my soul is a placid lake. If you toss a rock on it there will be ripples for a few minutes before it comes to stillness again.

I’m not just allowed to be kind of awful sometimes… I’m encouraged.

This part is… a little embarrassing… but who the fuck am I kidding? Much of my writing is… Noah likes to talk to me about being Krissysexual. He talks about it as being very close to his religion. I really like being the center of cult worship. On Saturday night I was standing and Noah was kneeling in front of me and my submissive uhhh behind me.

Oh the worship.

(This was after I sliced him up.    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I’m feeling very ok about being me right now. Sated. Pleased.

And I still have all the bruises all over the place to make sitting kind of uncomfortable. Every time I hit a sore spot I grin in a goofy way. I think, “Thank you Daddy” and I think “Thank you Cupid” and I think “Thank you Professor”.

I have time coming up with Deity. There’s news on that front I’m not writing about yet cause it is the only hint of wistfulness in the whole set up. But frankly it’s the kind of wistfulness that will churn my butter so let’s go with it.

Main character. Yeah. I can do this. Complicated story. Lots of subplots.

Excellent. Let’s finish this rodeo.

Coming home

5 Replies

When I was 18 years old I showed up in the bdsm community. I had some awkward experiences then I went to a munch. Then I went to my second munch. At my second munch I was invited to a private party. The same group we got together with tonight. They’ve been meeting up monthly for more than 20 years. Many of these folks have been there pretty much the whole time.

I felt like I was coming home. I asked for permission to do a heavy scene. The homeowners (one of my leather mom’s and her partner) told me I had complete trust to do whatever I wanted.

That’s a big deal in my little world. Trust is earned slowly in increments. I felt valued and missed from the minute I walked in. Even people I have not traditionally gotten along with that well were really happy to see me.

I’ve noticed that more than once in the community. Since I spent so much time gone folks have forgotten that they disliked me and they just remember that I was part of the good old days. I was. Those were wonderful days. I feel like these days are going to get better.

Socializing was so damn nice. I was so excited to catch up on the news for everyone’s life.

I spent a while chatting with one of Cupid’s other play partners. I was reminded of how much fun it is to share play partners and friends. She was absolutely as sweet as could be. She says she thinks we are alike. I hope so. I would like to be like someone like her.

But the play. Oh the play. This is one of the hottest nights of my life. I have never before done a serious cutting on someone. I… got more enthusiastic as the event continued. It was amazingly fun fucking with his head for a long time with the scalpel. For a long time on his thigh I wasn’t even getting past the top layer of skin. But he thought I was gouging him.  He couldn’t see what I was doing and he was pretty freaked out. So I showed him the tiny little couple of drops of blood. He was like, “Wait. That’s it?”

Ha.

Of course… that was well into the scene. I’m out of order because it was so god damn hot. The scene kinda felt out of order. I forgot to put a collar on him until well into play. But it was fun and exciting when it happened so I’m not that sad.

After cutting his thighs I flipped him over and cut his ass for a while. That was… wicked exciting so I decided it was time for him to fuck me.

Ok, do you know what was so hot about the cutting? I was licking it up like a cat. I’ve always wanted to do that and I’ve never had an appropriate partner. I would take fingers full of blood and smear it on his cock and lick it off.

That was so fucking hot.

While he was fucking me I told him that someday I want to cut open his chest so that he can cover me in blood when we fuck. He… more or less asked why someday. So I grinned, grabbed the scalpel…

I may have been a trifle exuberant.

So on his thighs and ass it took many many slices before I hit blood. I was super careful and slow and delicate.

Uhm… I sliced the shit out of his chest. He started bleeding a fair bit right away. There was no delicate barely reddening line. There was a lot of blood.

I played in it. I finger painted myself and him. I licked it. I took whole handfuls of blood and licked it. By the time I was done I looked like I had ripped the neck out of a wildebeest with my teeth.

That made me come so hard.

Because I’m an exhibitionist slut we went upstairs to show off before we took a shower. We took pictures. Because oh my god.

I mean there was caning and slapping and biting and all that other stuff in there.

The blood the blood the blood the blood. *dance around in circles*

Alright. I’m addicted. I need to do that again.

That scene took 2.5 hours. I only stopped because he looked so high I thought I really should. I kinda sorta felt like I should feed and water him. Prudent to take care of your toys.

Then we proceeded to have the most make-out-fest party I’ve been to for one of these. That was glorious.

Remember what I was saying about my comfort zone? I was glowing and even I could tell.

Then Noah got there. We socialized for a bit more. I looked at my boys, didn’t even bother to bat my eyelashes and said “I could use more fucking.”

I love my life.

We went and spread out a tarp. They took turns playing with/fucking my ass and fucking my mouth. Noah spent a lot of time putting clothespins on my breasts and calling me a whore and telling me to come.  Which I did. A lot. Over and over. They spent a lot of time talking about how the red mark on my chest was moving lower and lower… way more flushed than normal. Lots of time egging me on to make more noise. Well done, gentlemen.

Well that was sooooooooo hot.

A two shower party is a good party.

Then we socialized a lot more. And made out more. And snuggled more.

I feel like the luckiest girl ever.

(For the record… blood testing was involved in the negotiation for this scene.)

I love you. I love you. I love you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Oh god yes. More.

I would write more but my arms hurt.

Punching is so awesome.

Leave a reply

Last night was a punching heavy night. I was punching a lot and then I got punched a lot. Life is fair sometimes.

I played with the Professor. He plays with a lot of new people and he is good at helping people explore sensation. I told him I didn’t know what I wanted to be hit with because I genuinely don’t know what I like at this point, but I know I’m on the thud end.

He brought an assortment of toys and hit me for a while with them before switching to punching.

I liked and hated most of the toys. I loved the punching. Loved the punching. Got off on the punching. That was fabulous deep thud. That rocked all the way to the center of me.

Surface pain on my skin is harder. The flogger was a lot of surface area of skin. I feel like I like/enjoy/can tolerate floggers exponentially better now than I could when I was younger (I am apparently getting older and less sensitive) but they are still hard. I feel panic when a large amount of surface area is hit at once.

And holy shit for shoe shine do I dislike any hits on my low back. Mother fucker. That’s always been true.

Once, when I was 19 I was on a date with a friend and he was passing me around a party. I complained so much about specific kinds of hitting that he found a marker and made a big X on my low back and wrote “NOT HERE” and on my ass he wrote “NO STING”. Then he had way more people hit me.

It went better at that party after that.

I feel like things have drifted but those are still fairly accurate warning labels and I should figure out how to explain them better on my own.

My low back has been problematic since early childhood because of a vicious assault. No, I don’t like it when I’m hit there.

It isn’t sexy. It isn’t easy to process. It hurts.

Thank you for the lesson.

The flogger on the upper back wasn’t like that. That was horrible and painful and mean and… hot. I felt like if that came with a story I could really get into suffering like that. As a stand alone sensation it wasn’t my favorite but I could see the appeal. Which is a huge shift for me. Thank you for the lesson.

I felt kind of ridiculous for liking the Nerf thing. I shouldn’t like being hit with a Nerf toy. That’s perverted.

It was a great warm up toy. Oh man. He did a warm up. It was like magic. I remembered correctly! Warm ups are awesome! Yay warm ups!

He was very good at the reassuring-from-the-back-hug. Some tops nail that and some… don’t. He was really good.

Last night was a night of SM like I used to do. Lots of violence and my genitals were not in play at all. It was a stark reminder of how much I have drifted. Oh yeah. That used to be my life.

It isn’t any more.

I have a tremendous quantity of feelings to process. I’m going to put them in this nice neat box I have here and deal with my day. I don’t have any other play scheduled after today and that will stay true for a bit.

I need to process these bits. I need to integrate what I need to say differently. I need to think about what to say about play for it to be more of what I want.

I need to figure out more about what the fuck I want. I have inklings and that’s not good enough. I need to think about this.

Why don’t I feel comfortable talking during play sometimes? I really don’t. I don’t feel like anything I could say would be ok. So I don’t say much. I don’t like that. It isn’t useful. Just making noises isn’t good enough feedback.

I feel like I need to figure out the difference between playing to suffer and playing to have fun and playing to get off. I think they are different. I think I need to figure out the limits on the suffering I can offer at this point.

My low back needs to be off the table. That’s going to need to be a hard limit. Fine, maybe someone else won’t be damaged by light hits there. I can be. It needs to be a hard limit for me. I don’t need to talk about it and I have to figure it out before I bottom again because… someone is going to cripple me.

Words. Words are hard. I like typing. I like typing till my hands cramp and ache and this is so definitely my current favorite form of self harm.

Words are harder. Words are scary. Speaking is hard. I need to work on more scripts. Ugh.

Just being able to make the noises is huge progress for me. I know it doesn’t seem like that to people. I know it just seems like some obnoxious thing I do. It has been hard for me to be in my body enough to connect with what is happening. I have tried hard to do that.

I have spent a lot of my life dissociated. I go back and forth between dissociation and hypervigilance so that I either don’t know what is happening around me and to me or I’m freaking out about everything near me.

It’s fun.

The hypervigilance has improved dramatically over the last few years. I have consciously worked on a number of my tics and they have improved. I still don’t have a comfort zone but I don’t feel crawl-out-of-my-skin-anxious as often. I am also far less dissociated. I can’t be and take care of the kids. I have to be present. I picked the high-intensity version of parenting. I can’t phone it in much. They won’t let me.

Maybe my comfort zone is fucking people. Every other part of interaction is harder and more complicated. It’s why I’m pushing people for fucking with play.

I think. As I look in retrospect at my behavior over the past few weeks. I think that is what is going on. Ok. This is why I talk to myself. Because I’m trying to figure out why the fuck I do what I do.

I think it is healthy for me to sit with the discomfort that comes from people not asking for access to my genitals. But it is hard.

Ok maybe I am lying. Yeah. I do have a comfort zone. I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all when Cupid or Deity or Daddy were fucking me. Not when I fucked my submissive. Not when I picked up a random at a sex party.

That felt comfortable. Other aspects of our interactions are not always comfortable for me and I stick them out anyway. But…

It’s part of why I’m pushing so hard for kissing. Kissing feels kinda like that but more available in public.

Ok. Well. I’m figuring some stuff out. This is kinda fucked up. I need to find some way of feeling comfortable that doesn’t involve soliciting sex. Well… ok, I do feel comfortable around the kids. Most of the time. Except when I’m triggered.

So it isn’t only during sex.

And it is variable with Noah. Sometimes I feel comfortable and sometimes I don’t. We’ve had a lot of sex over a lot of years and we often do it whether I am up for it or not. Because that is our deal. I’m not sorry. But it means that I have had mixed experiences of the sex.

I need to update the users guide again. Hilarious. Well… this is a changing time.

You are safe now.

Leave a reply

Playing with Sarah was wonderful like it usually is. My wrists and hands are covered in bruises from beating her. I tried to use toys for a while to save my hands… then I needed to feel it with her. SM is very kinesthetic for me. I want to feel all of it. Toys… deaden that.

I helped her boyfriend beat her. I feel that he and I did a surprisingly good job of co-topping for folks who don’t know each other. We both tried to share the gorgeous canvas and be complimentary about one another’s work. Only one missed shot a piece that hit the other top’s hand.

It was so much fun yanking her back and forth and saying “Mine”. She giggled in a glorious way.

After a while we were hitting her harder and she started whimpering. Me being me I commented: “Ahh, still trying to be quiet?”

I think Sarah internalizes things in ways that are both good and bad. I think most people need to let things out sometimes and I think that is hard for Sarah. I say that based on many years of friendship.

So I started talking to her about how gorgeous, wonderful and strong she is. I started telling her over and over that she is safe now and it’s ok to make noise. You can cry, scream, yell, anything you need to do.

You are safe now. We love you. It’s ok to make noise here.

We hit her until she sobbed loudly and could not take anymore. Then we snuggled on the beautiful, wonderful girl.

It was an honor and a privilege. She was glowing and grinning and woozy when we were done. I had a wickedly fantastic time.

Thank you Sarah. Thank you Sarah’s boyfriend. That was awesome.

I tried to put a rope harness on and I sucked. I need to practice. I’m so not used to rope anymore. It was so bad it fell off. Pathetic.

I need more practice.

I love you. Thank you for sharing this with me. I am grateful.

Silence

1 Reply

This is an easy trigger to trace. Many of my earliest memories are of my biological father hurting me sexually. I was required to be silent and still. If I squirmed or whimpered or anything I was punished.

I can suffer silently. But it requires that I go away. It requires that I give you a bag of flesh and bones and I will be somewhere over there watching.

Noah points out that this really isn’t just about my father though. There are people littered through my whole life who required me to suffer in silence. My arms are completely not up for the laundry list… but it’s there.

It’s a trigger. It isn’t that I think someone is terrible for commenting on how loud I am. (Yes. I am very loud when someone is hitting me.) It is that it is a trigger. It is that now I feel ashamed and bad and like I did something wrong and shaking this off is gonna suck.

I’m supposed to go pretend I’m a bad ass tomorrow.

Fuck.

I’m loud. I’m loud when I top. I’m loud when I bottom. I’m loud when I fucking exist in a room.

I’m loud.

I make people cringe and move away from me just because I am offensive. I exist too loudly. I should stop.

I have absolutely no idea how to get to a happy medium from here. I don’t know what a happy medium would be.

Yes. I’m loud. I can scream so loud that a party of hundreds of people comes to a sudden halt. (I’m told people still feel haunted by that night.) I can quieten down auditoriums of thousands of screaming teenagers. Fucking loud.

I feel like that makes me bad. I am inconvenient, intrusive, rude. I force people to acknowledge me. I force people to have to be fully present with the fact that I am in pain.

I’m a fucking asshole.

I’m not here to make you have a more comfy experience.

I need to shake this off and go back to cackling with glee. I have a boy to cut up.

I will not let this be a problem for me. I don’t give a shit that I feel triggered. I have shit to do.

I’m really kinda done feeling so god damn bad for existing.

I don’t think this person meant I should suffer in silence. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that commenting on how very loud I am is complicated. Noah has kinda figured it out. He solves this by saying “More!”

Pretty much everyone else… it’s a mixed thing.

This is a me problem.

Mixed bag.

4 Replies

Playing with Sarah was fantastic. I had a fabulous time. The Professor did a great job of beating me. I ended up not playing with Noah.

There’s this thing. Since I was 18 and I showed up in the scene people have been commenting on how loud I am.  Sometimes just in a teasing way, sometimes in a “You shouldn’t do that; you should be quiet. Be more like…”

At this point I’m over sensitive. I can’t really hear what someone means in the moment. What I hear is, “You’re too loud.”

So I completely withdrew and that was the end of play. Because I feel ashamed.

Yes, I’m loud.

I’m sorry.

Unexpected fun, processing, and affection

4 Replies

I said, “Hey Daddy want to have dinner and talk?” Hahahahaha. We did get around to dinner. We did do some talking. Mostly we finally got around to fucking. It was glorious. Our first date was about twelve years ago and we’ve done a fair bit of sm in that time… but we never got around to fucking. I am thrilled to report that strawberry/chocolate flavored condoms are not bad for sucking on extensively.

Then I had quite a chat with my shrink. I am… amused that she is thrilled I’m hunting. She really is. “You are all consenting adults having fun! Do whatever you want!” At the same time she says, “Uhm it sounds like you are getting really attached to this deity. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

So my shrink is 100% on board with me sport fucking. If someone comes over and spends more time… that’s maybe not cool. She heard that he is going to have an overnight when the kids are gone and she just about flipped.

“HE’S DOING WHAT?! WHERE WILL NOAH BE?!”

Uhhh… in the house?

“Oh so you wanted a threesome.”

I have no idea if that kind of thing will happen. I’m not opposed (hi, I’m still me) but it hasn’t been arranged and that isn’t the point. The point is… having a date and getting to snuggle longer afterwards.

“KRISSY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HE SOUNDS LIKE A SECONDARY.”

This was a hilarious phone call to me. The expectations folks have of me…

(Uhm, my shrink says congratulations to the sadists I’ve been playing with. She’s delighted to see me so happy. It’s been a while.)

She got a little annoyed after a while trying to keep names and handles straight. I should probably send her an email with a cast list so she can follow along better. (She’ll get everybody. I wonder if I could somehow anonymize it for public. Ha. She’d hear about all the people I’m hoping to run into soon but I haven’t seen ’em yet. Goodness gracious I’m slutty.) I think it is funny how different my shrink feels about my dating compared to Noah. Noah’s a lot more ok with the fact that I’m being lovey dovey with my friends. He’s seen these people be my friends for long stretches of time. He doesn’t feel threatened.

My shrink is all, “Fuck ’em and move on to another person. Don’t get attached. That’s a threat to your marriage.”

…..

Given how much time everyone I’m fucking spends saying, “How is Noah? Are you sure we should do this?” I’m… less convinced they are threats.

She told me to be very careful not to start keeping secrets from Noah. I said: “When I fuck up and don’t tell him something to his face I try to make sure I document online because I don’t want to hide anything.” But she’s suspicious. She’s convinced I’m going to move the deity in next month. I think the closest I’ve come to moving a poly partner in was Sarah and… you know what? I’m not worried.

Speaking of documenting, there was a small hiccup in play last night. I tried to express a boundary and it was heard as an in-scene protestation. It was recognized and apologized for. I cried. I’m over it. These kinds of mistakes happen. Why is it so easy to forgive someone else and so hard to forgive myself? I know he didn’t mean it. His face crumbled when he understood. It’s lovely how these sadists want to hurt me but not hurt me and that’s a funny line to learn how to walk. There will be stumbles. We’ll keep walking.

My shrink started shrieking when I told her how much I talk to the deity during the day. “THAT’S A RELATIONSHIP!” Dude. I’ve been talking to him for years. It’s not just a while fucking thing. He’s my friend. “But! But!” She’s not upset about the dude I’ve been playing with for twelve years and I just show up at his house on a regular basis. That’s fine. Cause he’s ollllllld.

I didn’t know that fucking half a dozen people in a short period of time would convince me I’m not that casual of a hunter. Ok then.

This round of hunting is so glorious. I went to Renegade’s last night (it’s a bar where a munch is held) intending to just flirt because I have hot dates tonight. Yeah my friends don’t care. Glorious friends. Daddy and one of the flirtingest-boys-ever were both pinching and squeezing me a fair bit. Because it is funny to make me squeak. I guess. Cupid came and that was quite lovely.

Last night I felt like I was sitting on the corner of Makeout Lane and Pinch Me Harder Court. I kissed so many people. It’s funny going between casually, happily kissing people I’ve been kissing for a while and a new person leans in and I shove my hands out and blurt, “I HAVE HERPES.”

He laughed. He said, “You’ve actually already told me that.”

“YEAH WELL. I’M GOING TO DO IT A FEW MORE TIMES. I WAS AN ASSHOLE WHO WASN’T UPFRONT ENOUGH SO I’M GOING TO BE REALLY OBNOXIOUS FOR A WHILE HERE.”

He laughed at me more. But in a nice way.

I don’t want to hurt anyone.

Oh do you know what is funny? When someone says, “Oh you shouldn’t taunt a sadist… you never know what you’ll get” and I get to lean in and grin and say, “I know. I’m a sadist.” He pulled back like he touched an electric fence. That was awesome. hahahahaha

I have such plans for Saturday. I can’t wait to make that beautiful boy hurt. It will be glorious. That reminds me. I need to send an email to the party host about rules. Done. My proverbial dick is so hard right now. I do hope she says yes. Then… oh boy. I’m not going to preview what I’m going to do. He gets to be surprised. I have some shopping to do today. Oh fuck I love my life.

Why isn’t my shrink being weird about the other folks? Mostly I think because after asking me to rattle off ages she decided the deity was “age appropriate” and no one else I’m seeing is and that is somehow a big threat? Whatever. I’ve been involved with my submissive for like fifteen years. Oh. He’s not on IM. So he’s less threatening? Woman. You have weird ass boundaries.

Oh yes. I also had a chat with my former Owner. It went much better than I expected. He was respectful, supportive, and loving. I made the right choice in loving him all those years ago. I think it’s funny that my shrink is worried about the deity but she doesn’t worry about me going back to events where I’m going to sigh over my Owner. She says, “Oh I know that’s over.”

But I still sigh. Like I do with everyone. I don’t want to go back there. It’s just… sigh worthy that life doesn’t work out how you want. I really wanted to carry that man’s babies. I wanted it for the first big chunk of my adult life. I notice.

Not that I’m in any way sad about the family I have. I think it suits me better in every way.

But I’m a wistful soul.

I don’t want to move everyone in. I don’t want to live with everyone. But I am greatly enjoying the increased intimacy with my friends. I’m feeling so grateful that my friends want to love on me and hurt me and talk to me about why they want to do what they want to do in life. I am so grateful I get to crawl into peoples heads and learn about their motivations.

The talking about it part is almost my favorite. Except for the getting off. That’s my other favorite.

This was one of those times when my shrink spends a lot of time telling me how unusual I am.

“Krissy… other people don’t spend hours a day having sex. That’s not normal.”

Why not?

“Krissy… other people can’t orgasm like that. That’s not normal.”

Hey… you don’t know my friends. Ok yeah I’m easy to get off under the right circumstances but I know lots of folks like me. We exist.

“Krissy… other people can’t have sex with someone unless they feel a strong physical attraction like they want to be with that person forever and you can have sex with people you just like without feeling all that attracted to them. That’s not normal.”

Hey. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t attracted to them. I just don’t need to be in-love-get-married-have-babies attracted. Degrees. Levels.

I’m not attracted to people based on them looking like they belong on a magazine cover. I’m attracted to people based on how they make me feel. I care a lot more about the expression in someones eyes as they look at me. The more “conventionally attractive” someone is the more I find they don’t actually look at me. They look to see if I’m looking at them and then they keep scanning the room. Folks who are not necessarily gorgeous (but I think they are hot) look at me.

They want to know what I’m feeling so they can play with it. That’s fun.

Dad canceled yesterday. He doesn’t feel he can handle a trip in April but he hopes to try later in the summer. I have mixed feelings. I am going to work hard on coming down on the side of “Well my guest room is buried in tile anyway and cleaning it up would suck.”

Feedback: no more face slapping for a few weeks. My jaw hurts.

I know everyone is happy I’m playing again but I do need to heal in between woundings. Just sayin’. Geez. Go reread the Kushiel books. Phèdre talks about needing to heal between play. Ha. And she was a bad ass touched by the gods. I’m just a kinky woman. Healing. Yo.

My jaw hurts all the way up into the skull because it is so tired of being knocked out of whack for one week. I have some weird jaw stuff anyway because when the pit bull attacked me when I was five, it knocked my jaw out of socket and made things permanently out of alignment. Sufficient quantities of oral sex cause me problems. I’m probably going to get there soon with uhm how I’m going.

Slow down Krissy, you ain’t as good as you once was.

Yeah… time for more rest. I’m getting tired.

My shrink was thrilled to hear how my mood is elevated across the board. Things are going really well with the kids (beyond the fact that we are all sick of tile). We are snuggling more than we were for a while. We are talking really well. We are having intense conversations. I’m being pretty good about my expectations. They are falling into a rhythm of their own.

Home schooling continues to be the best decision I’ve made with my kids. I love the relationship we have. I love that I get to help them work through their stuff. Genetically my kids were going to have a high propensity towards being high strung, difficult, and troubled.

Instead they glow.

I am so glad I get to do this.

Frequency is a phrase Noah and I use a lot. If I’m a lot more intensely connecting with a whole bunch of old friends… what is that going to mean long-term in how much I see each person? All of them in aggregate?

He keeps sighing deeply and saying only time will tell. Pendulums do tend to over correct before they settle down to where they are going. I remain grateful he thinks of me as an expensive, troublesome pet. I so am.

I’m a feral cat.

Barely domesticated. But I have my perks.

Ok. I think I’m ready to go back to bed. I wonder how long until the kids wake up…

Belief

Leave a reply

I was asked what I believe in. If I’m not a Christian, what am I? Where do we go? Why are we here?

I believe we are here because of a series of accidents, some terrible and some wonderful.

I believe the only meaning that exists is the relationships we create while we are here. I think we are alive as long as we live in the hearts and minds and souls of whatever we have touched. I think that we die when our last breath leaves our body. I think that we become one with everything that has ever been and will ever be.

I think that connection is enough for me to want to make things better for the other results of accidents. They didn’t choose this either. There is no deserve. There is no plan. But we can try to make it better.

It takes all kinds. I don’t need you to be like me and I don’t need to be like you. But I want you here.

That is what I believe in.

In love with love

2 Replies

Noah and I talked about this yesterday. I am… not your average hunter. I know many predatory hunters. They want to feel powerful. They want to have a long list of prey because it makes them feel successful. I want to fall in love with everyone.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the fact that a lot of what I seek in sleeping with people is the ability to love someone like you a bit more. I have a number of hangups around “types of people” that I genuinely want to get over. I want to be able to treat people like individuals and I do that best by learning one story at a time in detail so I can understand how it varies from the “general”.

I want to see the patterns and understand the variations. I don’t know about you… but I’m not as smart as I’d like to be. It takes me a long time to figure these things out about folks.

I learn about people best when I fall in love with them at least a little. Is it infatuation? Is it twitterpation? Is it love?

What is love?

Is love wanting to touch someone? Is love wanting people to be happy even if that doesn’t involve you a little bit? Is love wanting people to take up as much space as possible? Is love hoping that this person will do things both bad and good so long as they act and exist and are.

Yesterday a sarcastic joke was made about all the bodies I want to get under. Noah and Pam sat around and kinda counted on their fingers and we decided it was best not to put a number on the number of bodies I want to get under.

If it had come from someone else I might have felt insulted or judged. They were delighted. I felt loved.

How big is my roster?

Err, how do you count? Previous people I will definitely see again? Previous people I won’t see again for logistical reasons but I might if life changed? People I’m interested in pursuing but I’m not sure how they feel? People who have said they are interested but we haven’t followed up yet?

I don’t have permission to talk about very many people at this point. I wait until there is a bit more established before I ask. Some folks are a little funny about how I talk about people. I try to say nice things about you and admit my fuck ups. I’m tracking me more than I’m tracking you. My mistakes are a much bigger deal to me.

Like not negotiating well on HSV. I do great at random pick up parties. I stop someone before they get close to my face. It is more complicated with people I’ve known for a long time. More complicated still if I think someone has read the users guide. I want that to substitute for negotiating and… that’s wrong. That’s so very wrong of me. I can’t do that. I am too god damn experienced to be making bullshit rookie mistakes like that. This has to be my last fuck up. Fine, I can say “I haven’t been negotiating in a few years so I messed up timing.” Ok. One last fuck up. Period. Then never ever ever again.

Yes, he forgave me and isn’t angry. I’m upset with myself. I can’t do this again. I know better.

Maybe love also means wanting people to be able to make informed, responsible, self aware choices instead of waiting until the heat of the moment when someone will feel less comfortable saying no.

That’s why I’m so pissed at myself.

No pressure, Krissy. Give people choices and you cannot pressure them to decide one way or another. They have to live in their body. They have to live with the results of their decisions…not me.

I am a hunter. I try not to be a predator. I prefer catch and release. I just want… to… borrow some of your time in a way that will hopefully be fun for you. If you indicate distress I want you off the line immediately. You clearly weren’t meant to be my prey if I upset you. I’m so sorry.

I want to love you and make you feel better about yourself. I want you to feel even more hot and sexually accomplished. I want you to feel just a little bit more like you can go out and figure out what you want after you’ve bounced off someone with such strong and particular ideas.

You don’t have to agree with me. You don’t have to be like me. (Please don’t be like me. The world doesn’t need more folks like me…)

Be you. You are so wonderful. I love you so much. I like seeing you in the world. I am glad you are here. I do want to kiss you. I am sorry that I am diseased. I have always been kissy. So I’ve had herpes since I was a toddler. Like kissy toddlers do.

Kissy Krissy. That was one of the nicer nicknames from my childhood.

Ok, knowing what I know now about the sexual abuse it’s a little creepy that everyone liked that I was so kissy as a tiny child. But oh well. Moving along.

Kissy Krissy sure sounds nicer than Pissy Krissy. Are those my choices in life? Be sexually available or be angry? I sure act like it.

No I don’t have to be sexually available. But I… uhh… kinda like sex a whole lot more than average.

Can you be a nice girl and still fuck dozens of people in a short period of time? How about hundreds throughout your lifetime? What if I hit a thousand? When do I stop being ‘nice’?

I’m curious. Depending on how this week goes I’m going to hit 130. I’m pretty sure.

I never did get my party for hitting triple digits.

So take Noah’s body count and put a one in front of it. Yeah. Promiscuous.

And I do have strong feelings for the majority of the people I sleep with. The people I don’t fall in love with are the one offs at parties. It’s why I don’t keep in touch with them. I don’t have bandwidth to fall more in love with them.

I have a deity and a submissive and a cupid and…

I’m feeling more nervous about the degree of pushing my wants I’m doing on other people. I haven’t hit their rev limiters yet.

I think.

Lots of folks I’m not going to name right now for #REASONS. But I’m thinking about you. The folks in-house got to hear your litany last night.

I think about all of you. Sometimes I wonder how one brain can keep such a diverse cast of characters straight. Good thing not all y’all are straight.

I think of it as a web because my people are very interconnected. So and so is fucking me and three other people. Of those three other people one is a good friend of mine, one is someone my other friend is fucking and… so it goes.

“Oh what tangled webs we weave when first we practice to conceive.” Thanks former lover who may not want to be named here. I will never forget you. You taught me things. Thinking about you makes me smile.

I fall in love hard and I fall in love fast and I fall in love forever. My life would be so much easier if I could stop loving my Owner. But I can’t. If my Owner showed up in the middle of the night and said, “I need you” I would need to have a forktastically compelling reason to not just follow him wherever he wanted me to go.

Because he wouldn’t ask unless it were serious and if he came to me… whatever he needed I’d do.

Just like if Jenny got into trouble I would be in Scotland in less than 48 hours no matter the cost or difficulty.

These are my people.

This web is what I have in this life. I like sleeping with my web but it isn’t a mandatory component of loving someone. I’ve never fucked Jenny and I would move mountains for her.

Jenny was there for me after the suicides. Jenny has been with me through some of the most vulnerable, horrible moments of my life. I would do anything for Jenny.

I don’t measure my love in access to someones sticky bits. But if I get to touch your sticky bits I’ll probably fall in love faster. Especially if I get to touch your stick bits and you make a big deal out of respecting my mind.

I’m yours. How and where do you want me?

I want to fall in love with you. I don’t want to marry everyone. I can’t have any more children. (Though co-raising children is the best thing ever.) I don’t…. know what I want.

I want to feel viable and loved. I want to feel like it is ok to be filled to the brim with love. I want to feel like it is ok that at any given point if you press me for who I am in love with I will start rattling off names, run out of fingers, think harder, run out of fingers again… maybe keep going….

I’m not lying about being in love with you. I can’t love myself. So I love you as a proxy. I have so much love to give. Yes, you get some of it.

Is it creepy? I hope not. I try to have boundaries around it. There are some people I pester constantly on IM because I feel comfortable nudging them for attention. There are people I barely contact except to arrange in person time. There are people I want to go show up with them and I don’t because I have trouble not climbing all over them like a jungle gym. It depends on the dynamic and my mental state.

Sometimes I don’t touch people more because I feel gross and polluting and I don’t want to hurt you.

That’s complicated.

It is weird managing the fact that I’d like to crawl into way more beds than I do but I’m afraid of hurting people.

I don’t want to hurt you.

I love you. I am so sorry when I fuck up. I am sorry when I make stupid assumptions because someone else would be ok with x so why are you having your own opinion?

I’m so sorry I ever invalidate your right to be seen as an individual person with an individual experience. I’m working on getting better. I am better than I was. I need to get better still.

I want to be able to walk into a room with you and see you as the sole person there. The only one I need to adjust my energy to, whatever that means. Even when I’m in the room with multiple people. How do I do this? Oh it’s hard.

But I want to try.

You are worth it. You are worth seeing and loving.

I love you.

These are a few of my favorite things…

3 Replies

Lest I sound like a one trick pony… My Bonus Kids spent the night! As usual, this is thrilling and wonderful. I’m doing my best to smile pretty at their parents and say, “Wouldn’t split custody be niiiiiiiice?” Not 50/50 custody… but couldn’t I have them like 10% or 20% or 30% of the time?

It’s rather awkward to be all, “Hey I’d like to have more kids but I would die… can I borrow  yours?”

So far they are willing to share somewhat. How much we will find out in the fullness of time. I’m thrilled.

Part of what I love so much about my Bonus Kids is that I am not the mama so problem solving is an entirely different process. I have mad respect for their relationship with their mama and I can see how she is the best mom in the world. She knows them to the marrow of their bones in I way I just can’t. They are foreign to me.

But it makes me think of my kids differently. Oh. That’s why things are so easy. That connection.

I don’t think that having biological children is the be-all/end-all of all of life… but I’m having a lot of fun.

My kids validate my existence in a way nothing else can or will. They needed me for survival. They have a lot of my weird/wacky traits without having lots of complex trauma stories behind them. That’s fascinating to watch.

My kids don’t need me for survival any more. They still need me, but it’s different.

A friend was over helping me with tile on Monday. All four of us got hungry. I asked the kids to make lunch and they did and it was good. (My hands were doing gross things.)

Tile plugs along. I probably have 15-20 more hours of removing backing from tile. I’m working on taping spring down. Then I want to finish winter. Then autumn. Then I have to figure out summer.

Oh goody.

Four more hours of taping spring? I think the mountain will take 4-8 more hours. Autumn is probably 10 hours away from done.

So that’s like eight days of work before I get to summer. No… closer to two weeks with how slow I’m going. Depends on how much help I get unbacking tile. Fudge. Uhm, at least the remodel is stalled and I don’t have to hurry. Ugh. This Friday I’ve been waiting nine weeks for a letter.

Once they move back in to start work they have about three weeks to go. So… I need to get my butt in gear. I need to be only working on summer when they get back started. Or be done with summer.

I think summer is going to need to be a different style of mosaic. I am looking at different techniques and options. It is so much fun to not have any idea what the hell I’m doing and just… make something cool.

Fuck yeah.

My garden is coming right along.

Last night I only got 7 hours of sleep, but I still feel better after two nights of sleep. I felt much better by yesterday afternoon.

I appreciate when I can misunderstand something and get over it in a 24 hour period. That was quite literally not possible 10 years ago. Progress is awesome. Noah patted me on the back and said he was really surprised how well I handled it. That’s nice of him. Thanks Noah.

I really have worked hard on mellowing out. It’s a process. You need to be safe to be mellow.

Thank you, Noah.

Oooh, another sweet point. Two wonderful friends asked me how I would feel about them asking Noah to play. Awwwww aren’t you the sweetest things? I feel charmed and delighted. You asked me first. Nobody is asking Noah first. But my friends ask me first before they go slide on up to my husband.

That was not required but hot damn you managed to slide into my magnanimous zone. Now you were so awesome that I’m going to put a lot of pressure on Noah to handle things right and be deserving. “Do you know how lucky you are to get women like that?! BE NICE.” Or not nice. Whatever y’all negotiate. Have fun!

Slutty women deserve to be treated like the angels of mercy they are. Be grateful. Or I’ll be pissed all the way off.

All hail slutty people of all possible gender configurations. Huzzah!

I love you all.

Not just because you are slutty… but that does make you feel like kin and I like that feeling.

What makes me happy? Noah. Noah is handling me hunting better than I am. When I over react and want to flip out over something he patiently reels me back in and explains why my feelings are out of proportion and I really should be giving people chances.

Maybe the reason I am more calm now is because someone is intimately aware of my thinking process and he helps me manage it. “Ok so you read this in an upsetting way. Let’s talk about that.”

For the record, folks, I don’t have a lot of privacy from Noah. Partially because I just don’t desire that kind of privacy but mostly because I need help managing my disordered thinking and Noah is willing and that requires access. So I give it to him.

If I keep secrets from Noah I will need some way of color coding that information in my brain so I can keep it from Noah. That sounds hard. I have enough hard in my life. I’d rather keep letting information pass through me like a sieve when it comes to Noah. That is the most comfortable part for me.

So that when I screw up and don’t tell him something right in the first place it’ll still come up because I have complete diarrhea of the mouth and I tell him everything so even if I do it in a dick way… everything is coming out and we can process it. Sometimes part of the processing is, “You told me that in a dick way.” Yeah. That’s true. I did.

I remain convinced that no one on this planet could love me like Noah does. Thank you Noah. I am so grateful for you.

Other happy news! We are going to be house-guest central. (Finish the bathroom, damnit!)

In April Dad is coming down to spend a weekend. This will be entertaining because he wants to see his bio-kids a fair bit too and they are having big feelings about me since my kids were born. They can ignore the slutty daughter-girlfriends. I’m… something different. They aren’t so sure they are ok with him adopting an adult child and being a grandparent. That is stepping on their toes. But it also looks somewhat like I may be the only one of the three of us to have kids. So yeah. Complicated. I’m trying to be as nice and accommodating as I can there. I like his bio-kids and I hope that we can long-term get more friendly. I hope. *cross fingers*

In May a friend from the Bay who moved east then moved west (but way the fuck north of here) is going to stay with us for a weekend. I’m excited about that. I haven’t seen her since before the kids were born.

Also in May we have a fun overnight adult-only camping thing I’m wicked excited about. I don’t know how it will go. When I used to go to these events, in the dim recesses of my memory, I remember lots of bdsm and fairly little sex. Some, but not a lot. These days… I’d uhhhh… yeah. I’m no longer content with a weekend of bdsm and no sex. I’ve changed. So yeah. I have no idea how this will go.

I had this really slutty idea about how to handle play at that party. Maybe I’ll write about it separately. Maybe I’m not quite that brave. Ahem.

Ahem.

Then in May I’m going to the grief ritual with Sarah. I’m so grateful she wants to come with me. I anticipate a full weekend sob/hug fest. That’s going to be magical. At the other grief rituals I have attended, I always went alone. The organizer always encourages hugs/physical support and… I’m me. Don’t fucking touch me who the hell are you? Especially when I’m freaked out and feeling vulnerable. Strangers just shouldn’t touch me. That’s not safe for any of us. Don’t do it. Sarah is safe. This is going to be a night and day different experience. It’s a full weekend retreat instead of going to and from a college campus every day on bart.

I’m looking forward to this. We have so much to talk about. So many different levels of wounding. We’ve already looked at a lot of this together over the 12ish years we’ve been doing whatever it is we are doing. But this is going to be super intense and heavy. In a way we both need. Thank you my friend. I am so grateful.

June is blissfully unscheduled and I think it should stay pretty close to that way.

July I get to host my friend and her two sons for three weeks. They are coming in from Arizona. I’m so excited. I met her on the road trip and we’ve talked a whole bunch since then.

I am really proud of how well I’m keeping the house up despite the chaos of the remodel and the amount of work I’m getting done. This is remaining a good work space. It feels accessible and functional. *pat myself on the back* (Let’s be real here: the kids are amazing these days. The road trip was worth it.)

I haven’t been gushing about the kids lately. Mostly cause my arms hurt and I’m obsessed with my sex life. But the kids are knocking my socks off. They are making such tremendous progress.

I’m happy that both kids say, “Can we take a break from classes?” It isn’t just coming from me and financially motivated. *phew* We could all use a break from trying to become something different and just… be for a little while.

August/September is the cruise. Looks like another family might be joining us after all. I am completely fucking thrilled and surprised and happy. I think that all four families might stay in Florida for a week after the cruise to see stuff. 7 grown ups and 6 kids sounds way more like a party.

My life is so ridiculously good I just don’t understand how I got here.

A child is waking up. It is time for the day to begin.

Important point.

Leave a reply

I think this is often unclear. When I’m writing… if you think I’m talking to you the answer is maybe. Sometimes I talk to one person for a whole post, but rarely. Usually I switch who I’m talking to mid-post. Often mid-paragraph. Sometimes mid-sentence.

The you at the start of the sentence may not be the you at the end of the sentence and I do that on purpose.

The degree of infatuation I feel for various people fluctuates based on a lot of factors. I feel happy about different things with different people.

At this count I can reasonably say that in this calendar month I expect to play with at least eight, maybe nine people. Or it could be higher. I don’t know yet.

If I’m saying “you” and you think “whoa shit her feelings are too big for talking about me” yeah you are an amalgam. You are many things (and people and situations) I’m reacting to at once. I’m not reacting to one thing or one person. Or maybe this would be easier.

I don’t like easy.

I do like complicated though. I like falling into people. I like intensity. Yes, I will have big feelings about you. Is it infatuation? Is it love?

Which you are we talking about?

Because whoa. I have a range of feelings. I’m not going to parse them here. I’m not going to rank them.

Everyone is different. I like different people for different reasons and Noah says I don’t have to choose and he’s the only one who could tell me that right now.

So how much do I want?

I’m drowning in a river of want. How much of it is for you? You won’t know unless you really ask me. And I’ll be brutal in answering. You may not like the answer. You may not want to know the specifics of what I’m obsessing about you.

You may not like it one little bit. Maybe you just want what I’m willing to bring up of my own volition. Maybe.

Who knows.

Ask for 100% of what I want?

Never. It’ll never happen. Because I don’t think I’m that brave. Not brave enough to say out loud everything I want. You have no idea what I want. You really don’t. I’m not even brave enough to tell Noah a lot of it.

I’m not nearly as brave as people think.

A river of want.

I can’t tell you what I want though. That’s… not fair. Somehow.

The Professor complicates Cupid complicates the Deity complicates Daddy complicates Noah complicates Sarah complicates my submissive complicates…

I could go on but now I’m just bragging. And I’m actually out of names I’m explicitly allowed to use. Other people have different privacy standards. Ahem.

There are little brush fires all over my extended web right now. If you think I’m upset about you you are partially right. And there’s all those other folks.

If it were just you I’d settle down. Probably. I’d like to think that at this stage of my life the level of complication from any one of the people in my web would be… easy. That’s why I want so many.

I do like complicated.

Users Guide 3.1

3 Replies

Good golly I’m learning lessons fast. This is an update. Unless you are planning to fuck me soon, you can mostly skip.

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
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. 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. I am waiting on my current test results. I tested on 3/29/16 and didn’t come back with a positive. They didn’t test for herpes, but I already know about that.)

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 or anal penetration. I renegotiated them for oral. I will decide on a case by case basis.

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 but I get hurt really badly too 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”.

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])

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. 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. 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.

If I am playing with you on a more one-off basis it is very ok to negotiate for a D/s dynamic and tell me what kinds of things you fantasize about. I can be almost anyone for an hour.

7. Pain

Post-children my body has changed dramatically and I honestly don’t know what I like. Well, I know I still like single tails and canes. Those are my perennial favorites. My husband doesn’t know how to use a single tail. Do you? 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 the mallet was absolutely awesome. Single tails are harder than they used to be. Sting is really hard for me. I like thud.

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.

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.

Hunting lessons

Leave a reply

Exhaustion is a real thing. When I’m over tired I can’t read tone to save my life. I’m whiny, over-sensitive and I’m going to spend a lot of time crying. It’s not about a person saying something… it’s about being tired. I didn’t respect that yesterday. Given how much… pushing it I’ve done on sleep stuff lately I need to build better boundaries around this. Don’t respond to messages when I’m that tired.

I wrote about 7 pages in a word document yesterday. Notice how I’m not posting it? I don’t think I was even a little coherent. I was tired and scared.

I live with a kind of existential dread most people can’t understand. On one hand I’m one of the asking-ist people you’ll ever meet. I ask and ask and ask for things. On the other hand I live in mortal terror that I will rape someone again. That I will ask for something and someone won’t feel comfortable/safe saying no and I will be an evil monster as usual.

This is complicated for me. Because if you can’t say, “Hey do you want to do x?” and get a yes/no answer…how the fuck is life supposed to work?

I don’t know.

Folks tell me that I’m doing a good thing by giving people opportunities to refine their boundaries and decide what they do and don’t want.

I feel scared all the time that I’m on the verge of hurting people. I feel like I should withdraw a lot because I’m pushing too hard. Noah says this may be a bad time to assume that my bad reading of one persons tone means I should stop asking other people for things.

For some reason he seems to think that individual humans should be judged on their own behavior.

Whatever.

So it isn’t going to be a rule (because how the fuck well do I follow rules?!?!) but I think it should be a guideline to not respond to ambiguous messages at all when I’m tired. Once I’m not tired I can say, “Hey I’m not sure I’m getting your tone of voice here. Can you clarify?” Cause wouldn’t that be useful.

I don’t feel like I did yesterday. Glorious 8 hours of sleep. I hate sleep deprivation.

Many folks in the scene have been asking me, “Oh do you remember Mistress ___? She’s coming around more again.”

Goody. She likes to tell me that I’m a bigger bitch than her because I don’t handle sleep deprivation well. Can’t wait to run into her. weeeeeeeeeeee

I’ve gotten off overly lucky this hunting phase. Things have been going too smoothly. I’ve been getting too many ‘yes’ answers. Too many people telling me I’m doing it right. When I hit a bump it feels… big.

It isn’t. I’m going to get over it. But yesterday I couldn’t read tone and I spent a lot of time crying. Like I do.

Sleep. Dear goodness, sleep.

When I was a kid my sister used to tell me, repeatedly, that if I have the same problem over and over it is my fault and not other peoples fault.

I push boundaries. I do it globally. That makes it seem to me like it is all my fault and I’m a bad person. It means that when I feel spooked that I came too near a boundary with one person I want to globalize it and use it as a reason I should stay home and stop hurting people.

I want to use that experience as evidence that I am a monster who is unable to stop hurting people. I want to use the hint of possibility that I pushed too hard as evidence that I should stop asking for anything from anyone because I am not deserving.

I want to tell everyone that I know they don’t really want me and I should stay home.

I kinda got yelled at for that yesterday. Not “YELLED AT” but forcefully reminded that it isn’t my place to tell people what they think or want.

Yeah.

I’m sorry.

I feel bad for wanting you. I feel like I am placing a burden on you that I shouldn’t be placing. It isn’t fair. It isn’t appropriate. Just because I want you that means nothing about what you want and I don’t know what you want.

I don’t know and I’m not sure I’m good at reading people.

Noah makes sure to do over the top physical gestures to highlight how delighted he is by me constantly. Because otherwise I walk through my life feeling like an anvil of disappointment is about to drop on my head because I am not good enough to please anyone.

It isn’t fair to need people to be so demonstrative of their approval. I should just believe.

But I don’t. I’ve had too many years of wanting to die because I am not enough. I do need to feel like people really want me to be there.

Or I should go home and snuggle my kids. Because my kids really want me to be there.

I’m not saying I want to die right now. I don’t. I’m doing alright. I feel… whiny not suicidal. That’s fantastic progress for me. I feel sad and anxious and like I really want to figure out how to do this right some fucking year.

I want to stop messing up negotiating. I feel like there is no valid excuse for fucking up this way at this stage. I’m not a kid messing up out of ignorance. I’m a grown up who fucks up because I’m sloppy and I don’t dot all my i’s and cross all my t’s.

I feel ashamed of that.

But I don’t know how to find a happy medium on the herpes shit. It is… complicated. So many people have it but the few people who don’t know/haven’t been specifically told they are positive… it’s a thing. Should I tattoo “I have herpes” on my forehead so I don’t ever fuck up that bit of negotiating again?

Kissing is a big deal. My Owner didn’t kiss me. I’ve dated other guys who wouldn’t kiss me but who would allow me to provide some kind of service (sometimes sexual and sometimes not) for them.  I can’t do that any more. I just can’t. Maybe that section of the users guide should be rewritten.

I like kissing and I know I’m diseased. I’m sorry. I feel bad about existing in this dichotomy but here I am.

Thank you for not caring, Noah.

Kissing feels connecting and bonding. Kissing feels like the difference between just being an object and being a person having an intense shared experience. I need kissing at this point or I really shouldn’t be playing with someone at all.

I’m not negotiating this well and I need to change that.

Lessons hurt. I hate learning lessons. Fuck opportunities for growth. FUCK THEM WITH A POGO STICK.

Do you know what would make all of this easier? If I were less fucking hypersensitive. But if that were true in one area I’d be a lot less sensitive in other areas.

I don’t actually want to stop being who and what I am. I like being sensitive. I like that I react strongly to my perceptions of peoples feelings. That often goes well. But sometimes I’m tired and I read something wrong.

Yeah. That happens.

Uhh… I do better in person. Where I can look at facial expressions and eventually feel comfortable asking millions of questions. I do have to warm up to the questions though. I am actually kind of shy at first.

I don’t want to scare you off. I want you to volunteer stuff. No one ever tells me enough about themselves.

Oh they tell me more than enough about their hobbies. I want to hear about you.

I know it is kind of weird how much I actually like people. But I’m not playing. I do.

I don’t want you to be in a room with me so you can act out my fantasy. I want to be in a room with you so I can see you more fully developed as a character of your own. If you talk fast the whole time I get more of a picture of who you are. (I like turns to talk too. Don’t worry. I know how to talk fast.)

I’m high maintenance. I want understanding and that mandates intense communication. I’m not comfortable. I don’t exist near people to feel comfortable in their presence. That is not how life goes for me. I am not comfortable.

I am with you because I want to understand you. Because I find you compelling. Because I want to know you. Because I want you.

I may not understand what that means. I probably don’t. I will ask for things. I wish you would ask more so that every step of verbal negotiation didn’t come from me.

That is true so much and it scares me because when I am always always always the leader how do I know I am doing what people want instead of dragging them through things they may not be completely on board for doing?

Trust people to be grown ups?

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Sorry, gotta catch my breath.

Phew. Laughing that hard is dangerous. I’m going to bust a rib.

People laugh at me when I say “when I grow up” in reference to my future research. They ask me if I’m grown now. No. I’m not.

I don’t know many grown ups. And I don’t know many people my age or younger. I chase an older crowd and I always have. Guess what. Most of them are not grown up. I mean, they are grown. They are “adults”.

We are all fucking up and growing.

We aren’t done growing up.

I know… a few. They are inspiring and intimidating as fuck to me.

Hands hurt too much to go into that.

Hunting lessons…

Wanting is hard. Wanting is scary. The rejection isn’t the scary part. The scary part is the terror that I will hurt people. I will hurt people. Not because I will hit them (though I will) but because I will say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing or ask for something in a way they don’t feel comfortable refusing and they will feel regret and I will feel shame.

That’s gonna happen.

That is part of hunting.

That fuck up. It is inherent. Other people minimize their risk by looking for one lifetime target and calling it good.

I… like to learn lessons. I have so much to learn. There is so much I want to know. There are so many situations I need to be able to have absolute control over my reaction no matter what physical or emotional stress is going on that I have to perfect this.

I have to. This is going to be necessary for me as a grown up. I am going to need to have 100% control over my reactions. I will need to know “I don’t open my email until I’ve had at least 20 hours of sleep out of 72.”

I need to know myself.

Noah didn’t think the messages sounded the way I read them. It took a lot of explaining and whining and telling back story before he went, “Oooooohhhh… ok. I can see how you read it that way.”

So it was a stretch that was only possible because I’m so awesome.

God I’m ridiculous.

No. I just have a long and complex story and I’m reacting as if all if it is true in every moment of every day and those filters are better and worse based on factors like sleep. Ahem.

Other people can handle sleep deprivation. Great for them.

I can’t.

But there is so much fun to be had in the middle of the night.

I have five solid nights in a row where I’m staying home and getting sleep before our next night out.

But then a different party is the next day.

Fuck. Ok. I need a break after that. I iz at capacity. Ow. I found it. Noah told me he thought I would.

I wanted to see where it was now. I found it. Ow. I’m old.

Why didn’t I want to go to a dark place? I don’t know. It wasn’t that the pain level was beyond my capacity. I never got near an 8. I just…

I don’t know.

It didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel like that was what was appropriate in the setting? I don’t know.

I need help going on a journey. If I’m going to stand somewhere and just… do what I do… that…. uhhhh… varies.

It is wildly unpredictable.

I also have a really hard time with feeling like I am topping from the bottom. Noah and I have had a hard time figuring this out. I… don’t know how to gracefully lead as a bottom. I suck. So either I shut my fucking mouth and smile as the top decides what is going to happen next or… things get kind of awkward and tense and I spend the rest of the scene feeling bad.

So yes. Sometimes I don’t know what to say.

Even me. I get tongue tied. It is true. I feel like a jukebox waiting for someone to pick a song to play. I don’t know what to say. I don’t have any idea of what would be pleasing. I have such a short window of time in which to try to be pleasing…

I’m afraid of picking wrong.

It isn’t that I’m trying to make up a story to tell. It is that I don’t know which version of myself to start with. There are so many. The order in which I present them matters. It can lead to increased intimacy or it can lead to things like, “I need you to stop telling me about your background. I don’t really want to know.”

This is why Noah and I spend so much time during sex talking about previous sex we have had either with one another or with other people.

I know that I will only learn how to read these things better by running into these walls at full speed so I see all the signals all the way up to long past when I “should” have stopped so that in the future I will understand that danger signals much earlier and have a stronger need to distance myself fast. I know this is “safe” practice.

But I’m so tired of being disappointing. I’m so tired of having people forcefully shove me away because I am wrong.

Asking, wanting, desiring always means risk. It always means possible rejection or unmatched interest or pain.

Always.

Is it worth it?

Even though I’m still tired and even though I still have turbulent feelings…

Yes.

All of it. All of them. Every lesson. Every experience. I’m not sorry I asked. I’m sorry if me asking was done badly. I’m sorry if I asked in a way that did not support people telling me no when they should have or if they really wanted to in the fullness of time. I’m sorry that I will keep making mistakes.

But I’m not sorry enough to stop.

I want to learn this.

I will make mistakes. So will other people. I will get up. I will try again if they are game.

I want.

But first I want more sleep.

 

Sleep. That’s the ticket.

2 Replies

In the past 49 hours I’ve slept 11 hours. I also wrote a four page whiny screed today about my feeeeeeeelings. I’m not posting it. I’m tired.

Thanks to the folks who were patient with me today. I uhhh will be over this soon. I’m sorry. I… should have just not talked at all on a day when I got this little sleep.

I am medicating and going to bed. That seems wise. Tomorrow will be another day fresh with patience.