So Noah slipped into the middle of his conversation about play that he didn’t orgasm.  All of a sudden a switch flipped and I was just fine with it.  Did you have a nice game of racquetball with your friend?  Sure I can have sex with you.  That seems kind of passive aggressive and controlling, doesn’t it?  If Noah is having a lot of sex (and we’re doing well right now) he doesn’t orgasm easily.  There is a much larger piece of me than I should cop to that feels smug that I can do it.

Ok, of all my hang ups, I think I’m going to forgive myself for wanting to be better at getting my husband off than other women.  It’s not excessive.  It’s silly.  But it’s not destructive or bad or mean.  It’s ok.  It means that Noah can have sex with someone else and then come home to porn star sex because I’m very interested in proving that *I* can get you off.  Damnit.  I’m an idiot.  But I’m an idiot who is not chanting in my head that people hate me.

I’m going to have a hard time with the hostility I incur due to the money.  It’s going to shake me hard.  I keep saying over and over, “Always be sure you are right, then go ahead.”  I think that even though it is hard for me in the moment, I want to work on being more ok with Noah being nonmonogamous.  Even if I do always have this squeeing and jumping up and down internally if he doesn’t orgasm with other people.  That’s ok to be happy about.  I’m not hurting anyone.  But I need to not make it a thing.  I need to not tell him that he should can’t do that with other people.  I need to not go to bed in armor when he has sex with other people.  In my defense, I was freakin cold earlier and the footey jammies are warm.  They do make sex impossible though.  Luckily Noah is a large, warm, smelly primate and I often do not need clothing in his vicinity.

Err, I need to stop whining and go do NaNoWriMo.