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Ok… compartmentalize this shit.

You know what? I’m still pissed he said that. It’s not cool. I have a real problem with that.

But I had a really really really really really good night.

When you have to tell someone to stop making you orgasm because you just can’t bear how much your legs are cramping from muscle spasms?

That’s an incredible night.

No you don’t need a lot of toys. You need your hands. Your delicious, evil hands. Punch me. Punch me over and over and over and over all over.

Even when I really don’t like it there. Even when I’m going to pay for that for a while.

Why?

Why is this so explosively hot?

I don’t know. It just is. I’m trying to think about the scene and get back to my buzz so I can go give Noah a proper thank-you fucking. I was really fucking angry when we got home and I didn’t want to be touched.

But I’m… chilling out.

Even though my trophies are lovely I have never and will never get bruises that seriously impress me. The most impressive fucking bruises ever were from a water skiing oops when I was 18 and I’d never heard of bdsm. I was there with Pam. She doesn’t even remember my impressive bruises. I’m so sad. My inner thighs. My entire inner thighs were black for weeks. I screamed so loud they heard me on shore. We were on Clear Lake. It’s not a small lake and we were way the hell out.

So yeah. Comparisons are funny.

Perspective is funny.

Life is funny.

The fact that being punched in my ass can make me get off is funny.

And wonderful.

Why the fuck shouldn’t I do it?

I really can’t come up with a good reason. I’m fucking thrilled we already have more dates on the calendar.

One of them is a private date. I might be able to talk him into fucking me again. After several beatings in a row in public where he won’t…

I’m going to be so annoying.

He might just have to fuck me first, then beat me. Because god damn. Ok, I don’t think he would agree to me just being a snot and ordering him about. But it is funny to think about.

I’ve lived with Noah a long time. Sex is ready and available any time the kids are occupied and I’m interested. Any. Time.

God I love you Noah.

I have almost finished talking myself into coming in and fucking you.

I’m… not sorry exactly that I got so mad. I really have a problem with bully posturing. But I’m annoyed that it has interrupted my sleep cycle and our sex life this much. I’m trying to deal with it fast.

Remember when this used to take a week or more?

I’ve come a long way.

Compartmentalize.

I have completely and totally no idea what to think about this. I mean… I don’t know what part of my life this anger will alter. I don’t know what boundaries will change.

But I know I have no desire in any way shape or form to penalize the partner of this person for these words.

She didn’t fucking say it.

So yeah. Complicated. Big feelings.

*beat head on wall*

You know what… one of my play partners crossed a boundary recently. I said “Don’t slap my face” and the first thing he did was slap my face. I burst into tears and freaked out. He realized that he fucked up and apologized.

I don’t think he should be threatened with bodily harm because he fucked up.

Sigh.

What do I want here? I want to stop thinking about this because there is completely and totally literally nothing I can do about it.

And that kinda sucks.

I feel sad and kinda helpless.

I suspect that if I’m in a room with this person I will need to turn on my heel and walk away. Or just very consciously not go to rooms where I think he might be. Which… is really sad.

Threatening to break someone’s legs… even in jest is a fucking boundary for me.

I get to have that. It’s not being an over sensitive baby. That’s a god damn reasonable boundary. Noah gets to figure out his own boundaries.

I won’t be around someone who will do that. They aren’t safe. I don’t care how safe they have been to or with other people. Nope.

It doesn’t matter if he would ever do it. He said it.

That’s too much for me.

That hurts me. That makes me feel like shit. That makes me feel scared as fuck. That makes me feel like I might need to fucking attack someone to get them the fuck off my husband.

I don’t like this feeling one little bit.

It’s ok that this freaks me out.

It’s ok that I have this as a limit. I don’t have to be ok with “jokes” that are violent. I don’t have to be ok with casual threats.

Even if they aren’t to me.

I know this has been the all-slutty-all-the-time channel lately but…

Noah is my life.

Threatening Noah’s body is threatening my life.

I don’t have to accept that. I don’t have to excuse or justify that boundary. That’s allowed to make me angry.

But mostly I’m so so so so sad.

I want to feel relaxed and tight and sore and hot from what I did tonight. No, he can’t fist me when my legs are cramping so badly I’m screaming non-stop through every orgasm.

Let’s try that again without the leg punching first.

I left that party with my entire body feeling on fire. I planned to fuck Noah silly and pass out.

But Noah and I needed to talk about the party. Because yeah. We do.

AHHHHHHHH. We got home almost two hours ago. I’m still consciously working on not gritting my teeth. My dentist is very adamant that I’m not allowed to crack more teeth as anger management. We have stern conversations every six months.

He doesn’t really want me to have to pay for a new implant. Breaking that would suck. I mean, the teeth I’ve broken have been bad enough… oh god. I need to be careful with the implant.

How do people live in bodies without destroying themselves? My fingers are saying that I’m a big selfish cunt right now. This whole organism that wants to type. Fuck you brain. Go the fuck to sleep. Calm the fuck down. Your fingers are not able to do this forever you know.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I’ll get over it. I will. It’s 4:12. How long will it take. Shit.

I’M NOT OVER IT YET. But it’s kinda like that TMBG song where the guy is waiting for his date and staring at a clock and it never moves. It is still 4:12. No wonder I’m not over it yet.

Would it be weird if I went to the missed connections section of the party and said I’d be interested in dictating to that dude who types 150 words/minute in exchange for play. I could totally do that.

Ha.

Uhm, I’m not explaining that.

And I’m not serious. I really don’t have time. But it was a funny few seconds of thinking.

Ahem. I’m trying to cheer myself up. And be interested in sex. Because REASONS.

I’ll feel better afterwards. Now it is 4:15. I still ain’t over it.

But I’m taking breaks to stretch my shoulders. I was dumb to try and stick it out with my hands over my head.

Note to self: don’t be macho before play has started. Fuck that shit.

Ow my shoulders.

I’m not entirely sure how I felt about the rib punching. It was… hot.. super fucking painful… and deeply… God I don’t know the word for this. Everything I’m thinking of is wrong. It’s not about “primal” (I kinda cringe when I hear that word) it’s not about submission exactly because we don’t have a dynamic exactly…

I don’t know.

I don’t know what that feeling is. It scares me and I’m ok with that. Noah and I talk a whole bunch about the scenes I do and he talks about the ways in which he reads my faces and says “When x happened you seemed unhappy. Why?”

God I love the way that man looks at me.

Cupid wasn’t giving me a light sensual beating for “strong sensation”. He was… deliberately hurting me. In ways that weren’t fun and I was cringing away from and crying.

That makes my cunt throb.

That’s what I don’t know how to do with Noah. I don’t know how to let him hurt me quite like that. I always stop him. We always retreat from those really dark places.

Well, not always. Heh. But Noah doesn’t beat me till I’m cringing and crying unless we are deep in role play and it is ok to treat that character like that.

Cupid thinks it is ok to treat me like that.

It’s… different…

Which… it is ok for him to do. Because we negotiated extensively in advance like grown ups. We talked about limits and interests and desires and now we are figuring out how those things really mesh.

God damn I think it’s awesome.

And kissing him gets better every time I see him. I’m not… used to that? I don’t know. Usually people kiss about how they kiss and I like it how much I like it pretty much from day one. I liked it on day one and I like it more now. It being the kissing, of course. But I dropped a modifier.

It isn’t that I think I’m falling more in love with him. That’s not it. I… I don’t know?

I feel like I don’t know much of anything any more.

It’s 4:30. I can go to bed now.

So we got home right around 2:20. Noah probably told me this around 1:45ish? Closer to 2 maybe cause I think we were at the 92 when he said it.

That’s… pretty good for me. I’ll take it.

I feel lucky. I feel like my life is just about magical.

Well hot damn

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I feel like I really needed to read these two essays on power dynamics and consent. They talk about what you are doing and why and your intentions and… Like, right now I had to hear that. What am I doing?

Two links above. Good stuff. No more typing.

bdsm stuff.

Catharsis

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I need to start getting my thoughts in order to talk about catharsis. I’m sure that what I actually say will vary from what I’m writing about. Such is life.

Because I’m me, let’s start with a definition:

ca·thar·sis

kəˈTHärsəs/

noun

1.

the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

synonyms: emotional release, relief, release, venting; More
2.

MEDICINErare

purgation.

Strong or repressed emotion. I have buckets of that. When I think of catharsis I think of a flood of things all at once. I think about beating my friends until they cry because it is hard to cry on your own. I think of being beaten until I genuinely sob. Not many people have ever done it. I think of being crucified. I think of atonement. I think of freedom from the burden of carrying these emotions forever.

I have two female friends in particular I think about when I think about cathartic scenes. One is my Sarah and another is one I don’t have permission to name. With Sarah a lot of what I work towards is helping her feel ok making noise and taking up space. I do that very deliberately because I have known her for a long time and she has good reasons to make some fucking noise. It’s ok for her to cry about the stuff that is happening and has happened. But that’s a hard thing when you are punished throughout your childhood for having negative feelings.

My other friend had a hard time safewording or really saying no to anything, ever. What is a safeword some of you sweet people ask. A safeword is a word that can end the scene. For most people red stops a scene and yellow means “please check in”. Traditionally speaking safewords can be any significant word or phrase that wouldn’t occur naturally in a scene. In really heavy sm scenes… sometimes a safeword is the difference between a scene and abuse.

So I asked my friend if she wanted to learn how to say no. I hit her for a long time. A really long time. It felt like hours. I was vicious and terrible. The whole time I told her, “I want you to decide when this stops. You have to tell me to stop. You have to defend yourself. You have to know you are worth that.” And on and so forth because fuck I talked for a long time.

Eventually she did crumble and sob and beg me to stop.

I hear she’s done much better with boundaries ever since. I’m glad.

Sometimes you can’t really understand the size and shape of your boundaries until you go all the way to the other side of them so you can get a good look at where they should have been.

I think of a lot of my rape experiences like that. “I should have done ____.”

I didn’t know.

Positive stuff. A few truly stand-out scenes as a bottom. The first crucification was the most intense. When you don’t know what to expect, it is more intense.

Without getting into details about why I told my then boyfriend/top/later Owner that I had a lot of sins I needed to atone for. He joked and said he could crucify me. I said that sounded great.

We built a padded backboard together. Full of hardware and gizmos to make the gearhead happy. I was grateful for all that time in the wood shop learning skills. Yes, I can help you construct equipment. I am a useful tool to have around.

There was obviously a crossbar for my arms. He tied me to the backboard using polyester rope. That was his preference at the time.

I’ve been suspended in a lot of positions. I’ve been suspended by enough people that I think I have a good idea of what the different positions are like. They are all intense in different ways.

The crucification was early in my scene career. I didn’t have much experience then. I was shocked by the breathlessness. That was what made the scene so intense. It hurt, yes, but it was the constriction of my lungs and diaphragm that caused me to see stars and hallucinate and feel like I was talking to dead family members.

I remember feeling a sad benevolence. These people absolutely could not love me while they were alive. The love they feel now is hollow and empty and useless but present. What does it mean? It means they don’t hate me.

It’s ok that I was born. It is ok that I chose my life over theirs. It is ok that I forced retribution on my father for hurting me.

It is just how life goes.

I talked to my boyfriend a little bit about what I felt and experienced. Not long after that he told me he didn’t want to know more about my past. Heh.

I really desperately needed the experiences he gave me. I think he kind of sensed that and couldn’t do it if he knew just how badly I was abused. Especially considering how recent it was when I met him.

I met my future Owner less than a year after my father killed himself.

Now, as a 34 year old that kind of blows my mind. Wow. Less than two years after my father sat in a garage with the motor running and a note saying everything was all my fault… I became a 24/7 slave. Now it was half my life ago.

I didn’t have a normal college experience. I had weird ritualized sm and no alcohol or drugs and I was shoved through doing homework and learning responsibility and household management experience.

He was a parental figure as much or more than a boyfriend. He taught me about loans and interest. He taught me about different levels of protocol and etiquette and appropriate behavior for different settings. It took a while before I was civilized enough to go to work stuff with him.

We spent a lot of god damn time on behavior training. I needed it. I needed to have someone pay attention to me and help me learn those skills just about like ABA therapy.

Do you know what I find funny? Most every boyfriend I’ve ever had is thrilled I married Noah. Because he pays the kind of attention to me none of them ever wanted to pay. They are happy I found that.

I like my life.

Another stand out scene: that scene with the couple in Portland the weekend before Noah asked me to marry him. I love going to Portland. I do so much fucked up shit there.

In that scene it was the first time they had ever co-topped together. It was intense the way they would stop addressing me to focus on one another and talk about what they wanted to do as if I were just kind of a toy then they hurt me fantastically. This is the stand-out most painful scene of my life. He picked me up by my pectoral muscles and shook me like a dog.

That pain made me almost completely lose my mind. It felt like my body was about to be shredded apart. Given that I have previously had the bottom quadrant of my face ripped off by a pit bull, that was an intense experience.

And when I came down to the ground again completely flipping out his partner slapped my face.

I think I collapsed to the floor.

I honestly don’t remember at all what happened after that.

It was a casual pick up scene with folks I barely knew from the rare parties I attended in Seattle.

Why was it cathartic instead of traumatic? Consent. Bitches. There are scenes that once you are in them… there is no way out but through. There are life experiences you must endure that are traumatic even though you want them.

Childbirth comes to mind.

Why did I trust this man to do this to me? He had extensive training by my government on how to torture people. If anyone was going to be able to do it and walk me right to the edge of the line of what I was going to be able to walk away from… it was him.

He did a fabulous job. Good man.

And his partner? God damn. I love a mean woman.

Why was this so positive? Partially because for the whole rest of my life I have an established 11 experience when it comes to pain. Unmedicated childbirth is not the most painful experience of my life. Having my face torn off wasn’t more painful.

Holy fucking shit.

Being in that much pain lets you appreciate all the days you sit at a 6. It’s not so fucking bad.

Would I be so into Noah if I hadn’t had such a shitty life? Probably not. But I am who I am and it is working out pretty well.

Catharsis.

I need to talk about how Noah creates safe space for me. That’s a big deal. That’s kind of the foundation for a lot of the good that has happened.

Noah was ok with me coming out to the garage every morning for months and months and sobbing hysterically. He didn’t react like I was a weirdo and I should stop making him uncomfortable. He said, “Ok. This is where you are right now. What do you want or need from me?”

The process of training him in how to be support has been long and layered, but there is improved trust with every year. That makes everything easier. He does what he says.

Goodness I trust him. The ability to trust someone is… huge.

My cathartic experiences with other people have been primarily one-off releases of emotion in my body. I’m not usually supported before or after. I had a great deal of structural support but just about zero emotional support from my Owner. He had very specific verbal boundaries around this and I really think he behaved ethically.

But I want something different from my forever and it’s ok because I have it.

A lot of my cathartic experiences with Noah have been more gentle and about building connection and intimacy and attachment and trust and care taking and…. It’s different.

And then there are the drug experiences. We’ve had some fucktastically good drug experiences together.

But uhm, that’s not what the show is about.

People are weird.

Masochism

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Maybe I can’t sleep. I woke Noah up for sex (like a nice girl) and that wasn’t enough to make me sleep again.

Masochism has been a very central pillar of my life. The degree to which I submit my will to someone else’s will is much more variable but if you include emotional masochism… I’m always a masochist.

I’m going to sound a little snotty. I don’t mean it that way. I’m trying to figure something out.

Last night it was fascinating being in a triangle between Noah, Deity, and Cupid. I say this because Noah is somewhere between Cupid and Deity in interactions at this point. Realistically I shouldn’t judge Deity’s sadism because I get the impression I’ve just seen the first hints of teeth and I haven’t seen the real thing yet.

But I went from sitting in front of two mean boys who wanted to hurt me to being hit by a sadist.

In the past few months since I’ve shown up at the bar I’ve gotten to relearn I fucking hate pinching. I am having a hard time not slamming my skull into peoples noses as they pinch the shit out of me. It makes me angry. I want to fight back. I’m trying really hard to go along with it because clearly other people are enjoying it.

But it makes me feel hateful and angry.

Sometimes some grabs with a full hand aren’t as irritating… but the small grabs… fuck I feel mean.

It feels like I’m dealing with mean boys again.

This is a weird thing. Because I sure do like mean men. But I feel differently about mean boys.

This is hilarious because I am the youngest of all of these people. So what. It’s an energy thing not a statement about age.

I don’t know why the pinching makes me so mad. I try not to get angry. I try really hard to be pliant. I feel fucking angry.

My brothers pinched me a lot. My father pinched me a lot. You are displeasing. Shut up. No one wants to acknowledge you. Take this reminder that you are not worth actually acknowledging and shut up.

In order to take it I have to go to a fairly dissociated place with regards to feeling it in my body; I have to choose to shut down my fight response and accept.

Noah was asking me questions on the way home. He could read my facial expression during the pinching and backed off. He switched to punching. Yeah, that’s how you can butter my biscuit.

I feel like there is this line between masochism and submission and I’m stumbling on it right now. What is the difference between pain you submit to because it is pleasurable to your partner and pain you submit to because you like it?

I like being punched. I can be punched for hours and I’ll just make appreciative noises. The bruises can be massive. I’ll purr like a cat in between shrieks and bellows and orgasms. I like punching.

Pinching… it takes me right out of headspace. It makes me feel like I need to prepare for a fight. It is intensely triggering to my fight reflex. Which makes submitting to it an interesting challenge.

What bothers me is it never feels like people are challenging me on this incredibly sensitive boundary because they want to have power over me and they want to cause me to work through it. I usually feel like people are pinching me absentmindedly. Like a fiddle toy.

I hate that.

Am I submitting or bottoming? Am I doing this for you or for me?

I don’t know.

It’s like hair pulling. It’s one of those things that people just do because they have this schema around rough sex that it is a mandatory part of things. But if you yank on my hair absentmindedly I will not be able to focus my eyes tomorrow from pain.

My body is in a fair bit of pain under normal operating conditions. I showed up at the bar tonight feeling like I was at a 6. Then I got pinched. Then beaten.

This god damn tile work is killing me. My neck hurts. My back hurts. My arms hurts. And now my ass hurts too. Glorious.

The ass is the only part that’s fun.

How will I be hiding my bruises? Well… I need to develop some habits around dressing in private. Ahem.

I feel like the bruises are coming in harder and faster this time than they did the first time I played with Cupid. Well done.

Noah asked me how I managed to process the hits because they came quick and hard and he’s used to me getting overloaded and shutting everything down.

Instead Cupid hit me hard and quickly and when I collapsed to the floor to squat because it was too much he put his arm around my chest, leaned me back against him, and kept hitting.

My cunt is still throbbing because that was so hot.

I was overloaded but I didn’t feel panicked and I’m not sure why it happened that way. I panicked more and made him back off more at our first date at his house.

I suspect that a hair of it was that I was completely surrounded by people and if it really got out of hand I had help available. It was safer to let it go farther.

I don’t think that was a conscious decision but I think it factors in somewhere.

Where is the line between masochism and submission for me? I felt like part of the reason I could go deeper was because Cupid was managing energy well. He was being aware and barely callous in just the right ways. I’m pretty sure he could tell I was making some noise but not exactly what came from me or what came from the other folks making noise. So he thoughtfully leaned in and let me know that he couldn’t hear very well and he’d be looking for other signals that I couldn’t handle it.

That let him push right through most of my masochist-not-submissive early warning signs. All the “I’m not sure I like this” noise he could just ignore. That’s what I mean by callous. But he did it by being very responsive to physical signals and just… interpreting them how he felt like. He kept going because he read enough yes in my body.

I am so incredibly not upset. I will be spending time in my bunk today thinking about this again. Probably a few times.

It isn’t that I want to distract you with kissing and get you to not beat me. It is that when you intersperse kissing with hurting me I want to give you so much more. Because you are hurting me. Because you are connecting with me.

I was listening to an old episode of the radio show that I’m going on. A woman was expressing her strong preference for not kissing early on.

That was funny to hear just now. I want kissing. I want kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. Don’t fucking hurt me if you aren’t going to kiss me too. If you aren’t going to kiss it better I don’t fucking like you very much.

But I do sometimes play with people who don’t kiss at all. But that’s because they don’t kiss anyone and they know how to connect anyway. We also don’t go as deep or as hard with the play.

WHY IS THIS SO CONFUSING?!

(I’m totally ok with that person not wanting kissing during first time sex. Whatever floats your boat. It was interesting to feel how I feel about that.)

If you want access to my body it starts with my mouth and my mind. Otherwise go fuck yourself.

I don’t think it is that pinching is a hard limit. I think it is that pinching is a serious kind of play for me. It’s a really big mind fuck and I don’t think people understand that in general. Pinching requires some serious fucking submission from me and playing with that idly is… complicated. Like, I need to talk to Daddy about this. He’s a pinchy motherfucker. (Which I’m not mad about.)

But I need to talk to him about this. Words. I need to find words. I want you to understand that when it comes to my body pinching it is a much more serious activity than hitting me with a mallet.

I like the mallet more.

The mallet doesn’t make me feel like I want to take my finger nails and rake them across your face.

I feel mean when I’m pinched. I don’t feel sexy. I don’t feel wanted. I feel angry. Trying to tamp that down and not explode all the fuck over people is an act of conscious, serious will.

We all come from very particular life experiences. I’ve dealt with a lot of mean boys.

I’m trying to figure out what I feel and why. I don’t figure this stuff out very well unless I’m bouncing off of people. I don’t think about why pinching is such a thing because I’ve just managed to mostly scare Noah out of doing it.

Then I go hunting like a fool.

Fucking pinchy bastards are everywhere.

How do I feel about pinching? I feel like I hate you. Just for a few seconds. Just as long as you are pinching me. I get over it. But I have to decide to. That kind of thing takes a toll. How many times I have to decide to stop hating you in a night adds up.

It is a very different kind of submission than accepting that when I resist someone beating me they will just slam me back down on the table so they can keep hitting me. God that was hot. Ok, I’ll relax and just accept that this is happening now.

Ok.

I’m sitting on a very comfy lawn chair. My ass hurts.

Thank you. I’m grinning.

Why are some kinds of pain enjoyable even when I don’t enjoy it. I promise you that I didn’t enjoy most of what Cupid did to me last night. It fucking hurt. But I really liked that he wanted to do that to me. I liked that he wanted to take that enjoyment from me even when it was really hard for me.

Why doesn’t pinching work that way?

It can. With the right set up and frame and acknowledgement that this is a huge trigger you are pushing on.

That’s not how it usually happens though.

Why don’t you pinchy motherfuckers push on a trigger point or something. Much less effort on your part, more pain on my part, less feeling like I want to rip your fucking face off.

Everybody wins.

Somehow I think that an incredibly small fraction of the pinchy motherfuckers will listen to me. That’s both why I date them and why I hate them.

Fuck.

IT WOULD BE OK IF YOU ACTED LIKE THIS WAS A BIG THING. IT WOULDN’T MAKE YOU LESS DOMLY OR SOME SHIT.

It isn’t that I have a problem with mean people hurting me in this way if it is done right. It is that it is hard to do right and most people won’t bother.

That’s a thing.

Being picky sucks.

And then when we got home Noah put his cock in me and it hurt like I was being fucked with a knife. I stopped the sex. No. Just… no. Actually, I’ve been fucked with a knife and it didn’t hurt that bad. The person wasn’t trying to puncture my uterus.

I have no idea what was going on. I woke him up for sex this morning and it wasn’t orgasmic for me, but it didn’t hurt. I think I was so afraid of it hurting that I wasn’t really going to relax that time. But I wanted sex anyway.

I wanted sex specifically so I could talk to Noah about how much I like him and want him and need him. He is being ridiculously supportive as I’m being kind of a pain in the ass. It makes him happy when I demonstrate my gratitude with frantic, clutching sex where I talk the whole time about why he is important to me.

Noah is kinda my world. I need him to feel that or I’m doing something wrong. His primary way to feel loved is to have sex. Not just have sex, I need you sex.

But who doesn’t want that?

I’m just glad he is amused that I enjoy kissing other people so much. I’m glad he is interested in watching other people hit me because he learns more about me as a creature to be studied. I’m so fucking glad that Noah spends this much time wanting to look at me.

He’s been doing a lot more writing for me lately. I like that. I like that so much. He’s been writing scene reports so he can learn from them. He’s been writing about his insecurities and that’s letting us talk about what we want in the future from an unequal power dynamic. The day he proposed to me he told me he wanted me to be his wife and his slave. I said I could do that but it would take a very long time to get to the slave part.

It… was mixed last time and I don’t want to have to walk away from our relationship because that part crashes and burns.

So Noah appreciates chances to watch me interact with other people because he sees how I react to things without his own internal filtering going on. We can talk about why I leaned in to some things and why I grimaced at other times.

Noah wants to look at me. Noah wants me to do whatever the fuck I want just so he can watch.

I love you Noah. Even if you are a mean boy sometimes.

Thank you thank you thank you everyone. Thank you for giving me these opportunities to learn more about myself. I am grateful.

My arms. My arms. Oh my arms. Must stop.

Catharsis, healing, wanting

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On Monday I’m going to go be on a radio program. Radio Valencia. Sex Cels is the program. 10pm-12pm. I was asked to talk about catharsis and healing.

Last night I went to the wet munch with Noah for his first trip. Deity went for his first time. I played with Cupid. Other folks were around and I waved and kissed a few more people.

My butt hurts.

I’m thinking about what it means to process pain. What does it mean to take something for someone? What do I like? What am I doing for me?

When Cupid was beating me we had some banter around kissing. He said he felt kind of uncomfortable because if he kisses me he wants to fuck me and we are in a crowded bar and my husband was there.

That was funny.

I grabbed his head and kissed him. Whoops too hard and we slammed teeth and I hurt him. Snort. Well, no one is perfect. I did better on the other kisses. (I hope.)

I appreciate how willing everyone in my life is to share. No one is even slightly obnoxious about me reaching out a free hand to yet another person. I also appreciate how many silly jokes were dropped into my comments. That made me smile.

Yay.

My fancy tights from New York got ripped up. Good thing they are just clothes and they don’t matter. I was having fun grinding my ass on Cupid’s crotch. Friendly fire casualty. It happens.

I don’t have the hand spoons to type about my masochism right now. Which is a shame. I want to figure this out, but ow.

I handle different kinds of pain from different kinds of people with different degrees of acceptance or resistance. Why can Cupid hit me like that and I get upset with Noah? I don’t know yet.

But I’m going to think about it.

Want to be something different

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I’m kind of a weird person. I both love being the center of attention and hate it with a fiery passion. Tonight many of my men will be in one room. I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude that my friend will be there and I can shove a bunch of attention in her direction. She’s already one of Noah’s play partners and… quite frankly… if I could play matchmaker with her and Deity it would be hilarious and wonderful to the end of time.

Age appropriate! Live super near each other! Single! Poly! Kinky! Wants kids!

I’m like a dating service. In another venue someone else I was talking to referenced this other couple and I managed to refrain from saying, “Yeah I set them up.”

I like hooking people up. I can’t have everyone. I want everyone to be loved and happy. Let’s find you someone better than me.

Strangely, this is the part of poly I do the best. I want the people I like to be happy with other people because good golly I don’t have enough time free to center you. You should be centered. You are wonderful.

If it means you move on from me and are no longer a partner, I’ll just barely sigh a few times. Mostly I’m going to be so happy for you.

It’s ok. I won’t pine away. Ain’t happened yet and unlikely to start now. I’d love to visit though.

I feel like I am doing both a good job and a bad job of keeping in touch lately with people. I’m renewing a bunch of old connections and I’m letting some younger ones sit and wait. Maybe they will be worth coming back to? I don’t know.

Right now I’m feeling pretty fantastically good about staring into the eyes of someone who has loved me for fifteen years. I like that. I feel appreciated.

I don’t know what I want. But I’m enjoying feeling adored. I’m enjoying how often folks are telling me that I’m a good girl.

Deity suggested that he should coordinate with Noah on some protocol to keep me behaving “good”. Noah suggested that standing right in front of the two of them is not when I’ll be a problem.

I guess that decade of marriage was educational.

On one hand it feels intensely transgressively hot that Deity is speculating about coordinating with Noah about controlling me. On the other hand, in the community I grew up in you don’t do that much shared protocol and it is just kinda taboo. Thus it feeling transgressive.

Relationships are very rarely more complicated than a dyad. Doesn’t matter how poly you are. Rules are between two people unless they are general for a house. It’s rare to see two dominants coordinating to control a submissive. (I know of Leather Families where that happens but I’ve never been even a little bit close with them.) Co-topping happens… but that’s different.

I think I’m getting closer to the time when I’ll be able to write Part 2. I feel like hanging out with that crowd again, and seeing how different it is is helping me understand the educational environment I had on offer from 18-23.

I think there is a big difference between being sorry I did something and being sorry something happened to me.

Michael in Texas. My first non-family rapist. I’m not sorry I befriended him. I’m not sorry I spent time with him. I’m sorry he raped me. I’m sorry I hurt Anna by screaming at her that she is killing herself and she needs to get a new dream. That was wrong. That was so fucking wrong.

Even if I was right.

There are things you shouldn’t do.

I’ve been poking around on Fetlife reading older pieces of writing from folks I respect. I was… directly called on something I did even though the person didn’t know they were talking to me. I haven’t done it a lot but I’ve done it and I needed to be called on that behavior. I was wrong and I need to stop.

I repeated a joke that involved racial elements. I shouldn’t have. I was wrong. It was bigoted, inappropriate, appropriative, and I violated the trust placed in me by the person who shared the joke with me.

Oh fuck. I didn’t do it many times. I didn’t make it casual. I picked who heard the joke carefully. I was 100% wrong anyway. I shouldn’t have repeated it once.

I am sad that I continue to need these smacks in the face to remind me of boundaries. I am so grateful that the universe puts these things out there where I can run into it of my own free will because I need it.

I am white. That needs to color my choices about my behavior. I need to choose limits so that I am not one more white bitch. I can’t ever do anything and just be off that hook forever. I need to choose and choose and choose again. I need to act right in every situation or… I’m just one more white bitch.

Because that is how reality works. I don’t get to do the right thing once or twice and call it good. Nope.

I… fucked up. Shit. Well… let this be a lesson to me. See, we never stop fucking up.

Hopefully I won’t ever make this same mistake again.

I need to grow past this yucky part of my personality.

I’m not good at jokes. I don’t have great timing. I don’t remember them very well. I only remember a handful well enough to tell. Unfortunately some of the race based ones stick in my memory a little too well.

That’s not a good enough excuse. It doesn’t matter that I will have to deal with a little more social awkwardness for not having a joke to exchange. I can go back to my dead pan, “I’ve yet to hear jokes that aren’t degrading so I’m opting out.”

Except our favorite: Why can’t a bicycle stand up by itself?

Because it is two tired.

I can learn to be ok with that being the one joke I get in this lifetime.

I’m really sorry. That doesn’t mean anything but it is true. I need to do better on this one.

I’m not always good at looking before I step. So I hit toes. Even in areas where I should god damn know better without having to be specifically told.

Fuck.

Unthinking rude bitch.

I’m not looking for forgiveness or exoneration. I’m too old to put this kind of burden down. If I stop carrying the guilt for my wrong actions I will err again. I need to be done with this mistake.

If a joke is not yours don’t tell it.

I think I understand “appropriate” just a hair more. (As in stealing culture–not as in being correct.)

I think the difference between guilt and shame is: guilt is knowing I fucked up and trying to learn from it and not repeat that mistake and shame is hiding at home because I’m afraid my friend will be mad at me.

I don’t need shame here. I’m not going to hide from this fuck up. I did it. I was a fucking asshole. I’m sorry. I’m going to keep walking though. This is not an end-your-life-mistake.

It’s just a fuck up.

How many fuck ups should be forgiven?

No one ever ever ever ever gets to define that for you. You decide how many fuck ups you want to forgive.

It is an inalienable right–how much forgiveness we have on offer. No one can tell me I have to forgive my family. I don’t. No one can tell me I have to forgive my rapists. I don’t.

I don’t have to forgive people who tell rape jokes in front of me.

My friend doesn’t need to be my friend if they feel I am a racist bigot.

All’s fair in love and war.

We get to pick our friends.

I don’t know how in the hell I lost this lesson. I feel like this is one I should have deeply ingrained long before now. How in the hell did I get casual about this boundary? It is so disrespectful. I wasn’t thinking.

I’ve been told to my face that I don’t have the right to tell redneck jokes. I’m not really a redneck.

I… think I should give up on jokes. I’m not going to be that kind of funny this lifetime. Instead I’ll just hit you in the brick with a juxtaposition that makes you cringe. I’m not funny. I’m something different.

You have to work with what you’ve got.

I want to be less of a fucking asshole.

I can be funny in pointing out how ridiculous life is. But I suck at jokes. It’s a thing.

Ok. I should stop typing. Ow. Today a friend comes over with her small to help with tile de-backing. I should work on the tree then. Ow.

Stop typing.

A “lazy” day.

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How come my lazy days involve many hours of work? And driving for 50 miles. And running a bunch of errands. Lazy always means “I didn’t do this one job (tiling) today.”

Laundry. Babysitting in the morning. Running errands. Driving 50 miles. Dishes.

I… think I’m going to manage to sleep well tonight. *flop* Good. I’m going to a munch tomorrow. Noah is going for the first time. Deity is going for the first time. Cupid is a regular. I have lots of friends there.

Oh this should be fun. I will… go to bed reasonably tonight. Like, whoa. Like take night pills part way through Krav class early because I need sleep.

Krav makes it hard to sleep. I kinda hate the night class portion of it.

Yeah. “Lazy” day.

No wonder my elbows hurt.

I am also on day 30 of my cycle. I’m at the “joints exploding with burning pain” portion of the month.

Hey bleeding. Start now. Then maybe you’ll finish before my date next Wednesday. That’d be awesome-sauce.

(Haven’t started yet.)

Stop typing.

Suicidality x-post

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This is a big hot button for me. I’ve been suicidal for most of my life. Given that the rapes started before I was 2 and I was cutting by 7 that isn’t surprising.

I have been somewhere “around” the bdsm community for going on 16 years. I go away and do other things sometimes but then I come back and my friends are still here.

Sometimes I see people I respect post things about how suicidal people don’t belong in play spaces. That’s why I used to not tell people about my problems very much. Because if I told people how dysregulated and distressed I was… I would be told to leave.

I would be told that I am too broken to deserve connection.

So mostly I lied for a long time. I didn’t tell people how much I hated myself. I didn’t tell people that often going to a dungeon or picking up random sex was what I did as harm reduction instead of killing myself.

It really isn’t the worst coping method.

I say all this from the strange security of not feeling suicidal. I’m 34. My life has finally progressed to the point where I feel more joy than pain.

I got here partially because a whole lot of weird people took me in even though I was a flailing, obnoxious, difficult child. Thank you.

Thank you for tolerating me through my mental illness, boundary issues, and attempts to grow up. I’m at a point where I now believe it is possible that I will finish growing up someday even though I’m not there yet.

I feel hope.

I no longer ask for beatings because I want to get through tonight. I ask for beatings because the week or two afterwards are so awesome. I want the chemical journey not the momentary distraction.

That feels significant.

Post therapy–I still think I’m funny.

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I managed to do a good job of convincing my shrink that Deity is not the scary looming problem she is convinced he is and I managed to raise her threat level with regards to my submissive. That seemed… prudent?

“You don’t seem to understand that one of these men is professing undying love that will last decades. The other wants to fuck me. Which one are you freaking out about?”

She reconsidered after that.

I knew it would just take finding the right words.

I’m not saying I’m flipped out about my submissive. I just… sometimes feel bothered when my shrink just can’t perceive something accurately.

After a while of me rattling off “This person this that person this other thing that person over there was on quite a roll and…”

She stopped me and said, “How is it possible you know all of these people? How do you keep them straight in your head?”

I said, “Oh, you just don’t know how to compartmentalize them properly” (which is something she’s been telling me to work on–compartmentalization) and she laughed.

I felt funny yesterday. That’s not an every day experience. Normally… I’m kinda the opposite of funny. I suck the funny out of a room. But yesterday I made her laugh several times.

We are both excited that I’ve managed to get myself up off the floor before I start med trials. *cry*

Med trials is a phrase that makes me queasy. This has never gone well. I mean, I did get to Lorazepam and pot. Those have helped. But ugh. You know how I’ve been complaining about sleep dep for years? Nothing has ever been worse than Paxil. Awake for 14 days straight. I thought I would die. I… don’t want to get into the complications. They suck.

I’m nervous but I need to do this. My lungs need a break.

Harm reduction. It’s a thing.

I’ve been having mixed feelings (shiny change of topic) about cruise stuff for a long time. That’s gotten easier. K’s family deciding to come was apparently huge. I didn’t know I was hoping for that? I thought they were a no? I’m so excited I get to help my Bonus Kids go on this trip. This is going to be a blast.

The not my immediate family wedding party just about doubled from 5 to 9. I feel actually outnumbered by guests.

She told me, “I would spend the rest of my life regretting not going with you. We’re going.”

That made my heart soar.

I feel consumed with gratitude. You would regret not being with me. Oh. Thank you.

Ok no more time for typing.

Tired but satisfied.

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I think I finished the facing wall for the shower. Now I can concentrate on the tree for a bit. My hands huuuuuuuuuuurt. I made a waterfall!

Today I need to call my lawyer and talk about what to do with the remodeling company. Ugh. Decision time. I have at least two months of work left once they start. We may not have a spring party. Ugh.

What I wouldn’t give for an hour a day of massage.

Noah has a spiffy date coming up! Woo! I hope they both have fun. Yay.

I feel a little bad being like, “Oh you want to go on a date with her? Well of course you do she is hotter than the sun” because then I feel like I’m objectifying her. And that’s not nice. But she is that hot. Is it objectifying to notice? I mean, we also like her because of her personality. She is in our lives because of her personality. But we notice the hotness too. Is that wrong?

Hot hot hot hot hot.

Today I have a therapy phone call, tile, and Bonus Kids. I can do it.

Maybe… a nap. I stayed up too late finishing a wall. But it’s done and I can work on tree.

This tree is going to be the center piece of the bathroom. It’s huge and fucking intense. It is tall and wide and all the colors and shiny and pretty and…

Oh I love this tree. And there will be a golden vine growing up the side. And a sapling nearby and water in the background and…

When did I become this?

Thank you Noah.

Body update

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I haven’t been subjecting you poor people to hearing about my bowels lately. Blacksheep asked so I’ll catch you up.

I seem to have mostly cleared out the parasites. According to the woo doctor. She tests this with frequency shit so uhhh yeah.

She says she’s impressed with how well my gall bladder cleared out. She says usually folks spend six months or more doing that. I said, “Yeah I ain’t doing that.” She looked at the screen and said, “Yeah there would be no reason to.”

At this point there are still things she wants to work on and there is still a bunch of pills to go. But not in a big rush and not like before. I’m not doing tons. I can take it slow.

Ok, to be graphic about the poop now… it’s… shockingly normal.

I poop two or three times a day. I think I still tend towards looseness the day or three around the start of my period. They are solid enough that I feel weird about it. My abdomen is frequently kind of uncomfortable because it isn’t sure how it feels about all this solid stuff hanging around so long.

I would say my energy has doubled or tripled compared to where it was when I came back from the road trip. I’m sleeping better (thank you Lorazepam) and I’m getting more energy from folks in my life (thanks folks).

My body is feeling… all over the map in terms of pain. Typing, tile, intermittent exercise with intermittent stretching is…

I need to get more systematized around this.

I know.

Ugh finish remodel. Ugh.

But if you spend your whole life waiting to get started on the most important supportive pieces?

Shit.

I hope Noah gets this job. That would make a whole bunch of things easier and more fun. *cross fingers*

If I could stop reaching out to my friends on the internet my body would improve. Whatevs.

You pay the piper for the life you choose. That’s just how it goes.

Love is infinite. Time is limited like a motherfucker.

4 Replies

Noah and I spent time working on the calendar this weekend.

I’m not seeing Cupid till June. May is just busy. That’s a bummer and yet… probably good on the balance? I’ll see him again. It may not be as frequent as I want, but I’m a big girl and I can be patient for an excellent good time like I’ll have when I see him again.

I have a Daddy date in May since he asked for one. That makes my heart jump. Usually he waits till I call him. We go months… almost a year between seeing one another sometimes. It goes on my timetable. This time he asked. Oh. I like that. Thank you.

I have a dinner date scheduled with my submissive for May. And I’ll see him at a party in May. That’s… probably a sustainable sort of rate. That’s not excessive.

Noah and I have carefully put dates on the calendar. Multiple in each week. Because I need to pay attention to him and act like he is my forever. If you have a fucktastically good deal… don’t fuck it up. Just… don’t. Be smart. Be long-term self-interested.

The professor told me with great emphasis that I do not know what he wants and he’s right. I don’t. But I haven’t gotten strong “Come here” signals either so… I love you. I’m so glad I get to be your friend. I don’t have enough chase in me for play. Once upon a time ambiguous was appealing, not right now. So I have no idea how much interest was there, but I know I haven’t been told “Come here”. So. I will redirect away from trying to change this relationship. Boundaries are awesome.

I have… told other tentative flirtations that I need to not add a new partner for a while. I feel that is responsible right now.

I think we are going to change the quota. It’s not working as is. We are talking about what it will morph into. It has worked for many years and I’m not sorry. I’m ready for something different.

I need to change the associations I have in my sex life.

Then we come to Deity.

(Isn’t it funny how I capitalize when using it as a name and I lowercase after an article like they are common deities or professors?)

Ahem.

Instead of talking about him in the third person I asked him how many dates he wanted. He said three. I felt my little heart go pitter patter. That’s… a lot but sane. Oh thank you. That’s like… awesome boundaries. Thank you. Three was probably the sweet spot for a lot but not inappropriate? It’s a lot. I know.

I feel weird and guilty and I’m going to feel weird for years over my submissive not getting the lion’s share of my extra time. There are a few reasons that is going to be hard and complicated. There are a number of factors involved here… not all of them I’ve put on the internet. So I’m just talking to myself.

It is easier to not wreck my life over wanting to see my submissive. He’ll be there when my kids grow up. If I don’t hurry up and see him all the time now… I’ll still have lots of bandwidth to be seeing him in many years. I… don’t feel that kind of assurance about Deity.

I trust my submissive to still be there almost as much as I trust Noah. Which… is kind of strange to realize. When I look around at the people in my life, the people I love… I spend a lot of time wondering who will still love me in 10, 20, 30, 40 years.

My submissive has already been around for fifteen years. He’s going to stick around. I can see the shape of his life. I can see the fault lines of his need. He won’t leave unless I’m truly awful and I have no intentions of abusing the gift I have been given. I appreciate the gift I’m being given.

Will I keep Jenny? What about Sarah? What about Kira? Pam? Daddy? What about any of the people I met through the home school community? What about the people I know in that community? What about Blacksheep? What about DSH?

I thought I would know Brittney forever. Alex. Chris. Marcie. Anna.

I love you still. Some of you can’t come back and some of you can. For some of you I screwed up beyond forgiveness. Some of you crossed my boundaries so badly I will not be inviting you back. Life is like that.

I have room in my schedule in April and May for playdates with children during the day. My date-time is filled, much of it with Noah and the kids. I need to keep my eye on the prize. This family is my lifelong goal. I need to preserve that. I will have tons more time to fuck around and play in ten or fifteen years even if things are as enmeshed and lovey-dovey as possible with Noah and my kids. If I hold the ship together and keep my priorities in line.

Ok, I can be smart.

I have gotten through almost ten years of this marriage so far. Noah is being incredibly flexible and supportive about how I can get through the next ten years. I should be gracious as I accept his leniency.

How many people would be happy about me picking up three regular-ish lovers overnight from nothing? The list is short. Be grateful. Be appreciative.

And holy tomato is he fucking me six ways from Sunday. I don’t feel disapproved of. I feel like Noah is thrilled to be married to me. Which is so nice because I’m thrilled to be married to him.

A lot of what I love about our marriage is how real it is. We don’t pretend for each other. We talk about the various ways we need to be selfish assholes. We are supportive of one another doing what we need to do to be properly selfish. That’s how we will make it through the long-run. If we both encourage one another to figure out what we need.

You can’t do that if you are always too worried about rocking the boat. You can only stretch your wings properly if you know you have a safe place to land.

I have a thing for mixing metaphors lately.

Trite! Predictable! Other people have had every thought already! Yeah… I know. That’s the thing about writers. We take words other people have used and we recycle them. Such is life.

I am feeling… ridiculously happy right now. I’m going to have a two week window where I gasp don’t have a date outside my house and… that’s… feeling really ok. I’m not bored. I’m not dissatisfied. I’m good. My bruises are healed but I don’t feel the need to replace them now. I’m ok.

Ok, I did ask Noah to cane me yesterday. But it was only a little switching. Not hard enough to cause me to make noise. So it barely counts. It was perfect though.

I like the way Noah’s face lights up when I ask him to do things. Any thing. Even after almost twelve years of knowing each other. “Me? You want me to do that with you?! YES! THAT SOUNDS GREAT!” He’s not subtle.

I love my subtle-as-a-brick-through-your-window-husband. We match.

Noah performs delight-with-me. Because I like it. Because it makes me happy and helps me feel secure. He does consciously work at it. He has changed in his displays over time and at this point he has just about exactly nailed my preferences. I feel so lucky to be loved this way. He looks at me. He has stared at me so long. He knows what I want in such intricate detail. He thinks about me.

I want to do the same for him. He is harder to know. He doesn’t volunteer as much. I have to probe harder. I have to snoop into the rare times he writes down his private thoughts so I can say, “Oooooh. Now I get it.” I’m not sorry, not even a little. I want to know Noah. I want to know him inside and out, the good and the bad.

Noah can be a right son of a bitch. But he’s mine. I can live with that. I am a complete fucking asshole pretty regularly and he loves me to distraction.

Noah has supported me through the most incredible journey. Everything I’ve wanted to do in the last ten years the answer has been, “Ok how will we make that work?” The answer has never been “No.”

That’s…

That’s fucking amazing.

Ok I’m sure there have been no’s in there. But they’ve been small and easy to forget.

I think he’s told me no for sex maybe six times in our marriage? I’m probably up to turning him down ten or so specific times? (Pregnancy sucked. Sometimes I turned sex down. Healing from birth sucked. I refused sex for months.)

We don’t like saying no to sex requests.

Money is complicated. I feel he maybe should tell me no on money more often but he doesn’t. As a result our debt is currently intense (it was planned for in advance… then I bought way more tile than I expected) but I’ll pay it off fast.

I feel guilty not increasing his wealth. If I’m going to be an expensive pet I need to earn my keep. I need to make it worthwhile to keep me around. If I’m going to be expensive I need to pay that back with wise investing of money every single month. I am trying.

When I feel guilty I go look at the fact that the investment stuff I started a few years after having kids is up to over $65,000. I am investing money and I’m doing ok.

That is my attempt to make sure my kids and Noah are taken care of long-term. It’s not close to the bulk of our investments. Those predate me or are 401ks from Noah’s jobs. Those are much larger.

But I am helping.

I am not just a drain. I am not just stealing to be selfish.

When I think about what I want to get done over the next few years financially… I kinda sweat. I have such big goals.

Guess what, motherfucker? I’m going to reach them. I’m going to find a way.

I mean, some of these goals are going to change. The kids are saying a year of travel is just too hard and they don’t want it. (We’ll keep talking. They don’t understand I mean four long-term locations with a couple of shorter week or two trips in between long stays. Not the constant travel of the road trip. We are talking. 2021 is still far away.)

So much to do and so little time.

Life is so big. There is so much I wish I could take in and there just isn’t enough time.

It occurs to me sometimes that I could probably take more in if I could forget more of my past. And then I listen to songs like this on repeat. For days.

I don’t regret my life. I don’t want to forget it. Not the good parts and not the bad parts. I wouldn’t be who I am without all of those pieces.

What does broken mean?

I’m feeling… freaktastically good. Not manic good, even though it is the middle of the night and I’m not asleep. That’s… that fact that I have 6 nights of sleeping pills left and 11 nights to get through.

I am strangely excited about this psychiatrist visit. I’m ready to try something else. My attitude is in the right place.

Let’s see if we can slash my medical expenses. Ha. Pot is expensive.

Can we make it easier to travel?

We’ll see.

I am starting out from a place of feeling pretty happy, not sad and desperate. That increases the likelihood of success. I need help staying up, not helping getting off the floor. That’s a different experience.

I dragged myself off the floor. With the help of my friends and time and gradual building of connections. And money. So much money.

As I’m thinking about nonmonogamy and how I feel about it. I reflect on the messages I got as a child. Stuff like this. I’m not a homewrecker. I want you to have a happy home. Ahem. And I’m supposed to want to beat women off of Noah? Uhm. How about if I just leave the room till you are done and then we can have snacks afterwards? Is that ok?

I don’t hate you. I don’t think you are going to wreck my home.

Do you know what would wreck my home? Me acting like a giant bitch.

Let’s be real here, motherfucker.

Noah can handle a lot of insecure and scared and sad. He can’t handle me being mean to him. He got enough of that with his mom and I think that’s just fucking fine. I don’t need to be mean to him.

I’m supposed to be really sad at the idea of sleeping with other people. But then I think “It’s been just over three days since my date with Deity and my throat is no longer actively sore… yeah I’ll handle the three dates in eleven days in May.”

But but… my sleeping around is more like this. I already have my degree. I’m doing this to have a connection with new ways of thinking outside my family. But I don’t want to go.

Reba was the first three concerts I went to. She has been formative on my life. I’m not sure she means to encourage me to be a big slut but I’m not sure she’d care either. She divorced her first husband after ten years. Her second husband left her after twenty-six years. I hope she’d tell me to do what I need to do to be happy.

Also: I bought pants from her clothing label. Please be ok with me, Reba. I’m loyal. I’ve loved you all my life. You give me reasons to think about what I want.

Would I do it the same as I did back then? No. I do it different now.

“I don’t need any more accidents in my life.”

You know… something like 1/2 of all children are “accidents”. That’s a fucking loaded line in that song.

I’ve had four planned pregnancies. Two that didn’t complete. It’s interesting thinking about what it means to be adapting to accidents and choices in life. What kind of grace do you need to handle different life events?

“I learned more from the stains than I learned from the paper.”

Life is like that.

The way you handle the things that just come up decide who you are.

Noah says I’m a lot nicer than I used to be. I’m not getting upset at small bumps the way I used to. I’ll say, “Oh that sucks. Ok.”

You made me a lot safer. I don’t feel threatened. I don’t feel insecure. I don’t feel like I’m going to be homeless or hungry any minute. I have a lot more nice to offer. I feel nice. I feel happy.

Reba reminds me that I need to make things work or I won’t like the results.

This came after I was an adult, but it was a remake of a song that came out when I was younger. I think of my family. I used to think of my mom. Now I think of my kids. But I didn’t learn to play it safe. I learned to jump into any pit of vipers because it would be better than where I was starting. Now I am trying to consciously learn how to stay safe because I have learned what it feels like. My heart has been put back together piece by piece. I need to stay safe because my kids don’t need to experience me being traumatized. It feels like a lot of pressure. I can’t come home and flip out. I just can’t.

This song is why I left so many other partners. That’s why Noah talks to me. Noah does show me what I mean to him. I need a lot of display of emotion. Noah has learned quite a bit of that over the years. I’m frankly impressed. He has listened to feedback and changed. I’m a feral cat. I stay if I have a good deal. I have such a good deal.

I gotta say Reba, I think I do better than you at some of these topics. We had a good chat with the kids this weekend about pornography. What it is, why it exists, why it isn’t sex and how to think about it as a thing that is neither good or bad as itself.

I mean… it was simplistic and not graduate school discussion. Solo sex is awesome sex. It isn’t training for sex with a partner it is to be enjoyed for it’s own sake. Porn is often part of that for many people. At this point in time… you can’t act like folks don’t use porn. You need to teach them how to do it in a way that is respectful.

And I won’t have trouble with kids who are partying. “Baby I can forgive you for anything. I love you. Thank you for trusting me enough to call.” I will never do what my sister did and hang up on a teenager who calls saying “I’m at a party with drugs and I’m scared.”

That’ll be easy.

Eldest Child is in a cute phase. When we ask her if she did something she says, “Yes. That’s true. I do not want to tell a lie. I did that.”

I will earn her trust by reacting well hundreds of times to little shit. Then when big stuff happens… I will have a full trust bucket.

I love this job.

I like this one. I may be nostalgic about all the people who didn’t want me the way I wanted them. But I fucking love where I am. (Ok the dancing in that video is just more proof that white people can’t dance. Whoa.) Puppy told me that he wanted to break up with me because I would spend my whole life bitter and angry and vengeful.

Guess he should ask for his money back on his Magic 8 Ball.

On the shallow front, it occurs to me that a fun bathing suit would be really awesome on the cruise. Some folks are campaigning for a two piece but I like this one and this one. Opinions? It isn’t that I dislike my midriff. It’s that I don’t see any options that make me go “Yeah that’s me.”

I think waiting until 12:30am on Monday to start typing is like my subconscious’ way of saying “I sorta did what I tried to do.”

Can I go back to sleep yet?

I spend so much time feeling so shitty. I’m feeling… really good.

I had help this weekend on the mosaic. It was a regular work party. It felt so good. I had so much fun. Thank you friends. And I should sleep cause I’m picking one of them up again later today for more help. (She needs to be out of her house for fumigation reasons. Yay me!) And another friend is helping later this week. This project may actually get done this month. Ha.

This is good and bad. If I finish… before they are getting close to tiling in the bathroom… I’m totally going to paint the kitchen ceiling. I have mixed feelings about that right now. It is bugging me so much that it looks bad. And I can’t keep remodeling shit this year. So it is get it done before the end of the bathroom or don’t do it.

I’m trying to have some boundaries.

So yeah. “Can have playdates” means people can come over while I remodel my house. Cause I’m fun like that. Hi. Uhhh… at least it is artistic?

Yeah. That just makes it slower.

Although… no… I won’t make that dig. Ahem.

The canopy of the autumn tree is gold and green and red and orange and purple. Blue shines through for sky to help shape the branches. It’s beautiful and I’m proud of it. I have posted some pictures on twitter.

Ok Reba. I’ll look at people. But I won’t stop at one. Oh. That’s not what you meant? Oh well.

Noah reminds me that I should go back to bed. He’s probably all responsible and such.

Promiscuity and permission

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I had a thought. And even though I’m trying not to type much this weekend I want to write this down.

The difference between me doing what I’m going to do and feeling good about myself and me doing what i’m going to do and feeling bad about myself… is mostly about how I’m perceived.

I’ve been a big slut chasing sex since I was in preschool. Rampant promiscuity is part of my life.

This time… I’m coming home to a safe home. With a partner who grins at me and who wants to hear every filthy detail. He’s concerned about my safety and my rate of adding partners. He’s concerned about me stepping outside my carefully vetted pool because in the past that has been a mixed bag for me.

He’s not telling me to stop fucking my friends.

He’s not sure what he wants and that is a slow process we are talking about a lot together. He’s not entirely sure what he thinks will be sustainable in terms of my behavior but we are talking.

There is no shame.

I need to say that again because it is so important: There is no shame.

There are uncomfortable feelings. There is a tinge of sadness on both or parts. We wanted the fantasy of monogamy. We liked it. We wanted it to work.

It didn’t work well for us. We are going back to stuff that has worked well for us.

But we are doing it from a framework of a very happy and supportive marriage. We like each other. It is a little weird going back to dating from the point of view that I’m blissfully happy at home and I love my marriage… I just do better with a variety of sex partners in my life. I like bouncing off of people.

It really helps that since I started fucking around Noah is inspired and he’s been fucking me more and better than he has since the first year of marriage. We are getting close to our pre-kids sex life.

Which is fucking awesome.

We are getting back to the sex life we had when I was dating Spot and…. I can’t remember who else. It’s embarrassing how bad I am at remembering who I dated when. I can remember that I dated someone, but I need to really think about it to figure out which period of my life. (Actually… it may have been just Spot and Noah because I was teaching. I was real busy then.)

“Which slut period did you overlap?”

But I remember Spot. He’s one of the few who made it to 9 months. I liked Spot a lot. He was… a nice break from the assholes I had been dating. Ultimately he was too nice for me and that’s ok too. I’m one of those terrible people who likes assholes.

I need you to have brick wall boundaries because I am going to throw myself at them. I don’t want them to collapse. Usually only assholes can do that. Assholes know “I go out this far and this is where I stop. Get the fuck off my wall.”

But this is what I was thinking about this morning. Permission. Noah gives me permission to exist in a way no one else ever has. I’m not sure it would have occurred to anyone else. I’m not sure anyone else would look at me and think, “Oh there’s a person quaking with fear because no one has given her permission to act how she wants to act.”

Snicker.

But it’s true. I do. I do what I’m going to do anyway. The difference is whether I feel ashamed of myself afterwards for acting in a way I think I’m not supposed to act or whether I feel fine because I was told I am fine.

Noah does that.

Noah gives me that.

He tells me I am fine.

Keep trying

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How am I doing? I’ve been asked by… six or seven people so far? Most of whom genuinely want to know.

It’s a good day. Given how fast I peel tile off of backing and how fast other people peel tile off of backing… I’m glad I did four hours of work today and I’m glad I only left the size of pile I left for my friends. If for some reason they finish (I doubt it) I can ask for help with taping. There’s work to do. I always have work for willing hands.

And now I have no excuse to avoid doing more layout at every spare minute. Sigh. I did about four hours of tile work today.

Lots of back and forth with lawyer and contractor. Festivities continue.

Medical appointment. I was very limited in what I want to pay for so I walked out with very little stuff. Ha. She says I’m doing surprisingly better. She hinted at but didn’t actually share stories from her hypersexual days. Ahhh. A friend.

“Why are you looking so happy?”

Well let me tell you about last night. And the night before. And the night before. And the night before. And the night before that.

Like, whoa.

It has been a good month.

Like, Noah and I have had sex more times than there have been days in this month. And we’ve missed days. It’s a good month.

I mean, my throat is extra sore and that’s all about Deity but I felt no need to be that specific with any of the folks who were asking me how I was. Even I have limits. Barely.

Sex is such a funny thing. What does it mean? What is it worth? Why do some people want some parts of sex and not others? What is sex?

I’ll tell you. In my considered personal experience sex can be an awful lot of things. It doesn’t always look how you think it looks.

I’m kinda boring. I really like a good long missionary fuck. I have friends who just aren’t interested in going there. I like it.

We all get to have preferences. I like lots of other things too, but it is important to understand yourself. It all comes back to wanting to watch someones eyes for me. Yes it is intimate. Yes it involves kissing.

Doesn’t that freak my spouse out?

I think people are wonderful and adorable and cute in how they express their boundaries.

Sport fucking is fine. WHY ARE YOU KISSING PEOPLE?!

I love the people in my life. Oh my goodness.

I kiss people for the same reason I want them to alternate telling me I’m a good girl with calling me a whore. I want them to be thinking about how weird I am and connecting with me.

Because I really kinda want to be both. It’s complicated. I’m not sure I know how to explain. I know that the whore thing will continue to be a problem because it is complicated reclaiming words. How can you deal with parts of your identity?

I’ve never been a for-pay sex worker. I’ve been called a whore a lot anyway. So what does that mean? It means people don’t pay attention to what words mean when they use them. It means that psychology doesn’t care what my IRS statements list as my job.

My cunt knows that for a lot of my adult life I’ve had explicit written or verbal agreements with my providers that I was to trade sex for housing/support/etc.

I’m not saying that marriage is the same as prostitution (another problematic word).

I’m saying people are complicated and my story is mine. If you are lucky enough to put your dick inside me… I probably want you to call me a whore.

I… honestly can’t say that I’ve ever had someone with a cunt try it. That would be novel.

Why do I care about what someone has below their waist when they are using words? I don’t? I’ve never had that kind of sex with someone who had a cunt. I have always been the aggressive party.

Which is so complicated.

I continue to have feelings about Michfest. I picked monogamy and I stuck to it through quite a bit of temptation. I saw some gorgeous folk there.

And I’m not chasing anyone new like that. I’m just… going where I’m already adored.

I continue to wonder if I made the right choice in not going all these years because of the trans inclusion issue. There were far more trans* folk there than you’d think. Of all stripes.

I…

If I could turn back time.

Ha. Oh well. Move forward from where you are.

Where am I?

It’s raining men.

Ok. Good thing I like them all. I can deal with this.

I’m going to slow down so I don’t scare Noah more. What is that going to mean though? I think it means not adding new people for a while. I need to practice my “no” for a few months. (I’m not saying forever.)

(This is mostly noting for Noah but uhh passive aggressive notice and all.) Daddy asked for a date in May. Err… Cupid expressed interest in a date and I’m thinking May. My bruises will heal by then.

I want to ask my submissive for a dinner date in May. So yeah. Err uhm. Let’s see how things go with the deity. Nothing booked in May yet. Four in April was uhhh yeah. Self control.

Cause oh man.

He suggested tying me up. Because he wanted to. I almost came out of my skin trying to act casual. “Yeah. Sure. That would be fun sometime.”

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

We need to figure something out. We got this far, Noah. I like you. You’re my best friend. Let’s put some dates for us on the calendar. You aren’t feeling like I’m being very inspiring. Heh. I can work on that. Ok.

Sobonfu told me I would never feel like I fit anywhere. She said I was going to have to go build it myself.

Ok. But I’m not a good sustainer. That’s going to be a problem.

I don’t even know.

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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.

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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

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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.

ow

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I haz thoughts. No spoons for typing them. Dragon sucks. So I’ll just be over here having a day.

A glorious day.

Not slick.

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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.”

You just keep going

Do the best you can

Category Archives: adult-only

Ok… compartmentalize this shit.

Well hot damn

Catharsis, healing, wanting

Want to be something different

A “lazy” day.

Suicidality x-post

Post therapy–I still think I’m funny.

Tired but satisfied.

Body update

Love is infinite. Time is limited like a motherfucker.

Keep trying

I don’t even know.

Still no drop.

ow

Not slick.