Monthly Archives: June 2016

Not productive enough

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I didn’t get enough done today. I still need to sand and do one more scrub down. Shit. Instead my day was very full of other things.

I finished packing Jenny’s birthday box. So I’m not a complete loser.

I also had a long chat with some friends about the implications and difficulties of living with ptsd. It’s a roller coaster, yup.

Later I spent time talking to other friends I don’t see much. That was nice. I spent time in hot water. So much yay. I got acupuncture and scheduled more for two weeks out. My back isn’t happy, but it’s better.

I’ve had good reason to think about how lucky I am that Noah likes me so much. I don’t understand what I did to deserve someone being this nice to me, but I’ll take it. He allows me to fuck up. He allows me to make mistakes without ridiculing me or ranting about my failures (mostly). He only rants about my nonmonogamy fuck ups. He kinda glides right past everything else.

Thank you–mostly.

I was asked how life was going. I said “9’s and 1’s. No. That’s not true. 9’s and 3’s.” It’s only so low because the remodel stuff is sucking. As is realizing how limiting it is that I can’t handle having sex in places my kids go and I really can’t deal with Noah doing it either.

The 3’s really aren’t even that bad. Shut up, wench. You have a life of joy.

It was a good day. I got to watch Noah do his thing. It’s awesome to do. I feel lucky when I get to be part of it. He entertains me and I feel proud of him. He wasn’t actually this cool when I met him. I’ve been good for him and noticing that is good for me. Ha. Cocky much? Yup. Noah does that for me.

I’m thinking hard about finding the right words about dating stuff.

I want to talk about why I want it and why it is important without hurting Noah. And that takes dancing on the tip of the eyelash of a hummingbird. Fuck this “men aren’t emotional” bullshit.

We all want to be special.

What does being special mean anyway? Does being special mean that you cling to one person and that is all you have or need or want?

I uhh don’t think I’ll ever run out of want for other people. Whether that long-term turns into serious partnerships with a few people or if the people come and go is… yet to be seen.

My submissive has been hanging out an awfully long time. We will keep working on what that means.

Really I want to deepen and broaden a lot of my friendships. That’s what I’m doing. I pulled taut on the strings of my web and these are the people who said, “Jesus. Stop the fucking yanking. I’m here.”

I love you so much.

I love the way Cupid’s eyes twinkle.

I love Deity’s smile.

I love the way my submissive melts into me.

I love the way my Daddy calls me Princess and strokes my cheek.

I love that Noah is trying to allow me to have this even though it is so completely not fair.

These are people I’m used to seeing 1-5 times/year over the past few years. It is… kinda weird to figure out how to integrate them more deeply again. I want to. I want to figure out how to get past my fear of asking.

A friend pointed out that I hadn’t invited her and her partner to the cruise we are going on in August. That wasn’t because I don’t want you to go. That was because asking people for something I want very badly hurts. The more people I ask to spend this kind of money and this kind of time… the more people are going to tell me no because they have to. It’s not a cheap experience. I know that.

I didn’t think more people would want to come. I feel shocked we came up with 9 guests.

I didn’t think anyone else would want to go. I already had to deal with most of the people I did ask telling me no. They mostly have good reasons. (Not Noah’s parents. I think I focus on bitching about them because I have feelings about everyone who said no… but his parents are the only ones with shitty reasons so I feel a hair more justified in being whiny and they don’t give a shit what I feel and it doesn’t impact them whereas if I whine about my friends… See. My superego is developed.)

I have cried at all three confirmations that my friends are going. This is a huge deal to me. One of my friends said, “I would never forgive myself for having the chance to be there and choosing not to go.”

That….

That’s going to be a big deal. Forever. Someone thinks of me as family. More than one person thinks they really need to be there with us.

Oh wow.

People give what they have to spare and that has to be enough. Sometimes it even is. 69 days to go for a few more minutes. I don’t especially plan to post pictures or mail them out. I’m looking forward to this feeling private. If you come to our house, sure you can see. But I’m not doing this for the internet. I’m doing it for me.

One day of my life I am going to feel like it is ok for me to dress up pretty and be surrounded by people who love me. I’m not going to spend the day beating my head on concrete or sneaking off to cry or isolating myself. All of these things are tactics I have employed during various attempts to pretend it was ok to be the center of attention.

Maybe it is easier that it is only nine people. That won’t feel like an audience. They barely outnumber our family. And most of them are so short. If we stack them up, surely we only get like six guests.

And given that Jenny has gone radio silence and there are now travel advisory stuff saying maybe she should cancel this trip… I’m getting worried that we are actually down to six. Which will be sad but understandable. It’s going to be the most god damn understandable reason in the world to not be able to go. I will be 100% in support of whatever decision is reached.

And then I’ll cry. And that’s ok too. It isn’t the end of the world if I cry. I’ll stop being a petty baby at some point.

Ok, I’ll be sad and disappointed. Jenny was the first to say yes. The one I kinda counted on in my heart. But I really really understand the Zika stuff. We will have to wait 6+ months after getting back and I’ll probably want to get tested before we try to get pregnant.

It’s a stressful decision.

I am more concerned about the health of the babies than I am about playing dress up with Jenny. It would be fun. Maybe it isn’t meant to be.

That happens.

Life. It plugs along. It is happy. It is sad. It is life.

I am about medicated enough for bed. Goodnight internet. It is 68 days now. Sleep time.

Good grief.

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I am going to say that I can’t schedule a July date till the 19th. I’m not available till the 22nd. I’m only available for a group date and maybe a solo date if next weekend strikes out. But this way, if I exercise self control, hopefully no cancellations.

Let us pray.

Tact

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I wrote a long post last night. It is sitting in drafts. I think my level of tact in it was extra special magically low so it can stay in drafts.

Hoo boy. Volition. Want. Identity.

How much am I just not ok being pegged (ha ha) as a vanilla heterosexual suburban house wife?

I want to be a possession. I want to possess. I want to do things of my own fucking volition and that changes from day to day and based on other peoples boundaries.

Recently a nice fella was hitting on me. I explained that at this stage of my life I really only have possible space for nice people who are interested in group sex. My solo date slots are full. It’s going to take a long time before this feels settled and like my life, but the folks I’m seeing… I’m hopefully going to get to juggle them for a while.

I want more kisses. And if I have to be careful and get them slowly because that helps Noah feel more secure, I can live with that.

I think my Owner broke something completely that was cracked really badly when I met him. I can’t ever be the One. I can’t be special enough to be someone’s everything. I can’t be small enough to be one person’s thing. I need to touch too many people. I need to love too many people.

Sometimes I feel like my attachment stuff is broken in very odd ways. I can walk away from anyone–no matter how much I love them. But I can’t walk away from everyone even if I don’t love them very much. Those drips and drabs of love are important. They… they flow into the cracks of my self esteem.

I feel like Noah gives me 97% of everything I need. And it’s going to take a few hundred thousand people to fill the last 3%. Because I have to be careful and not expect anything from anyone else. I have to just accept what they feel like offering. It has to be enough. That’s why it takes so many of them.

I don’t want to leave Noah. In order to fill the other 97% without him… I can’t. I just can’t. I literally can’t. It has never happened. I need him.

Yeah, I’ll accept boundaries in order to keep you. I would be a self hating fool if I said no.

Yesterday one of the generous folks who came over to help was talking about love and matching. How much like the people we love do we need to be? Careers? Hobbies? Interests? Passions?

Do I really have to play video games?

No. I don’t.

Noah and I are talking a lot about the terrible, terrifying possibility of him dating some day. We are past “fair” and getting to “want”. That’s nice. Nice nice nice nice nice. What does dating mean to each of us? What do we get out of the rest of our lives? What kinds of energy do we have to give versus what kinds of energy do we need to get? What can we ask for? What is reasonable to demand in an ongoing way?

Oh hard talks.

I said I thought this would take at least 200 hours to negotiate. I may have underestimated. But we persevere so an end will appear someday.

“We could table this conversation till after next kid. That’s what we did last time.”

“Oh look where that got us. We have to work out nonmonogamy.”

“Shit.”

Said without attribution because we trade places in that exchange.

I’ve been reading about indigenous tribes where hetero/homo sexual behaviors are more based on age than about specific lifelong preference. That’s fascinating to me given my inability to initiate with women lately. I just… fail.

I can taunt guys until they grab me and toss me against a wall/bed to have their wicked way with me. I taunt girls and we sit there looking at each other kinda panting.

Sigh.

LESBIAN FORKING SHEEP.

Hilarious.

What do I want? More love. More support. More hands make light work. Yesterday was so joyful for me. Co-working is one of the most bonding things I do. I love when people exchange work with me. Oh! I get to go help T&t on Wednesday! They have to do a bunch of moving stuff around for prep for an emergency home repair and I get to help. This is awesome because T is the dude who helped me finish my garage. I’m excited I finally get a chance to help him. *happy dance*

I will wear a corset under my clothes for back support.

My week is full of wonderful love and work. That’s how I like my life. I think the only thing that would make my week better in my opinion is if more lovers came over to help work and there was a lovely pile of people afterwards. But that won’t be happening. Sigh.

I really wanted my new damn shower to be ready because I had to hot very dirty women yesterday. I wanted to help them clean off.

FUCK YOU REMODELING COMPANY. YOU ARE NEGATIVELY IMPACTING MY LIFE NOW. WTF.

Ahem.

lol

(They were very dirty because I accidentally dumped a bag of dirt on their heads. Whoops. I’m telling you, my friends are patient with me.)

But we got almost my whole to-do list done and I will finish it today. It was an ambitious list. Even with four workers. That’s kinda how I schedule myself. An ambitious to do list for four people…. for myself. Thank goodness people show up and save me from myself.

Shiny change of topic.

Why no sex in places the kids go other than my house. Why in the fuck is my house ok? Because my house is mine and no one’s memories get to take away my memories here. That’s why it is an exception.

But I don’t go to Daddy’s house very often. A majority of my memories there are with my kids. I don’t want that warring in my head when I’m there with my kids. I want to just be in my kid memories. I have a lot of strong visual plus body memories. It matters to me.

If my house didn’t have so many memories of all kinds good and bad it might be different. My house is my universal setting. Anything good or bad can happen here. What does safe space mean? Fuck if I know.

I really don’t.

Ok time to run off. I’m going to do the bits of shopping I need to do for Jenny’s birthday box then go to Krav then come home, shower, then run off to acupuncture. When we get home we drag a refrigerator and I start sanding walls. After that folks come over to talk mental health.

It’s just another day in paradise.

Luckily this day ends with me soaking in hot water with Noah and my Daddy and whoever else my Daddy has invited over. Thus me thinking about “No sex at Daddy’s.” Because my kids go there. Even though it might be convenient and/or hot.

I don’t want to make that muddy. I want my kids to have safe space from my sluttery.

I’m not going to have them grow up and hear a horrifying list of places where they have played where I’ve fucked a bunch of people.

Come on.

 

Forward, ho

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I’m moving forward. The remodel stuff is creaking along the lines of “I’m about to fire your ass” and I have support. Today two grown ups are coming over and they will help with yard work and painting tasks.

Yard work tasks:

  1. transplant the blue agaves
  2. transplant YC’s plant
  3. fill the palettes with dirt and transplant the strawberries
  4. finish moving the remaining dirt into more planters for YC’s “own bed for growing things”. Sorry it has to be divided up.
  5. Some weed pulling and moving of yuck to the green waste bin
  6. Filling all the bird feeders
  7. Trim the roses and distribute the thorns so I get fewer cats. Fucking neighbor cats
  8. Water both yards

Painting tasks:

  1. Remove cupboards & hardware
  2. Scrub walls with intensive cleanser
  3. Sand walls
  4. Rescrub with cleanser

Doesn’t that sound like a full enough damn day?

Regular chores:

  1. Laundry (must strip bed) working on this
  2. Load dishwasher
  3. Hand wash sink of dishes
  4. Clear counters and finish finding “during painting” homes for everything

Contact peeps chores:

  1. Where am I sleeping on the 25th? Must look at options on a map. Thank you generous, kind friends. Decision made. Beginning of the parade route.
  2. Write a letter. To whom is yet to be decided but I should do it. Wrote 2
  3. Look at Jenny’s birthday box, see what has to be added and make the shopping list. I should fucking mail it this weekend. I’m already in the next month. I know she forgives me, but I’m feeling like an asshole.
  4. Schedule acupuncture
  5. Schedule pampering w/Sarah

To be fair! The kitchen prep is only from my waist up today. Because I’m painting in stages for reasons of not exhausting myself.

Noah told the kids yesterday that surely we were about out of room for plants. The kids both argued. He argued back. I said, “I expect we’ll have 40-80 more plants before I’m done.” Noah said, “Whoa.”

Well, after the house is painted I’m ringing the fucker with plants. There are going to be a lot of indoor plants once we are done painting this time.

I’m going to spend the next year of my life trying to learn how to take proper care of my garden. This is going to take a fuck-ton of time.

I’m looking forward to it.

Volition, fucking, and not fucking

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My shrink pointed out that for many years I’ve talked about how it doesn’t matter what I want I “have” to have sex ‘x’ times per month. She is very heartened to hear that I’m moving past feeling like that is appropriate.

My dates recently are… not always what I’d expect for sex. I don’t have sex all the times I expect me to. I’m trying to change the model where I am standing near an available person and I push for sex no matter how I feel. If I’m having ambiguous feelings, I’m sitting close to them and seeing what happens. Am I trying to have closer to normal high school dating?

Mostly, no sex.

That’s interesting. This must be closer to what it is like for other people. Maybe?

I’m also really happy that I’ve been able to articulate that lumping kissing in with sex bothers me. For the last few years I have been unable to even kiss my friends hello/goodbye. Ok, kisses on the cheek probably “would have been ok” but I’m a stickler and slippery slopes, etc. I didn’t kiss.

I want to kiss. Kissing feels like bonding with friends. I don’t have to go all the way. Oxytocin, baby. I need a lot of it. If someone doesn’t want to kiss me first and start the oxytocin loop… I feel severely inhibited. I feel like I will be forcing.

Even when it is so obvious this hot girl wants me to kiss her and she’s leaning in inches from my face.

If you don’t kiss me I don’t have permission. I’m not doing so hot at being the one to initiate.

I did with Cupid and I felt wracked with guilt. I felt like I pushed him past several boundaries and that makes me scummy.  I was so happy when he chose to kiss me last weekend. I assumed he just wouldn’t. I was wearing lipstick and that makes me less interesting from his point of view. Thank you.

I know I have the invitation to initiate with some folks. You don’t know how hard that is sometimes.

I know Deity likes me fine. I know that when we get together he’s ok with me being frisky. If I move towards him and he creates space I have to struggle to not freak out. It is a conscious effort.

I’m not rational about this shit.

With Daddy I have the most in-person-comfort with him liking me just fine without sex compared to the rest of my friends-who-are-fucking-me-right-now. I’ve spent a lot of hours over many years around him and the sex part is brand new. I think that if he hadn’t grabbed me by the back of the neck and dragged me to bed… I could have stalled out on that interest forever. Even though I do feel comfortable initiating mild kisses.

I’m so weird.

Goodness I’m looking forward to a group date with Daddy. He’s… hawt. And (mumble things that I don’t have the right to talk about in public) so I’m extra excited about getting Noah and Daddy at the same time! Holy tomato! This… this will have to wait until I’m riding the waves of masochism high. Because they are going to hurt me. I’m looking forward to it, but not yet. I’m still feeling like blood loss and med adjustment and funk.

I love you all so much for your patience.

That’s one of the most obnoxious, most consistent pieces of dealing with me. You’ll need a lot of patience.

Today is easy. All I have planned today is a nursery run, (small one), more work towards the painting of the kitchen. Today I take down all the hardware and cabinets and start sanding the shit out of the walls. This’ll be messy. I’m excited. You have no idea. I’ve been looking at this kitchen and internally wailing “But it looks terrible” for years. Must fix.

So, stop using spoons, wench.

Enmeshment

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We are getting somewhere. But then again I keep thinking that only to have the house of cards come crashing down. Where are we getting?

More limits. Maybe just more understanding of how to dance around the limits that already exist? That’s probably closer.

Noah can handle a certain amount of me being slutty. I can have a date or two a month. I can fuck my friends. I can kiss my friends. But I’m pushing my luck getting so close to having a boyfriend. Noah is not open to me having a second live in partner. Ok. That’s fair enough.

If we want/need to figure out coparenting with more people it has to be more in the form and function of our Bonus Family. We don’t fuck them or play with them. We coparent. It keeps the lines less muddy.

Would I say I love K or B (the Bonus Parents) less than I love Daddy? Whoo boy. I don’t think so. I love them differently. I don’t love Daddy more because he hits me and fucks me deliciously.

(I’m afraid I am going to spend years trying to live down the phrase “deprivation vacation”. I wasn’t serious. You are all fabulous lovers or I wouldn’t come back. You notice how I come back? That means you aren’t deprivation. It’s just… variation. Sometimes I lack tact, ok? If I’m still fucking you… it’s not bad. Truly.)

But I stand unashamedly behind the notion that y’all ain’t better at fucking me than Noah. Practice helps.

It isn’t a competition. Tell that to all the folks who die alone with no sex or love.

But people aren’t disposable. People aren’t available just for the bits of themselves that are convenient.

This is why it is easy to be encouraging of my extra people finding other partners, sex, love, and intimacy. You deserve so much more than I can give you. You are wonderful. I’m glad you are here. I feel, pretty much all the time, like people deserve better than I can give them. Deity, Cupid, my submissive, Noah, my kids, Daddy, my friends…

I am inadequate.

All I can promise is that I am giving every speck I have to give. Divvying out my energy and time is hard.

Noah says: one or two dates a month. If I have sex or play with a friend it is a date. Every time I hang out with my sex-having friends it isn’t a date because sometimes it isn’t. Kissing doesn’t make it a date. I’m allowed to kiss my friends.

(That was one of the hardest boundaries for me to keep during monogamy. I like kissing.)

I remember parties in college, before I found the bdsm community and learned more rigid boundaries… I would go from lap to lap kissing on folks. Boys, girls, folks who I couldn’t guess and I didn’t ask. That was how I wanted to interact. I wasn’t good about asking permission and I’m sure I crossed boundaries.

I didn’t feel comfortable existing there without that.

A nice man came over to my house and kissed me recently. He’s not open even a little bit to group sex so we won’t see much of one another after that, but it was nice anyway.

I don’t want someone’s extra time. I just want the kiss.

I want to kiss you and give us both that little chemical jolt and say, “Have a lovely day.”

My shrink spent so much time telling me she is proud of how Noah and I are talking that she didn’t get around to finger wagging about how into Deity I am. Danger Will Robinson. But the boundaries are becoming clearer.

He’s my friend. Good golly do I like having sex with him. And kissing him. And hearing about his life. I wish many lovely things for him. I’m going to push like mad towards him having a primary. Because I can’t have him. Even if part of me wants him. I can have just a little part of him. Just a little bit left over.

Because that’s all I have left over too. Noah wants the rest and I want to give it to him. Because that is how I will keep him and I really need to keep Noah. Letting go of this would be letting go of thinking I deserve to be this important to someone. Because I will never again in this life find someone who thinks I am as important as Noah does. Deity won’t view me that way. No one else I’m dating will.

No one else I’ve ever met, not my parents, ever thought I was important the way Noah does.

Yes, I pick that. I pick Noah.

But I still want to suck Cupid’s cock. And I’m really looking forward to pegging my submissive while Noah fucks his mouth.

I want these things. I just have to get my schedule of childcare to match up with the mood swings.

I want to get better about not doing these things on days when I’m not up for it. I want to feel more ok about canceling and not feeling upset.

I want to feel like it is ok to be where I am right now.

Because so many of the things I do are ok if and only if I’m ok doing them right now and they are completely not ok at other times. Complicated.

Staying with Noah and treating him how I believe he deserves to be treated is important to me. It is hard that there are parts of me that want to disrespect him because of demographic data he can’t help. But I’m working on that. I can’t treat him like a symbol of the problem.

I need to treat him like my husband. That doesn’t mean I cover for him if he fucks up. Oh hell no. When the girl he raped came to me asking for support I was on her fucking side and I would have been as far as necessary. I know who I am and what I stand for. But outside of that, outside of him fucking up like whoa…

Noah has earned my loyalty. He’s earned forgiveness and tolerance. Because he has given it when I didn’t deserve it.

Breakfast is on the table.

Sad, scared, but hopeful?

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My shrink smiled at me and said, “I know you don’t want to hear this… but these conversations with Noah, though painful, are positive. You two are working through deeper levels of trust than you have been able to access in ten years. Yeah. That’s going to hurt.”

Fuck her.

I’m kidding.

Noah and my shrink have opposite assumptions about how nonmonogamy will go plus a pregnancy. He says, “You will still want all your boys.” She says, “Oh good! So it’s going to be at least a year and a half of you just not wanting anyone else that’ll be convenient.”

I tried having sex with my submissive during my last pregnancy. It… didn’t really go that well. He smelled wrong. (Which is not his fault or any actual criticism of him.) It’s a chemical/pheromone thing. He was the only person I tried to have sex with and it didn’t work. I suspect another pregnancy would be similar. I had the most intense, “I’m only supposed to have sex with my baby daddy” feeling.

There’s a part of me that wishes I felt slutty while pregnant but I haven’t so far in four pregnancies. I have my doubts about that happening this time.

My 2. 4 pregnancies when you add up the weeks? Eek.

My shrink was thrilled when I told her that Noah changed his mind about a third baby when I started saying the word “c-section”. “See! Isn’t he the best man ever! He wouldn’t consider it when you were doing it in a way that made it unlikely you will survive and once it is obvious you are committed to staying with him…. Awwwww.”

I never stopped wanting a baby. I would talk about why it was a bad idea. I would talk about the benefits of not having a baby. I never stopped wanting this child.

My shrink says she is very interested in seeing how the next few years go for me. She’s excited I’m trying so hard to find volition in my sex. That’s global.

I think that’s why things are feeling awkward in a lot of my sex-situations right now. Where is my volition?

I don’t want to lead and I don’t want to do anything I don’t want to do. That’s a bitch.

My shrink says she can understand why Noah is feeling insecure if I’m going out and having better sex. I said, “That’s just it! The sex isn’t better! It’s like a deprivation vacation!”

Uhm, no offense, folks.

Noah knows me inside and out. Noah knows when to fuck faster and when to go slower. He knows when it is time to start playing with my ass. He knows which shift of my shoulders means, “Please pinch my nipple.” He knows how to be mean and how to touch me so gently I feel like I am made of spun glass.

It isn’t that other people fuck me better. They don’t. It is that experiencing variety lets me come home and go, “Oh Goldilocks Penis of my dreams, come here.”

I say he has the Goldilocks Penis because it is the perfect size and shape. Plus I love me some foreskin. Why perfect size and shape? It’s a fit thing. He doesn’t hurt in general. There are only a few days a month and a few positions where my cervix drops enough that sex hurts. With anyone bigger than him… it hurts. I have a low slung cervix. I can deal with that pain mostly… but it’s there. It is something to process with other people.

AND WHAT IS UP WITH THESE DUDES WITH HUGE COCKS LINING UP FOR ME?!

I mean, I love you just how you are. Ahem.

I partially have so much sex with Noah because eventually I run into friction problems. Eventually.

That’s perfect sex.

I can fuck Noah for 4-6 hours in a day and I’m just barely sore the next day. An hour of fucking Deity and I feel it for a few days. Like owwwwwwwww.

Thank Goodness no one in the current roster is as big as my Owner. Never. Ever. Again.

My internal organs have been beaten about enough. Seriously.

I’m thinking about what you wrote about enmeshment, Noah. I really am.

I’m talking about other cocks. But I’m thinking about you. Like I do. Where is this going? You really don’t want me to have serious relationships. You really want me to only focus on you. And sometimes have sex with my friends.

I can’t argue with any of the points you make. You are right. I don’t want you to stop. I like having you as a supplicant. If in order to have you I must have massive limits around everyone else…

I need you like I need air. R wants to punch me in the face for saying I wouldn’t be where I am without you. But I still think it is true. Outside of you, Noah, no one has ever wanted very much of me.

No one in my life right now actually wants very much of me. They want what they want. That very narrow slice. Just that piece. Then they will go back to their life. They will go back to their families.

And I have you. You have given me my first family. My only family. For me to pick anything other than you would be the most self hating decision I have ever made.

You look at Deity and see someone who could replace you. I see someone who is not broken enough to put up with my shit. I see someone who would expect me to change to fit the dynamics of their life. You changed everything for me.

I do not see any replacements for you anywhere on this planet.

I looked.

But I do still want to have sex with my friends. And the occasional stranger.

I don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t want to run the group sex we have and that means you kinda have to run the fuck and that means we can only have sex with people who are more or less ok with the idea that you suggest a lot of stuff during sex. That narrows who we have sex with a lot.

Thank you for your flexibility with suggestions and for your hotness Oh Deity.

Even though your dick is too big it is a wonderful sometimes treat.

How are we going to do this without hurting you or me, Noah? I don’t want to hurt you more. Hearing you talk this morning just about broke my heart. I should not have so much power over anyone. I’m not sure this Krissy-religion is smart if I can hurt you that badly. Oh honey.

But I get it. Ok, so we feel about the same way when it comes to the idea of the other seriously dating.

It feels like all of a sudden we are just marking time until death. Like nothing is important. Like we don’t matter except as a tool of support. God that feeling sucks.

Time to be a parent.

Waves of feelings

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I’m happy. So much is going well. I’m sad. How can there be such monsters in the world?

I have been sexually involved with people of all genders throughout my lifetime. I can’t imagine being targeted for that. No one has ever cared.

I live such an incredible life of privilege.

Yesterday I was reminded that some people think that segregation is dandy. They think their right to not want to be near people who aren’t like them is fine.

People like you. That is how I will think of these individuals. “People like you”. I have no more generosity in my soul. People who who think that their right to never smell a homeless person is more important than a homeless person’s right to eat.

I…

I’m not thinking kind thoughts. I’m thinking you are a bad apple and one bad apple can spoil a barrel.

Public school parents tell me that their children aren’t being taught to be more tolerant. They are being taught to fake it better.

My heart weeps.

I will hide in the false reality of my house. A reality where people matter. Where no one is disposable. A house where if the local homeless people walk by they aren’t told to move along they are fed and given something useful. Because I am not better than you I just happen to have more luck at this turn of the wheel. If it makes you feel better I’ve been on the shitty side of things too.

My life has not always been this magical.

I am waiting until I get my new medical insurance information. I need to schedule: a) a sleep study b) talk to a Dr about an appetite stimulant other than pot because at this point I’m still using it as much as I do because without it I can’t eat a normal amount of food and I get sick and c) a high risk OB appt to talk about my screwy periods over the last year and to talk about the possibility of a third pregnancy.

Before we pay for surgery for Noah, let’s find out if a high risk OB says “Sure we can get you through a birth. May involve a scar on your belly–but you’ll get through.” I will say, “Yes. Fine. Sign me up.”

Pam when you tell me that you are freaked out because of the medical concerns… I’m walking into this with the attitude that if a c-section seems smart, cut me open. I don’t want to risk another hemorrhage.

And that’s Ms “I must have my home water birth.”

I did it. I saw what that got me. Next option.

I believe that my different attitude about the birth is going to make a big difference. I’m going out looking for interventions. “Hey, what’s up, hello! Keep me from dying, yo.”

My second birth I was ok with dying at home as long as I didn’t have to transfer. In retrospect that was an asshole attitude to have for Noah’s sake.

But people are where they are. At this point I’m eight years into being a parent and this has been by far the best section of my life. I don’t want out. I want more of this. I want all of this I can get until my heart literally stops and I can’t have more.

Which is complicated with the suicidality, let me tell you.

I feel horrified by the loss of the queer poc in Orlando. No more. No more. No more mass killings. Why are we so focused on keeping the right of gun ownership and not focused on the fucking right to stay alive.

I hide in my bubble. Where people are ok. Even in the intolerant motherfuckers are ok here. They visit and spew their bullshit. It isn’t that my bubble protects me from knowing about the foul sludge in the world. I just… don’t have to live in it.

Mostly I fear that I’m doing everything wrong. I’m scared I’m a terrible person with no possible redeeming value.

Then I meet other people and feel like really maybe I’m an awesome human being. I’m overflowing with the milk of human compassion. I’m generous. I’m thoughtful. And then there are these other people. And they are loved. If they deserve to be loved, shit I should be almost worshipped.

Let’s get real here.

 

Love you, Maureen

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Recently Noah asked me if I thought I could handle moving out to the middle of nowhere with just him. Would I be content without the huge network of people I’ve built.

Today I had the thought: There will always be women (and men) in leather flirting with me.

Even if we moved to the middle of nowhere. Let’s get real.

Dangerous.

“good”

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Tonight I told one of my lovers that I was off from the party to go have sex with my husband. He replied that I was a good whore.

Hm. Am I?

I didn’t feel good tonight. I felt… empty of stuff to give. I felt like I was letting my submissive and his partner down.

I had no topping energy in me. I just couldn’t do something to someone. I don’t know why I hit as empty as I did. Part of it is tired, but it is bigger than that. Topping is hard.

Even though I know these two people love me and want to accept anything I want to do… there is something in me that holds me back. I don’t know what they really want. I don’t understand yet. And I’m afraid I was too assertive in how much I wanted to talk when we had a date. “Hi. I know you are here for hot sex but how about if we have an intense conversation about abuse and motivation and history and triggers and…”

What? That doesn’t pass for foreplay in your house?

How well you can roll with the intense conversations decides a lot about our future. That’s why I’m so fanatically loyal to Sarah and Pam and Jenny and Noah. So many hours of intense conversations.

Today someone I had a casual hookup with is writing me to ask me for advice dealing with mental illness in a person close to them. Damn. I don’t even remember telling you that I’m crazy. But here you are. Awesome.

Let me affirm for you that you feel alone but you aren’t. You reached out to me. Because you know you aren’t alone. You know that at least I’m here. I don’t know what it means that I’m here. I don’t know what I have to give.

Tonight I didn’t have a beating to give. I’m sorry.

Instead Cupid palate wrapped me to a board and suspended me. That was fun.

And you know what?! Cupid was all lovey and kissy. PEOPLE ARE SO FUNNY.

We all have off days and the fortitude with which others tolerate those off days makes a big difference in long-term relationships.

My submissive was sweet and tolerant and accepting of the fact that I just didn’t have a beating in me. He was disappointed, but he didn’t complain or criticize. He was supportive. One of the best parts of knowing him for fifteen years is I know that if I can’t do it on one day… another day will come. But I feel like I want to make up for lost time. I want to play hard with him while I can…

But that isn’t how energy works. It really sucks. I can’t just decide to have it.

A little bit I can. A little bit I can fake. Mostly… not so much.

My date with Cupid was not the most exciting date of my whole life.

There will be others, I think. It’s ok that we all have off days.

Is this part of what being a grown up means? We all get to be where we are. It’s ok to not be a perfect performance of the kind of relationship that people want to get. (It occurs to me that part of my trouble with monogamy is balancing what I feel I “owe” Noah and adding people makes that problem worse and not better.)

I feel like Noah and I have done so many shifts lately we are dancing not walking through life. What are we doing?

Alternating having fun with having sex and making each other cry?

I mean… what do you do with your time?

Tomorrow will be lovely. Drive up to get the kids. Then we throw a goodbye luncheon for our dearest Pam who has been claiming she’s leaving for a while now. This week is finally it? I am going to miss her like a phantom limb. This will be hard. I wish her luck on her adventures. I love you. Come home someday. Tell me stories.

(In my whispering voice but I can’t figure out how to make smaller text on wordpress)

Deity is coming over for dinner. I’m not saying more about that.

Boxes

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Sometimes I notice that my relationships with people are very individuated. I don’t have a unified self that I present to the world. I am something different to most people.

Sometimes I manage to see the size and shape of the box I’m currently standing in. Sometimes I’m trying to straddle multiple boxes. Sometimes I have a foot in one box, a foot in another box, and a hand in another box. It’s like a divided version of Twister. Landing wrong smarts because of all the walls.

Who am I? What am I?

I am an infinite variety. I am an enigma. I am multifaceted to such a degree that it is hard to be a single unit.

For some reason, this week, I had this epiphany Yes I am a good mother moment. I’m still riding it. I don’t think it was just that Noah agreed to go through great expense and effort to knock me up just because I want this baby so much.

Every old person I’ve talked to says you regret the babies you want and don’t have and you never regret the babies you have.

But I can’t talk to the elders in my family. Maybe they’d sing a different tune.

What do I want?

I want to feel encased and surrounded by love. I want to feel like people are happy to be there and they really want me to still be here.

I had that tonight. I didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

But it was totally a date because there was oral and nakedness and kissing. That’s a date.

But I don’t have to fuck to have a date. That’s important too.

So many things are important.

What does it mean to exist in the world? To take up space? To be important, valued, wanted? Do you love to be wanted or want to be loved?

Do I have to choose?

I feel like I hit this brick wall. “You know all these boundaries you want to have around Noah dating? Yeah. That shit’s not gonna fly. Not really. Not long term.”

What will?

I don’t know but I anticipate a bunch of abject terror on my part. My home. My safety. The only person who ever loved me enough to sit me down and say, “What happened to you?!”…. stepping out. That’s going to be hard. That’s going to feel like dying. I’m going to hate him.

Noah keeps pointing out notice how hard you are working to get contact with these folks?

Maybe.

Fuck you for bringing reality into this relationship.

Noah is feeling terrified too. He feels threatened too. That’s reasonable. 

What do we all want from each other. Intimacy levels are confusing.

Things I’ll never say out loud:

  1. I want to learn physical skills with you that involve a lot of travel.
  2. I want you to teach me how to cook like that.
  3. I would really like to find out if I can get tired of fucking you. I usually do.
  4. I want to wake up and see that smile a lot more often.
  5. I want to introduce you to levels of perversion that are going to melt your brain. Want to scare the shit out of the audience together?
  6. What do you really want?
  7. Why do you think anyone else would ever want to put in as much attention as you? I’m not stupid. I’ve tried the competition. I’m a high maintenance pain in the ass.
  8. I think there should be a word for what we are and friend ain’t it.
  9. I promise that when something better comes along for you I will disappear. I will not be a distraction. You deserve real happiness.
  10. I wish I knew if you wanted a series of zipperless one night stands, a fling, or if you want to find a way to know me.

I will absolutely never ask. It’s not ok to ask a question if you aren’t ok with whatever the answer is. When I was told he just wanted one night… I took it hard. I liked him. Then I had to see him around and be polite. –

So I get to live with ambiguity. Like every other motherfucker.

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

What am I going to do about it?

Go to sleep.

The tipping point

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We talk about wanting another baby frequently. We always have. That’s… just part of our sex life. But we said and said and said that Youngest Child would not like being a middle child.

I think we were right about the last few years.

But recently both kids have started begging for a sibling. I think it was YC changing their mind that convinced Noah.

It was also Eldest Child promising help up one side and down the other.

And it was Noah getting a work from home job so that we don’t have the extreme loneliness and isolation of the previous pregnancies.

And it was realizing… we just can’t pull off monogamy and actually we have a surprising network in place. We don’t have to feel trapped at home beholden to meeting all of one another’s needs.

I don’t have to keep having sex when it hurts just because it is have sex in order to stay married.

I feel like the road trip gave us time and space to really look at everything we were doing and wonder why are we carrying this piece?

I ran all the fuck out of patience with carrying things I don’t have to carry. I’m too tired. Fuck off.

Now, a playdate.

This probably seems sudden.

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Part of what is going on is we have been going down the list of “Over the last ten years I have compromised on ______ and that is costing me.”

Nonmonogamy stuff. Another baby. Time. Attention. Friction of body parts. Energy. Desire.

These are all connected.

Grief ties them all together with bonds of airplane cable.

Even peeing on this bundle will not take the sting out of the pain contained within.

How do you figure out who you need to be. Not just who you want to be, who you need to be. I don’t know.

It is a different conversation to say, “How do we want to do poly if we are done with having kids” vs “Why were we so adamant that we could not have kids unless we were monogamous?”

Why?

Do you realize I’m going to have to start rationing typing? Pregnancy increases fluid which increases inflammation. I should… start working on the pain in my arms now, before Noah has the reversal.

Because holding my baby is a big deal.

I am so excited I can barely breathe. I understand that best case scenario is that by December of 2017 we’ll have a third child. Realistically it’ll take longer than that.

Who knows if Noah will be able to produce a baby.

Who knows how the people in our life will adapt to this. Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

 

A very different adventure

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Are you shitting me. Are you god damn shitting me. After all these years, after all this crying and arguments and fuss…

Now you scheduled an appointment for a consultation on a vasectomy reversal.

I… I don’t even know what to think or feel. I’m overwhelmed. I’m happy. I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m so excited I almost feel like I could puke.

Shit. I need to look for a high risk OB. I’m going to be a most medically managed bitch.

I have to survive this and… that will take some effort on the parts of folks who have some serious training. I shouldn’t have another kid. It’s a death wish. But really my whole life is a death wish.

As much as I can’t promise no suicide forever… I will raise my children. I will.

So this would reset the clock on that a bit. I guess that’s a way to work around this problem.

I am so excited. I am so excited I can barely breathe.

I don’t know how to express how I have always wanted three kids. I know there will be problems. There are problems now. There were problems with no kids.

I want this baby so bad. Yes, it is selfish. Yes it is population growth. I know. I know I’m a bad, selfish person. I am.

You don’t understand what my relationships with my children give me. As much as I chafe at portions of it, their existence and their interactions with me give me the most security and happiness I’ve known.

Yes, I want more of that.

Noah is looking at me sharp and asking if I will want to stop at three. I don’t want a child who will be in the same age position to their oldest sibling as I was in. I have to stop at three for spacing reasons.

How is this going to work?

We really don’t know yet. We have a while to discuss it. The rest of our lives, really. But some factors are more immediately pressing. Things like a vasectomy reversal is about 40%-54% successful. How do we feel about spending that much money for a coin flip of a chance?

Have you seen this man’s babies? I’ll do it.

But what if it doesn’t work? How do we feel about someone else knocking me up? I’ve been a gigantic asshole for years about wanting to be a woman in my family with one baby daddy. Today it occurred to me that I am much more upset about the idea of an accidental pregnancy than I am at the idea of multiple fathers.

Being unwanted has colored my whole life. I don’t want a surprise baby. I want joyously conceived intentional children. Children born into the fullness of love and welcome.

I need to give that to other people because I couldn’t have it. That is important.

I know that this will be a hospital birth. If they push me for a section I’ll say yes. I know my hemorrhage risk.

I know.

This isn’t how I want to die.

Once upon a time 50% of women died in childbirth. I won’t be motherfucking one of them.

No, monogamy won’t work again. For so many reasons. I wanted it to work. I poured every ounce of try I had into making it work.

I failed.

What does this mean? Well it means what we thought we agreed to like a fucking week ago is… yeah. Probably not the final agreement or anything close to it. uuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhheeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh

fuss

Cause if I’m getting knocked up again… this time I can’t do the maintenance sex all the time. I just can’t. It is eating my soul. I need to stop having sex when I’m not in the god damn mood and yeah that means I need to get over being so jealous of Noah having sex with other people.

In my defense I handled that bit well during a previous pregnancy. (Ok I was weird about the couch. I DON’T KNOW WHY I AM SO WEIRD ABOUT EITHER OF US FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE ON THE GOD DAMN COUCH.)

No really, I was ok when I was pregnant and completely not interested in sex. I wasn’t pissy at all about him having sex with a friend. Yay them.

So yeah. We are discussing what polyamory (I refuse to claim it yet. Oh god) might look like for us. Live in forever partner? Coparent?

We would like (a) serious coparents.

We would.

Which makes me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet for how it went down with Sarah.

At least my mistakes were huge and easy to see and uhm easy to avoid duplicating. God I hit so many huge fuck ups in such a short period of time.

Fuck.

So who knows. Life is long. Why in the world would anyone want to do this sort of thing with me/us?

Shit I dinno. But I don’t know why Noah is here either. Maybe someone else has equally mysterious needs of their own.

Who are you though?

This is why I like to schedule things at my house.

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When it all goes to pieces, I still have chores to do. One of the difficulties in trying to be someone who organizes get togethers is… you have to deal with other peoples schedules. Whether I schedule in advance or at the last minute this sucks.

Yesterday we were supposed to have a playdate with five families. All bailed at the last minute. I think one is in labor (good reason to skip the park! Good luck!); another has to wait on a bureaucrat who is making her life hell (good golly that sucks. Good luck!); another forgot it was election Tuesday and oops she always works (ok, this one kinda bugs me a bit); another was just running behind and she could have showed up two hours late if we waited (no, I’m not gonna); last but not least one family said they were technically happy to show up… with hand foot and mouth disease–that cancellation is my fault.

But I was on my way to babysit other kids and see another family. Picking up a highly communicable disease on the way seemed rude.

Nobody did anything wrong. But it still feels hard.

Sometimes people ask me why I’m not more willing to drive for park playdates these days. I stop laughing eventually.

Because driving far from my house for a park play date is a variable experience at the end of a hard experience for my body. Nope.

Last time some of these folks missed a playdate I scheduled over near them and they asked if we could come back the next week to see them.

Funny how folks don’t generally say, “Know how we broke our plans? How about if we offer this super convenient for you alternative?” That’s not how it works. I offer to come to them and do a bunch of work and they expect me to just do it again. Because clearly it wasn’t that hard the first time so just keep doing it. But it’s too hard for them to come to me.

Ok.

I would like to take this moment and say “Thank you” to all the people who come visit me on a regular basis. Thank you for helping me feel like maybe I do have some value to someone.

Last night Noah and I had it out a bit more. This is going to be a rough year. I’m not writing them down here but I sure went down my list of done-me-wrongs. I did that after running four miles because I was afraid I would otherwise do something drastic and awful.

That’s like healthy progress, right?

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.

Volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition  volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition volition

What does it mean?

How do I fill my bucket without hurting Noah? That seems to be where we are stuck. Yesterday a solid 8 people asked me why I was wearing braces. I begin to understand Mitrian’s anger and frustration. I tell people because I type too much. They ask why. I say because it is better than screaming at people. They say, “Yes. Keep typing.”

I’m so glad to hear that more people agree that me harming myself is superior to me impacting other people with negative emotions. Now we just dicker about methods.

This became absolutely crystal clear to me when I was talking to someone about cutting the other day.

Cutting actually heals pretty easily in the scheme of things. I am permanently crippling myself in the name of self harm that is more socially acceptable. Because the only place I’m actually allowed to exist is here. Everywhere else is a compromise.

I’m having huge feelings about my date with Cupid not including any intimacy. I’m not upset that we didn’t play. I’m not even cranky about not having sex. He’s not a life support unit for a dick. But we didn’t hug or kiss. So I feel like I didn’t really fill my bucket. And that’s the date I get this month.

I mean, I feel like an asshole for feeling that way because I came off an excellent group date with Noah and Deity and playing with the Sweet Boy.

But that was my only option for one to one serious adoration this month.

Noah and I do adore each other sometimes, in the middle of being cranky and fussy. Right now it’s hard. I know we aren’t actually usually cranky and fussy but I am today and so it feels like always.

What is it that I need here? What isn’t being met? Why do I feel so empty and fussy and sad?

This is a brutal period. I am soaking through pads and that hasn’t happened since I was postpartum. I’m a light bleeder.

I feel like…

I feel like that stone that was sitting heavily in my breast got too heavy and burst through the lining of my body and fell through my organs and out my cunt.

I cannot give that gift away. It is not mine to give. I cannot make that promise. Probably not ever. I wanted to. I can’t. That is not a promise I know I can keep and not being a liar is more important than making anyone feel better for a moment. Even for many moments. Not if it comes at the cost of a lie.

I have been trying to see if I could find a way to promise that I would not end my life early by choice. I have been trying to see if I could find a way to make it bearable to carry this pain no matter what because it would be too selfish to leave the people who love me.

I cannot make that promise. I am selfish. And I hurt. I have hurt all my life. I have never been free from pain.

Some day I will have a bad day. That day will be too much for me. Yeah, there probably could have been more good days on the other side of that bad day. Probably. But I don’t know where my limit of carrying bad days is. That has to matter.

Do you have to be ok with it? No. Do you have to like it? No.

All that matters is that on the bad days I am alone. I will carry what I can carry until I can’t carry it any more and then I will set it down.

I need to not give a shit that it might hurt you.

Break on through to the other side

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Sometimes Noah writes long screeds in private where he calls me on my bullshit and the holes in my memory. I always wonder why he doesn’t do it publicly. He doesn’t want to make me look bad.

Maybe I make myself look bad.

Noah is right that most of our play issues over the years have not been his fault. We’ve really struggled to get bdsm play where we want it to be. Realistically we are closer to where we want to be and we are doing better than we ever have.

And I’m still bitching. What an asshole.

His memory for the rough patches and the failed attempts are better than mine. But that also means he gives me, perhaps, too much understanding around my frustration and impatience. He remembers the fuck ups better than me.

I just feel pissy and can’t articulate why.

I think Noah is right that seeing me play with other people is really important because without that I am shit at explaining what I want from play and why. I can go do it. I can’t always explain it well.

Things are improving and I’m glad for that. I think things will continue to improve. Mostly because Noah is patient, kind, giving, and tolerant.

Thank you.

In my secret heart I hope that the group play helps. Because when Noah and I are bouncing off another person we see sides of one another we don’t otherwise see.

Maybe that is why it is so hard for me to watch him play. Those are pieces of him I don’t get. But I feel like when he watches me play he learns about pieces he could get.

I’m really not fair about this.

Ugh. Ok, the day should start.

Very briefly

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Today I wake up feeling happier than I have in a bit. From a mood tracking point of view this is significant.

I was feeling some feelings of potential rejection and I processed them with a nice friend who was all, “Let’s talk context” and then I got full circle to “Shit. I’m acting like a spoiled baby who isn’t being aware of the limitations of the people I like a lot. Knock that crap off.”

Thank you for your patience with my selfishness and self-absorption.

I worry a lot about whether or not I am using my time in the most useful or effective or fun ways.

Sometimes life isn’t about that. Sometimes life is about being with someone when neither of you feel exciting. Sometimes life isn’t about maximizing “Make me have fun today or I’m kicking you to the curb.”

Sometimes life is just sitting together and having dinner and being tired. Because that is where you are. That has to be ok too.

If you like someone, you have to like them all the time. Even when they are tired and don’t have a lot to give. Or you are an asshole.

Ok, I know I’m an asshole… but I try hard to not be that flavor of asshole.

As I sit here mooning over the Sweet Boy Noah is making fun of the fact that I’m not really ready to stop expanding the roster.

But I want to spend the time everyone on the roster already deserves and time is limited. Sometimes the right kind of time to be spent isn’t what you think you want, and it is bonding anyway.

What is the difference between being someone’s friend and using them for sex/play?

I want to be your friend. I like you. I’ve liked you for such a long time.

Ok, but next time it is a date can I ask for at least more kissing and hugging? I’m ok with no sex and play. We are all human animals and we get tired. But I feel like, for me, to call it a date I’d like at least some more kissing and hugging.

I want to be your friend too. But I also want to mack on you because yeah, that’s totally why I’m there. Because I want to be your friend who macks on you. It’s a thing.

The funniest part of chasing so many people right now is how insecure every person is. None of us feel worthy of being liked this much. None of us feel like forsooth someone will like us.

But I like you and you and you and you and you. Near as I can tell you like me back.

How can we work on some of this mythical “self esteem” bullshit I hear so much about? How can your love for me help me love myself and how can my love for you help you love yourself? Can we help one another feel worthy? I don’t know. I want to find out.

It helps with Noah. It really does. Being with Noah has changed me. As much as it hurts my fucking finger, wearing the rock he gave me (err, that I picked out and bought for myself on his dime) has changed how I feel about myself in the world. Because it changes how I’m treated by random people.

Do you know how weird it is for a dirty street kid to have people genuflect because you must be important to be wearing a rock like that? Blows my fucking mind.

Worth is all about games of perception.

I think I’m going to try to have a week off pot. I’m just going to have Abilify in the morning and Klonopin at night.

Wish me luck.